One Piece: The Chisel in the Sea

The cove's inner alleys twisted like a spider's web — narrow walkways, low bridges, stacked crates piled high against rickety wooden homes. Lanterns swung from ropes above, throwing shadows like clawed hands across the ground.

Art led them forward, his new silent rifle raised, steps precise and soundless. Francis trailed behind, knives glinting under moonlight, pistols secured snug in his bandolier, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice.

Nico flitted across overhead beams, his slingshot ready, pockets heavy with steel balls and caltrops.

A muffled snap rang out — a pirate lookout on a distant balcony dropped without a sound. Another shot, another shape crumpled, crashing onto crates below.

Art moved ahead in a low crouch, pulling the bolt back, a spent casing clinking softly to the ground. He loaded the next round with practiced ease.

---

They advanced deeper, slipping through the first ring of alleys.

Francis darted ahead, moving between preset rifle stations he had stashed the night before. He grabbed one, braced it over a crate, and fired — a pirate tumbled backward off a scaffold.

He ran to the next station, fired twice, then vanished again, leaving only echoing shouts and confusion behind him. A third station — more shots, more bodies.

By the time pirates converged on one station, he was already gone, slipping around a corner with a grin.

---

In the streets below, pirates screamed and staggered, looking for ghosts in the smoke.

"Oil traps flared to life — barrels that Art had rigged with embedded lantern wicks and glass shards now erupted in sudden blooms of flame, funneling pirates into tighter kill zones."

Nico crouched on a slanted roof, his breath ragged. He loaded a steel ball into his slingshot, pulled back, released.

A pirate in a high window jerked sideways, crashing out and landing with a sickening crunch.

He fired again — a musketman on a walkway above jerked backward, weapon tumbling into the sea.

Another shot — a pirate lunging toward Art from a blind spot stumbled, roaring in pain as the steel ball shattered his knee.

Nico exhaled sharply, eyes wide but resolute.

---

Francis dropped from a low roof, knives flashing.

A pirate lunged with a cutlass — Francis stepped inside, slammed his shoulder into the man's chest, kicked his knee sideways, and drove a blade up under the ribs.

Another charged from the side; Francis hurled sand into his face, then fired a pistol into his gut before finishing him with a quick stab to the neck.

A third pirate tried to tackle him from behind — Francis ducked, rolled forward, and swept the man's legs with a sudden low kick, slicing his ankle tendons in one fluid motion.

He moved like a wraith — fast, sharp, unpredictable — using barrels, ropes, and crates as weapons as much as his blades.

---

Art continued to press forward, each shot from the rifle clean and final.

Crack.

A captain shouting orders fell, hat flying off.

Crack.

Two gunners preparing a heavy cannon collapsed, their blood splattering the deck.

After each shot, Art pulled the bolt back, loaded another round. The motion grew faster, smoother, becoming an extension of his breath.

When pirates tried to flood a narrow walkway, Art fused broken railings into a sudden barricade, trapping them in place — then picked them off one by one through gaps.

---

They pushed toward the central square. Cargo piles burned, scattering sparks into the night. Pirates regrouped in a desperate wall, pulling together cannons and muskets to make a final stand.

Francis scaled a scaffold, leaping onto a cannon emplacement. He kicked the operator's leg out, drove a knife into his collar, and shoved the heavy weapon sideways so its barrel pointed into a barricade below.

With a grin, he pulled the fuse — the cannon blasted, ripping through pirates who had tried to rally at the base.

---

Nico slid across a collapsing rooftop, firing steel balls into gun crews, forcing them to scatter. He dropped down, nearly twisting his ankle, then scrambled up again, dropping caltrops behind him. Pursuers crashed into them, screaming and falling as spikes tore through their feet.

---

Art advanced through the chaos, rifle in one hand, a tri-shot fusion pistol in the other. He fired at a group hiding behind crates — the triple burst exploded through the cover, sending them sprawling.

He pressed forward, weaving between flames and ruin, his gaze locked ahead.

---

Then it happened.

A massive pirate captain, roaring with rage, lunged at Nico from a blind alley, cleaver raised high.

Nico froze, mid-draw with a steel ball.

Francis turned, eyes widening.

Without hesitation, Francis leapt, shoving Nico aside and catching the cleaver full force on his left arm. The blade crunched through flesh and bone — a scream ripped from Francis's throat as he collapsed backward, his arm nearly severed, blood spraying across the ground.

Nico fell to his knees beside him, trembling, eyes wide with horror.

The pirate captain raised his cleaver again — but Art was already there.

Crack.

The captain's head snapped back, the body crumpling like a dropped sack.

---

Silence rang out in the square.

Francis clutched his ruined arm, sweat and blood pouring from his face. Even so, he bared his teeth in a pained, defiant grin.

Nico pressed both hands against the wound, sobbing, trying to hold the blood in.

Art knelt beside them, eyes hard and unblinking.

"We take the cove," he said, voice low and steady. "But we don't leave anyone behind."

He pressed a hand to Francis's shoulder, gaze flicking to the dark alleys beyond where scattered pirates still scrambled and fled.

---

They stood in the broken heart of the cove — crates burning, barricades shattered, bodies sprawled in every corner.

Francis, pale and gasping, let out a harsh laugh, even as he fought to stay conscious.

Art rose, rifle braced across his back, and looked deeper into the ruined streets.

Tonight, they had carved out the heart of the cove.

Tomorrow, they would decide what to do with its bones.