One Piece: Dungeon Shop. Scamming Garp, Reward: Eight-Tails Jinchuriki-Chapter 335: - : Descending into the Apocalypse; The Red-Eyed Girl and the Giant

Chapter 335: Chapter 335: Descending into the Apocalypse; The Red-Eyed Girl and the Giant

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Chapter 335: Descending into the Apocalypse; The Red-Eyed Girl and the Giant

Buzz—!

A blinding, sterile white light erupted within Partys Bar, momentarily eclipsing the warm glow of the lanterns. When the radiance finally receded, the space where the "World’s Strongest Man" had stood was empty. Vanished along with him were his three most trusted lieutenants: the Phoenix, the Diamond, and the Flower Sword.

In the next heartbeat, reality didn’t just shift; it shattered.

For Whitebeard and his sons, the transition was a violent upheaval of the senses. Space twisted and tore, flipping their equilibrium upside down. A sickening sensation of weightlessness—as if their very souls were being fed through a meat grinder—swept over them. Even for warriors who had weathered the fiercest storms of the Grand Line, the irresistible pull of the dimensional transfer left them with a staggering bout of vertigo.

When the world finally stopped spinning and their vision cleared, the first thing to hit them wasn’t the sight, but the smell.

It was a heavy, suffocating miasma—a pungent cocktail of oxidized metal, stale gunpowder, and the cloying, sweet rot of a civilization left to decay. They stood in the skeletal remains of a city. Before them lay an endless expanse of twisted steel and shattered concrete, where skyscrapers had been reduced to jagged headstones. The sky above was a stagnant, bruised grey, wreathed in a permanent haze so thick it seemed to choke the very sun.

"Gurarara... So, this is the ’other world’ that young shopkeeper spoke of?"

Whitebeard’s voice rumbled like a tectonic shift as he surveyed the devastation. Curiosity flickered in his hawk-like eyes, tempered by a veteran’s disdain for such a broken battlefield. "It certainly looks like a derelict place. A world that has forgotten how to breathe."

"Pops, stay sharp."

Marco’s body shimmered, his arms erupting into sky-blue flames as he took to the air in his phoenix form. He circled above the ruins, his sharp eyes scanning the jagged horizon. "This world... it feels wrong. There’s a presence in the air—a lingering, parasitic filth that makes my skin crawl."

"I agree," Vista added, his hands already resting on the ornate hilts of his twin sabers. His usual flamboyant confidence was masked by a grim professionalism. "It’s too quiet. No birds, no wind, no heartbeat. It’s like standing in the middle of a massive, open-air tomb."

The four of them were a jarring sight against the rubble. Whitebeard, standing over six meters tall with his legendary naginata, Murakumogiri, was a mobile mountain of muscle and scars. Jozu stood beside him like a monolithic diamond fortress, his bulk rivaling the very ruins around them.

Screeech—!!!

The shrill, discordant wail of braking tires tore through the silence. A few blocks away, a patrol vehicle emblazoned with the "T.S.D." insignia swerved to a jagged halt. Two uniformed men, their faces hidden behind tactical visors, scrambled out with rifles raised.

The moment they laid eyes on the four behemoths standing amidst the debris, the air left their lungs.

"Wha... what in the hell is that?!"

A young T.S.D. officer’s knees buckled. His rifle clattered uselessly against the pavement as he collapsed. His pupils shrank to pinpricks, his voice cracking into a high-pitched, hysterical whimper. "Is it... is it a Stage V Gastrea?! Has a Zodiac breached the Monoliths?!"

"No... that’s not right!" The older officer was shaking so violently his armor rattled. He fumbled for his radio, his voice a distorted, panicked rasp. "HQ! HQ! This is Patrol District 37! We’ve discovered... a suspected new type of Super-Giant Gastrea! Humanoid in shape! I repeat! A Super-Giant Gast—@#$—"

He never finished the sentence. Jozu didn’t even draw a weapon; he merely cast a side-long, impatient glance at the shouting gnats.

Boom—!

A localized burst of invisible pressure descended like a physical weight. The two officers felt as though they had been struck head-on by a charging sea king. Their vision folded into darkness, and without a chance to even scream, they foamed at the mouth and slumped into the dirt, their minds shattered by the sheer disparity in presence.

"Insignificant gnats," Jozu grunted, dismissively curling his lip as he turned back to his father.

"Gurarararara..." Whitebeard let out a boisterous, rolling laugh that sent dust cascading from the nearby ruins. "Jozu, try to be a bit more gentle with the locals. We are ’guests’ in this house, after all."

Just then, a scuttling sound—like starving rats fighting over a bone—echoed from the mouth of a nearby dark alley.

"Hmm?" Marco’s brow twitched. He folded his wings and landed lightly on Whitebeard’s massive shoulder. "Pops, we’ve got company in the shadows."

All four turned their gaze toward the darkness. The alley was a canyon of filth, piled high with black bags of rotting refuse. A small group of young girls, dressed in tattered, oversized rags and covered in layers of soot and grime, were huddled together. They were scavenging through a torn garbage bag, their tiny hands frantically clawing at moldy, half-eaten scraps of bread that most animals would have turned away from.

They were so consumed by the gnawing agony of hunger that they hadn’t even noticed the giants at the alley’s entrance. Not until Whitebeard’s shadow—a darkness deeper and larger than any they had ever seen—swallowed the alley whole.

The girls froze. Slowly, with the mechanical stiffness of the condemned, they raised their heads.

They saw him. A mountain of a man who blotted out the very sky. They saw the golden mustache, the scars of a thousand battles, and the piercing, hawk-like eyes. The air in the alley seemed to turn to ice. In the suffocating silence...

"WAAAAAH—!!!!"

A heart-wrenching, primal wail shattered the quiet. One girl collapsed into the filth, dropping a piece of moldy bread and forgetting it entirely in her terror. The others reacted a heartbeat later. Their eyes—eyes that should have been clear and full of life—were suddenly consumed by a fierce, glowing crimson light.

Fear. An absolute, soul-crushing terror made them shake like dead leaves in a winter gale. They shriveled back, screaming and scrambling away like frightened rabbits, desperate to put distance between themselves and these new "monsters."

But the alley was a dead end. With nowhere left to run, they huddled in a tight, trembling mass against the back wall. They let out incoherent, whimpering sobs, hiding their faces behind their thin, bruised arms.

"Hey now... look at those kids’ eyes..." Marco narrowed his gaze, his voice losing its lazy edge. "That’s not just an illness. That’s a curse."

"It’s more than that," Vista added, his jaw tightening. "They carry a foul aura... the same scent of rot that hangs over this entire world."

Whitebeard, however, remained silent. He simply watched.

His gaze didn’t linger on the eerie red glow of their eyes. Instead, he saw the protrusion of their ribs through their thin rags. He saw the purple bruises and the jagged, untreated scars on their spindly limbs. He saw eyes that held the numbness of the dead—a deadness that had no business existing in a child.

The smile slowly vanished from Whitebeard’s face. His hawk-like eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. An invisible, heart-stopping majesty began to radiate from his massive frame, heavy and oppressive. Marco and Vista immediately felt the shift. They shared a look of grim understanding.

It was over. Pops was no longer a guest. He was a father who had found something that needed him.

"Gurarara..."

A low laugh—not his usual roar, but a deep, vibrating rumble—sounded in his throat. He slowly, deliberately leaned down. The movement was so massive it sent the girls into a fresh fit of panic; some let out screams of pure despair. To them, the giant was simply a predator lowering its head to feed.

But the pain didn’t come. No hand crushed them. Instead, a massive sake gourd, the size of a water vat, was carefully lowered and offered to them.

Then came a voice—raspy, deep, and carrying a strange, thunderous tenderness.

"Hey, you brats..."

"You look like you’re... starving to death, aren’t you?"

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