The Berserker and the Sea of Madness

The sky stretched bright overhead, adorned with lazily drifting white clouds. A gentle breeze caressed the sea's surface, creating friendly waves that whispered softly against the ship's hull. In the distance, Gargar, the Sea King, pulled the vessel carrying Guts and Robin with a steady, calming speed. This was a ship they had borrowed from Rosward, as Jumoi—their beloved vessel—was still undergoing extensive modifications in the shipyard.

Robin beamed, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she gazed at the boundless horizon. Guts, beside her, wore a less agreeable expression. Truth be told, he would have preferred to wait another two weeks until Jumoi was fully modified. However, to avoid Rayleigh, who incessantly pressured him to become a pirate, Guts eventually conceded and followed their original plan. Besides, Robin was impatient to visit their new residence in Whiskey Peak, a strategic island.

The island was where her father, Guts, had been stationed by Fleet Admiral Sengoku. A brilliant tactical move by Sengoku, placing Guts at Twin Capes, the very entrance from All Blue into the Grand Line, ensuring full control over that vital passage.

"Easy there, kid. Why the rush?" Guts chuckled, eyeing Robin with mild amusement as she practically bounced with anticipation. "We've skipped a ton of islands we could've explored."

"But Father!" Robin protested, her eyes shining with earnest hope. "We can live there... in peace. No more disturbance, no more hiding."

Guts snorted, a low rumble in his chest. "Bono said it's a dump full of scoundrels—low-bounty pirates and bottom-feeding bounty hunters." He reached out and rubbed Robin's head with a heavy, gauntleted hand, ruffling her carefully styled hair. "I'm not sure 'peace' is the right word."

Robin giggled, batting gently at Guts's hand to stop him. "Stop it, Father—you're messing up my hair. And it's Borneo, not Bono."

From just beneath the surface, Gargar let out a low, rumbling noise—somewhere between a deep growl and a disapproving grunt that vibrated through the ship's hull.

Robin blinked, then burst into light laughter. "Ah—thank you, Gargar. It's Borsalino." She cleared her throat and tried to regain her composure, though a stubborn smile still tugged at her lips.

"And I'm sure they won't dare mess with us," Robin said, trying to steer the conversation away. She put her hands on her hips, a playful challenge in her stance. "We should be grateful the island isn't empty—abandoned out of fear the moment you showed up, Father."

Guts frowned, a slight furrow in his brow. "Confident aren't you, kid." He reached out and pinched her cheek. "You're starting to talk like a pirate, not an archaeologist." He let out a quiet sigh. Spending too much time with the Boa sisters and Rayleigh was clearly rubbing off on her.

They reached Nonohana Port by noon after five days at sea, thanks to Gargar's enthusiastic personality and unrelenting speed. The port, which ought to be a hive of commerce, was oddly silent. There were no onlookers, no ships except their own. Under the merciless midday sun, it was just a silent, deserted port.

His hand moved instinctively to the Dragon Slayer on his back, its familiar weight bring comfort, as he activated his Observation Haki. Silent and focused, his gaze sweeping the empty port, Guts stepped forward, shielding Robin as they entered the heart of Nonohana.

Behind him, Robin slowed her pace.

She extended her arms gently, palms open, as if trying to feel the very breath of the parched land.

The wind brushed past her skin, carrying the faint scent of salt and dry earth.

The sand shifted beneath her feet, whispering ancient secrets of the desert.

And then—she heard them.

Whispers.

Faint at first, like echoes carried on the distant desert wind, barely discernible beneath the vast, silent sky. But then they came louder, faster, like a rising tide crashing relentlessly into her mind, each voice a sharp pang of agony.

Children crying from hunger, their tiny bellies aching.

A mother, voice raw with desperation, begging—pleading for just a morsel of food to feed her little ones.

Desperate voices, a chorus of yearning, praying for rain, the sacred, life-giving rain that only falls in Alubarna, and now refused to come.

Two orphaned siblings wailing in heartbreaking despair, their only water jar shattered, its precious contents spilled irretrievably into the thirsty sand.

The sheer, overwhelming weight of it all pressed into Robin's mind like a thousand crushing hands. She staggered, her breath caught in her throat, the world spinning in a vortex of raw anguish.

And beneath it all, just barely perceptible through the chorus of suffering—a whisper of warning. Faint. Unclear. But filled with a profound, chilling dread that promised inevitable catastrophe.

Guts caught her just before she collapsed, his strong arms steadying her, his presence a solid anchor in the storm of voices. "Something wrong, kid?" he muttered, his brow furrowed with concern.

Robin clung to him, pressing a hand to her forehead, her voice trembling, not just from shock, but from the deep well of sorrow that had suddenly filled her. "It's the voice, Father... they're suffering..."

Her voice broke, a raw, aching sound. "So many of them... Oh, Father, and... and... a warning?..."

Suddenly, Guts's Observation Haki picked up something. His gaze snapped towards a distant, shimmering heat haze in the desert. There, slowly approaching the port, he caught sight of a carriage—an ornate, gilded vehicle, being pulled by a truly gigantic red crab, its immense claws scuttling rhythmically across the sand.

Inside the carriage, Guts's Haki pinpointed two figures.

One was a tall, stoic man, dressed in a flowing, white Alabastan robe and a distinctive, feathered turban. His face was etched with a serious, almost mournful expression, and his build spoke of quiet strength, like a giant falcon.

Beside him sat a young girl, no more than ten years old. Her bright, sky-blue hair cascaded around her shoulders, and her eyes, wide with a mixture of innocence and a deep, underlying anxiety, seemed to take in the suffering of her land even as she rode. She wore a simple, yet elegant, light-colored dress.

Despite the absence of a warning from his Brand, Guts automatically jumped back instinctively as the enormous red crab approached. The crab halted a few meters away, its multifaceted eyes regarding them with an unsettling stillness.

Then, the young girl stepped down from the carriage, carefully helped by the tall, hawk-like man. Her bright blue hair framed a face filled with genuine concern.

"Oh, I am so sorry to have startled you!" the girl said, her voice clear and surprisingly mature for her age, though tinged with an underlying tremor of distress.

She performed a small, graceful bow. "My name is Nefertari Vivi, and this is Pell. May I ask if your companion is alright?" she finished, her gaze shifting to Robin, who still clung to Guts, her face pale.

As Vivi took a step forward, trying to get closer to assess Robin's condition, Pell's hand subtly touched her shoulder. He gave her a polite, almost imperceptible warning glance, his wary eyes fixed on Guts, who remained a formidable, silent sentinel over Robin.

Vivi looked up at Pell, her eyes wide and questioning, but then turned back to Guts and Robin. "My father, King Nefertari Cobra, is eagerly awaiting your arrival, Sir Guts," she explained earnestly.

"And Sir Crocodile is already waiting for you in Katorea, near the oasis. He's been preparing for your visit." A soft, reverent smile touched her lips as she spoke Crocodile's name. "Sir Crocodile is the hero of Alabasta."

As Robin steadied herself, her trembling slowly subsiding until she could stand on her own, she turned to Vivi. "Princess, if I may ask, what has happened to this port? It's... unusually quiet."

Vivi's expression softened with concern. "Oh, that is because of the frequent appearance of pirates, ma'am. Sir Crocodile advised my father that for the safety of the citizens, it was best to evacuate them to safer inland towns until the threat is neutralized." Her voice was earnest, believing wholeheartedly in Crocodile's protective actions.

Robin's gaze swept over the desolate docks, her brow furrowing slightly. "And what has happened to this land, Princess? To Alabasta?" Her voice was low, laced with the sorrow she had just absorbed from the world around her. She didn't miss the subtle shift in Pell's stance, a flicker of something in his eyes—an out-of-place wariness that belied Vivi's calm explanation.

Vivi's gaze fell, a deep sadness settling upon her features. "It is the rain, ma'am. For an entire year now, the sacred rain has not come to our land. The rivers are drying, the crops are failing, and our people are suffering terribly."

Her anxiety was evident as she wrung her hands. With a hopeful shine in her eyes, she continued, "Sir Crocodile told me that you, Sir Guts, as an Ohara survivor, might possess unique knowledge or even a solution to our problem. He thought that perhaps understanding the past would help him understand why our rain has stopped and how to bring it back. He specifically requested that I come get you both, stating that Alabasta's salvation depends on your wisdom."

With genuine humility and desperation etched on her young face, Vivi bowed deeply to both Robin and Guts. "Please, Sir Guts, Robin, Ma'am. Will you follow us to Katorea? where Sir Crocodile awaits. And my father, King Cobra, is eager to speak with you."

As Vivi's plea hung in the air, Robin felt an almost overwhelming urge to agree, her heart aching with the suffering she had heard and the hope of a solution. But just as she was about to speak, Guts's iron grip tightened on her arm.

"I'm not buying it," Guts rumbled, his voice low and dangerous. Despite the eerie silence from his Brand, his instinct had kicked in, a cold dread settling in his gut. His eyes, sharp as a hawk's, fixed on the naive princess. "If Croc wants to meet, he needs to come himself."

Pell stepped forward, his expression strained, attempting to maintain a polite facade. "Sir Guts, Sir Crocodile is currently engaged in delicate negotiations with a delegation from another kingdom. He sent the princess as a sign of respect and urgency. Furthermore, King Cobra has already prepared a grand banquet in your honor."

As Pell spoke, the "whisperer of the world" coiled around Robin. She felt the subtle vibrations in his voice, directly from Pell's heart, and from the words themselves—a cold, calculated lie, full of hostility hidden beneath the courteous veneer. The realization hit her hard: they were using an innocent child to cover their lie.

Robin's eyes widened, and she looked at Guts, her gaze conveying everything—the overwhelming suffering of Alabasta, the cruel deception, and the chilling malice that lay beneath the polite invitation. Guts met her gaze, a grim understanding passing between them. Without a word, his grip shifted from her arm to her shoulder, a silent command.

"Get back to the ship, kid."

Noticing the sudden, grim shift in Guts's posture and Robin's widened eyes, Pell moved with blinding speed. He quickly grabbed the still confused Vivi, tucked her against him, and in a burst of feathers and wind, transformed into his massive falcon form. He shot into the sky like an arrow, and a moment later, a bright, fiery flare burst high above them, painting a fleeting orange streak across the clear blue.

Simultaneously, Robin let out a sharp, choked scream. The chaotic whispers of suffering that had overwhelmed her earlier coalesced into a singular, deafening roar: the land itself was now screaming their impending danger, the warning unmistakable and terrifying.

An instant later, as if in response to Pell's signal and Robin's cry, a blinding, furious sandstorm erupted from the heart of the desert, engulfing them. It attacked with brutal force, a swirling vortex of grit and wind that instantly robbed them of their sight. Both Guts and Robin, though blinded, immediately activated their Observation Haki. Through the howling chaos, they could now sense it—the distinct, malicious presence of more people, encircling them, closing in.

When the storm subsided as abruptly as it began, revealing the now-choking air filled with lingering dust, they stood in the center of an open, sandy arena. Before them, silhouetted against the hazy desert, stood Sir Crocodile, his fur coat billowing slightly. And beside him, tragically, were the islanders of Shell Island, held captive. They stood frozen, unable to move, their bodies partially encased in solidified sand—victims ensnared by the cruel power of Crocodile's Sand-Sand Fruit ability.

Guts's Berserker Armor, a living shadow, started to envelop him completely, tendrils of dark steel coiling over his skin, and with a rasping clang, he drew the immense Dragon Slayer from his back.

Robin gasped, a choked sound of horror escaping her lips. Her eyes, wide with disbelief and pain, fixated on the captives. It wasn't just nameless islanders; her gaze locked onto familiar faces—Mayor Bonal, Jumoi, who was akin to a mother figure to her, and several other people she recognized, all from the small, unassuming island where she and Guts had found a semblance of home. Their bodies were bloody and battered, clear evidence of torture, making the sight unbearable.

Crocodile's grin widened, cold and predatory. "I wouldn't move if I were you, Devil Swordsman," he drawled, his voice like dry sand. "One step, one twitch... and I'll crush them. All of them." His hand, already coated in sand, clenched subtly, and a tiny shriek of pain echoed from the human statues.

"Robin! Get back to the ship!" Guts roared, his voice already taking on the raw, guttural edge of the armor's influence, his gaze locked on Crocodile.

But Robin stood frozen, her eyes glued to the suffering faces of the captives. She was torn, her every instinct screaming to help, to stay, despite the clear and present danger.

As if to emphasize Crocodile's unassailable position, the distant rumble intensified. Over the dunes, a tide of monstrous forms crested the horizon. More and more gigantic crabs, each carrying platoons of soldiers, scuttled closer, their numbers overwhelming. A hundred thousand, or so it seemed, were closing in, ensuring no escape.