The Berserker and the Sea of Madness

The sun blazed high over Nanohana Port, its intense light illuminating every grain of sand and every shadow creeping across the abandoned harbor. The arena-like sand pit where Guts and Robin stood was surrounded by dunes, cliffs, and stationed artillery—behind which thousands of Alabastan soldiers stood in orderly rows.

But not all were what they seemed.

Many wore pristine white uniforms bearing the Marine insignia, rifles slung over their shoulders, and their eyes hidden behind mirrored shades. Their posture was crisp—too crisp. Their discipline seemed overly perfect, and their ranks were unfamiliar. These were not Marines. They were Baroque Works agents in disguise.

The ground trembled ominously beneath a blistering sun.

Sand cascaded aside like a golden waterfall.

From the depths of the dunes emerged a colossal scarlet crab, its formidable claws glistening menacingly as it dragged a gilded transport chariot shaped like a war galleon on sturdy, articulated legs.

Atop the chariot loomed two figures, their stature imposing against the vast desert backdrop.

One was Sakazuki, the infamous Mad Dog of the Marines. His long coat billowed dramatically in the fierce desert wind, and magma dripped steadily from his prosthetic hand, igniting the metal deck below in a hissing dance of heat. His face, drawn and pale as if drained of vitality, was overshadowed by eyes that burned deep with a toxic, fanatical fervor.

Beside him stood Igaram, Captain of the Royal Guard. His tall frame clad in a crisp royal uniform adorned with gold trim and Alabastan emblems. His pale blue, curled wig bounced slightly with each movement—ridiculous in contrast to the deadly seriousness of the moment. But his eyes... they were not foolish.

Behind his curled mustache and exaggerated appearance was the gaze of a man who had served a kingdom through war and assassination. 

Sakazuki raised a den-den mushi to his lips, its metallic casing emblazoned with the ominous sigil of the World Government. The voice erupted across the port like cannon fire, amplified through the mouth of a loudspeaker snail:

"By direct order of the Five Elders and the World Government... the man known as Guts is to be executed on sight."

The Royal Guards turned their eyes to Igaram, searching for clarity. He responded with the subtlest of nods, a mere flicker of affirmation that carried the weight of fate.

Sakazuki's voice reverberated through the air, a thunderous proclamation that demanded attention:

"He is not a pirate. He is not a Revolutionary. He is something far worse: a fallen weapon, cursed and corrupted, bearing knowledge that was meant to remain buried in the annals of history."

His piercing gaze honed in on Guts, who stood defiantly in the coarse sand, his armor fully covering him, and his sword already drawn. The Dragon Slayer's edge hummed softly, vibrating with a potent, silent fury that seemed to resonate with the very essence of rage itself.

"He came to Alabasta with a singular purpose: to plunder the hidden secrets wrapped in the shadows of the royal tombs. Ancient weapons, forbidden texts—arcane knowledge that could unravel the fabric of our world."

"We cannot—must not—allow another Ohara."

Robin tensed, her body stiffening at the mention of the tragic event, though she chose to remain silent, her thoughts swirling like leaves in a storm. Guts's face remained an unreadable mask, betraying nothing of the turmoil within.

"The man known as Guts is here to condemn this kingdom to darkness."

A heavy silence enveloped the scene, punctuated only by the whispers of the wind.

Then, with a commanding presence, Sakazuki stepped forward, raising his right hand—a grotesque amalgamation of scorched flesh and molten magma, radiating heat and power—and declared with unyielding authority:

"Soldiers of Alabasta! Warriors of justice! You are ordered to fire upon him. Now!"

As his words echoed with the weight of inevitability, the Baroque Works agents sprang into motion, their actions swift and synchronized.

The ominous sound of guns clicking into readiness shattered the fragile illusion of peace, signaling the onset of chaos.

Thick. Black-red. It didn't merely flow; it bubbled like molten tar, oozing from the jagged, cursed mark on Guts's neck—the Brand of Sacrifice. It pulsed with an unholy rhythm, not just a beat, but a violent throb, as if it were being ripped open from the inside out by unseen hands. Each pulse sent a searing agony through his nerves, a direct, agonizing link to Robin's immediate danger.

With a heavy, earth-splitting clang, Guts plunged the Dragon Slayer deep into the sand at his feet, the immense weight of the blade anchoring him to this last shred of sanity, fighting against the consuming rage of the Berserker Armor. The ground trembled from the impact.

He looked up—his eyes, glowing faintly crimson through the visor of his helmet, boring straight into Crocodile, who stood high above the terrified captives, a cruel smirk playing on his lips.

And then, in a voice that cut through the desert heat like an execution bell, resonating with a terrifying mix of agony and primal fury, Guts roared:

"As one of the Oka Shichibukai... You can't deny me this, you bastard! I DEMAND A DAVY BACK FIGHT!"

The only answer Guts's instincts could grasp in the haze of pain, rage, and desperation was the harsh and binding ancient pirate law. A Davy Back Fight. 

Across the sandy expanse, Sakazuki's grim face contorted into a snarl. "I am not here to play pirate games!" he roared back, his voice thick with magma-fueled fury. 

"I am here to execute criminals!" He raised his prosthetic hand, molten rock sizzling ominously on his palm—a chilling signal for the surrounding Alabasta soldiers and Baroque Works agents to ready their weapons, preparing to open fire.

Crocodile, initially caught off guard, threw his head back and let out a dry, rasping laugh that echoed across the quiet port. "You're not even a pirate, Devil Swordsman!" he sneered, his hook glinting in the sun. "You can't demand a Davy Back Fight from me!"

But before Crocodile's words could fully dissipate on the wind, a profound, booming sound shook the very ground. The air crackled, heavy with an oppressive, invisible force.

Then, looming directly behind Crocodile, a gigantic man appeared, his messy blond hair like a wild mane, his bulk casting a long shadow over the Warlord.

Douglas Bullet let out a howling, thunderous laugh that seemed to rip through the sky itself. An instant later, his Conqueror's Haki exploded outwards, a terrifying wave of invisible force that slammed into the surrounding Alabasta and Baroque Works army members. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, foamed at the mouth and collapsed, unconscious, like puppets with their strings cut.

Bullet's grin was maniacal as he stared down at Guts, his voice a gravelly roar that seemed to shake the very dunes.

"I ACCEPT!"

With a choked gasp, Robin's eyes snapped open, a sudden, searing clarity piercing through the overwhelming noise of Alabasta's suffering and the paralysis of her own haunting memories.

The ground beneath her, once a cacophony of pain, now offered something new: an opening. A fleeting break in the very air. Crocodile's absolute control over the captives was slipping.

The sand binding their bodies, once rigid and unyielding, cracked and hissed like dry ice, weakening, fracturing in the jarring wake of Bullet's overwhelming Conqueror's Haki.

Robin's hands flew into motion, a dancer's grace infused with a strategist's precision. "Cien Fleur!"

From the dunes surrounding the terrified captives, a hundred dark, spectral hands burst forth in synchronized precision. Delicate yet unyielding, they bloomed from the very earth, reaching, curling, and latching onto the villagers. Each shadowy limb cradled a body with careful precision.

With a surge of pure will, Robin's arms heaved, mirroring the unseen strength of her sprouted limbs. The captives, still rigid with terror, were flung through the air, arcing in a desperate, desperate trajectory toward the shimmering expanse of the sea.

"GARGAR!" she screamed, her voice sharp with both urgent command and surging hope, cutting through the thick, dust-laden air. "CATCH THEM!"

The waters of Nanohana's coast, roiling from Gargar's emergence, surged, rippled, and then exploded outward with even greater fury as something vast and ancient tore through the surface, answering her desperate plea.

From his gargantuan body erupted ten thick tentacles, whipping through the air like thunderbolts, perfectly positioned. With astonishing precision, they swiftly caught all the flung captives, carefully placing them atop his enormous head, a temporary, living sanctuary.

But Crocodile, ever observant, saw.

And he reacted with a predator's speed.

With a snarl of pure fury, his hand plunged into the desert floor. The very sand twisted upward like enraged serpents, forming countless tendrils that whipped through the sky toward the airborne villagers—a desperate, clawing attempt to reclaim them before they could escape.

He managed to snatch Jumoi and one other villager, pulling them back with brutal force. But before he could retrieve more, the earth beneath them exploded.

"MIL FLEUR!" Robin's voice rang out, raw with newfound power.

A colossal leg, formed entirely of blooming limbs, burst upward from beneath the desert floor, a monstrous limb that seemed to belong to a titan. It sliced through Crocodile's reclaiming sand tendrils with terrifying ease, severing his hold.

"GIGANTESCO MANO STOMP!" As the leg reached its zenith, it shimmered, turning a deep, lustrous black from Armament Haki. Then, with the force of a falling mountain, it slammed down—directly toward Crocodile. The impact struck like a hammer, shaking the entire battlefield with a deafening boom.

The sand cratered beneath the immense weight, creating a massive, pulverizing depression. Even the crab-mounted chariot upon which Sakazuki stood buckled under the seismic shock, its colossal claws screeching against the grinding rock.

"You!" Robin screamed, pointing frantically at a villager who had also been caught by Crocodile's sand, a man whose name she couldn't recall in the chaos and whom she instinctively designated as Villager A. "Take Jumoi! Go! Toward the Sea King!"

The battered and bruised Villager A, grunting with effort, hoisted the bloodied, unconscious Jumoi onto his shoulder and began to hobble toward the distant Sea King.

He managed a few shaky steps, then abruptly stopped. He looked back at Robin, a strange, desperate glint in his eyes. Gently, he set Jumoi's body down in the sand, turned around, and scrambled back toward Robin, dropping into a deep, heartfelt bow.

"Please!" he pleaded, voice cracked. "Please stomp on me too!"

A prominent vein throbbed on Robin's forehead. "Just GO!" she shrieked, her face a mask of exasperation.

The same villager, startled, yelped, quickly turned back, scooped up Jumoi's limp form, and resumed his frantic dash toward Gargar.

Guts, his eyes narrowing in something akin to disapproval, glanced at Robin. "It's not proper to show your leg like that," he stated, his voice a low rumble.

Robin's face instantly flushed crimson. "This is NOT the time to joke around, Father!" she roared back, utterly mortified.

"Heh heh heh!" Bullet's booming laugh tore through the air, his eyes fixed on the sight of Crocodile struggling beneath Robin's phantom leg. "Didn't know you had a hobby of being stomped on by little girls, Croc!"

Crocodile, his face contorted in a snarl of humiliation, bellowed back, "This happened because of you, you brute! Shut your mouth!"

Sakazuki, his eyes burning with incandescent fury, roared at Bullet, "You betray me, Bullet!"

Bullet didn't even turn his head. "Shut your mouth, magma-head, or you'll be the first one I kill! The only one who gets to finish Guts is me!"

He strode past the still-immobilized Crocodile, his massive form casting a shadow over the Warlord, and stopped a few paces from Guts. "So," Bullet rumbled, his voice like grinding stone, "you demand a Davy Back Fight? What's your demand, Berserker?"

Guts's gaze was unwavering, his voice a low, gravelly growl. "I demand safe passage for everyone on my ship."

Bullet's grin widened, a predatory gleam in his eyes. He gave a single, firm nod. "Accepted. Now, for my demands. I demand your life and that Berserker Armor you're wearing."

He paused, letting his words hang in the air, then continued, "And since you're the one who called for the Davy Back Fight, I have the right to set the rules. Rule number one: no armor, no weapons." He gestured to Guts's Dragon Slayer and the Berserker Armor. "And in return," Bullet added, his eyes burning with challenge, "I won't use my Devil Fruit ability. Rule number two: we punch in return. No evading, no defending. A direct exchange."

Hearing this, a chilling, triumphant laugh finally tore from Sakazuki's throat. "You dug your own grave, Devil Swordsman!" he cackled, magma sizzling on his palms once more.