Chapter 7: Chapter 7:Echoes of the Deep
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The sea was calm, almost unnervingly so, as the Flying Dutchman sailed away from the site of its latest conquest. The remnants of Edward Weevil's fleet were nothing more than shattered wood and drifting corpses, a testament to the power that Davy Jones wielded. But there was no time for the cursed crew to rest on their laurels. The calm was deceptive, the prelude to a storm that was already gathering on the horizon.
Davy Jones stood at the helm, his mind sharp and calculating. The battle with Weevil had sent ripples through the world of pirates, but it had also drawn the attention of a far more organized and dangerous force—the Marines. Reports had reached him that a Marine fleet was on its way, hunting for the Flying Dutchman. The World Government would not ignore the destruction of Weevil's fleet, and they would not let the Devil of the Seas roam free without a fight.
Jones's clawed hand tightened on the wheel as he scanned the horizon. The sky was darkening, thick clouds gathering as the wind began to pick up. He could feel it in his bones—the Marines were close. They were coming for him, and they would not stop until they had him cornered.
But Jones was no ordinary pirate. He was the master of the sea, and he had at his command a weapon that no Marine, no matter how powerful, could hope to match.
"Cap'n," his first mate rumbled, approaching from the shadows. "The fleet's been sighted. They're just beyond that ridge of islands."
Jones nodded, his expression unreadable. "How many ships?"
"Four galleons, and several smaller vessels. They're not takin' any chances."
"Good," Jones muttered, a grim smile curling at the edges of his mouth. "They'll need all the help they can get."
The Dutchman sailed closer to the ridge of islands, the outline of the Marine fleet becoming clearer through the haze. The white sails and jolly roger of the Marines fluttered in the wind, a stark contrast to the dark, ghostly appearance of the Dutchman.
"Hold position," Jones ordered, slowing the ship to a crawl just behind the cover of the islands. The Marines were unaware of their presence, their attention was focused on the open sea ahead. They had no idea that death was lurking just out of sight.
Jones closed his eyes, reaching out with his mind to the depths of the sea. The water below seemed to shiver in response as if something ancient and monstrous had stirred from its slumber. He could feel the Kraken's presence, a vast, coiled mass of raw muscle and fury waiting for his signal.
The Dutchman's crew stood ready, their eyes fixed on the approaching fleet. They had seen the Kraken in action before, but the sight of the beast never failed to fill them with both awe and dread. It was a force of nature, a living nightmare that obeyed Jones's every command.
And now, it was time to unleash that nightmare upon the Marines.
"Prepare yourselves," Jones growled, his voice low and resonant, echoing across the deck. "Today, we show the Marines the true meaning of fear."
The crew braced themselves, weapons at the ready as the Dutchman sailed closer to the ridge of islands. The distant outline of the Marine fleet became visible through the haze, their white sails and distinctive insignia standing out against the grey sky.
"Now," Jones hissed, and with a single, forceful thought, he unleashed the Kraken.
The sea beneath the Marine fleet churned violently as if the water itself had come alive. The Marines on deck barely had time to react before the first massive tentacle erupted from the depths, wrapping itself around the hull of one of the ships. The wood groaned and splintered under the immense pressure as the Kraken's grip tightened, lifting the vessel clear out of the water.
Panic erupted on the decks as Marines scrambled to escape, but it was too late. The Kraken's tentacles were everywhere, crushing the life out of the ships and pulling them apart piece by piece. The fleet was decimated in a matter of moments, the ships torn asunder and pulled down into the depths, their crews screaming in terror as they were dragged to their watery graves.
Jones watched it all from the deck of the Dutchman, his expression cold and unmoved. The Kraken had done its work, and the Marines had been utterly overwhelmed. But as the beast returned to the depths, its presence fading from his mind, Jones felt a strange sense of unease.
The Marines were not like the pirates he had faced before. They were organized, disciplined, and—most importantly—they were relentless. The fleet he had just destroyed was only a small part of their forces, and he knew that the World Government would not let this defeat go unanswered.
"They'll be back," Jones murmured to himself, his eyes narrowing. "And next time, they'll come in greater numbers."
He turned to his first mate, who was surveying the wreckage with grim satisfaction. "Send a message to the crew. We're not staying here—we need to keep moving, stay ahead of them."
"Aye, Cap'n," the first mate replied, already barking orders to the rest of the crew.
As the Dutchman sailed away from the scene of the carnage, Jones's mind was racing. The Kraken's power was immense, but it was not invincible. The Marines would adapt, find new strategies, and they would come for him again. He needed to be ready, to find allies or tools that would give him an edge in the battles to come.
The sea was vast, and the world of One Piece was full of dangers he had yet to encounter. But Jones was determined to carve out his own path, to bend this world to his will, just as he had done in the past.
The Flying Dutchman sailed on, leaving behind the shattered remains of the Marine fleet as a warning to those who would dare challenge the Devil of the Seas. But even as Jones stared out at the horizon, he knew that the real battle was only just beginning.
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