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One Piece: As Heavy as a Gale #56
🕑 Added 2025-05-21 06:44:15 +0000 UTCGale didn’t say a word.
No warning. No dramatic wind-up. Just one sharp inhale—and then he moved.
A lightning-fast kick slammed straight into Jabra’s chest with the force of a cannonball. It was so sudden that the CP9 agent didn’t even get to say “ohoho”—he just coughed up a mouthful of blood and went sailing backward through the salty air like a particularly punchable kite.
Poqin let out a high-pitched “WHAT THE HELL?!” as the scene erupted in motion, but Gale wasn’t done.
In fact, he’d barely started.
With a sharp snap of his heel, Gale vanished from the boarding ramp in a blur of practiced footwork—his custom movement technique kicking in—and reappeared mid-air, right next to Jabra’s still-airborne body.
The CP9 agent was on a fast-track trajectory to slam into a neighboring ship, but Gale was already there waiting, blade unsheathed, arm raised high above his head.
The rapier he held gleamed menacingly in the sunlight.
And it was heavy—not just emotionally, but literally. Gale had cranked the weight up to the max with his Devil Fruit, turning the elegant blade into a blunt-force trauma dealer.
To Jabra’s credit, his instincts were sharp—even after being blindsided. His eyes widened, and he barely managed to activate Tekkai in time, arms crossing above his head to block as he barked out, “Tekk—!”
CLAAANG!
Gale’s downward strike connected like a battering ram made of regret and unfinished business. The impact rattled through the air with a metallic echo, and the force sent Jabra crashing downward, plowing through the edge of the dock like a wrecking ball.
Splinters flew. Water sprayed. The crowd scattered.
If the guy hadn’t kicked off with Geppo at the last second, he would’ve done a full-body cannonball straight into the harbor. And that would’ve been it. One wet dog, game over.
Unfortunately for everyone’s peace of mind, Jabra did manage to stay airborne—though his arms now had a jagged, bleeding gash slicing clean through his tekkai defense.
He was still in the air, trying to process how a “recruit” had just handed him his ribs on a skewer, when—pop—Gale appeared again, right in front of him, like an annoying pop-up ad that hit you mid-video.
Before Jabra could raise a single insult, Gale grabbed the front of his cloak with one hand—and smacked him across the face with it.
Not punched. Not sliced. Just smack. Like a disappointed aunt with a particularly heavy slipper.
The sheer disrespect.
Even Poqin yelled from the dock, “Okay, now he’s just bullying him!”
The monk wasn’t the only one with front-row seats to the disaster.
On the dock, Bogard stood there with his usual resting blank face, as if he was silently judging the clouds or contemplating the metaphysical weight of a sword. Probably both.
Garp, on the other hand, was just grinning like a proud uncle watching two nephews fight over the last rice cracker. The old man looked like he was watching a comedy show, not a borderline war crime in mid-air.
“Wahaha! That one’s got spunk!” Garp boomed, casually scratching his nose like this wasn’t escalating into an international incident.
The two marine soldiers dragging the limp body of Avalo Pizarro were frozen mid-step, eyes wide and jaws hanging like broken hinges. One of them whispered, “Uh... should we stop this?”
The other just replied, “You stop it.”
Fair enough.
Meanwhile, Avalo himself—who was supposed to be unconscious—cracked one eye open at the sounds of air being shredded. He blinked once. Then twice.
Oh, great. Mid-air street fight. CP9 agent getting folded like laundry.
Nope.
He shut his eye again and played dead harder than ever, quietly shifting his weight toward the edge of the dock like a sea lion hoping to flop away while nobody was looking.
But Gale didn’t notice any of that.
His focus was a single, burning pinprick of rage.
Jabra.
That smug, moustached, government-issue disaster of a man. The one who grabbed Florencio’s sword like it was some cheap letter opener.
That did it, and only the sight of Jabra lying on the ground, a swollen mess bleeding at least seven different places was going to undo it.
Gale’s body was on autopilot now. He moved faster than thought, fists, feet, and steel flying in a blur. Punches cracked across Jabra’s ribs. A sweep kick followed by a jab to the throat. A slash aimed at the shoulder, a stab to the gut, another kick to the head.
Somehow, everything bypassed Tekkai like Gale had unlocked the DLC cheat code for hitting smug bastards.
He didn’t even notice he was doing it or even cared. He just was.
'I'm gonna beat this bastard until no one can recognize him,' Gale thought absently as he ducked another half-hearted counter and slammed his knee into Jabra’s stomach.
By now, Jabra wasn’t even mad—he was just confused.
“Are you serious right now?!” he barked mid-punch, blocking a strike that still somehow left a gash across his arm. “What kind of rookie are you?!”
The answer?
The kind who wasn’t letting up.
Gale just kept going. A blur of blue, steel, and tightly bottled trauma. It got to the point where even Jabra was starting to feel like the bully in a manga who’d just pissed off the quiet transfer student and accidentally triggered his tragic backstory arc.
“Okay, seriously,” Jabra muttered between gasps, trying to dodge a stab aimed for his ear. “Are you possessed or something? Did I step on your dog in a past life?!”
And then—finally—after a full minute of non-stop punishment, Jabra saw his opening.
He ducked under a wild swing, flared his nose, and growled, “That’s it!”
A sudden burst of steam-like smoke erupted around him as his muscles shifted and cracked.
Fur sprouted. His limbs grew bulkier. Fangs stretched from his mouth. His whole silhouette grew taller, darker, and more grr-worthy.
“Hybrid form: Wolfman!” he bellowed.
In the blink of an eye, the smug bastard became a snarling, full-on lupine bruiser, claws twitching and eyes glowing with that signature “Now I’m serious” anime aura.
Gale skidded to a halt mid-swing, raising an eyebrow. “Turning into a furry only makes me want to beat you even harder...”
Jabra bared his teeth. “Let’s see you make jokes with your face caved in.”
“Oh good,” Gale muttered, shifting his stance. “You do have a second phase. I was worried you were just bad at your job.”
Jabra growled.
Poqin started eating popcorn.
Bogard blinked.
Garp laughed.
Avalo, still playing dead, was mentally scribbling “DO NOT move until at least three people are unconscious.”
And just like that, Round 2 was on.
Gale shot forward again, a blur of motion thanks to his footwork technique, aiming to run it back with Jabra. But this time, the mustached mutt was ready.
In his hybrid form, Jabra moved like a missile. He twisted out of the way with ease, cloak flaring dramatically behind him like he practiced that move in front of a mirror.
“Gekkō Jūshigan!” he barked, shooting upward with Geppō, fangs bared and fingers poised like a living ballista.
Mid-air, Jabra shifted his momentum with another Geppō burst, diving head-first at Gale like a deranged dolphin. His hardened finger glinted in the sunlight, sharper than any blade—strong enough to pierce through a battleship’s hull.
And he was aiming it right for Gale’s face.
Gale didn’t flinch. He just frowned.
'No time to dodge. Great.'
He sighed mentally. 'Okay, fine. We’ll do it the hard way.'
With a grunt, he pumped his leg muscles full of weight—density cranked up until his muscles felt like lead bars wrapped in tension cables. Then he kicked off the ground, launching himself upward like a cannonball, sword raised sky-high in a tight stabbing stance.
'If you wanna play chicken, mutt, I’ll bring the whole farm.'
As Jabra screamed down from above, finger gleaming like a death drill, Gale began feeding more density into his rapier. The blade shimmered under the strain, practically humming with pressure.
'I’m gonna snap that stupid finger. And maybe a wrist. Or a forearm. Hell, if I break his ribs on the way in, that’s just a bonus.'
The gap between them shrank fast. Inches. A heartbeat. Less.
And then—
BAM.
A shadow flickered beside Jabra.
Bogard had appeared like a ghost mid-fall, face calm as ever, and kicked the CP9 agent with surgical precision. The sound was like a small explosion.
Jabra went cartwheeling through the air like a furry frisbee.
Before Gale could adjust course, Bogard turned, drew his sword in a single fluid motion, and deflected the stab aimed straight at the sky.
The clang of steel rang out like a bell. Gale hit the dock hard but landed on his feet, clicking his tongue and rolling his shoulder with a grunt.
'Okay. First, ow. Second, what the hell, man?'
His eyes didn’t leave Jabra, who was now spinning like a cursed Beyblade across the harbor sky. Gale’s hand twitched, about to lunge again—
—but Bogard landed in front of him, sword still drawn, and finally spoke.
“That’s enough.”
The words weren’t loud, but they cut through the chaos like a blade. His tone was calm, controlled, and dead serious.
Gale, breathing heavy and still buzzing with fury, stared back at him. “You saw what he did.”
Bogard didn’t blink. “I did.”
“He touched my treasure.”
“I saw that too.”
“He’s still breathing.”
Bogard’s grip tightened slightly, but his voice didn’t waver. “You made your point.”
Gale squinted at him. '...Okay, sure. But can I just stab him a little bit? Just a polite, diplomatic stabbing?'
He let out a slow breath, letting his sword arm drop with a reluctant clank. His whole body felt like it was vibrating. He wasn’t used to stopping when he wasn’t the one ending the fight.
Gale glanced over at Jabra, who had finally stopped ragdolling like someone had tossed a chew toy into a wind tunnel. The poor bastard had smacked into the side of a docked ship with a thud that echoed across the harbor.
He wasn't quite the mangled, swollen mess bleeding from seven different places that Gale had originally imagined—but honestly? Not far off.
And that kick from Bogard?
Oof. Gale winced just thinking about it. Yeah... definitely not picking a fight with him anytime soon. He sighed, then reluctantly muttered, “Fine,” and sheathed his sword with a faint clink.
He wasn’t happy about it, but hey, he wasn’t stupid either.
Jabra, however, was very much not done.
“You don’t get to decide when this ends!” the CP0 agent barked, his hybrid form still twitching with leftover aggression and maybe a touch of brain trauma.
Gale didn’t even respond. He just raised an eyebrow as if to say, Really? After that?
From across the dock, Garp chuckled, looking as entertained as a man watching monkeys throw pies at each other. Then he casually turned his attention toward Avalo Pizarro—who, by the way, had not-so-subtly started inching his way toward the edge of the dock like a particularly hopeful crab.
Garp disappeared from the ship with a BOOM.
He reappeared right next to Avalo, raising his fist with all the patience of a man about to swat a fly with a cannonball.
Avalo’s eyes bulged. “W-wait, I can expl—”
WHAM.
Garp’s fist came down, not with fatal intent, but with the kind of controlled force that still rattled the entire dock. Boards shook, ropes snapped, seagulls screamed—and Avalo’s face cratered into the wood with a crunch that echoed emotionally.
Gale blinked. 'Damn. That’s how you know he held back. If he wanted to, there wouldn’t be a dock left.'
Garp turned toward Jabra with that same jolly grin that somehow made him scarier than when he was angry.
“What was that you said again?” he asked, casual as a grandpa asking for a cookie refill.
Jabra froze mid-snarl. His hybrid form immediately shrank back to normal, tail between his metaphorical legs. “It’s—uh—it’s nothing, sir!”
Garp grinned wider, like a lion watching a hyena backpedal. “That’s what I thought.”
Then he turned toward Gale and Poqin, thumb casually pointing over his shoulder. “Get on the ship already, brats. We’ve wasted enough time here.”
Gale gave a small nod. “Right.”
He started walking toward the ramp, Poqin silently falling in beside him. The older man didn’t say a word—he just looked vaguely impressed and maybe a little traumatized. Honestly, Gale couldn't blame him.
Behind them, the two terrified marines who’d been hauling Avalo earlier rushed in to drag what was left of the prisoner—now flat as a rug and probably hearing ocean sounds that weren’t real—back toward the ship.
Jabra trudged after them, arms crossed and grumbling something under his breath that definitely wasn’t brave enough to be heard out loud.
Gale looked ahead at the ship, then back at the group behind him and sighed.
'And this is my life now. Great.'
...
The ship’s deck buzzed with activity as the marines rushed to prepare for departure. Ropes were coiled, sails adjusted, and someone somewhere was already yelling about a cannon being out of place. Classic marine chaos—organized, but with just enough shouting to feel like something had to be going wrong.
Garp finally made his way up the ramp, looking like he was just coming back from a pleasant stroll instead of having just cratered a notorious criminal into the pier.
Behind him, Bogard followed in that quiet, unbothered way of his, footsteps so even you’d think the man was gliding.
As they walked, Garp tilted his head toward him and grumbled, “Y’know, you did something completely unnecessary back there.”
Bogard didn’t even blink. “You mean stopping Gale?”
“Yup,” Garp said with a shrug. “That Cp9 brat wouldn’t’ve died, you know?”
Bogard sighed like a man explaining basic math to a goldfish. “Maybe not. But he would’ve been hospitalized for weeks. And the tension between the Navy and Cipher Pol is already... high.”
Garp snorted. “Exactly! That’s the point! You know how many folks in CP0 I’ve been dying to beat the snot out of? That would’ve been the perfect excuse!” He threw his hands up like Bogard had just canceled Christmas. “But nooo, you had to ruin it.”
Bogard’s poker face cracked—slightly. One eye twitched like it was being held hostage by his better judgment. He inhaled slowly through his nose, already regretting every career choice that had led him to this moment.
“I’ll... be more careful next time.”
Garp cackled and clapped a meaty hand on his back, nearly sending the man face-first into a barrel.
“That’s the spirit!”
Bogard straightened up, silently vowing to recalibrate his proximity radius to Garp’s slap-zone.
Then Garp grinned and added, “Man, I wonder how you’ve managed to hang around me all these years and still none of my intelligence rubbed off on ya.”
Bogard said nothing. But somewhere deep in his soul, a single scream echoed into the void.
Garp laughed again, louder this time, and threw an arm over Bogard’s shoulders like they were off to grab drinks after work. “You’ll get there someday. Just gotta stick close to me.”
Bogard gave a polite nod, the kind a man gives while calculating how hard it’d be to jump off the ship without anyone noticing.
