Uncharted Island, New World
The remnants on the island was a cruel mockery of what the Charlotte family had once been. This ancient land, hidden away and unreachable save for the most daring or reckless of souls, was now their sanctuary—and their prison. The once-feared Big Mom Pirates, who had struck terror into the hearts of the New World, had been reduced to a scattered handful of survivors.
On the beach, the last remnants of Charlotte Linlin's empire huddled together. The forest beyond concealed their battered ships—some barely seaworthy, patched together with makeshift repairs.
The salty breeze carried the stench of blood and burnt wood, reminders of their narrow escape from mutiny. Among them, the younger siblings clung to their older brothers and sisters, wide-eyed and trembling, the spark of their former arrogance extinguished.
The mutiny had come swift and brutal. Those who had once pledged fealty to Big Mom turned on her children the moment her downfall became apparent. Without Linlin's monstrous presence to strike terror into their hearts, the cadre of non-Charlotte pirates rose against her bloodline.
Petty grievances erupted into murderous intent, and it was only through the swift, bloody actions of Smoothie, Cracker, and Perospero that the family had managed to flee. Even so, their survival felt hollow. This was no victory—only delay.
Perospero sat by the waterline, his usual manic energy extinguished. He stared at his palm, where a scrap of Katakuri's Vivre Card lay. Once large and unyielding, the paper was now a fragile sliver, smaller than his pinky nail. The edges were blackened and frayed, as though about to crumble into ash.
It mocked him as it moved slowly, pointing in the direction of Katakuri, this tiny fragment, holding the last connection to their strongest sibling. Katakuri was alive—barely. And yet, every moment the Vivre Card grew smaller, it felt as though the last thread tying their family together was about to snap.
Smoothie paced behind him, her tall frame casting long shadows in the fading sunlight. Her calm demeanor had cracked under the weight of their situation.
"We have to find him, Perospero." Her voice trembled with suppressed urgency, her hands clenched at her sides. "Katakuri is out there. He's alive. If we lose him..." She didn't finish the thought. She didn't need to.
Cracker leaned against a nearby rock, his chest bandaged haphazardly from the gaping wound he had sustained during the mutiny. The pain etched into his face was not just from his injuries; it was the pain of helplessness. His armor was shattered, both literally and figuratively. His eyes burned with frustration as he looked at Perospero.
"Brother, say something!" Cracker snapped, his voice uncharacteristically raw. "We need a plan. Anything. I don't care if it's reckless or insane—just tell us what to do!"
His words drew the attention of the younger siblings, who turned their frightened eyes toward Perospero. They didn't speak, but their expressions screamed louder than words. Save us. Protect us. Lead us.
Perospero exhaled slowly, still fixated on the Vivre Card. His mind churned, trapped between despair and responsibility. How could he lead them when even the strongest among them—Katakuri—was barely clinging to life? They were cornered prey, hunted by enemies on all sides.
The younger siblings watched him with pleading eyes, their once-confident faces now pale and gaunt. Even Amande, who had always delighted in her sadistic games, clung to Smoothie's side like a frightened child. Mondée and Raisin whispered worriedly among themselves. Behind them, the scarred and exhausted remnants of Linlin's youngest children—children too young to fight—huddled in a pitiful group.
Finally, Perospero spoke, his voice hoarse but resolute. "I don't have all the answers." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the gathered siblings. "But I do know this—we can't stay here. This island won't hide us forever. Sooner or later, the vultures will come."
Smoothie stepped forward, her eyes locked onto his. "Then what? Where do we go?"
Perospero clenched his jaw, glancing back at the fragile scrap of the Vivre Card. "We find Katakuri. He's our best chance—our only chance. If we're going to survive, we need him."
Cracker pushed off the rock, his pain momentarily forgotten. "And what happens if we don't find him? What happens if he's already..." He couldn't finish the sentence, the words catching in his throat.
Perospero stood, his towering frame casting a long shadow over the beach. His usual mocking grin was gone, replaced by grim determination. "Then we avenge him. Or die trying, even if that's the last thing we do." He turned to the gathered siblings, his voice hardening. "We are the children of Charlotte Linlin. The world will come for us. But we will not go quietly."
His words hung in the air, a spark of defiance igniting within the battered group, but he failed to notice the Vivre card make an abrupt movement on his palm. Smoothie nodded, her hand gripping the hilt of her sword. Cracker let out a strained chuckle, flexing his fingers despite his injuries.
But as the siblings prepared to leave the island, a faint rustling in the trees made everyone freeze. The atmosphere shifted, the tension suffocating.
From the shadows, the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoed—a harbinger of more trouble to come.
The family tensed, weapons drawn, their battered forms ready for yet another fight.
"So, this is where you've all gathered. Cozy little island you've found here—at least you had the sense to pick one with freshwater."
The gentle crackle of the fire contrasted sharply with the stunned silence that had fallen over the Charlotte siblings. The stranger's boots crunched against the sand with an unhurried confidence, her metallic arm glinting in the dim firelight as she strode casually toward the center of their makeshift camp. Draped over her shoulder, like nothing more than a bundle of laundry, was a figure, unconscious and battered but unmistakably alive.
Scarlett D. Lachlann—a name that carried the weight of legend. She was a relic of the old era, a time when pirates like Roger and Whitebeard were nothing more than emerging rookies. Yet, standing before them now, she looked untouched by the decades. Her sharp features carried a sense of youth, but her aura spoke of something ancient and unyielding.
The Charlotte siblings unconsciously took a step back as Scarlett neared, her calm presence more terrifying than the open hostility of any foe they had ever faced. With no ceremony or care, she dropped Katakuri onto the sand like a discarded rug, unrolling him for all to see.
"Brother Katakuri!" the siblings cried out, rushing toward him. But before they could reach him, a suffocating pressure slammed into the air around them. It was as though an invisible weight had settled on their shoulders, forcing many to their knees.
Perospero's heart sank as he saw most of his siblings collapse outright, rendered unconscious without Scarlett so much as lifting a finger. This was no ordinary intimidation—this was Conqueror's Haki, the kind that separated mere mortals from the monsters who ruled the seas.
But this wasn't just any Conqueror's Haki. No, this was the kind that could crush wills with casual ease, the kind that even someone like Big Mom hadn't been able to wield with such finesse.
Sweat dripped down Perospero's temple as he struggled to steady himself. He recognized her now, her image and recent resurgence flashing through his mind like a nightmare revisited. Scarlett D. Lachlann. A name feared even by legends.
A pirate who had once crossed blades with Rocks D. Xebec and lived to tell the tale, a man long forgotten by the world but for those who still remembered him, believed him to be the devil's incarnate. Her exploits were so outrageous that they were whispered like ghost stories among pirates. She had been presumed dead—or perhaps everyone had simply hoped she was gone.
Why is she here? Perospero's mind raced. Was she here for vengeance? A grudge against Linlin? If so, then their fates were sealed. There was no surviving this. Not against her.
Scarlett's metallic arm moved as she grabbed a slab of sizzling sea king meat from the fire, tearing into it with sharp teeth. She didn't so much as glance at the siblings who remained conscious, her demeanor exuding utter disinterest. To her, it seemed, they weren't worth her attention.
Smoothie and Amade carefully approached Katakuri, their hands trembling as they checked his pulse. Amade gasped, her face lighting up. "Perospero! He's alive! Brother Katakuri is alive!"
Before Perospero could react, Scarlett's voice cut through the air like a blade, low and dangerous. "If I wanted you all dead, do you think I would've gone through the trouble of keeping your brother alive?"
Her tone wasn't harsh—it was dismissive, as though their fear was more amusing than threatening. Yet her words carried the weight of absolute certainty, silencing the siblings in an instant.
Perospero tried to maintain his composure as he stepped forward, his candy cane staff gripped tightly in his trembling hands. "Scarlett D. Lachlann," he began, his voice faltering despite his best efforts. "Why are you here? Did Mama wrong you somehow? If so..." He swallowed hard, his usual bravado crumbling under her gaze. "If so, then just take me. Spare the others."
Scarlett chuckled, the sound both lighthearted and utterly chilling. She leaned back, tearing another chunk from the roasted meat. "Wrong me? No. Your mother and I never crossed paths—lucky for her. I've no interest in picking over the corpse of Charlotte Linlin's legacy. But it seems fate had other plans for me."
She gestured lazily to Katakuri with her metallic arm, her eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "Your brother here? He's got potential. More than any of you. So I decided to pull him out of the fire." She paused, smirking as she added, "Quite literally, as it turns out."
Cracker, despite his injuries, staggered to his feet, his sword trembling in his hands. His rage burned brighter than his fear, and he leveled the blade at Scarlett. "If you think we're going to just let you toy with us—"
"Sit down, boy." Scarlett didn't raise her voice, but the sheer pressure behind her words sent Cracker to his knees. He gasped, his sword falling to the sand as his vision blurred.
Smoothie shot Perospero a worried glance, but Perospero shook his head. "Don't." His voice was barely a whisper. He knew there was no fighting this monster. Not now. Not ever.
Scarlett stood, brushing sand from her coat as she tossed the remains of her meal into the fire. "Listen up, kids," she said, her voice taking on a sharp edge. "You've got enemies coming for your heads. If you want to survive, you'll need more than tears and family sentiment. You'll need power. And that's something you're sorely lacking."
Her gaze swept over them, lingering on Katakuri's unconscious form. "But I'm not your savior. I won't hold your hands. Whether you rise or fall from here depends on you."
"What... what do you mean?" Perospero managed to choke out, his voice shaking as Scarlett rummaged through a few scattered bags near the fire. She moved with an air of utter nonchalance, her metallic arm gleaming in the firelight as she finally pulled out a water pouch and took a long drink, utterly unbothered by the tension that had frozen the remaining Charlotte siblings in place.
"I mean exactly what I said," Scarlett replied, her tone calm but sharp, like the edge of a honed blade. "I'm here to reclaim what's rightfully mine. What I couldn't achieve the last time…" Her voice trailed off, an unspoken threat lingering in the air. Her eyes, cold and calculating, swept over the gathered siblings like a predator sizing up prey.
"For that, I need a crew. I only needed your brother, whose talent speaks for itself. But…" She paused, tapping her chin mockingly as her gaze lingered on Katakuri's unconscious form. "I'm sure he wouldn't leave you all behind. He's too noble for that, isn't he? After all, he was willing to risk his life for someone like Linlin—just because she was family."
Her tone turned sharper, her eyes glinting as if daring anyone to contradict her. "So, I thought: why not take the lot of you under my wing? It's better than starting from scratch. And…" Scarlett's lips curved into a smirk as her piercing gaze landed on Smoothie and Cracker, lingering for a moment.
"I'll admit, Linlin did leave behind a few promising seedlings." Her voice dripped with disdain as she gestured vaguely toward the rest of the siblings. "Most of you are dead weight, but these two… maybe worth the trouble. Your brother, though—" Her sharp eyes returned to Katakuri.
"He's the only one with the kind of potential I'm looking for."
Perospero swallowed hard, his mind racing. The unrelenting weight of Scarlett's presence made it hard to think, but he managed to force out another question. "How... how did you find us?"
Scarlett chuckled, a low, mocking sound that sent chills through the gathered siblings. Without a word, she reached into her cloak and pulled out a small, scorched fragment of paper. Holding it up to the firelight, Perospero's breath hitched. He recognized the faint aura radiating from it—it was his.
"A Vivre Card…" Perospero whispered, realization dawning on him. This was the very card he'd left with Katakuri, an emergency measure so they could find each other if separated. Now, it had become their undoing.
"Smart idea, really," Scarlett said casually, tucking the Vivre Card back into her cloak. "But it doesn't matter how clever you think you are when you're up against me. Tracking you was child's play. And now, here I am." She took another long drink from the water pouch, her composure infuriatingly calm as if she wasn't addressing the remnants of a Yonko's family but rather scolding a group of unruly children.
Perospero's fists clenched, but he didn't dare act. Smoothie and Cracker exchanged uneasy glances, their instinct for self-preservation battling their pride. Scarlett finally set the water pouch down and looked directly at Perospero.
"Now, I suggest you stop wasting time asking pointless questions and start thinking about your future. You can fight me and die here like the mutts you are… or follow me and carve out a new legacy under my banner. The choice is yours."
Her words hung in the air like a stormcloud, heavy with the promise of ruin. In the silence, the only sound was the crackle of the fire and the faint groans of the unconscious siblings scattered on the sand. Perospero met Scarlett's gaze, his heart pounding as he realized the weight of the decision before him.
The future of the Charlotte family was teetering on the edge of a blade, and Scarlett Lachlann held the hilt.
"You became a Shichibukai… so why?" Perospero blurted out, the question tumbling from his lips before he could stop himself. The moment he asked, a chill ran down his spine. The question wasn't just curiosity—it was fear.
His mind raced, piecing together the implications. Someone like Scarlett Lachlann, a legend etched in blood and steel, bending her knee to the World Government? It didn't make sense. No… it had to be something else. A scheme far beyond his understanding.
The tension in the air was suffocating, the Charlotte siblings frozen in place as Scarlett's metallic hand paused mid-motion, the faint squeak of its joints the only sound. Then, unexpectedly, she laughed.
It wasn't a polite chuckle or a dismissive scoff. Scarlett Lachlann threw her head back and laughed, a sound so wild and thunderous that it sent a murder of crows scattering from the nearby trees.
The sound reverberated across the beach, echoing against the cliffs and over the water. It was the kind of laughter that made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end, a laughter that felt wrong—like a storm on the horizon promising destruction.
Her laughter wasn't joy. It wasn't humor. It was something darker—unhinged and primal.
The siblings shrank back, their instincts screaming at them to flee. Perospero clutched his cane tightly, his fingers trembling as Scarlett wiped a tear from her eye, her laughter subsiding into an amused sigh.
She turned her attention back to him, her expression shifting to one of dangerous mirth, her lips curling into a smirk. The dying sunlight painted her face in fiery hues, making her look less like a woman and more like a demon brought to life.
"You think I served the World Government?" she said, her voice sharp, mocking. "You think someone like me—the Bloodsteel Lachlann, who turned entire seas red with the blood of my enemies—was content to be their lapdog?" She tilted her head slightly, her eyes glinting with a malice that seemed to pierce through Perospero's very soul. "That's the funniest thing I've heard in years."
The siblings flinched as she took a step forward, her boots crunching on the sand. She gestured to herself with her metallic hand, the sun's rays glinting off the crimson streaks etched into its surface like ancient battle scars.
"I am the Will of D."
*****
Lodestar, New World
The island was unrecognizable—a desolate place where time seemed frozen, now carved into a brutal masterpiece of craters, split mountains, and scorched earth. For an entire week, the clash of steel had roared across the barren land as two titans of swordsmanship faced off. Each stroke of their blades carried lifetimes of mastery, testing not only their skill but the very essence of their spirits.
Dracule Mihawk stood amidst the ruins, his breath labored, blood seeping from dozens of deep wounds crisscrossing his body. Yet his golden eyes burned like twin beacons, unyielding, as his sword, Yoru, rested against the ground.
Across from him, the old man knelt on shaking knees. His once-pristine robes were tattered, bloodstained, and clinging to his weathered frame. His hand trembled as his katana slipped from his grasp, embedding itself weakly into the earth.
Both men bore hundreds of wounds, yet not a single mark marred their backs. Neither had taken a step in retreat.
The old man's voice was hoarse but steady, his pride unbroken even in defeat. "Cough… cough… End it, young man. Don't let my soul linger. I acknowledge you… as someone who has surpassed me. If I had met someone like you a decade—no, two decades ago… perhaps I could have taken that final step." He chuckled weakly, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
"You've claimed the title I've carried my entire life. You are now the strongest swordsman in the world."
He looked at Mihawk with admiration, his tone filled with bittersweet acceptance. "You achieved what I could only grasp in my forties… in your twenties. I am certain you'll climb to even greater heights, far beyond what I ever dreamed."
Mihawk remained silent, his gaze sharp and contemplative as he studied the fallen legend before him. His hand brushed Yoru's hilt as if to draw it, but then, for the first time in what felt like eternity, Mihawk spoke.
"I am not the strongest yet."
The old man's eyes widened at the statement. Shock coursed through him, and disbelief clouded his face. How could this man, who had defeated him in an unrelenting battle that defied mortality, claim he was not the strongest?
"There is someone younger than me," Mihawk continued, his voice calm but resolute, "someone I have yet to best. Until I defeat him, any title—even this victory—is ash to me."
The old man wanted to protest, to dismiss the notion, but the conviction in Mihawk's tone stilled him. He coughed again, forcing a wry smile.
"You don't need to offer me platitudes, young man. I've lived long enough to accept defeat. Just grant me one final honor—use my blade to end my life." He gestured weakly toward his katana, its blackened steel shimmering faintly in the dying light.
"Its name is Kokuhana—the Plum Blossom Blade. It's carried me to the heights of swordsmanship. Let it carry me to my end."
Mihawk's gaze flickered to the sword, then back to the man. Slowly, he stepped forward and bent down, his fingers curling around the hilt of Kokuhana. The old man closed his eyes, his face serene, waiting for the final blow.
But it never came.
Instead, Mihawk drove the blade deep into the earth, the sound of steel sinking into stone reverberating through the air. The old man's eyes snapped open, his breath catching as he stared at Mihawk in disbelief.
"Do you truly believe age is what held you back?" Mihawk's voice cut through the air like a blade, sharper and more commanding than any strike he had delivered in their duel.
"We, as swordsmen, swing our blades even against death itself. That is the essence of our craft. As long as your will remains unbroken, nothing else matters. Lose a hand? Train with the other. Lose them both? Wield your blade with your legs. Lose them too? Grip it with your teeth. And if you lose everything? Become the blade itself. But the moment you abandon your will… the moment you resign yourself to fate… you cease to be a swordsman."
Mihawk's words hung in the air, their weight pressing down on the old man as tears welled in his eyes.
"I go now to the sea," Mihawk declared, his tone final. "There is one man I must defeat to surpass my limits, and until I do, my journey as a swordsman is far from over. But know this—if you have the spirit of a true swordsman, you will rise again. And when you are ready, when you can challenge me once more with no doubts in your heart, seek me out. I will wait, even if it takes a century. I will meet you in my prime form, blade to blade, without hesitation."
Mihawk turned, his bare back glistening with sand as he sheathed Yoru across his back. The old man wept silently, not out of sorrow, but because he finally understood what he had lacked all along.
As Mihawk disappeared into the horizon, the sun dipped below the sea, casting the island in shadow. The old man clenched his trembling fists, feeling a flicker of something he thought he had lost: resolve.
For the first time in decades, his spirit burned anew.