One Piece : Brotherhood

The Sabaody Archipelago had never seen a spectacle quite like this in years. After nearly a year of stagnation—where the shadow of the Admirals and the fear of consequences had briefly stifled their trade—the Grand Auction House had finally returned to its former grotesque glory.

And this time?

It was more opulent, extravagant, and merciless than ever before. The auction hall itself was an architectural marvel, bathed in the golden glow of countless chandeliers. The floors were polished to a mirror-like gleam, reflecting the towering red velvet curtains that framed the massive stage.

Every wall was adorned with ornate carvings, depictions of mythical sea kings and celestial dragons, a clear homage to the very rulers of the world who would soon grace this den of depravity with their presence.

The air reeked of excess—the scent of rare perfumes and freshly uncorked wine mingled with the stench of desperation that clung to the human merchandise being paraded like cattle.

Tonight was not just an auction. It was a declaration.

A statement to the world that slavery, that vile and lucrative trade, would not die. That even the Admirals—even the World Government itself—could not snuff out something so deeply embedded in the foundation of this era.

And what better way to celebrate its revival than with an auction of unprecedented scale?

Not just slaves—but devil fruits, legendary weapons, and relics of the pirate world were all up for sale. The finest "products" from across the Grand Line had been gathered here, bound and broken, prepared to be sold to the highest bidder.

Every seat in the grand hall was reserved for the elite—Celestial Dragons, high-ranking nobles, underground brokers, and those with more money than morality. It was the greatest assembly of corruption and cruelty in recent history. And it had to be perfect.

"CRASH!"

A wooden crate slipped from a trembling worker's hands, slamming onto the stage. A second later, the unmistakable shatter of premium wine bottles rang out, sending a crimson stain splattering across the pristine auction floor.

For a moment, there was silence. Then—

"You little bastard!"

A vicious roar tore through the air before a brutal kick landed against the worker's frail body.

The manager, a hulking man draped in a fine but ill-fitting coat, delivered another savage blow, nearly breaking the boy's spine with the sheer force of his boot.

"Do you know how important this auction is to us?! After nearly a year, the Tenryuubito themselves will grace us with their presence! Once this auction is a success, and we regain their favor, even that damned Admiral won't be able to touch us! Slavery will flourish once more across the Grand Line!"

But the young worker did not hear a word of it. He lay unconscious on the floor, blood trickling from his mouth, his frail frame utterly motionless. The manager clicked his tongue, disgusted, before waving a hand.

"Tch... Put a collar on this bastard. We can just sell him off for some chump change."

Two armed guards at the side moved immediately, dragging the boy's limp body away like a sack of garbage. The manager's voice barked orders to the rest of the workers, his eyes gleaming with unforgiving greed. The auction had to be flawless. No mistakes.

Not when so many powerful hands had come together to make it a success. Not when the "products" being auctioned today were the largest and rarest collection ever gathered in a single event.

Beyond the grand stage, deep within the iron-barred darkness of the auction's backstage, hundreds of slaves sat bound and broken, each confined to cold steel cages, their fates sealed with heavy shackles and explosive collars.

Among them, a young man shifted slightly, his gaze scanning the surroundings with sharp, calculated intensity. A fresh wound marred his temple, blood still trickling from where he had been struck down for resisting. But he didn't care. He only cared about one thing.

"Stella... Stella, are you alright?"

His voice was hoarse with worry as he tried to drag himself forward, reaching toward the cage beside his own. Inside, a young woman—barely eighteen—lay motionless, her delicate frame curled on the cold metal floor.

Her golden-blonde hair, once vibrant and flowing, was now dirtied and tangled, her fair skin marred with bruises and cuts. Despite the rough treatment, there was something striking about her—even in her weakened state, she seemed ethereal, like a fallen angel trapped in a world far too cruel for her existence.

She was beautiful, but not in a way that could be captured by mere appearance alone. It was the gentleness in her, the kindness in her voice, the way she had always smiled despite the horrors around her.

And that was why Tesoro loved her. More than anything in this world. His bloodied fingers curled around the bars that separated them, his body trembling not from pain but from powerless rage.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

He had left his family at twelve, rejecting the unfairness of the world, determined to carve out a place for himself in this merciless sea. He had seen the darkest corners of humanity, run with some of the ugliest people to ever exist, and still, he had never faltered.

Until two years ago. Until he met Stella. She had changed everything. Made him believe that even in a world filled with monsters, there were still things worth protecting.

And now—

Now she was trapped here with him, bound in chains, prepped for sale like livestock. Tesoro's teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached, his fists tightening until his knuckles went white.

"I won't let them take you," he whispered, a silent promise burning behind his golden eyes.

Even if he had to burn this entire place to the ground.

Tesoro's gaze shifted, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness of his own cage. It was cramped, barely large enough to move in. Over a dozen men were stuffed into a single enclosure, their bodies pressed against each other, the air thick with the stench of sweat, blood, and despair. The slavers clearly had no prospects for men like them—they were sold in bulk, laborers at best, disposable at worst.

But the women? His golden eyes flickered toward Stella's cage—where she lay, curled into herself, unconscious. Unlike the overstuffed prisons of the men, the cages meant for women were far more spacious, holding only a select few per enclosure.

The reason for that was sickeningly obvious. In the same cage as Stella, there were only two other girls, both barely into adolescence, their frail bodies trembling, eyes wide with terror.

They had been separated from the others for a reason. For their value. For the price their purity would fetch. Tesoro's fists clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms, drawing blood. But there was nothing he could do. Not yet. That was when a shrill scream shattered the murmuring silence.

"LET US GO! PLEASE!"

The desperate wail of a child rang through the cavernous holding cells, raw and filled with terror. Tesoro's head snapped toward the source of the sound.

Rows upon rows of cages stretched endlessly in every direction, each filled with different kinds of "merchandise." Some cages held rows of children, their expressions vacant, eyes hollow from days—weeks—of starvation and abuse.

Others contained chained warriors, their limbs broken to prevent any resistance. Exotic beings—long-limbed folk, fishmen, giants—were displayed in special reinforced enclosures, their shackles layered with seastone to ensure their obedience.

But his gaze locked onto one particular section—where the wailing came from. His breath hitched at the sight. A massive figure loomed at the farthest end—a giant, much lager than the few onthers from the same species, heavily shackled, thick iron chains digging into his flesh. Around him stood a squad of armed guards, muskets trained on him at all times.

And in the row of cages beside him— Were six mermaids. Each one shackled, bound, and fitted with explosive collars. Their eyes overflowed with terror as they sobbed for mercy, their hands clawing at the bars, their pleas ignored by the slavers who leered at them like prized trophies.

It was then that Tesoro noticed her. A girl—barely in her early teens—was gripping the bars of her cage so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her long, raven-black hair framed a face that was filled with rage, guilt, and defiance.

"LET US GO!"

Her voice, though young, carried a power that no one seemed to notice. Her name was Boa Hancock. She was afraid. Not just for herself.

But for her sisters—Sandersonia and Marigold, who sat beside her, clutching onto one another for comfort, their young faces streaked with tears.

She was furious. Furious that her actions had led to this fate. She had snuck out from Amazon Lily, believing she could experience the outside world just once.

And now, because of her selfishness, she and her sisters were here—in chains, awaiting the auction block. But what broke her more than anything— Was the sight of the others.

The other Kuja warriors. The women from the Donquixote Pirates. Out of the near hundred who had been aboard the ship, only a dozen remained alive. And even then—they were barely clinging to life.

Many had lost limbs, their bodies mangled beyond recognition. Some lay motionless, still bleeding out from wounds that had been left untreated, their lives slowly slipping away in the filth of their cages.

But not a single one had surrendered. Even in defeat, even torn apart, the fierce spirit of the Kuja burned within them. And Hancock had seen it. She had seen what happened to the others. The ones who had been taken away first.

The ones deemed "spoiled goods." The unimaginable horrors they had been subjected to.

She had heard the screams—the wails of agony, the pleas for mercy that were met with nothing but cruel laughter.

Women who had been proud warriors, stripped of everything, tossed to beasts for sport. Sold off to depraved men to be used until they were discarded like trash. Even after enduring hell, they were not given the mercy of death.

Hancock's whole body trembled. The only reason she and her sisters were untouched— Was because the event organizers had deemed them too valuable.

"Exotic goods," they had called them.

"Untouched merchandise fetches the highest price. Especially young girls."

The words of the auctioneer echoed in her head, sending a wave of nausea through her.

The slavers weren't sparing them out of mercy. They were preserving them—to be sold like prized livestock to monsters who viewed them as nothing more than objects.

Her stomach twisted. But still, she refused to break. Instead, she rattled the cage with all her strength, her young voice booming once more—

"LET! US! GO!"

A crackling whip lashed out, snapping against the bars with a sickening crack.

"SHUT UP, YOU LITTLE BITCH!"

A supervisor, a man with a twisted grin, loomed outside her cage, his whip coiling like a serpent in his grip. His bloodshot eyes roamed over her, dripping with lustful malice, his tongue running over his cracked lips.

"You're making a lot of noise, brat. If you don't shut that pretty little mouth of yours... I might have to shut it for you."

The way he leered at her sent a violent shudder down her spine. If not for the greed of his superiors, if not for his own desire for profit, he would have already ravaged her. She could see it in his hungry, depraved eyes.

But the auction came first. That was the only thing keeping her and her sisters safe. For now.

And Hancock knew—once they were sold, once they left this place— There would be no protection left. For any of them.

Her fingernails dug into her palms, her breath shaky. She had never felt hatred like this before. This world was rotten. And if she ever got out of this place— She would burn it all down.

*****

Fishman District, New World

Deep beneath the waves, in the darkest recesses of Fishman Island, lay a place untouched by the splendor of the Ryugu Kingdom—a lawless land of outcasts, where the unwanted and forsaken gathered to carve out a life in the shadows.

This was the Fishman District—a place where dreams were crushed before they could ever take shape, where the line between survival and savagery had long since disappeared. Even the recent progress they had achieved through trade with the Donquixote family had now crumbled, all because of the greed of a few fishmen.

For the underprivileged, the orphans, and the outlaws among fishmen, this was home. Here, violence was the only law, and only the strongest could claim dominion.

Most of the Fishman Pirates of the New World had their origins in this very district, raised in blood and cruelty, forced into piracy by the world that had long rejected them. But now, the district was no longer just a breeding ground for criminals.

It was a war zone. A battle that had been brewing for months had finally reached its breaking point. The crooked streets, already cracked and broken, were now littered with bodies. The roughly built homes, usually glowing with a dim, eerie blue light, were shattered—some still smoldering, the remnants of a recent skirmish. The entire district was caught in a maelstrom of chaos, the sea itself tainted with the blood of its own people.

And all because of one man's return— Fisher Tiger.

The tension between the Ryugu Kingdom and the Donquixote Family had always been fragile after the reckless stunt Fisher Tiger had pulled. And yet, despite everything, that fragile peace had been held together by the original trade agreement—one that Doflamingo had honored for years.

But the moment Fisher Tiger returned from Mary Geoise, barely alive after his escape from slavery, that fragile peace was shattered. The Fishman District—already a lawless refuge for outcasts, pirates, and the forgotten—was torn apart by the truth.

The district had split into two warring factions. On one side were the Pirates of the Deep, the ones who had long profited from the horrors of the surface world, using human slavery as a means of revenge, justifying their cruelty with their own history of suffering.

But their greed had grown far beyond that. Their claws had turned inward, sinking into their own kind—capturing and selling mermaids, fishmen, even children to line their pockets with gold. They saw the trade agreement with the Donquixote Family as a leash, a hindrance to their lucrative empire in the New World's underworld.

In secret, they had betrayed their own people, selling the very goods promised to the Donquixote Family for their own gain. And worst of all, they had been the ones who sold Fisher Tiger to the slavers all those years ago.

And then there was Fisher Tiger's faction—his brothers-in-arms, those who had fought for the betterment of their kind. They had long blamed humanity for their suffering, but the truth broke them. It was their own brethren who had betrayed Tiger. Their own people who had sold out the ideal of freedom for the sake of profit. Their own kind who had made the Fishman District a den of treachery and filth.

What had started as an ideological divide had become a blood feud. The moment the truth was revealed, all semblance of restraint was lost. The streets of the Fishman District became a warzone.

For months, the two sides had clashed, wave after wave of destruction tearing through the already broken district. Fires raged in the depths of the sea, as undersea caves collapsed from the sheer force of the battles. The very ocean trembled from the war between fishmen, a conflict more brutal than anything seen in the district's history.

And through it all, the Ryugu Kingdom watched from afar. King Neptune had not moved his forces. He had not intervened. His silence was an answer in itself.

Tiger had gone to King Riku and explained the true events behind his capture. Queen Otohime had protested, deeply disturbed by the idea of further bloodshed among their people. But even she could not argue with the depth of the betrayal.

Neptune had silently given his blessing. To turn on one's own kind for profit, to enslave fellow fishmen—that was a bottom line that even Neptune could not tolerate. And Fisher Tiger had made a request.

"Stay out of this."

This was not to become a civil war between the Fishman District and the Ryugu Kingdom. Whatever blood needed to be spilled, it had to happen within the district itself. This was about purging the disease at its source. Every last slaver among them would die.

The battle had reached its climax after Tiger's forces relentlessly threw themselves at the pirate forces. The last of the slaver pirates had been cornered, their final stronghold within the district surrounded by Tiger's forces. The streets were painted with blood; bodies of fishmen lay broken and discarded, their sins paid for in flesh.

The towering figure of Fisher Tiger stood amidst the chaos, his body drenched in the blood of those he had cut down. He breathed heavily, his muscles tensed like a coiled beast ready to strike again. But there was no hesitation in his movements. No regret.

Only rage. His fists clenched, the Hasshoken technique humming through his body like the tremors of an impending earthquake.

"Hasshoken: Sea Tremor…!!"

Tiger roared as he sent out a devastating punch. The very ocean shook from the force, a violent shockwave exploding outward. A dozen blades aimed for his exposed flank were shattered mid-air, their wielders thrown back like ragdolls, bones splintering from the sheer impact.

A monstrous pirate, a hammerhead fishman nearly twice Tiger's size, lunged from behind with a serrated blade. But before his weapon could even graze Tiger's skin, a brutal backhand strike sent the traitor crashing through a coral-covered wall, his spine shattering on impact.

Tiger's eyes burned with fury.This wasn't just war.This was purification. He was going to cleanse the Fishman District once and for all. And more than anything—he was going to wipe out every last slaver among his people.

As the last of the slaver pirates were cornered, desperation took hold. One of them—a massive octopus Fishman with six muscular arms wielding spears in each—leapt high into the water, his body twisting with lethal precision. His target: Fisher Tiger's exposed back.

A perfect blind spot. A wicked grin spread across his face. The tip of his spear gleamed as he thrust downward—

"Gyojin Karate Ōgi: Buraikan!"

A thunderous voice split through the battlefield. The ocean itself trembled as a powerful fist shot forward, water compressed to its absolute limit before being unleashed in a devastating shockwave.

The attack struck the octopus pirate mid-air—his body ruptured instantly, tentacles shredded apart as his massive frame was obliterated on impact. The force didn't just stop with him—it tore through the enemy ranks, a line of slaver pirates bursting apart like crumpled shells, and even buildings behind them were pierced clean through, leaving massive holes in the structures.

The source of the attack landed gracefully beside Tiger, his broad frame barely winded from the technique. The young Fishman had abandoned his place in the Ryugu Kingdom's army, not out of fear, but out of duty. If he had remained a soldier under King Neptune, it would have risked dragging the entire kingdom into a civil war. And so, he had made his decision.

He would stand beside his brother. Jinbei was young, but his power was undeniable. His broad, muscular frame made him seem far older than he was, his dark blue skin covered in battle scars earned through relentless training. His piercing eyes were like the depths of the abyss, cold, calculating, unshaken. Even in the chaos of war, his movements were precise, controlled—a warrior who fought with purpose, not rage.

Tiger turned slightly, acknowledging Jinbei's presence with a brief nod before returning his focus to the traitors before him. Arlong, however, had not been so lucky.

The sawshark Fishman had been too reckless, too eager to sink his teeth into the enemy—and it had nearly cost him his life. A razor-sharp sabre had come dangerously close to slitting his throat, the blade barely grazing his skin. But before it could cut any deeper, a mighty hand had seized Arlong by the collar and yanked him back just in time.

It was Tiger. They fought as one unit. They watched each other's backs. They were brothers.

And together, they pushed the slaver pirates toward their final stand.

The last of the traitors stood at the edge of the ruined city, surrounded on all sides by Tiger and his men. Their leader, a towering anglerfish Fishman, gritted his teeth, his sharp, monstrous fangs bared as he glared at the man who had once called him 'brother.'

"You bastard, Fisher…" he snarled. "Is this your way of bringing harmony to the Fishman race?"

His men—those who remained—clutched their weapons with trembling hands. They knew they were going to die. But they still clung to hope—a desperate, pathetic hope that Fisher Tiger, their former leader, would hesitate.

And for a moment, he did.

Tiger stepped forward, his towering frame casting a dark shadow over the broken battlefield. His deep, rumbling voice echoed through the wreckage, carrying with it a weight that crushed the spirits of those before him.

"For years, we called each other brothers." The traitors flinched.

"We fought together. We bled together." His massive, scarred hand clenched into a fist.

"And yet, when I was taken by those bastards—when I was CHAINED like an animal…"

His voice trembled with fury.

"It was YOU who sold me." Silence. The weight of his words crushed them.

"And if that wasn't enough, you bastards even captured our own— sold them to humans—to be caged like animals, to be toyed with and broken for coin."

His voice was not just rage. It was grief. It was disgust. It was betrayal.

"You all deserve to die."

A single step forward, and the traitors scrambled backward like roaches scurrying from the light.

"T-Tiger!" one of them stammered. "Please! We—we had no choice! It was—"

"SILENCE."

The single word cut through the air like a blade, sharper than any weapon. Tiger's gaze burned with raw fury, but beneath that rage… was something deeper. Disappointment.

"There was always a choice."

The warriors behind him stepped forward, weapons drawn and ready. The slaver captain spat, his fins bristling with anger.

"You think you're any better than us, Fisher?!" Tiger paused.

"You act like you're some noble warrior, but tell me, who was it that came to me when we already had a pact with the Donquixote Family?!" The pirate sneered, eyes burning with hatred. "Who was it that risked the future of our entire race just because of his pride?! You think you're better than us, but you're just as selfish as any of us!"

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Tiger's expression hardened, but deep inside, the pirate's words gnawed at him. Because it was the truth. In a moment of pride—a moment of arrogance—he had gambled the entire future of Fishman Island.

And even though the Donquixote family still honored the deal, the damage was done. The relationship between Ryugu Kingdom and Dressrosa was strained. The effects were already visible in how the works to develop Punk Hazard into a safe haven for the fishmen in the New World had slowed down significantly.

Jinbei saw the hesitation in his brother's eyes. And he refused to let it stand. With a furious roar, Jinbei charged forward—his rage igniting his brothers into action. There was nothing left to say. The slaver pirates had made their choices. And now, they would pay for them in blood. This night, the Fishman District would be cleansed.