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One Piece: As Heavy as a Gale #112
🕑 Added 2025-08-08 08:22:05 +0000 UTCThe night air rang with the clash of steel. Gale moved like a shadow with a caffeine addiction—here one second, gone the next—slipping just
The night air rang with the clash of steel. Gale moved like a shadow with a caffeine addiction—here one second, gone the next—slipping just
The night air rang with the clash of steel. Gale moved like a shadow with a caffeine addiction—here one second, gone the next—slipping just outside Diamante’s range with the kind of casual grace that was clearly intentional and infuriating.
Every slash of Diamante’s whip-sword met nothing but air… or, more and more often, metal. The Ferris Wheel’s support beams were starting to look like they’d been in the middle of a samurai family feud.
Gale’s Observation Haki kept him one step ahead, reading every twitch of Diamante’s shoulders, every tightening of his grip. The trick wasn’t just dodging—it was positioning.
Which was why, every time Diamante attacked, Gale somehow angled himself so the blow would hit something important.
CLANG! A joint plate sheared off and clattered to the ground.
KRANG! A length of bracing cable snapped free, whipping through the air like an angry snake.
“Stop dancing around and fight me head-on!” Diamante bellowed.
“Oh, I am fighting you,” Gale replied innocently, stepping just far enough aside for the next slash to take out a load-bearing crossbar. “You’re just bad at aiming.”
Diamante’s teeth ground audibly. “You little—”
CLANG! Another beam split. Gale didn’t even look at it—he just adjusted his grip on his rapier, the hilt catching the light, a perfect mirror of Florencio’s refined fencing stance.
He lunged forward, soru-like footwork blurring his movements as he peppered Diamante with quick thrusts—none fatal, but all irritating enough to force blocks and parries that cost him ground.
“Your form’s a mess,” Gale said casually, parrying a whip-like strike and redirecting it straight into another beam. “Ever considered lessons? I know a guy who can teach you how to make rose petals appear when you swing. Very classy.”
“I’m going to gut you!” Diamante snarled, yanking his blade free of the mangled steel.
“That’s a no, then.” Gale ducked low, rolling under a horizontal sweep. He flicked his revolver out mid-roll, firing a bullet at the ground that swelled mid-flight into a steel sphere the size of a barrel. It slammed into Diamante’s legs like a wrecking ball, staggering him back.
Gale didn’t even try to hide his grin. “Huh. Guess that does work better than a snowball.”
Diamante slashed the sphere apart, roaring in frustration, and lunged again. This time, Gale altered the density of his own arm mid-parry—his sword feeling impossibly heavy in that instant—and forced Diamante’s blade into another Ferris Wheel support.
The metal shrieked as it split.
Somewhere above, the entire structure gave a groaning shudder, the carriages swinging more violently than before. A few loose bolts pinged off the pavement like warning shots.
Diamante froze for a heartbeat, eyes flicking upward. “…You—”
Gale tilted his head. “Me?”
“You’re trying to bring it down!”
“What? Noooo,” Gale said, his voice dripping with faux innocence. “I’m accidentally bringing it down. Totally different.”
KRANG! Another cable gave way.
The Ferris Wheel leaned ever so slightly, letting out the kind of creak that sounded like a death rattle for amusement park rides.
Gale twirled his rapier lazily. “Better finish me off quick, or someone might get the wrong idea.”
Diamante’s glare could have cooked an egg.
The wheel groaned again… and began to crumble.
...
A thin spear of golden light lanced down from the heavens, striking the empty shoreline of Sabaody with a sound like someone popping the cork off a champagne bottle.
It stretched, bent, and shaped itself until Admiral Kizaru stood there in his crisp coat, hands in pockets, looking for all the world like a man who’d just gotten off at the wrong bus stop.
Behind him, far out on the horizon, the ship that had ferried him here was nothing but a dark smudge against the glittering water. He squinted at it lazily, as if wondering whether he should’ve stayed onboard for the free dinner.
Then he turned toward the clustered groves of Sabaody, the colorful chaos of the island’s skyline barely visible under the night.
“Oooh… now then,” he murmured, voice stretching like taffy, “where should I go first…?”
He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out his transponder snail.
The poor thing looked horrible. Its eyes were drooped halfway shut, its shell had lint clinging to it, and its whole body had the wilted, resentful look of a creature that had spent far too long in a dark pocket with no food, water, or dignity.
“…Oooh,” Kizaru said, tilting his head at it, “I forgot about you.... again...”
The snail gave a slow, pitiful blink that could have meant yes, you monster, or tell my family I love them.
Kizaru scratched the back of his head, the faintest ghost of an awkward smile playing on his face. “Oooh… again… how embarrassing.”
For a moment, he seriously considered going back to the ship just to get a fresh snail—but that would mean more effort. And more walking. And he’d already come all this way.
He tapped his chin. “Maaaybe I just find some poor passerby and ask, ‘excuse me, where’s the nearest… chaos?’”
But before he could decide whether social interaction was worth the trouble, a noise rolled across the entire island.
A deep, metallic groan. The kind of groan that meant “this structure is about to be in tomorrow’s headlines.”
Kizaru’s eyes slid toward the sound. In the distance, past the colorful lights of Grove 39, the Sabaody Ferris Wheel—one of the island’s gaudiest and most recognizable attractions—was leaning at an angle that Ferris Wheels should never lean.
Bolts and girders rained down. Lights flickered wildly. The whole thing began its slow-motion death spiral, each screech of tortured metal carrying all the way to the shore.
“Oooh… so scary…” Kizaru muttered. Then, after a pause, he added, “but I suppose… that’s where I need to go.”
The snail, back in his pocket, made a noise halfway between a sigh and a sob.
Without another word, Kizaru’s body dissolved into a blazing column of golden light, and in the blink of an eye, he was gone—streaking straight toward the theme park and whatever lunacy was waiting there.
...
Gale stood proudly atop a pile of twisted beams and shattered panels, hands on his hips, grinning like a kid who’d just knocked over the world’s largest Jenga tower.
Below him, the once-bustling theme park lay in ruins. The carousel was a tangle of horse limbs and broken poles, the roller coaster looked like someone had tried to braid it, and the Ferris Wheel… well, the Ferris Wheel didn’t even look like a Ferris Wheel anymore.
Now it was just several dozen heaps of jagged scrap scattered like an industrial art exhibit titled “Oops.”
Technically—technically—it was Diamante’s work. But Gale had been the architect, the foreman, and the guy who whispered, “Hey, hit that beam, it looks at you funny.” Diamante was just the hammer. A very loud, angry, fashionable hammer.
And if there was one thing Gale knew, it was that history didn’t care who swung the hammer—only who took the blame.
He crouched down slightly, admiring the wreckage. 'It’ll be rebuilt eventually, he thought. But that’ll take time. Time where maybe—just maybe—fishmen and mermaids won’t be drawn here like moths to a flame just to get chained up and sold.'
It was almost noble, really. Almost.
A sudden THWANG! broke his thoughts as a massive metallic sheet shot into the air, spinning lazily before disappearing into the night sky.
The rubble beneath it shifted, groaned, and then split open as Diamante dragged himself out like some furious, fashion-conscious zombie.
His cape was tattered, his hat sat at a slightly murderous angle, and his bloodshot eyes locked on Gale with a look usually reserved for people who scam your grandmother out of her pension and then eat the cake she baked for church.
“You… goddamn brat…” Diamante growled, his voice low and dangerous. “You’ve really done it now…”
Gale tilted his head, grin never fading. “Done it? Diamante, my friend, I’ve been doing it. In case you haven’t noticed.”
Diamante’s jaw twitched, his knuckles whitening around the hilt of his rapier. “I was holding back,” he said, each word laced with venom, “in case I had to run for an admiral. But now—”
“Oh?” Gale cut in, widening his eyes in mock innocence. “You think you can run from an admiral? That’s cute.”
Diamante’s glare sharpened until it felt like he was trying to bore straight through Gale’s skull. His voice came low, dangerous.
“If you think I’ll just stand here and let you mock me, then—”
Whatever glorious threat he was about to unleash died mid-sentence—not because Gale interrupted with words, but because Gale decided words were overrated.
Without warning, he lunged forward, his rapier leveled like a silver spike aimed straight for Diamante’s chest.
Diamante’s eyes bulged. Veins popped in places Gale wasn’t entirely sure veins should exist.
It wasn’t just anger now—it was the kind of fury reserved for a man who had finally met his natural predator: a scrawny, mouthy, chaos-addicted Marine with no respect for dramatic monologues.
“This is the first time,” Diamante thought as his teeth clenched, “in my entire life… someone has managed to piss me off this much.”
He didn’t want an apology. He didn’t want surrender. He wanted blood.
“ARMY BANDERA!” he roared.
The ground around him rippled like liquid under a breeze, distorting and twisting. Gale instantly felt his footing go wobbly, his weight shifting awkwardly. It was like trying to sprint on a trampoline during an earthquake.
Still, Gale gritted his teeth and adjusted his stance, the tip of his sword still flying toward Diamante’s torso—though with far less force than intended.
Figures… finally go for a dramatic stab and the guy turns the floor into soup.
Diamante scoffed and swept his folded steel cape in front of him. The blow glanced harmlessly away with a metallic screech.
His retaliation came instantly—his rapier flashing downward toward Gale’s shoulder.
Gale’s free hand shot up, palm hardening with a sudden spike in density until it felt like slamming steel against steel. The blade bounced aside with a loud CLANG, and Gale shoved it away before snapping his own sword forward, this time aiming for Diamante’s face.
But Diamante wasn’t standing still. His body twisted, contorting unnaturally—folding in on itself like some nightmarish ribbon. The blade hissed past, always just shy of cutting him, no matter how Gale tried to adjust.
“Oh, for—will you stop wiggling?!” Gale barked, flicking his wrist and extending the length of his rapier’s blade mid-swing, trying to catch him in the middle of his pretzel act.
Diamante just kept snaking around the blade, weaving in and out until he finally unfurled, landing on his feet a few meters away.
He straightened, cape flaring dramatically, breathing heavy.
“This is where it ends, brat…” he said coldly.
Then—without an ounce of irony—he reached into his pocket and pulled out several folded confetti cannons.
Gale blinked. “…Is this a party or an execution?”
Diamante didn’t answer. With a flick of his wrists, the cannons scattered across the ground, their metallic surfaces catching the faint glow of the broken Ferris Wheel lights.
Gale’s eyes narrowed. 'Great. Either he’s going to pull a finishing move, or it’s about to start raining streamers.'
The tension in the air was sharp enough to cut.
Comments
trollord3000
Thank you for the chapter. Looking forward to the next one.
