One Piece: As Heavy as a Gale #144

Gale trudged forward with the look of a man who’d seen too much and cared too little. His boots dragged through the damp soil, shoulders slouched, cloak hanging heavy.

Two goblins clung stubbornly to him—one latched to his leg like an over-affectionate toddler, the other sprawled across his back, shrieking into his ear with the enthusiasm of a banshee on payday.

He didn’t even swat at them anymore. Not worth the effort. After hours of this, he’d accepted them as part of his life now. Gale Harlow: swordsman, ex-marine, pirate hunter, and apparently, goblin taxi.

“Should start charging rent,” he muttered under his breath. “At least then I’d get something out of this arrangement besides tinnitus and claw marks.”

Still, not all hope was lost. Somewhere between his bouts of muttering and cursing, he noticed a pattern—this cursed fog seemed to thin the further he walked. A light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak. Except the light was probably just another goblin waiting to bite his toes off, but hey, optimism.

Another half-hour passed, and Gale suddenly froze mid-step. His brow furrowed, his nose wrinkled. The fog… was changing. Thicker. Denser. Its shade had darkened ever so slightly, like the forest had just dimmed a candle.

And the smell—barely noticeable, but sharp enough to prickle at his senses. Damp earth, salt, and something else… something sour.

“Great,” Gale grumbled. “Fog’s evolving. What’s next, flying goblins? Actually no, don’t answer that, universe. You’ll make it happen.”

He clenched his fists, ready to vent every ounce of pent-up rage and irritation on the two goblins clinging to him like barnacles, when suddenly—

A voice cut through the mist.

Soft at first, then growing louder, almost playful:

“Ho-la-la-ee-ay. Ho-la-la-ee-ay. Ho-la-la-ee-ay-ee-la-ee-ay-ee-lee-ay…”

Gale blinked once. Slowly. Then again, even slower.

“…yep,” he said flatly. “Lost my mind. Officially. Next thing I know, the goblins’ll start singing backup vocals.”

The goblins shrieked on cue, but not in rhythm.

Gale rolled his eyes skyward, then—against every shred of common sense left in his body—sprinted toward the sound. His boots pounded against the damp ground, cloak whipping behind him, goblins still clinging on for dear life like they were riding the world’s angriest amusement park ride.

After a full minute of running through the soupy mist, the song grew clearer, sharper, unmistakably human. Gale broke through the thicker veil of fog, eyes narrowing as he finally saw it…

The figure in the fog was… human. Or at least shaped like one. Short, round, bent over a bush with his butt high in the air, humming and rustling like he’d lost a coin in the dirt.

And then, the singing.

“I’d like to dance and tap my feet,

But they won’t keep in rhythm,

You see, I washed them both today,

And I can’t do nothing with ’em…”

Gale froze mid-step, his eye twitching so hard it looked like he was halfway into a stroke.

“…great,” he muttered. “Another one of those ghost things. Just my luck—now they sing off-key.”

The goblin shrieking into his ear gave him the worst migraine known to man, and he’d finally had enough.

He plucked the little menace off his shoulder like it was a rotten fruit, held it aloft, squinted downrange at the jiggling backside in the fog, and—without hesitation—pitched it like a fastball.

THWACK!

The goblin nailed its target with all the grace of divine punishment. And then… Gale’s heart skipped. The figure didn’t dissolve into smoke like the shades on the beach. Nope. This one was solid. Well, squishy, to be precise. Very squishy.

The goblin, for its part, was ecstatic. After hours of clawing at Gale’s hardened skin that might as well have been granite, it had finally found flesh that gave way under its tiny monster teeth.

It latched onto the stranger’s raised rear with both hands, face gleaming with unholy glee, and chomped.

The figure went stiff as a board. His round body locked up, arms flailing for balance like a wind-up toy winding down.

And then came the scream.

“GYYYYAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!”

The short man toppled forward, rolling across the ground like someone had poured boiling oil on him, legs kicking, hands clutching his ass. The goblin went for the ride of its life, shaking back and forth with its jaw still clamped tight.

Gale just stood there, sword half-drawn, staring blankly.

“…okay. Didn’t see that coming.”

He rubbed his temple. This island had already thrown haunted fog, wolverine goblins, and now… that.

“Of course. Of course it’s real this time,” Gale muttered to himself. “Not when I test with a pebble, no, that would make sense. But the one time I throw a goblin butt-first, suddenly it’s a living guy. Sure. Why not.”

The figure continued to shriek, rolling in circles on the forest floor, smacking the goblin with both hands and only managing to make it bite harder.

“GYAAHHH! GET IT OFF! GET IT OFFFFF!”

Gale scratched the back of his neck as he strolled over, trying his best not to look like the world’s biggest jerk.

“Uh… yeah, my bad, mister,” he said, crouching down beside the writhing man. “Thought you were one of those stupid shades, and, y’know—frustration, poor life choices, all that jazz.”

The figure kept rolling, clutching his rear with both hands.

“GYYYAAHH! IT’S OKAY! I forgive ya! Just get this damned thing off my arse, lad!”

Gale winced at the sheer volume, chuckled sheepishly, and pinned the fellow down with one hand. With the other, he pried the goblin loose. The little monster refused to go without a fight, jaw clenched tighter than a crab on a fisherman’s thumb.

Finally, with a wet rip, Gale yanked it free.

He raised it up to eye level. A neat row of bloody teeth were clamped on a patch of cloth—pants fabric. The goblin dangled in his grip, panting like it had just climbed a mountain, tiny chest heaving with pride.

Its expression screamed, I’ve peaked. I can die happy now.

For a second, Gale felt the laugh bubbling in his chest, but he forced it down with a twitch in his eye. He didn’t need this guy hating him more than he already did. With a casual flick, he hurled the goblin into the foggy abyss.

“Right. That’s enough of that circus,” Gale muttered, brushing his hands together. He stood, extended one to the still-groaning figure. “Here—lemme help you up, mister, uh…?”

The man hesitated before gripping Gale’s hand. Up close, his features were clearer through the thinning fog: short and round, long beard streaked with gray, and a nose that looked like it had been punched one too many times. His tricorne hat was crooked, feather bent.

“The name’s Ebri,” he grumbled, his glare sharp enough to make his beard twitch.

“Ebri, huh?” Gale nodded, patting a few leaves and dirt from his shoulders like he was dusting off a prized relic. “Well, I’m Gale. Pleasure to meet you, old-timer.”

Ebri’s glare deepened, the beard quivering like it was angry too. “Wish I could say the same,” he growled.

Gale smirked, completely unbothered by the man’s death glare.

“Aww, don’t be like that… we all make mistakes.” He paused for effect, then added with a sly grin, “Y’know, some of us just launch flesh-eating goblins at strangers’ asses by mistake.”

Ebri’s beard bristled again. Gale ignored it, clapping his hands together.

“Ahem. Anyway! I was hoping to ask you a few questions.”

The older man gave his coat a tug, straightened the battered tricorne on his head, and gave Gale a curt nod. “Go on, lad.”

Gale inhaled sharply, and let it all out like a Gatling gun of words:

“So, uh—who are you? What are you doing here? What’s this fog? What are those little freaks, and why do they want to claw everyone’s face off like it’s a new hobby? What are those shades at the beach? What’s up with the storm that brought me here? What is this place? Where is this place? And—most importantly—how the hell do I get out of here?”

He finally stopped to breathe, chest puffed, eyes expectant.

Ebri just… stared at him. Wide-eyed. Not blinking. Not moving. Gale began to feel a bead of sweat roll down his temple. Great. I broke him. First goblin toss, now this. Guy’s about to keel over just from exposure to me.

Then, as if nothing had happened, Ebri cleared his throat and answered in a flat tone:

“Name’s Ebri. Scientist.”

“Scientist?” Gale repeated, raising a brow. Oh, good. A mad one. Just what I needed. Should’ve prayed for a talking parrot instead.

Ebri continued without missing a beat.

“Those creatures you fought? Natives of this land. Their aggression comes from the fog. The fog itself is produced by two species of flowers. They release it as pheromones. To you and me, it’s just… fog. But to them? It drives ’em mad or high depending on the flower....”

Gale blinked at him. “So you’re telling me… these things go psycho because they’re basically huffing flower farts?”

Ebri ignored the jab, folding his arms. “This is the island of Mystoria. The fog is its curse and its defense...”

Gale leaned on his sword like it was a walking stick, eyes narrowing.

“Alright, old man, riddle me this then—what about the shades? The ghosty things hammerin’ away on the beach?”

Ebri stroked his beard, suddenly looking proud, like Gale had just asked him to recite the periodic table.

“Ah. Another flower.”

Gale’s eyes twitched. Of course it’s another flower. Why not. Whole damn island’s just a greenhouse from hell.

Ebri went on, voice all serious and academic:

“It catches and preserves light frequencies. Stores ’em. Then, when it blooms, it projects them back into the fog. What you saw wasn’t real—it was light trapped in bloom cycles. Old memories of the island itself.”

Gale nodded slowly, lips pursed, expression solemn. He even hummed thoughtfully.

“Fascinating. Truly fascinating…”

Meanwhile, in his head: Nope. Checked out the moment you said ‘light frequencies.’ Guy could be reciting the history of cabbage for all I know. Not even sorry.

He clapped his hands once, fake enthusiasm plastered on his face.

“Right, well—that’s great. Very cool. Love it. Now, how do I get outta here?”

Ebri shrugged so casually it almost hurt.

“Seaworthy ship. That’s all you need. Once you’ve got one, you’re good to go.”

Gale just stared at him. A long, blank stare. Like his soul left his body for a few moments to file a complaint with the universe. Finally, he sighed.

“Wow… you really answered all my questions, huh?”

Ebri tilted his head. “What was I to do, then, eh? Keep ’em unanswered?”

Gale shook his head, arms folding across his chest.

“No… but you kinda just took a big fat dump on the atmosphere, y’know?”

The old man blinked. “I’ll have you know, my dumps are neither big nor fat. Perfectly average. And what’s this about atmosphere anyway?”

Gale groaned, dragging his palm down his face.

“You gotta read the mood, old man! This island had atmosphere. Thriller vibes. Like some spooky mystery just waitin’ to unravel.” He waved his arms dramatically at the fog. “Someone, or something out there, went through a lot of effort to build up suspence, and you just came along and ruined it with your… your flower PowerPoint!”

Ebri looked halfway between offended and bewildered, beard quivering. “... PowerPoint? What in the blue hell is a PowerPoint?”