In the waters surrounding Punk Hazard Island, aboard one of the G-5 Branch's Marine warships—
Spandam paced restlessly back and forth inside the gently swaying cabin, his leather-strapped face twisted in impatience.
"It's already been eight days! And they still haven't decided a winner?"
He had recently been reassigned as an aide to Fleet Admiral Sakazuki, the "Red Dog." Despite having achieved little of real merit, his promotions had come astonishingly fast.
After presenting what he believed was a "perfect solution" to Sakazuki, Spandam had been stationed aboard a G-5 warship—ordered to wait offshore until the events on Punk Hazard concluded.
But things were taking far longer than expected. The battle between "Red Dog" and "Blue Pheasant" had now stretched into its eighth day, and Spandam's patience was at its limit.
"What the hell is that 'Red Dog' doing? Why hasn't he finished off 'Aokiji' yet? Can it really be that hard?"
He had hoped to swoop in and reap the fruits of victory—but never imagined he'd be waiting this long.
Slumping onto the sofa with a loud creak, he let his arms hang limp, the very picture of dejection.
Sitting a few seats away was Nero—the former CP9 rookie who had followed Spandam since the Water 7 incident. Rodent-faced, he was casually eating a dripping, juicy apple.
"Sir, maybe just wait a little longer," Nero said, gnawing away until only the apple core remained. He tossed it into the bin with a clatter.
"It's normal for two Admirals to fight this long, isn't it? Wasn't it said that Roger and Whitebeard once fought for three days and three nights without a victor?"
"But it's been eight days already!" Spandam snapped, glaring at him.
"That's exactly what worries me! After such a long battle, anything could happen… What if Red Dog loses?"
He had never expected the fight to drag on this way. In his mind, Sakazuki was stronger than Aokiji—surely victory was guaranteed.
After all, during the "Paramount War," Akainu had fallen only to Whitebeard, whereas Aokiji had been defeated by the newly risen pirate "Davy Jones, the Demon Sea King."
Judging by their opponents alone, the difference should have been obvious.
But now, no one knew what was truly happening on the island. All Marine personnel, including the G-5 branch, had been strictly ordered to stay offshore—lest they be caught in the destructive range of the Admirals' powers.
Still, just the thought that "Red Dog" might lose made Spandam's stomach twist with anxiety.
If Sakazuki lost the title of Fleet Admiral, his family's investments in the new regime would evaporate overnight. Worse, they'd have offended the next Fleet Admiral—Aokiji—and risk being completely cast aside.
Just then, the cabin door creaked open.
A tall man entered, close-cropped hair and a short beard, wearing sunglasses. With his hands clasped behind his back, he walked over and sat beside the sofa.
"Vice Admiral Vergo," Nero said, poking his own cheek to gesture, "you've got a French fry stuck on your face."
Vergo fell silent for a moment before replying coolly,
"I know. That was intentional."
He reached up, plucked the fry off his cheek, popped it into his mouth, chewed twice, and swallowed.
"Vergo, can't we at least go ashore to take a look?" Spandam complained. "Maybe they've already decided a winner?"
"No." Vergo's tone was firm. "Those are direct orders from both Admirals—and from the World Government and Marine Headquarters. We are not to interfere in any way."
"When a victor emerges, they'll report the result themselves. Our duty is to maintain order around the island. Nothing more."
"But what if they keep fighting for half a month? A whole month?" Spandam pressed, exasperated. "Are we supposed to just sit here the whole time?"
"It shouldn't take that long," Vergo replied, crossing one leg over the other, his face grave. "I believe we'll have a winner soon enough."
Spandam shook his head—he thought Vergo was being far too optimistic. He was beginning to regret coming to watch the "spectacle." He might as well have stayed on Sabaody Archipelago and waited in comfort for the news.
At that moment, hurried footsteps echoed across the deck above.
A Marine soldier burst into the cabin, snapped to attention, and saluted sharply—but his face was pale with panic.
"What's got you in such a panic?" Vergo asked. "Report."
"Vice Admiral Vergo, sir—we've spotted a pirate ship! It's approaching fast—straight toward our warships!"
"A pirate ship?" Spandam yelped, leaping up from the sofa. "There are pirates around here?!"
He had always avoided entering the New World whenever possible—since most pirates here were not nameless rookies, but notorious monsters far beyond the weaklings of "Paradise."
Vergo, by contrast, remained composed. He assumed it was probably some overconfident rookie crew crossing into the New World for the first time.
"Which pirate crew?" he asked. "Can you make out their flag?"
"Y-Yes, sir," the soldier stammered, eyes wide with fear that even Vergo's presence couldn't suppress. "It's… it's the Davy Jones Pirates!"
Vergo's expression hardened.
"What?!" Spandam shrieked. "Them?!"
He knew that name all too well.
Though he hadn't fought them directly at Water 7, his entire CP9 unit had been annihilated by Davy Jones and his crew—that was an undeniable fact.
And during the Paramount War, Spandam had once again hidden safely behind the lines—but even he had heard the terrifying accounts of how the Davy Jones Pirates had carved their way through Marineford in a tide of blood.
Even setting aside the casualties from the main war between the Marines and Whitebeard's forces—the number slain specifically by Davy Jones's crew was staggering.
Fleet Admiral Sengoku had suppressed the details, so the public never grasped the true horror.
But within Marine circles—passed through whispers and survivor testimonies—the stories chilled even the bravest to the bone.
Many Marines feared "Davy Jones" the same way they feared the Four Emperors.
Now his ship had suddenly appeared—and was charging straight for them.
No wonder Spandam and the soldiers were terrified.
"Vergo, do something!" Spandam shrieked, clutching the Vice Admiral's sleeve. "Those maniacs will kill us all!"
"Calm yourself," Vergo said curtly, shaking him off and standing. "Alert all other ships—commence bombardment while retreating toward Punk Hazard. Then prepare to land immediately."
"Y-Yes, sir!" The soldier saluted and ran out.
"Wait!" Spandam blurted. "Didn't you say we couldn't go ashore?"
"In times like this," Vergo replied as he strode for the door, "we adapt."
Spandam and Nero exchanged a nervous glance before hurrying after him.
"All intelligence reports say the same thing—engaging Davy Jones at sea is suicidal. Our only chance is on land."
No sooner had they stepped onto the deck than the thunder of cannonfire erupted across the horizon—followed by enormous pillars of seawater exploding skyward.
But even the barrage couldn't halt the approach of that monstrous black ship.
Its prow opened slightly, revealing serrated "teeth" that made it look like a living beast of the deep—mocking the Marines' futile resistance.
Vergo and Spandam's warship fired back, but the terrifying, agile vessel effortlessly dodged every shell.
Then—
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Thick smoke rose from the Terror Ghost's deck as it retaliated—dozens of cannonballs streaking toward the Marine fleet.
Some ships evaded the blasts. Others weren't so lucky—hulls shattered, smoke and flames billowing skyward.
A few managed to push on toward Punk Hazard's coast.
Through the black haze, the Terror Ghost surged forward—its massive "jaws" opening wide.
With a deafening crash, it bit down on a half-crippled warship, dragging it beneath the waves like an ancient sea dragon. A towering tsunami rose in its wake.
For a moment, the ocean fell silent. Then the wreckage of the Marine ship floated to the surface—broken and burning.
A moment later, the black ship burst up from below, jaws clamping onto another warship—flipping it and forcing it beneath the sea as easily as the first.
The G-5 Marines watching this were struck dumb with horror.
"So that's why…" Vergo murmured heavily, his breathing tight. "No wonder they're called a crew of monsters."
"Is this really the time to be impressed?!" Spandam shrieked, nearly hysterical. He looked ready to jump overboard—but feared the sea even more. "Just get us to land already!"
"We're doing exactly that," Vergo said evenly. "Don't worry—you're not dying today."
Spandam turned and saw that the warship was indeed nearing Punk Hazard's shoreline. Relief and hope flickered across his face.
Vergo, however, frowned slightly.
He glanced from the distant Terror Ghost to the island itself, muttering under his breath—
"More and more people keep showing up…"
"Huh?" Spandam blinked. "What was that?"
"Prepare to disembark," Vergo said, masking his thoughts. "We'll regroup with Smoker's unit—then head to find the Admirals."
"Ah—right, right!" Spandam grinned suddenly, emboldened. "I almost forgot—'Red Dog' and 'Blue Pheasant' are both here! Let's see how Davy Jones dies today!"
After tearing apart yet another warship, the Terror Ghost finally met no further resistance.
It sailed leisurely toward shore, its boarding ramp extending onto the icy soil of Punk Hazard.
"That's odd…" Buggy muttered as he stepped onto the island, wrapping his cloak tightly around himself. He shivered. "Since when is it this cold here?"
He looked up—no snow was falling, yet the entire landscape before him was blanketed in white. A frozen wasteland stretched as far as the eye could see.
Davy Jones, however, already understood why.
Though he masked his own presence perfectly, the two ferocious beasts locked in battle upon this island had made no such effort.
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