Bubbling water rose to the surface of the lake, small black specks gradually widening. The straight mast of a ship broke through the water first, followed by a pirate flag crawling with tentacles, drifting faintly within a shroud of eerie green light.

Cold seawater cascaded from the green curtain, splashing back into the dark, unfathomable lake. The Terror Ghost, like a woman stepping into a bath, slowly approached the shore, gently shedding her ghostly green veil.

A rotting gangplank, so decayed it creaked at the slightest step, stretched out toward the shore like a skeletal hand, sinking into the sand glittering with luminous stones.

Those glowing fragments mirrored the rock formations and stalactites hanging from the cave’s vaulted ceiling. Moments ago, it was their light shimmering on the water’s surface, like a sky full of stars reflected in the night.

Davy Jones set his barnacle-crusted black boots upon the luminous stones, grinding them underfoot — they were hard enough to feel unpleasant.

Where… is this place?

Following a winding path upward along the jagged cliff face, he soon came upon a wall of massive stacked bricks, each mottled with green moss.

Set into the wall was a small torch-hole, with faint ash still clinging to its rim.

Beneath the torch niche lay the skeleton of a colossal creature, easily several hundred meters long. Its skull was triangular, followed by a spine of vertebrae like a greatsword so massive that even giants could never wield it.

“This is the skeleton of a whale-type Sea King,” Hatchan said, squatting beside the triangular head. His six arms gently stroked the bone, expression heavy with grief. “No idea why it would beach itself in a place like this.”

Davy Jones had seen whale bones before, but at Hatchan’s words, he shook his head — his attention was elsewhere. “Look at the skull. Count how many eyes it has.”

“Huh?” Hatchan blinked, only now noticing something strange. The eye sockets were far smaller than those of an ordinary whale — and there were six of them, three on each side of the skull in a neat row.

He’d seen his share of Sea Kings, sea beasts, and other ocean creatures in every bizarre shape imaginable, but this “six-eyed whale” was a first.

Still, even “small” for this beast’s kind, the sockets were cavernous compared to a human head. Within the recessed bone were clear signs of chiseling — neat rows of steps, large enough for a person to climb into the skull itself.

This was no natural formation. Life had once existed here, at least for a time after the whale’s death.

Without need of handholds, Davy Jones mounted the bone staircase. His legs twisted and merged into the structure, carrying him easily up to one of the eye sockets.

The hollow was empty, all flesh long gone. He walked straight into the whale’s skull.

Inside, it had been transformed into a simple but spacious hall. The shapes of ruined furniture could still be faintly recognized.

Following his orders, the crew slipped into the skull one by one and began searching every corner, the sounds of rummaging echoing within the hollowed head.

Alvida and Mikita, however, paid little attention to the task — they already had what they wanted: two sacks of glowing, beautiful stones. They laughed together, comparing size and color.

Buggy watched them with suspicion. They’d known each other barely a week — since when were they so chummy?

But when he pulled back a dusty curtain, coughing as he uncovered what lay behind, his curiosity about the women vanished. “There’s a door here!” he called out.

Kuro, standing nearby, glanced at the doorway, then simply grabbed the curtain and tore it down entirely, tossing the fabric aside.

Beyond lay an inclined passage formed from the whale’s massive spine. The curved, hook-like ribs on either side were set with glowing gems, lighting the path upward.

The crew gasped at the grandeur of the spine-road.

Davy Jones, however, took it in stride, emerging from the skull and stepping onto the columnar vertebrae, slowly making his way upward.

He had seen far too many unnatural things to be surprised — not least because he himself was one.

The crew hurried to follow.

“Ugh…” Crocodile forced himself upright, head splitting, the world tilting under him. He nearly collapsed again, catching himself with his right hand against a wall.

Rotting wooden planks surrounded him, along with stacked barrels and a rust-eaten anchor tossed carelessly into a corner.

Memories surged back:

The black ship dropping from the sky, the torrential rain, Davy Jones’ crew, Robin’s betrayal, the water arrows striking, the lash of tentacles…

Tch. Don’t tell me I’ve been captured… and I’m on that black ship.

His brow furrowed. With the hook of his left hand, he gripped the handle of the storeroom door and pulled it open. Only then did he notice the poison reservoir in his hook had been emptied.

Stepping out cautiously, he found himself in the ship’s pitch-black lower deck, the air thick and stagnant.

Feeling his way along, he eventually found a ladder leading upward.

At the top, he pushed open a small hatch and climbed out onto the deck.

Brushing the dust from his fur-lined coat, he took one step forward — and was nearly blinded by the glare from glowing stalactites overhead.

Blinking until his eyes adjusted, he began searching the silent, empty ship with care.

One barnacle- and seaweed-encrusted door opened onto a room of uncanny size — almost a palace. Far away stood a vast pipe organ seemingly fused to the ship itself, with a bed, a desk, and a bookshelf.

No measuring tape was needed — such a room couldn’t possibly fit inside any ship.

The space here was warped.

He found more rooms afterward, but none as strange as the first.

Yet… how could so many rooms fit inside one ship?

More unsettling still: from the moment he awoke until now, he hadn’t seen a single living soul. And yet, signs of human habitation were everywhere.

Where were Davy Jones and his crew? Had they left? Or… vanished?

A deep unease gnawed at him. He retraced his steps, returned to the deck, and checked himself over — no injuries or changes. Only then did he exhale in relief.

Even so, the place made his skin crawl.

He’d seen his share of bizarre things in the Grand Line — but nothing this… wrong.

The ship, and the people on it, were not right.

His eyes lifted to the tentacle-crawled flag above. Those gray-blue eyes in the design seemed to follow him wherever he stood.

He felt he shouldn’t linger. Spotting the gangplank extended to shore, he made his way down.

Standing on the glowing sand, he looked back at the black ship, then at the still, shoreless water beyond. No way back.

Following the cliffside path upward, he hoped to find an exit — but instead came upon the monumental skeleton of the six-eyed whale.

Inside the skull, he found the same hall — and a throat-like tunnel beyond, leading to the towering spine road.

Clearly, this was shaped by human hands.

His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the legend of the “Dread Lord of the Deep.”

It was said Davy Jones stored his plunder — treasure, or perhaps other things — in a chest at the bottom of the sea…

Could it be… the chest is real? And I’m inside it?

The possibility made his temper flare. He kicked over a table in the hall.

But once calmer, he decided to follow the whale’s spine road — perhaps it led to escape.

He still had not taken revenge on Whitebeard, nor claimed the Grand Line. To die here — in this suffocating, lonely place — was something he would never accept.

Crocodile walked on.

Long after, bubbles once again rose from the lake. Soon, a golden submarine surfaced, its side painted with a grinning skull.

With a thunk, the round hatch swung open. Several figures crowded the entrance, gulping in the fresh air. Two wore white uniforms; the third was a white bear in an orange jumpsuit.

Someone still inside spoke in a steady voice:

“Shachi, Penguin, Bepo — why are you blocking the hatch? Out. All of you.”

“Right,” the two men and the bear answered, clambering onto the deck.

A moment later, the last man emerged. He wore a white, spotted, round-brimmed hat, a black coat, and carried a long sword.

His sharp gaze swept across the surroundings — the glowing stones, the sheer cliffs — and finally settled on the black ship moored nearby. His brow furrowed.

Finding a tower on the seabed had been strange enough. But here, inside that tower, was this place — and this ominous vessel.

Such things rarely ended well. They were almost always the beginning of a horror story.

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