Chapter 4: Chapter 4: The Devil’s Due
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The sun had fully risen by the time the Flying Dutchman approached the next island. The once-stormy sky had cleared, revealing a brilliant blue expanse that contrasted sharply with the dark, ominous silhouette of the cursed ship. The crew, weary but determined, worked diligently as they prepared for their arrival.
Davy Jones stood at the helm, his gaze fixed on the distant shore. The island was larger than the one they had encountered before, its coastline marked by towering cliffs and dense forests. A small port town was visible in the distance, nestled between the cliffs and the sea. The sight of civilization, however modest, stirred something within Jones—a reminder of the life he had left behind, the man he had once been before the curse had claimed him.
"We make port here," Jones announced, his voice carrying across the deck. "The crew will go ashore to gather supplies. But be on guard—this is uncharted territory, and we do not know what dangers lurk."
The crew nodded, their expressions a mix of anticipation and wariness. The battle with the ghostly pirates had left them on edge, and the presence of the chest—and the power it contained—had only heightened their sense of caution.
As the Dutchman neared the shore, Jones turned his attention to the town. It was a typical port settlement, with a few scattered buildings and a small harbour where several ships were docked. The people moved about their business, seemingly unaware of the cursed ship approaching their shores.
But Jones knew better than to underestimate the inhabitants of this world. The Grand Line was a place of endless wonders and dangers, where even the most unassuming town could hold secrets or threats. And with the chest in his possession, he was a target for anyone seeking power.
"Lower the anchor," Jones ordered, and the crew quickly complied. The Dutchman came to a stop just outside the harbour, its dark presence casting a long shadow over the water. A few of the townsfolk glanced nervously in the ship's direction, but most continued their activities, either too busy or too accustomed to strange occurrences to pay it much mind.
"Take a small crew ashore," Jones instructed his first mate, a hulking figure with the head of a hammerhead shark. "Gather what supplies we need, and keep your eyes open for any signs of trouble. We're not here to start a fight, but we won't back down if one finds us."
The first mate nodded and barked orders to a handful of crewmen. They quickly prepared a longboat, lowering it into the water and climbing aboard. Jones watched as the small group rowed toward the shore, his mind already racing with possibilities.
The town could offer more than just supplies. Information, alliances, or even enemies—all were potential outcomes of this brief visit. And in a world as vast and unpredictable as One Piece, every encounter held the potential to change the course of his fate.
As the longboat reached the shore and the crew disembarked, Jones's attention was drawn to a group of figures approaching from the direction of the town. Unlike the townsfolk, these men moved with purpose, their expressions serious and their hands resting on the hilts of weapons. They were dressed in a mix of rough seafaring attire and more refined garments, marking them as a cut above the average sailor.
Pirates, Jones surmised, or perhaps mercenaries. Either way, they were likely here to assess the new arrivals—and to determine whether the Flying Dutchman posed a threat or an opportunity.
The leader of the group, a tall man with a scar running down one side of his face, stepped forward as the crew from the Dutchman approached. He eyed the cursed sailors warily, his hand never straying far from his sword.
"You're a long way from home, stranger," the man said, his voice rough but not unfriendly. "This town's not accustomed to visitors like you."
Jones's first mate, his massive form towering over the man, regarded him with a cool, measured gaze. "We're here for supplies," he rumbled. "No trouble, unless trouble finds us first."
The scarred man raised an eyebrow, glancing back at his companions before turning his attention to the Dutchman anchored offshore. "That ship of yours… it's got a reputation, even out here. Stories of a cursed vessel, crewed by the damned. Some say it's just a myth, but…" His gaze flicked back to the hammerhead first mate. "I'm not so sure."
"Believe what you will," the first mate replied. "But know this: we're not to be trifled with."
The man nodded slowly, a hint of respect in his eyes. "Fair enough. You've got the look of men who know how to handle themselves. I'll make sure no one bothers you while you're here—provided you return the favour."
The first mate inclined his head in acknowledgement, and with that, the tension in the air eased slightly. The crew from the Dutchman went about their business, gathering supplies and loading them onto the longboat. The scarred man and his companions watched from a distance, their eyes never straying far from the cursed sailors.
Meanwhile, Jones remained on the Dutchman, his thoughts preoccupied with the chest and the power it contained. He couldn't shake the feeling that the encounter with the ghostly pirates had been a sign—a warning of the dangers that lay ahead. The heart was both a blessing and a curse, a source of immense power but also a beacon for those who sought to challenge him.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, casting long shadows over the island, Jones's attention was drawn to a flicker of movement on the deck. He turned to see one of his crewmen—a wiry, eel-like figure—emerging from below decks, his expression tense and his hands clutching a small, crumpled piece of parchment.
"Cap'n," the crewman said, his voice thin and reedy. "I found this below. Thought you'd want to see it."
Jones took the parchment, his sharp eyes scanning the words scrawled across it. The handwriting was messy, almost frantic, but the message was clear:
The heart draws them. Beware the shadows in the mist.
Jones felt a chill run down his spine. The message was vague, but the implications were ominous. Someone—or something—knew about the heart and its power. And they were watching, waiting for the right moment to strike.
The ghostly pirates had been the first test, but they wouldn't be the last. The world of One Piece was full of dangerous forces, and now that he was here, he was bound to attract the attention of those who sought to claim his power for themselves.
Jones clenched the parchment in his clawed hand, his resolve hardening. He would not be a pawn in someone else's game. If the heart drew enemies, then he would face them head-on. The Flying Dutchman was his ship, and he would command its power to the fullest.
As the crew finished their work and began to row back to the Dutchman, Jones's mind was already turning over the possibilities. The path ahead was fraught with danger, but it was also ripe with opportunity. He would need to be cautious, to choose his battles wisely. But with the power of the heart and the Dutchman at his command, there was little he feared.
The longboat returned to the ship, and the supplies were quickly unloaded. The crew, though weary from the previous battle, moved with a renewed sense of purpose. They had faced death and emerged victorious, and now they were ready to continue their journey, wherever it might lead.
As the Flying Dutchman set sail once more, leaving the island behind, Jones stood at the helm, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The sea stretched out before him, vast and endless, filled with both peril and promise.
Whatever lay ahead, he would face it with the full force of the Dutchman's power. The heart pulsed steadily within its chest, a reminder of the price of that power—but also of the possibilities it held.
And as the ship cut through the waves, its cursed crew at the ready, Jones knew one thing for certain:
This world was his to conquer.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone