Wicked_Fiction
patreon
One Piece: As Heavy as a Gale #57
🕑 Added 2025-05-22 08:33:57 +0000 UTCThe colossal steel gate loomed ahead, its jaws slowly parting with a low, mechanical groan that echoed across the sea like a bored sea king sighing.
The Gate of Justice—massive, ominous, and honestly kind of dramatic for a glorified front door. Garp’s ship shot forward, propelled by the infamous Tarai Current, a swirling nightmare of water velocity and sea-based physics violations.
Somewhere on the deck, reality was unraveling... specifically in the form of Gale and Poqin hurling their souls out over the railing.
“Bluaaargh!”
“Hrrrk—kill me already—blurrrgghhh!”
They clung to the rails like dying cats, pale-faced and empty-eyed. This wasn’t just seasickness. Oh no. They were seasoned veterans of that hell. The Grand Line's freak weather? Child’s play. Giant waves? They could handle it. But the Tarai Current?
This was a whole other level. It was like getting dropkicked into a blender by physics itself. The ship wasn’t just moving fast—it was yeeting itself from one wave to the next with the grace of a drunken kangaroo. Gale was pretty sure he’d seen time loop at least once.
Not far from them, Jabra sat comfortably cross-legged on a crate, arms folded and a smug grin plastered on his face. He chuckled like the petty jerk he clearly was.
“Heh. What’s wrong? Can’t handle a little turbulence, sea dogs?” he snickered. “You gonna cry next?”
Gale glared at him through watery eyes, jaw trembling. “You—urgh—furry—ghkk—rat-bast—” He didn’t finish the insult. His body had other priorities. Like violently rejecting the apple he ate back in Torino Island.
He bent over again with a groan and let the sea have its due.
Jabra's grin widened. “Aw, too bad. Thought you had all that bravado earlier. What happened, sword boy? Did the current ruffle your little feathers?”
'God, I want to stab him... just once... right in the stupid goatee…' Gale thought as he dry heaved again. 'But I also don’t want Garp to backhand me into orbit, so... guess I’ll just die quietly.'
The worst part wasn’t the nausea. It wasn’t even the acidic taste of regret that now lived in the back of his throat.
No. The worst part was that Gale had to admit… he was losing this round.
He, the one who almost cracked Jabra’s skull earlier, was now being mocked by said skull’s owner—and he couldn’t even say a comeback without dry heaving halfway through.
Dammit… I’ll give you this one, you smug furball. But only because I’m busy puking. Not because you won. No one wins here.
Poqin, beside him, let out a pathetic whimper. “Why does the ocean hate us, Gale…?”
Gale spat weakly over the rail, then groaned, “Because we were happy once.”
As the ship surged forward into the open maw of the Gate of Justice, all Gale could do was hang on, pray this nightmare ended soon, and plan a future where Jabra definitely got what's coming to him.
Preferably on dry land.
...
The great steel maw of the Gate of Justice groaned shut behind them with all the finality of a slammed prison door, but honestly, Gale couldn’t have cared less. Because for the first time in what felt like a thousand years, the sea stopped trying to kill him.
The Tarai Current spat them out into calm waters, and the ship finally settled into a gentle glide—like the ocean had just ragequit halfway through the boss fight.
Gale and Poqin lay sprawled across the deck, backs pressed against the railing, drenched in cold sweat, eyes staring up at the sky like two war survivors processing the trauma.
Poqin was the first to groan. “I think I left parts of my soul in the water…”
“Yeah?” Gale rasped. “I left my dignity, self-respect, and about three meals. Maybe four. I don't even remember eating that much…”
Not far from them, Jabra was still at it. Perched on a barrel, arms crossed and legs swinging like a child mocking a sibling, he grinned like the world’s most punchable tax auditor.
“Well, well,” he called, “you guys done painting the ocean yet? We’re gonna have to rename the sea ‘Puke Blue’ at this rate.”
Gale didn’t bother looking at him. His stomach might’ve settled, but his pride was still recovering in intensive care.
Instead, he turned to Poqin, muttering, “We need to get him back.”
Poqin nodded solemnly. “Without Garp turning us into abstract art, yeah.”
“Exactly.” Gale wiped sweat off his forehead. “You got anything?”
Poqin rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “We steal his toothbrush… and dip it in the piss bucket.”
Gale blinked at him. “...Jabra doesn’t strike me as a guy who brushes his teeth.”
“Fair point.”
“We should use the crap bucket instead.”
Poqin slowly nodded, as if Gale had just solved world hunger. “Now that’s evil.”
The two of them stared forward, scheming in silence like disgruntled kids who just got told off at recess. Then—
“Look alive, you two.”
Bogard’s voice snapped them out of it. The man appeared like a stealthy ghost in a long coat, arms crossed, the usual unreadable expression on his face. Honestly, Gale suspected he just teleported.
“You can see Marineford from here,” Bogard added, motioning toward the horizon.
Gale and Poqin glanced at each other, and in perfect sync, they scrambled to their feet, suddenly very interested in not looking like absolute failures.
And there it was—Marineford.
It started as a silhouette in the distance, but the closer they got, the more awe-inspiring it became.
A massive, crescent-shaped harbor stretched outward like a stone coliseum embracing the sea. Towering battlements wrapped around the curved perimeter, all pristine white and lined with cannons big enough to make Sea Kings think twice.
Right at the center of it all, on raised land behind the harbor, stood the Marine Headquarters building—a towering structure with the word “JUSTICE” boldly painted across its front, just in case you forgot who the good guys were.
It had that same overcompensating energy as Garp’s laugh: big, loud, and not subtle in the slightest.
Poqin whistled. “Y’know, for a government that claims to be broke, they sure like building big.”
Gale squinted at the rising tower. “You think they sell ‘justice’ in smaller fonts, or is that trademarked?”
Bogard let out the faintest sigh—he’d clearly walked into the dumbass corner of the ship. Again.
But Gale couldn’t help it. Between the trauma of the Tarai Current, Jabra’s smugness, and the looming military fortress ahead, sarcasm was all he had left in the tank.
Alright, he thought, watching Marineford grow larger by the second. 'Let’s see how long I can stay out of trouble in there… bets are off.'
...
The ship finally came to a slow, creaking halt at Marineford’s main dock, with chains clanking and sailors tossing ropes like they were getting paid per knot. The ramp dropped with a heavy thunk, and for the first time since they left Enies Lobby, Gale’s feet touched something solid.
He was tempted to drop to his knees and kiss the dock, but decided against it—mostly because Jabra was still nearby and Gale didn’t want to give him more material.
Speak of the devil.
Jabra was halfway down the ramp already, throwing Gale a sideways glare that had all the warmth of a meat freezer. He didn’t say a word. Just stared for a second, scoffed, and peeled off toward another ship anchored nearby. It was smaller than Garp’s but already prepping to leave.
“Off you go, you furry little jerk,” Gale muttered under his breath. “Hope you choke on your Enies Lobby cafeteria food.”
He watched Jabra disappear up the gangplank of the other vessel, and a tiny part of him—the very petty, very human part—wished he could’ve done something more.
Maybe tripped him. Punched him again. Replaced his shoes with identical ones but one size too small. But alas, revenge would have to stay spiritual today.
Avalo Pizarro had already been handed off at Impel Down during a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it drop-off that felt more like Amazon Prime than high-security transport. The wardens barely made eye contact when they took him in.
No dramatic gates slamming. No haunted prison screams. Not even a creepy warning about “abandon all hope” or whatever. Just “Thanks, now get lost.”
Very anticlimactic.
With Jabra gone and no more vomit in his lungs, Gale finally turned his attention to Marineford—and blinked in surprise.
It was crowded.
Marines of every rank were marching on and off ships, some in formation, some carrying duffel bags bigger than they were. But it wasn’t just military folks. Families dotted the docks—wives and husbands, kids holding signs, grandparents waving handkerchiefs, some crying, others cheering.
It looked less like the nerve center of naval authority and more like a chaotic, emotionally-charged train station with rifles.
Poqin leaned close to Gale and muttered, “Did… we just walk into a family reunion?”
Gale crossed his arms and frowned. “Nah. Pretty sure this is normal. If I remember right, this place isn’t just a base—it’s like a whole city. Officers live here. Their families too.”
“Right, right,” Poqin nodded. “So, if we mess something up here, we're not just disappointing our superior officers… we’re also ruining someone's dad’s barbecue.”
Gale winced. “Now that’s pressure.”
It was surreal. He’d been bracing for nothing but salutes, barking orders, and steel-gray monotony. Instead, there were little kids chasing seagulls. A couple of toddlers climbed on a cannon like it was a jungle gym.
One marine was awkwardly trying to hold both a rifle and a bouquet of flowers. Another got tackled by three screaming kids who definitely didn’t care that their dad was a lieutenant commander.
It was… kind of wholesome?
Gale didn’t know how to feel about that.
He glanced around at the activity, feeling a bit out of place in the moment. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the sight—it was just so different from what he expected. Marineford wasn’t just a fortress. It was a home.
Poqin gave Gale a side glance. “So… we gonna do something stupid or try to lay low?”
Gale turned to Poqin, brushing some dust off his coat. “Go do whatever you want. Sightsee. Nap. Get lost. As for me... my stomach still thinks it’s in the Tarai Current, so I’ll probably—”
He trailed off mid-sentence as something hit him—not literally this time. It was a smell. A glorious, smoky, mouthwatering smell.
Roasting meat.
Big meat.
No—giant meat.
Gale’s head snapped toward the scent like a man possessed. His eyes scanned the docks until he saw them: four absolute units of giants posted up at the edge of the harbor like they were tailgating the apocalypse.
They sat cross-legged on the stone, laughing, drinking straight from barrels the size of wagons, and casually roasting a whole slab of meat so large it would’ve taken an entire herd of cows to make. The fire they were using was big enough to cook a small ship.
And then he saw her.
One of the giants was a blonde bombshell with curves that could cause a tsunami if she so much as turned too fast. The heat from the bonfire had her golden hair swaying dramatically like it had its own wind machine. Her armor didn’t do much to hide her, uh... build quality either.
Gale's pupils dilated.
In an instant, his brain short-circuited and ran a full fantasy cutscene.
He wasn’t Gale anymore.
He was a 45-year-old man named Greg, proud father of three, loving husband of twelve years. But Gregory had seen things—and now, with everything to lose, he had chosen the one path that made sense for a man with an entire family depending on him and a ton of responsibilities.
Cave diving.
Into the dreaded Cave of No Return. The kind they don’t talk about in polite company. Alone. With nothing but a flashlight, an echo, and deeply questionable intentions.
And as he descended into the darkness, his battle cry echoed through the chasm:
“DEATH BY SNU SNU!!”
SMACK.
A sharp, ringing pain bloomed across the top of Gale’s skull as the fantasy abruptly ended. He stumbled, clutching his head.
“Ow—what the hell?!”
He turned and found Vice Admiral Garp standing there with his fist still raised like it was no big deal. The man didn’t even look mad—just mildly annoyed, like he’d swatted a fly.
“You deaf or somethin’, brat?” Garp barked. “Get movin’. That big building over there—” he jabbed a thumb behind him, “—they’ll tell you what to do from here.”
Gale blinked, still half-in Gregory-mode. “Right. Yep. Got it. Totally professional. Very focused.”
Garp grunted and walked off like he hadn’t just nearly given a junior officer brain damage.
Gale sighed, rubbing his head as he glanced one last time toward the giants. The blonde one raised her barrel and laughed at something one of the others said, and for a moment, he swore she looked right at him.
"She’s gonna be the death of me," he mumbled with a dazed grin, then turned toward the building Garp had pointed out.
