Chapter 55: The Drought Arrives

The underground Colosseum of Gran Tesoro was a breathtaking marvel of architectural greed.

The stadium was carved entirely from solid gold, lit by thousands of blinding spotlights, and packed to the absolute brim with the worst scum the New World had to offer.

Bloodthirsty billionaires, corrupt nobles, and heavy-hitting Underworld brokers screamed from the stands, waving stacks of Berries as they bet on human lives.

I sat in the lavish Warlord VIP box, leaning back in a plush velvet chair and swirling a glass of incredibly expensive sparkling cider.

I had a perfect, unobstructed view of the golden sands below.

While the entire city’s security force was focused on the bloodsport, my real plan was already in motion beneath their feet.

Deep within the subterranean infrastructure of the city-ship, Robin, Brook, Perona, and the Night-Terror Ferret were moving through the shadows.

The contrast between the dazzling casino above and the dark, industrial underbelly below was staggering, but it was exactly where my crew thrived.

The Ferret, sliding seamlessly along the metal floorboards like a puddle of ink, acted as their ultimate skeleton key.

It bypassed the dense network of security Den Den Mushi by simply surging upward and devouring their power lines into its shadow-construct, plunging entire corridors into darkness before the guards could even blink.

Brook, utilizing his spectral soul-form, detached his spirit from his skeleton to glide effortlessly through solid gold vault doors, mapping the labyrinthine layout and locating the thermal signatures of the guards.

Whenever a heavily armed patrol did manage to cross their path, Perona handled it before a single weapon could be drawn.

A silent wave of her Negative Hollows passed right through the chests of Tesoro’s elite enforcers.

The hardened mercenaries instantly dropped their rifles, falling to their hands and knees in the dark.

“I am lower than the dirt on a pirate’s boot,” one guard sobbed into the floor.

“I want to be reincarnated as a sea cucumber.”

“Smooth sailing,” I murmured, taking a sip of my cider as I tuned my Observation Haki back to the arena.

Down in the Colosseum, the crowd was roaring in absolute derision.

The announcer’s voice boomed through the golden speakers, introducing the combatants for the first round of the C-Block bracket.

Stepping out onto the golden sands, looking incredibly out of place among the towering, blood-soaked gladiators, was Gammamon.

The little white triceratops adjusted his tiny souvenir gladiator helmet, his large green eyes scanning the massive arena with mild curiosity.

The crowd laughed so hard the stands actually shook.

His first opponent was “Iron-Axe” Brunt, a massive, heavily scarred pirate with a 100-million-berry bounty.

Brunt hefted a battleaxe that was twice the size of Gammamon, grinning maliciously.

“They sent a mascot to fight me?!” Brunt bellowed, swinging his axe in a wide, lethal arc.

“I’ll turn you into a rug!”

Gammamon didn’t flinch.

As the heavy steel blade came crashing down, the Digimon simply hopped to the side with deceptive speed.

Before Brunt could recover his stance, Gammamon launched himself forward, his small white fist connecting directly with the pirate’s kneecap.

CRACK.

The sheer, hyper-compressed kinetic force shattered the man’s leg instantly.

Brunt’s eyes bugged out of his skull as his leg gave way.

As the massive pirate collapsed forward, screaming in agony, Gammamon casually spun around and punted him squarely in the jaw.

Brunt flew backward, skipping across the golden sands like a skipped stone before slamming unconscious into the arena wall.

The stadium went dead silent.

Up in the VIP box, I clapped slowly, the sound echoing in the quiet.

The tournament progressed rapidly from there, and the crowd quickly realized they had severely underestimated the Beastmaster’s “pet.” Gammamon tore through the brackets, treating the New World veterans like warm-up exercises.

In the second round, he faced “Gatling” Grog, a heavily modified cyborg from a winter island.

Grog’s arms transformed into twin rotary cannons, unleashing a hailstorm of armor-piercing bullets.

Gammamon weaved through the devastating barrage with a feral grin, his small stature making him impossible to track.

He closed the gap in a heartbeat, bit down hard on the glowing-hot barrels of the cannons, completely crushing the metal with his jaws, and headbutted the cyborg out of the ring.

In the quarter-finals, he was matched against Toro, a massive Bull Fishman who was a master of Fishman Karate.

Toro actually managed to land a hit, striking Gammamon in the chest with a water-shockwave Arabesque Brick Fist.

Gammamon was pushed back several feet, his boots carving trenches in the sand.

He shook his head, patted his chest where the shockwave hit, and glared at the Fishman.

Gammamon lowered his head and charged.

Horn Attack!

He struck Toro with the force of a runaway train, launching the massive Fishman completely out of the arena and into the fifth row of the stands.

By the time the semi-finals arrived, the bookies were panicking, and the crowd was screaming Gammamon’s name.

The heavy golden gates on the far side of the arena slowly ground open.

A massive, imposing figure stepped out onto the sands.

The man wore a crimson, full-face mask with two curved horns and a sleek, Wano-style burgundy suit.

It was Who’s-Who, the disgraced former CP9 prodigy turned independent pirate captain.

“I don’t have time to play with animals,” Who’s-Who sneered, his voice dripping with aristocratic arrogance.

He drew a sleek, polished blade from his hip, though he didn’t seem to intend to use it as a traditional sword.

“I’m here to claim that unknown Devil Fruit.

With it, I’ll buy my way into Kaido’s inner circle.

I will be an All-Star.

I won’t let a Warlord’s pet stand in my way.”

Who’s-Who’s body began to rapidly expand and shift.

Deep orange fur with heavy black stripes erupted across his skin.

His jaw elongated, his muscles bulging as two massive, lethal fangs descended from his upper jaw.

He transformed into the hybrid form of his Ancient Zoan Devil Fruit: the Sabertooth Tiger.

Gammamon took a fighting stance, his small fists raised.

Whoosh.

Who’s-Who vanished.

It wasn’t just speed; it was the Rokushiki technique Soru (Shave), executed with the flawless precision of a master assassin.

He reappeared instantly in the air above Gammamon.

“Rankyaku!” (Tempest Kick)

Who’s-Who swung his massive, furred leg.

A compressed, crescent-shaped blade of air violently tore through the stadium, completely cleaving the golden sands in half.

Gammamon threw himself to the side, barely avoiding being cut in two.

The wind pressure from the attack grazed his cheek, leaving a small, glowing digital scratch.

Before Gammamon could even land, Who’s-Who was already there.

“Shigan!” (Finger Pistol)

The Sabertooth thrust his finger forward, reinforced by the immense physical power of his Ancient Zoan form.

The strike hit Gammamon squarely in the chest.

The little white triceratops let out a sharp gasp, tumbling backward and skidding violently across the arena floor, kicking up a massive cloud of dust.

The crowd gasped.

It was the first time the Vanguard had taken actual damage.

I leaned forward in my VIP seat, setting my cider down.

Who’s-Who was a New World veteran and a master of the Six Powers.

Base Gammamon wasn’t going to cut it here.

“Gammamon,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise of the arena, carrying directly to his ears.

“Stop playing.”

Down in the dust cloud, Gammamon slowly pushed himself to his feet.

He rubbed his chest, his green eyes narrowing into terrifying, feral slits.

His fighting spirit ignited, burning like a roaring furnace.

A colossal pillar of blistering, crimson digital light erupted from the center of the arena, shooting straight up toward the golden ceiling.

The sheer thermal heat radiating from the beam forced the audience in the front rows to shield their faces.

Who’s-Who covered his eyes with his forearm.

“What is this trickery?!”

The light shattered like glass.

Standing in Gammamon’s place was BetelGammamon.

He was a towering, heavily muscled brawler with crimson skin, radiating a terrifying, suffocating heat.

The cute mascot was gone; a Champion had arrived.

“A trick of the light won’t save you!” Who’s-Who roared.

The Sabertooth lunged, combining Soru with his predatory speed.

He unleashed a furious barrage of Fang Pistols—rapid-fire, ranged Shigan strikes that shot through the air like invisible bullets.

BetelGammamon didn’t dodge.

He coated his massive red fists in dense, black Armament Haki.

He stepped directly into the line of fire, throwing high-speed punches that perfectly intercepted the invisible air bullets, shattering them on impact with deafening cracks.

Who’s-Who gritted his teeth, kicking the air with Geppo (Moonwalk) to launch himself high above the arena.

From his aerial vantage point, he began raining down a relentless storm of Rankyaku air-blades, intending to dice the crimson brawler into pieces.

BetelGammamon looked up, his black-coated fists instantly igniting with explosive, swirling digital fire.

“Sol Blow!”

He threw a devastating uppercut.

A massive fireball, fueled by Armament Haki, rocketed upward.

It collided with the descending storm of air-blades, creating a catastrophic explosion in mid-air that sent a shockwave rattling through the entire Colosseum.

Using the smoke from the explosion as cover, Who’s-Who dropped straight down, coating his massive sabertooth fangs in Armament Haki.

He aimed a lethal, neck-snapping bite directly at BetelGammamon’s collarbone.

BetelGammamon met him head-on.

He reached up, catching Who’s-Who by his massive, furred jaw.

The two heavyweights grappled in the center of the arena.

The sheer, terrifying physical strength of the Ancient Zoan clashed violently against the raw power of the Digimon.

The golden floor beneath their feet began to spiderweb and crack under the intense pressure.

Who’s-Who snarled, pushing his weight down.

But BetelGammamon’s digital fire burned hotter.

The crimson brawler planted his feet, letting out a deep, vibrating roar.

He physically overpowered the Sabertooth, prying Who’s-Who’s jaw open and breaking the grapple.

With Who’s-Who’s guard completely broken, BetelGammamon pulled his right fist back.

The fire around his fist condensed, burning white-hot.

He delivered a devastating, Haki-infused hook directly to Who’s-Who’s ribs.

The sound of snapping bone echoed throughout the stadium.

The former CP9 agent’s eyes rolled back into his head as the breath was violently forced from his lungs.

The kinetic impact launched Who’s-Who entirely across the vast arena.

He smashed into the reinforced golden barrier wall with the force of a cannonball, creating a massive crater in the solid metal.

Who’s-Who slumped to the sand, coughing up a heavy spray of blood, his Zoan transformation retracting involuntarily.

He was entirely, undeniably defeated.

The Colosseum erupted into absolute pandemonium.

The crowd was screaming, completely losing their minds over the sheer power they had just witnessed.

But Who’s-Who was a proud man.

He was a former elite assassin who believed he was destined to be a Yonko Commander.

He couldn’t accept losing his ticket to Kaido’s crew to a Warlord’s pet.

Trembling, clutching his shattered ribs, Who’s-Who dragged himself out of the crater.

He ignored BetelGammamon entirely.

Instead, he snapped his head up, glaring with bloodshot eyes at the highest VIP balcony, where Gild Tesoro sat on his golden throne.

“I won’t be denied!” Who’s-Who roared, his voice cracking with desperation.

“I need that fruit!

I’ll take it from your cold, dead hands, Tesoro!”

He kicked the air with a weak Geppo, launching himself desperately toward the Golden Emperor’s balcony.

Tesoro didn’t flinch.

He didn’t even stand up.

He simply raised a hand, the massive jeweled rings on his fingers gleaming in the spotlights.

“Pathetic,” Tesoro whispered, his voice echoing coldly over the stadium’s speakers.

The golden dust that had been constantly raining over the combatants suddenly stopped floating.

It instantly hardened.

Before Who’s-Who could even reach the balcony, the ambient gold seeped into his skin, rapidly encasing his entire body.

Mid-leap, the Sabertooth tiger froze.

His agonizing scream was silenced in a fraction of a second as he was transformed into a perfect, solid gold statue.

The heavy, golden statue plummeted back down, crashing heavily into the sands of the arena.

“The house always wins,” Tesoro announced to the cheering crowd, lowering his hand.

I leaned back in my chair, a wide smile spreading across my face.

I had my first billion-berry bounty, wrapped up in a convenient golden package.

But before I could even celebrate, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

My Advanced Observation Haki violently spiked, tearing my attention away from the arena and toward the ocean outside.

A massive, suffocating, overwhelmingly dark presence was rapidly approaching the city.

It felt like a walking natural disaster.

Jack the Drought had arrived.

Word Count: 2086

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