The End of Whiskey Peak

When the Viltrumite crossed Reverse Mountain, the roar of the turbulent waters and the cutting wind seemed insignificant to him. The mountain, an impressive and dangerous landmark for any sailor, was nothing more than a trivial obstacle for someone who could fly. He soared over the icy peaks and violent currents with ease, his red eyes fixed on the horizon, indifferent to the grandeur of nature around him.

Upon reaching the foot of the mountain, where the sea calmed and gave way to the entrance of the Grand Line, he spotted the solitary lighthouse and the massive whale repeatedly slamming its head against the mountain. Laboon, the whale, let out low, melancholic sounds, but the Viltrumite paid no attention. His eyes quickly scanned the scene as if they were mere insignificant details.

At the lighthouse, Crocus, the site's guardian, was seated in a chair, watching Laboon with a resigned expression. When he saw the Viltrumite descending from the sky, he raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Hey, you!" Crocus called out, slowly standing up. "It's not every day I see someone crossing Reverse Mountain without a ship. And even less so flying. Who the hell are you?"

The Viltrumite did not answer. His red eyes passed over Crocus and Laboon as if they were invisible. He wasn't there for conversations or explanations. The Grand Line was just another place for him to pass through—nothing more.

"Huh? You're not going to say anything?" Crocus asked, crossing his arms. "It's not every day I see someone arriving here without a ship. Did you fly? What kind of person does that?"

Silence.

The Viltrumite took a step forward and, without saying a single word, took off in a devastating burst, slicing through the skies like a missile. Within seconds, only a trail remained on the horizon.

Crocus watched the scene, adjusting his hat with a tired sigh. "Another lunatic on the Grand Line... I just hope he doesn't turn the world to ashes."

Laboon kept ramming against the mountain, his lament echoing across the sea, indifferent to the visitor who had already left.

*

Whisky Peak seemed peaceful, with its white houses and a solitary lighthouse illuminating the night. The island was known for welcoming pirates with open arms, offering food, drink, and shelter without asking for anything but good stories in return.

Landing in the town's center, his red eyes scanned the surroundings. He could sense when something was off, and something here was deeply wrong. The scent of old wood, cheap rum, and salty ocean air did not mask the stench of lies that permeated every corner.

"Welcome to Whisky Peak!" a soft and inviting voice called out. It was a blonde woman dressed in yellow, with a broad, relaxed smile. Her gaze slid over the Viltrumite with curiosity—and something more. Interest.

"You're new here, big guy? You must be tired. How about a drink to relax?" she teased, leaning forward slightly, her smile taking on a more suggestive tone. "My name is Miss Valentine."

The Viltrumite smiled back—a false and empty smile. "Why not?"

The reception was warm. Whisky Peak seemed like a village of unparalleled hospitality. The taverns were full, the drinks flowed endlessly, and the hosts were always smiling and generous. The Viltrumite accepted the offered cups, toasted with strangers, laughed at the right moments. But his eyes never stopped observing.

They thought they were in control. They believed they were setting the stage for a perfect execution. When the town slept, the bounty hunters would strike. He knew that. And he was looking forward to it.

Miss Valentine and Mr. 5 exchanged glances as the Viltrumite pretended to be slightly drunk, stumbling a little as he stood up.

"He doesn't seem like he'll be a problem," Mr. 5 whispered.

"Let's wait for him to fall asleep," Miss Valentine replied. "Then we'll finish him off."

Later, as the night deepened and the tavern candles went out one by one, shadows began to move. Blades were sharpened, weapons loaded. The plan was in motion.

But when they entered the Viltrumite's room, they found him sitting on the bed, a cruel and merciless smile on his face.

"Took you long enough."

The first man didn't even have time to scream. The Viltrumite moved like a blur, punching through his chest and hurling his lifeless body against the wall.

Terror took hold of the bounty hunters. But it was already too late.

The town—with all its lights, laughter, and false promises—became a slaughterhouse. The first scream echoed before the first body hit the ground. The Viltrumite crushed Mr. 5's skull against the floor with the same ease as stepping on a dry leaf. Miss Valentine tried to float away to escape, but he grabbed her ankle midair and yanked her back, breaking her spine over his knee.

"You… you're a monster!" she screamed, blood dripping from her lips as she struggled in vain to move. "You have no idea what you've done! They're going to hunt you! They will—"

He silenced her with a swift strike, her body falling like a sack of broken bones.

The inhabitants—bounty hunters, all of them—ran to the taverns, to the shadows, to anywhere they could hide. But he found them. One by one. Tearing down doors, breaking walls, ripping through bodies as if they were made of paper.

The island burned as he rose into the sky, watching the destruction below. Whisky Peak had been a nest of snakes, but that never mattered. Whether it was a paradise or a hellhole, the result would be the same. He would always do whatever he wanted.

He cast one last glance at what remained of the island and left without looking back.