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Arthur had sailed the seas for nearly a decade, but his inner circle remained impossibly small. In the entire, sprawling Thunder God armada, only three people truly mattered to him, the ones he considered companions:
Vegapunk, Jessica and Shiryu.
Maybe it was because he was cold-blooded, or just incapable of trust. Or maybe he just didn't care.
Vegapunk, despite his scientific fanaticism, was a stabilizing, calm presence, and his role in developing the Rumble-Rumble Fruit was irreplaceable.
Jessica was his first follower, a promise he intended to keep, a woman who had spent years in the Navy just to become strong enough to stand by his side.
And Shiryu was his right hand, his sharpest blade, a man whose loyalty was absolute, who pushed himself to the brink just to keep pace with him.
All three were vital.
And now, with Shiryu holding the border a thousand miles away, the other two—his weakest links—were exposed. Against monsters like Kuma, Ivankov, and Inazuma, they didn't stand a chance.
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"That's far enough, Thunder Emperor."
Kuma's voice was a low, mechanical rumble. He had appeared as if from thin air, his massive frame blocking the entrance to the submarine cave.
The wind howled, and the seas crashed against the cliffs.
Kuma stood, Bible in hand. Ivankov had Vegapunk in a tight headlock, and Inazuma's scissor-hands were pressed firmly against the pale skin of Jessica's throat.
FWOOSH!
A bolt of lightning slammed into the beach, solidifying into the figure of Arthur.
"Let them go, and you walk away from this alive," he said, his voice a chilling, quiet threat. "Harm a single hair on their heads, and I will exterminate every last one of you."
He hated this...
He hated schemes...
Arthur had never once imagined a day would come when someone would be foolish enough to try and leverage his own people against him.
It was a galling realization: he still wasn't strong enough. He stood at the pinnacle of the world—yet he couldn't simply erase all his problems at once. A single Kaido was enough to tie him down. If two showed up, he'd be on the defensive.
He craved that final, transcendent power. He needed Vegapunk's path to be the answer.
'To reach the top,' he thought, 'only to find another, higher ceiling… that is the real hell.'
"You jest, Lord Thunder Emperor," Inazuma said, swirling a glass of wine that had appeared from nowhere. "I believe we hold the advantage now. You are the one who should be backing down."
"Heh… Hahahahaha!" Arthur's laugh was a dry, grating sound that held no humor, only a chilling promise of violence. "This is a first. I've never been threatened before. The Revolutionary Army… I will hunt every last one of you to the ends of the earth."
The Marines were his enemies by default. Kaido was a blood feud. Whitebeard had a score to settle. Big Mom was a rival. And now, these idealistic fools. He'd managed to piss off every major power on the planet—
He was, quite literally, an enemy of the entire world.
'Did Dragon plan this?' he wondered. 'Did he see this weakness in my organization? Is he already planning his next move, using my own predictability against me?'
"AOOO—"
A primal roar, like that of a mythical dragon, tore through the sky. The windstorm intensified, and a massive, scaled beast descended, reforming into the man, Dragon, who landed silently on the deck of his ship.
A moment later, a swarm of blood-red bats coalesced on the cliffside, reforming into Redfield. He was smiling, clearly enjoying the standoff.
He had been saved by Arthur, yes. Given the fruit he'd coveted his entire life. But he was no loyal dog. Their "fight" had been little more than a violent dance. The moment Kuma's team had secured the targets, Dragon had disengaged.
"We all must experience everything life has to offer, no?" Dragon said, his green cloak settling around him as he landed softly on the beach. "Including failure. Including threats. Don't you agree, Thunder Emperor?"
Arthur shot a cold look at Redfield—useless—before leveling his gaze at Dragon. "Failure? Threats? Good point, Dragon. But you seem to have forgotten… you have a family, too. You have leverage points."
His voice dropped, becoming a low, menacing whisper.
"What if I go to Foosha Village right now and slaughter your son? Then pay a visit to Marineford and kill your old man? Then will you let my people go?"
It was a vile tactic. Using family.
Arthur despised it. A true powerhouse settles things with his fists. He'd fought Whitebeard head-on, taking every blow, to earn his victory, to prove his strength. To flinch, to use a cheap trick, was to lose. It left a scar on your soul. He never operated that way.
But Dragon's crew had crossed a line. They had taken Jessica. They had threatened his people.
"Hmph."
Dragon's eyes didn't waver. They burned with an unholy conviction.
"My father and my son are important to me," he said, his voice flat. "But… so what? Our dream is a world of equals. For that belief, my comrades have abandoned their families, their homes, their very names. They live in filth, like rats in the dark, all for the dream of toppling a corrupt world. If they can make that sacrifice, how can I, their leader, do any less?"
A leader couldn't trade his life's work for his family. He had to swallow the pain, swallow the rage, and see the mission through.
This was Dragon's charisma. The same terrifying, singular focus that let Blackbeard wait decades, that made Bellamy die for Doflamingo. It was a pure, unadulterated belief. The sea was full of such men.
"Heh… Hahahahaha!" Arthur suddenly burst out laughing, a raw, manic sound.
In this, they were identical. Two sides of the same coin. Both of them possessed an obsessive, unshakeable will to achieve their goal, even if it meant death, even if it meant burning the whole world down to get it.
"You really are," Arthur said, his laughter fading into a grin, "a complete and utter lunatic."
"And you, of all people..." Dragon replied, a cold, matching smile on his face, "—have no right to call me a lunatic."
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