The ash bridge glowed beneath their feet, casting a soft, crystalline light that illuminated the cavern ahead. The walls shimmered with veins of something dark and reflective, and the air grew colder with each step, carrying the scent of ancient stone and forgotten machinery. The bridge curved gently, arcing toward a massive opening where the light shifted from white to something else—something that pulsed with color, like the inside of a prism.
Charlie Leonard Wooley walked at the front of the group, his head lamp still burning, the beam cutting through the dimness in a narrow cone. His pith helmet was tilted slightly, and his round wire-framed glasses reflected of the bridge, flashing with each turn of his head. He gestured with his hands as he spoke, his voice carrying the particular cadence of a lecturer who had found an audience that could not escape.
"And so, by applying the Zazas formula—which, as I mentioned, is the traditional invocation used to bridge the abyss between the Self and the Shadow—I was able to deduce that the chant required not just the words, but the intent behind them. You see, the language operates on multiple levels simultaneously. The phonetic utterance carries one meaning, but the tonal resonance carries another, and the spiritual alignment of the speaker carries yet a third. It is a tripartite system, remarkably sophisticated for its age, and it required me to—"
Galit Varuna made an audible sigh.
The sound came from deep in his chest, a release of air that carried the weight of thirty minutes of uninterrupted lecture. His long neck was held in that loose S-curve, but his emerald-green eyes had glazed over somewhere around the second explanation of the Hieroglyphica. His tactical slate was tucked under his arm, unused. His stylus was still behind his ear.
Bianca Yvonne Clark glanced at him, her dark eyes bright with amusement. Her waist-length black hair had escaped its messy bun entirely now, and a pencil had materialized behind each ear. Her grease-stained overalls were dusted with ash, and her floral blouse peeked through the open front.
"Like, yeah. Like now you like get it."
Charlie paused, mid-gesture, and looked back at them. His expression was wounded, confused.
"Get what?"
Jannali Bandler walked ahead of them, her steps unerring, her brown eyes glassy and unfocused. Her headscarf was wrapped tight around her afro, and her large golden hoop earrings swung with each step. Her lips moved in that constant, low mutter, the words spilling from her mouth like water over stones.
"Volvelle de Iad: Zirdo l neterb de 4-2-6. Ar pamo de gravity."
Bianca flicked her wrist, ignoring Charlie's question entirely. She gestured toward Jannali with her chin.
"So, like, I think Jannali is like saying something like different now." She looked at Galit, her brow furrowed. "Like, what do you like think?"
Galit tilted his head, his long neck bending at an angle that would have been impossible for a normal human. His emerald eyes tracked Jannali's form, watching the way her shoulders moved, the way her feet found the bridge without hesitation.
"She is saying something different now."
Charlie paused to take a breath—a rare occurrence, as he seemed capable of lecturing indefinitely without oxygen. He noticed that both Galit and Bianca had shifted their focus away from him, their attention fixed on Jannali's chanting form.
He cleared his throat. Ahem!
"You appear to have a question."
Galit glanced back at Charlie, then at Bianca. His expression was caught somewhere between resignation and regret.
"I am afraid to ask."
Bianca smirked, her dark eyes sparkling. "Like, it's cool now. This is like totally safe."
Charlie rushed up, his satchel swinging, his pith helmet bouncing, eager to rejoin the conversation. His boots left fresh prints in the crystallized ash as he matched step with Galit.
Galit's voice was flat. "Jannali appears to be chanting something different."
Charlie nodded, his round glasses flashing. He tilted his head, listening to the low murmur of Jannali's voice as it echoed off the stone walls.
"Volvelle de Iad: Zirdo l neterb de 4-2-6. Ar pamo de gravity."
"You are correct."
Bianca flicked her wrist again, the gesture impatient. "So, like, what is she like saying?"
Charlie cleared his throat. Ahem!
"'The Dial of God: I am the master of the 4-2-6. Here the weight of the soul governs the earth.'"
Bianca blinked at him. Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"So, like, what does that like even mean?"
---
Jannali stopped.
Her feet halted on the bridge, and her muttering ceased. She stood motionless, her head tilted, her ear turned toward the darkness ahead as if listening for something only she could hear.
Bianca stopped behind her. Galit stopped beside Bianca. Charlie stopped behind Galit, his pith helmet bumping into the taller man's shoulder.
Bianca looked around, her dark eyes scanning the open space ahead. The bridge ended. The cavern opened into something else—a vast, vertical shaft that rose into darkness and dropped into shadow. Seven massive rings of stone were suspended in the air, their surfaces carved with symbols that glowed with a faint, colored light. The rings spun at different speeds, some fast, some slow, creating a chaotic, grinding vortex that filled the air with a low, resonant hum.
Bianca took a step forward.
"DON'T MOVE!"
Galit's voice cracked through the cavern like a whip. Bianca froze, her foot hovering in the air, her dark eyes wide. She looked down.
The bridge ended. Beyond the threshold, there was nothing but empty space—and the spinning rings.
She cursed.
Charlie looked around, his head lamp sweeping across the cavern. He turned to Galit, his expression impressed.
"How observant of you."
Galit's jaw tightened. His emerald eyes fixed on Charlie.
"Be still. And stay next to Jannali."
Charlie nodded, his pith helmet bobbing.
The air shifted.
Five silhouettes emerged from the passage behind them, their forms backlit by the fading glow of the ash bridge. They moved with the purpose of soldiers, their footsteps silent, their eyes scanning the chamber.
General Zahi Rukun stepped into the light first, his massive frame casting a shadow that stretched across the stone. His flowing silk tunic of deep jade green was immaculate, and his clouded left eye shimmered with that faint green luminescence. Toshito hung at his hip, the kilij dark and patient.
Captain Ataboy Shitomi Kusaba followed, his stocky frame compact and sturdy, his dark blue feather boa wrapped loosely around his neck. His warm brown eyes swept the chamber, missing nothing.
Lieutenant Tori Miniku moved behind him, her multicolored hair shifting through shades of deep brown and amber, her large almond-shaped eyes glowing faintly amber-gold.
Lieutenant Mani Lucheres brought up the rear, his short, impossibly dense frame planted in that wide stance, his dark brown eyes fixed on the spinning rings.
Lieutenant Cleo Grahisto stepped forward, her bronze eyes wide, her ink-stained fingers pressed against her lips. Her wide-brimmed olive-green fedora was tilted back, and her field satchel hung from her shoulder.
Cleo moved toward them, her feet carrying her across the threshold.
Before Galit could call out a warning—before he could shout a question or demand an answer—they rushed forward.
The rings spun faster.
The world tilted.
---
Gravity grabbed Galit and yanked him downward.
His body slammed against the surface of a massive stone ring, the impact driving the air from his lungs. The ring was spinning—spinning fast—and he clung to its surface, his fingers scraping against the carved symbols, his long neck whipping as the centrifugal force tried to throw him into the void.
Beside him, Bianca screamed.
She was not pressed against a ring. She was floating—her body weightless, her hair drifting around her face, her arms pinwheeling as she tried to find purchase in the empty air. She grabbed a protruding edge of stone and held on, her knuckles white, her boots kicking at nothing.
Charlie and Jannali stood in the center of the chamber, untouched. The rings spun around them, but they were still, their feet planted on solid ground that did not move.
General Zahi Rukun gripped the edge of a ring with one hand, his massive frame dangling over the abyss. His clouded eye blazed with green light, and his jaw was set in a hard line. His voice cut through the chaos.
"Lieutenant! What is—"
Cleo Grahisto clung to the same ring, her body pressed against the stone, her wide-brimmed hat gone, her dark hair escaping its bun. Her bronze eyes were wide, but her voice was steady.
"Sir, it is the Volvelle of the Seven Governors!"
The rings continued to spin. A ring near the top rotated slowly, but the gravity on its surface was crushing—ten times Earth's gravity, heavy enough to press a body into the stone. Another ring spun faster, but its surface was weightless, throwing anyone who touched it into the air.
Ataboy called out, his voice strained as he clung to a ring that tried to fling him away.
"How do we get off this thing?"
Cleo's voice carried across the chamber. "We have to jump in a certain sequence!"
Mani's voice came from somewhere to the left, low and strained. "What the hell is the sequence?"
Cleo's bronze eyes scanned the rings, the symbols, the glowing colors. "If the texts are correct, then it is 4-2-6!"
Tori's voice rose from above, high and sharp. "What the hell does that even mean?"
Charlie stood in the center of the chamber, his head lamp still burning, his pith helmet still in place. He watched the chaos unfold around him—the spinning rings, the struggling figures, the desperate clinging to stone.
He called out, his voice carrying across the void.
"4-2-6 is the path! Shi-ni-mu, the Master Key! Everyone must get to the fourth ring! Then, as a group, everyone must jump to the second ring, then to the sixth ring!"
Ataboy's voice cracked. "Are you serious?"
Charlie nodded, his pith helmet bobbing. "Quite. The young lady's recommendation is sound."
Galit strained against the gravity of his ring, his body pressed flat against the stone. "How can you be sure?"
Bianca yelled back from her weightless perch, her voice high and annoyed. "Are you like serious like right now? Like, just like do it! It's not like he is like ever like wrong about this stuff!"
General Zahi Rukun's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding.
"You heard her! Everyone to the fourth ring! NOW!"
---
The struggle was chaos.
Mani pushed against the crushing gravity of his ring, his short, powerful legs straining, his muscles bulging. He crawled across the stone, each inch a battle, until he reached the edge and launched himself toward the fourth ring.
Tori's wings erupted from her arms—rainbow-hued, shimmering—and the entire chamber wobbled. The rings stuttered, their spin faltering, and Galit called out in alarm.
"It does not appear that Devil Fruit powers will be of use!"
Zahi's voice was sharp. "Put your power away!"
Tori's wings retracted, and the rings steadied.
Ataboy scrambled across his ring, his claws extended, his crest gleaming. He leaped, his body twisting in the air, and landed hard on the fourth ring.
One by one, they made it.
Galit pushed off from his ring, his long body sailing through the void, and landed in a roll. Bianca released her grip and floated toward the fourth ring, her arms pinwheeling, and Mani reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her to safety.
Zahi landed last, his massive frame shaking the stone, and stood.
The spinning stopped.
The rings held still, frozen in place, their colored lights pulsing slowly.
Everyone stood on the fourth ring—or what they thought was the fourth ring. The space was crowded, bodies pressed close, breath coming in ragged gasps.
Galit raised a brow, his emerald eyes fixed on the newcomers. His long neck was coiled, ready to strike.
"And who are—"
Bianca cut him off, her voice sharp. "Like, not now. We can like figure that out like after we are like off the like deadly spinning floor."
Ataboy turned to face the group, his warm brown eyes scanning the other ring. "Okay. So now we have to move to ring two."
Bianca nodded. "Like, cool. But like that could be like it like kinda like far."
Charlie chimes in, his voice carrying his usual academic certainty. "It would most likely be best to do it in unison to avoid the spinning."
Tori's arms shifted, feathers sprouting from her skin, her feet becoming talons—
The rings wobbled.
Galit called out, his voice urgent. "Like I said, It does not appear that Devil Fruit powers will be of use!"
Zahi's voice was flat. "Keep your power sowed for now."
Tori's arms returned to human form. The rings steadied.
Mani crossed his arms over his chest, his dark brown eyes fixed on the gap between the rings.
"We should just go for it. We aren't getting anywhere like this."
Zahi nodded. "On three, then."
He counted.
"One."
The group tensed.
"Two."
Bodies coiled, ready to spring.
"Three!"
They jumped.
Bianca pinwheeled her arms, her body twisting in the air, and landed hard on the second ring—stumbled—caught herself—stayed upright. Mani landed and rolled, his compact frame absorbing the impact, and stopped just short of the edge. Ataboy landed in a crouch, his claws scraping against the stone. Tori landed with a dancer's grace, her feet silent. Galit landed and straightened, his long neck swaying. Cleo landed and immediately turned to check on the others.
Zahi landed last, his massive frame shaking the ring, and straightened.
He nodded, his clouded eye scanning the group.
"Everyone accounted for. One more to go."
Cleo called out, her bronze eyes fixed on the next ring. "We have to get from ring two to ring six."
Galit looked across the gap. The distance was vast—farther than any of them had jumped. His jaw tightened.
"I do not know that we will clear that amount of space."
The group considered the problem in silence. The rings glowed around them, their colored lights pulsing slowly. The hum of the chamber filled the air, low and resonant.
Tori spoke, her voice soft. "What if I used my spear and we—"
Mani cut her off. "It isn't long enough."
Cleo's head swiveled, her bronze eyes scanning the walls, the rings, the floor. She noticed the rainbow colors on the wall—seven bands of light, each corresponding to one of the seven rings. They formed an arc, a curve, a path.
She pointed.
"Maybe we do not have to jump."
Charlie followed her finger, his round glasses magnifying his eyes. His face lit up.
"Ah! Of course! That should work!"
Bianca threw her hands in the air. "Like, what should like work?"
Cleo began to walk along the ring, her boots silent on the stone, her bronze eyes fixed on the rainbow pattern on the wall.
"If we all move to a single location on this ring, we can hold hands to create a bridge to the sixth ring."
Galit's voice was incredulous. "A bridge?"
Cleo stopped when she saw a specific marking in the floor—a symbol that matched the pattern on the wall. She turned to face the group, her expression calm.
"Yes. We must move forward without fear and trust each other in order to overcome the obstacle."
Zahi nodded. His clouded eye shimmered.
"Okay. Let us get moving."
---
The group moved to the spot where Cleo stood. They arranged themselves in a line—Mani at the front, his hand extended; Bianca took his hand, her fingers trembling; Ataboy took hers; Tori took his; Galit took hers; Cleo took his; Zahi took hers.
The line stretched across the gap, a chain of hands reaching from the second ring toward the sixth.
Bianca stood at the furthest point, her arm extended, her fingers stretching toward empty space.
"So, like, now what?"
Jannali moved.
Her feet carried her across the rings, her trance unbroken, her eyes glassy and unfocused. She stepped onto the second ring, passed through the line of held hands, and kept walking. Her muttering continued, low and constant.
Charlie scrambled after her, his satchel swinging, his pith helmet bouncing.
"Ms. Jannali, is that wise?"
She did not answer. She stepped onto the sixth ring—and kept going, toward the far side of the chamber.
Cleo watched her pass, her bronze eyes wide. She heard the chanting—the words that Jannali had been murmuring for hours—and her breath caught.
"No way..."
Ataboy glanced at her, his warm brown eyes narrowing. "What is it?"
Cleo shook her head. A small gesture. She would tell him later. Or she would not. The truth was too strange, too impossible, too dangerous to speak aloud in a room full of strangers.
Zahi's eyes narrowed. His clouded eye shimmered green.
Jannali stepped off the Volvelle of the Seven Governors. The rings did not spin. The chamber did not shake. She simply walked, her trance unbroken, her feet carrying her toward whatever waited in the darkness beyond.
Charlie followed at her heels, his head lamp still burning.
Bianca called out, her voice sharp and annoyed. "So, like, now what? Like she is not like waiting, so we like need to like figure this out."
Cleo called out, her voice steady. "We move in unison. Holding hands."
She looked at Bianca, the youngest member of their ragtag group, the one who had somehow become their leader.
"Lead the way. We will follow."
Bianca took a breath. Her dark eyes swept across the faces of the strangers—the giant with the scarred face, the woman with the spectral hair, the short man with the axe, the captain with the feather boa, the scholar with the ink-stained fingers.
"Like, okay."
She began to walk.
Mani followed, holding her hand. Ataboy followed, holding his. Tori followed, holding his. Galit followed, holding hers. Cleo followed, holding his. Zahi brought up the rear, his massive frame steady, his hand firm in Cleo's grip.
They walked across the rings, their feet finding the stone, their balance steady, their trust holding.
The line moved.
The rings did not spin.
The Volvelle of the Seven Governors released them, and they stepped off the stone and onto solid ground.
Behind them, the rings glowed in seven colors, their light fading slowly, their hum dwindling to silence.
*****
The liquid ground rippled and closed over Kaburo Gusaki's thrashing form, swallowing him into darkness. Petra Ven's stonefish body—massive, bloated, grotesquely ugly—dragged him down through the earth as if it were water, her thirteen dorsal spines erect, her bulging eyes fixed on her prey. The cobblestones solidified behind them, sealing the wound in the street as if it had never existed.
Ozul Crow stood at the edge of the fissure, his iridescent black skin shimmering, his dreadlocks swaying. Aetherius hung at his side, the blade still wet with the paper dust of the Marines he had flattened. Confetti spiraled around him, bright and cheerful, a stark contrast to the grim set of his jaw.
He had not reached Kaburo in time.
The serpent sword was gone, dragged under by the Phantom Venom, and Ozul could do nothing but watch the ground settle and harden. He turned, his gold-flecked eyes scanning the battlefield for his next target, and found the Beast Pirates still fighting, still holding their ground.
But the tide was turning.
---
Sanza Kaplan Figarland's claws raked across the Marine's arm, and the man grunted, stumbling backward. Vie Briehanoi struggled in his grip, her dark hair tangled, her brown eyes wet with tears, her charm bracelet swinging wildly as she twisted and pulled.
"Let me go!"
The Marine tightened his hold. His jaw set. His eyes narrowed.
Sanza felt something shift inside him.
Not the transformation—that was already complete, his white fur gleaming, his golden horns catching the light, his three tails lashing behind him. This was something deeper, something that reached down into his chest and pulled at a thread he had not known existed.
He leaped.
His claws struck the Marine's chest—not deep, not fatal, but something passed from the man into Sanza. A thread of light, thin and silver, stretching between them. The Marine's eyes went blank. His grip loosened. His arms fell to his sides.
Sanza landed on the cobblestones, his claws still extended, his golden eyes wide.
"Let her go!"
The Marine released Vie.
She stumbled forward, gasping, her hands flying to her throat. The man stood motionless, his face empty, his eyes staring at nothing. A spectral chain—faint, translucent—connected his chest to Sanza's claws.
Sanza stared at his hands. He did not understand what he had done. He only knew that it had worked.
Jelly bounced past him, his translucent blue body wobbling, his starry eyes wide.
"Freedom!"
A rifle cracked.
The bullet tore through Jelly's form, passing through his gelatinous body and embedding itself in the wall behind him. Jelly wobbled, rippled, and giggled.
"Ew. That tickles."
He bounced again, unaffected, and the Marine who had fired stared at his rifle as if it had betrayed him.
Sanza stood frozen, his golden eyes fixed on his claws, on the spectral chain still connecting him to the blank-faced Marine. His chest heaved. His breath came in short, sharp gasps.
Ciel Nguyen grabbed his arm.
"Sanza! Let's go!"
Sanza blinked. His golden eyes found Ciel's dark ones. The spectral chain faded, dissolving into nothing, and the Marine collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
Vie Briehanoi grabbed Sanza's other arm, her fingers trembling, her voice thin and breathless.
"Thank you."
Sanza did not know what to say. He had never been thanked before—not like this, not by someone who meant it.
They ran.
---
Captain Umeko Ozias swung Twin Thunder in a wide arc, sending two Marines stumbling backward. His plum-colored his stuck to his forehead glistening with sweat, and his dark horns caught the light as he turned to survey the battlefield.
The Marines were rising again.
Zento Radias's rainbow light had washed over them, pulling them from the grip of Bō-Zak's Sky Burial, filling them with a warm, buoyant optimism that made them forget their guilt and reach for their rifles. They were weaker, disoriented, but there were more of them now—reinforcements pouring in from the side streets, their boots pounding against the cobblestones, their voices rising in a chorus of shouts and orders.
Umeko cursed.
Aurélie Nakano Takeko stood at his side, her silver hair loose and wild, her compound eyes fixed on the approaching wave of white uniforms. Locusts swarmed around her, a living cloak of chittering bodies and buzzing wings. Anathema hung in her grip, the black blade still wet.
She looked toward the sky.
Eliane descended with Bō-Zak, her dark wings straining, his arm draped across her shoulders. They were moving toward the corner where Dr. Maven Trance waved, his white coat flapping, his wire-rimmed glasses sliding down his nose.
Sanza, Ciel, Vie, and Jelly ran toward her, their feet pounding against the cobblestones, their faces set with determination.
But Kaburo Gusaki was nowhere to be seen.
Aurélie's compound eyes narrowed. Her jaw tightened. She turned to Umeko Ozias, her voice sharp and cold.
"Get ready to move."
Umeko blocked another attack, his mace cracking against a Marine's rifle. He glanced at her, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"You have another trick up your sleeve?"
Aurélie did not answer.
She raised her hand.
The swarm descended.
It came from everywhere at once—from the shadows, from the rooftops, from the cracks in the cobblestones. A massive, dark blob of chittering bodies and buzzing wings, so dense that it blotted out the sun and cast the street into twilight. The locusts poured over the Marines like a wave, covering their uniforms, their faces, their weapons.
The men screamed.
They swatted at the insects, but the locusts were relentless, feasting on their clothing, burrowing into their collars, crawling into their ears and noses. Rifles clattered to the ground. Men fell to their knees, clawing at their faces, their voices rising in panicked cries.
The swarm was so thick that the Marines could not see. They stumbled into each other, fired blindly into the air, struck their own comrades in their desperation to escape the biting, chittering mass.
Umeko Ozias's smirk widened.
"Nice."
He turned to his crew, his voice carrying across the chaos.
"Beast Pirates! This way!"
Amaru Valentine stopped firing. His long neck swayed as he surveyed the street, his dark eyes finding the captain. He holstered Left Kiss and Right Kiss and ran, his floral shirt flapping, his sandals slapping against the cobblestones.
Akako Zinnia swung Heartbreaker one last time, sending a shockwave through a group of Marines, then hefted the massive mallet onto her shoulder and sprinted after the captain, her red ponytails bouncing, her frilly black bows fluttering.
Ozul Crow turned from the paper dolls he had been shredding. Confetti still spiraled around him, bright and cheerful, but his gold-flecked eyes were fixed on the captain. He ran, his iridescent skin shimmering, his dreadlocks swaying.
Umeko ran in step with Aurélie, their boots striking the cobblestones in unison. Behind them, the swarm continued its work, the locusts a living wall between the Marines and their prey.
Ciel, Sanza, Vie, and Jelly brought up the rear, their feet pounding against the stones, their breath coming in ragged gasps. Vie's charm bracelet swung wildly, the tiny charms catching the light. Ciel's Rocco Sterling T-shirt was torn at the collar. Sanza's white fur was streaked with dust and blood. Jelly bounced beside them, his translucent body wobbling, his starry eyes fixed on the waving figure ahead.
Eliane descended toward Dr. Maven Trance, Bō-Zak's weight still pressing against her shoulders. Her wings beat hard, straining to keep them both airborne, and her silver hair streamed behind her like a banner.
Maven waved his arms in wide, frantic arcs, his white coat flapping, his wire-rimmed glasses sliding down his nose.
"This way! Hurry!"
Eliane touched down, her boots skidding against the cobblestones. She helped Bō-Zak stand, his arm still draped across her shoulders, his gold-flecked eyes half-closed with pain.
Maven grabbed Bō-Zak's other arm, pulling him forward.
"Come on, come on! Do you want to get shot?"
Bō-Zak grunted. "Not particularly."
"Then move!"
The group funneled into the narrow alley behind the clinic, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls. The sounds of the battle faded behind them—the screams, the gunfire, the chittering of the swarm—replaced by the thud of boots and the rasp of labored breathing.
Aurélie glanced over her shoulder, her compound eyes sweeping the alley. The Marines were still trapped in the swarm, still clawing at their faces, still firing blindly into the air.
They had minutes. Maybe less.
She turned and ran faster.
Umeko matched her pace, his dark eyes fixed on the path ahead. Amaru, Akako, and Ozul followed close behind, their weapons ready, their eyes scanning the rooftops for threats.
The children ran at the rear, their small legs pumping, their faces flushed with exertion.
Jelly bounced at the front, his starry eyes fixed on Maven's waving arms.
"Bloop! Adventure!"
Maven led them through a narrow passage, past stacks of crates and barrels, past a garden overgrown with herbs, toward a door set into the back of the clinic.
He pushed it open and gestured for them to enter.
"Inside! Quickly!"
They filed through the door, one by one, and the darkness swallowed them whole.
Behind them, the swarm began to thin.
The Marines were breaking free
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