The Whitebeard Pirates

"Call me Marco."

The young boy that would become known as the Phoenix across the New World, Paradise, and all four seas barely managed to stand taller than Edward Newgate's bent knee when the two first met on the shores of Applenine. And yet, with a Whitebeard pirates raid storming the beaches of the island decades before the Summit War in Marineford, the boy—"Marco," he had clearly declared —still managed to draw eyes to him in a way few on the Grand Line could.

It had certainly done enough to impress Whitebeard.

Still kneeling, he granted the boy his first request. "Marco it is then," Newgate said. The captain was bent near double to talk to the defiant youth, one knee buried in the dusty white sand and the other clenched around a towering halberd. The red and yellow whipped stripes on the polearm's handle caught the eye just above the acres of white sand. As did, Marco noticed, the behemoth of a pirate captain's long golden hair, which shifted off his shoulder as he spoke again. "You're not afraid of me?"

Marco scrunched his face up. "I'm not afraid of anyone, old man." This declaration, unlike the first on his name, came with a curled fist and a half step back from the kneeling pirate captain.

If Newgate was impressed before, he seemed uproarious at this. "Gurarara!" he laughed, a bellowing sound that seemed to Marco to be maybe the loudest 'quiet' chuckle he'd ever heard before. "Gurarara!" It was enough to lift above the sound of swords clashing and muskets firing from further up the beach. "I like you, boy. Are you here to stop us from coming ashore? Or for something else, perhaps." He looked up Marco up and down, seeming to drink in something invisible.

The was a detonation off behind Marco's back, a canon shot from Newgate's anchored pirate ship kicking up sand and dirt in the middle of the swollen melee, and the boy flinched.

Newgate raised an eyebrow at this, chuckling again. "Not afraid of anything I thought you said, boy. One misaiming pirate shooting their canon a little wide suddenly puts paid to all of that does it, and leaves you ready to run?"

Marco's eyes narrowed. "So you are pirates."

"Of course, boy, what else would we be?" Newgate turned and pointed to the ship behind him just as it fired another volley. The smoke and soot from the starboard canons puffed as he pointed, giving the broad smiling whale that made up the front of the vessel a blackened halo for just a second. "That's the Moby Dick, my ship. As fine a pirate ship as you'll see here on the Grand Line, I'd venture, anywhere from Elbaf all the way to Alabasta."

Marco looked out, drinking in the ship behind the looming man. The cachalot at the front of the ship had been all he'd noticed, to begin with, but as he took a second glance he could see behind that smiling, broad design there was a leaner, sturdier warship buried at its back. The side, at least the one Marco could see, was a royal blue, painted over the timbers of the hull that held a dozen gunports, if not more. Another dozen likely rowed the other side of the ship too, Marco imagined, all split in the middle by a rich brown upper deck with glinting green-blue windows and a bow of dulled gold. Atop it all, rising like the spine of a great serpent, four tall masks stood, each with a set of rolled-up white sails. They were rolled, but the breeze off the beach caught them in a rhythm, fluttering them each like chimes. The Moby Dick, the pirate captain had said. A majesty, Marco thought.

Or perhaps the boy had said that last thought out loud, because the towering pirate captain was quick to answer that declaration too as he stood up from his half-kneel to a full tall stretch. "Couldn't have put it better, boy. My majesty." His eyes turned back to the boy. "And I am the captain of the Moby Dick. You were right too, we are pirates, though you seemed to have already guessed that already."

"Good," the boy replied, and Newgate curled his brow before speaking: "Good? Boy, I said we're pirates."

Marco's fist scrunched again. "And I said good, old man. The Marines haven't lifted a finger to help, so then it will have to be pirates instead."

The golden-blonde brow lifted even higher. "Instead? Tell me, what are you expecting us Whitebeard pirates to do that makes a little boy from Applenine happy to see a jolly roger on the horizon?"

Marco told him. And Whitebeard listened—that was his way, even in the beginning. Perhaps if it had been Shiki and the Golden Lion Pirates landing on the shore, or even Gol D. Roger and his pirate band, the boy may not have had the chance to speak to any pirates. Worse again, was it any years earlier and it had been the fearsome Rocks D. Xebec and his bloodthirsty Rocks Pirates, the boy may not have survived very long.

But it was Edward Newgate and his nascent Whitebeard pirate crew, and the crew's captain was willing to listen to the young man he had found on the white beach as he elucidated the situation on Applenine: a pirate by the name of Dolica Seme, captain of the Seme Pirates, had arrived some weeks earlier and with the power of his Devil Fruit and his crew had forced their way into the capital Rego Calbria to take Queen Maica and her family hostage. Since then, the pirates had been feasting, celebrating, and running the ever-snowy Applenine capital like they had been the royal family for the last hundred years.

"Some here have sent messages of aid to the Marines," Marco continued, "but we've only seen one Navy warship since those pirates arrived. When they inspected Rego Calbria and the palace they didn't seem bothered by what was happening."

"A pile of gold will tend to change anyone's mind, especially the Marines," said the woman now standing at Newgate's shoulder, and Marco started. He hadn't noticed her arrival while he was telling the captain his story, but now he was looking at her Marco questioned how he'd missed it—her wide-brim purple hat, complete with a tumbling pink plume, was even bolder and brighter than anything Newgate was wearing, and fit perfectly with her two-shaded two-piece blue pinstripe suit that ended in a skirt of the same colour. Adorned at the front was a huge cream neck bow and wrapped around it all was a purple cape. The only thing not shaded blue or purple, Marco could see, was her black-bladed sword and its golden crossguard. Impossible to miss, and yet somehow she still disappeared behind the Whitebeard captain.

Newgate replied to the new arrival. "It's very likely. If Seme has taken over the Rego Calbria castle then he would certainly have gold for the Marines. I've never known him to be one to share, but if it means keeping a slice of this pie he thinks he's earned it certainly makes a deal of sense." He gestured to the battle raging further up the beachhead. "This begins to make more sense now too. I had never known Applenine to have a standing militia so when we met resistance I was surprised."

"Perhaps they should," the woman said. "Would have saved this island a great deal of their Seme trouble if they have, I suspect." She cast an eye over the growing skirmish she had just broken away from. "Should I call back the men then? We're not going to find the supplies we need here, I think, at least not without a fight. Perhaps we should push on to Dressrosa, or even head east to Mogaro or Prodence?"

Newgate ignored her suggestion and looked down at Marco. "Forgive me, I have not introduced you two. This is Marco, who I believe is from right here on Applenine." The captain gestured from the boy to his officer. "And Marco, meet Whitey Bay."

Whitey Bay and Marco looked at each other. She must be close to my age, Marco thought, and yet here she is fighting alongside this pirate captain. Whitey seemed to have had the opposite thought. "He's young." Her look over the boy was too quick to scour any details, but she didn't seem in a hurry to linger. "Is this why you're not fighting with us?" She sheathed her sword and turned her attention back to Newgate. "I'm happy not to fight, but you're going to have a harder time telling Andre and Fossa. I think Andre will say he's just been getting warmed up, and I do know Fossa has already lit up that damned sword of his."

"We'll be staying here, for a time."

Whitey, who had already been turning to stride away, stopped. "Staying? Captain, I don't think there's going to be anything here for us, especially not considering our supplies. Not to mention the Moby Dick's repairs. One mast at least, remember, and the wood needed for those holes just above the waterline won't be easy to find in any market either. We barely made it from—"

"Whitey." The captain, now watching the battle while leaning on his polearm, seemed to be sharing none of her concerns. He said nothing else, but Marco could see Whitey Bay was not going to push the issue after his reply. The captain's word, just a single boom of his voice, had been enough to end all arguments. Perhaps she had wanted to argue more, push the captain toward her way of thinking. Perhaps she would later, once they were back on the ship. For now, though, there would be no arguments. Instead, she silently headed back for the battle.

Newgate watched her leave, gazing from over Marco's turned head. Marco, in turn, truly noticed the battle for the first time. It had already been bubbling over when he arrived on the beach, rushing to beg the landing crew to help Rego Calbria in any way they could, but he had paid no heed to the small swordplay bursting out in the front lines; his focus had been on making it to the whale ship and finding its captain as quickly as he could before they disappeared into the din. But now, with the Moby Dick's captain looming over him, watching together with the golden-haired pirate, he drunk in exactly what was happening on the sandy white Applenine beach.

There was Whitey Bay, rejoining the fray with that black-bladed longsword held high. Even as she charged, Marco noticed, a frost was streaming from her open mouth, catching one of her enemies unawares. In an instant, the shocked man was frozen stiff, white and pale blue. An icicle, ready to be smashed, which Whitey made sure she did as she marched past.

There was another man dressed all in blue, just like Whitey. He too appeared to be a swordsman, though he had a sabre in each hand, and when he dashed it against an enemy it looked like rich-red petals were bursting from each strike. Two Devil Fruits for one pirate crew? Marco watched two or three strikes more, each a kill for the swordsman, before his eyes flicked to the next contest. A mighty force indeed.

Two power users impressed Marco, but his mouth dropped agape as his eyes slowly followed the battle further up the Applenine beach. Two more Devil Fruits were on full display in the next bundled skirmish, a tall man with dark blonde dreadlocks swinging a mace that cleanly chomped his enemies and a hulking boy covered half in a sturdy red breastplate and half warped into glittering blue diamonds. The second Devil Fruit user—or fourth, rather—looked young, as young as Marco, but just at home on that battlefield as any of the other Whitebeard pirates, hurling his diamond fists around with mighty power. Even as Marco watched, one of the boy's hefted punches shattered a shield and knocked a man to the ground in one swing. The boy didn't even look flustered as he shook his fists and moved on.

No less impressive were the rest of the combatants. They may not have been wielding Devil Fruit powers, from what Marco could see, but there were at least two more swordsmen, one a huge man not much smaller than Newgate with a braided ponytail nearly as long as his enormous sword, the other an armoured warrior with horns adorning a shining silver helm and tufts of black hair rolling down his back. Like the petals Devil Fruit user, he had two swords in his hand. Unlike the grace and poise of the petals swordsman, this armoured fighter was making long sweeping attacks with two thick-set broadswords. It may not have been as elegant, but he was doing just as much damage, if not more. He stood beside a woman half his size with a silver-tipped jousting lance that was, just at that second, gored through an enemy fighter's stomach.

There were others too. One was punching with his bare fists, laughing as he brawled, and another fought in a similar manner, his strong arms adorned with four-ringed black gauntlets that Marco could only imagine delivered a sickening crunch with every mighty swing.

A little further down again, one pirate was darting left and right with a flaming blade, each clash kicking up sparks and licks of fire. That must be Fossa. Whitey Bay had mentioned him by name, particularly his fiery weapon. I wouldn't want to be on the wrong end of a weapon like that, skilled fighter wielding it or not.

In the end, perhaps to Fossa's disappointment considering how long he could really have the fiery sword burn, the battle on the beach soon turned to sport for the Whitebeard pirates than any kind of struggle. The Seme pirates fought hard, but the clash was soon over. With bodies littered across the battlefield, the Whitebeard pirates began collecting buckshots, searching pockets, and cleaning blades and weapons as best they could.

Newgate stepped up beside the boy, his imposing shadow momentarily blotting out the sun as he stepped past. "Tell me about Seme's plan. And Rego Calbria as well. He and his officers are holed up in the city's fortress?"

Before Marco had a chance to reply, two of the Whitebeard fighters approached from the battlefield-turned-graveyard, heaving deep breaths and sheathing their weapons. One, the young diamond-covered warrior adorned in red chainmail, had a gash down his side he was holding gingerly. The other, the graceful petal swordsman, was already speaking softly as he arrived in the shadow of his captain. Marco could see, now he was closer, that he was wearing a circular bowler hat that stretched off his head just as wide as the curling moustache that sprouted past his cheeks. His tunic, wrapped in a black and purple cape and sporting a tall white collar, was popped enough to show off a dark-haired barrel chest. He had one white glove rested on the pommel of his right blade and a tenseness that gave away the secret that a flick was all he'd need to have the sabre in his grip again, ready for the next battle. "Whitey says we've got more work to be doing here, Pops?"

"One more battle I suspect, Vista, yes," the captain answered. "This boy has something he needs a little help with." Newgate peered down at Marco, still half-covered by the man's great shadow. "Isn't that right, boy?"

Small curled fists again. "I said call me Marco, old man."

Vista looked down at the huffing boy with a small chuckle. The tense hand resting on his pommel loosened. "You ask Pops to call you by your name, but you insult his age with every breath? Bold choice, little pup. A very bold choice."

That boom laugh, a soft chuckle ringing at a sound no chuckle should reach, rolled out of the captain again. "Gurararara! Gurarara! Don't blame the boy Vista. Come to think of it, I introduced the Moby Dick and Whitey Bay, but I'm not sure I ever told Marco my name." He bent over to look at Marco, a smile widening under his enormous white moustache. His golden eyes glinted. "Pleased to meet you, boy. I'm Edward Newgate, captain of all the Whitebeard pirates you see before you and the Moby Dick."

"And the strongest man in the world," the diamond boy, now simply wearing his armour, added after Newgate. "On the Grand Line and any of the four seas."

Newgate's smile faded under his moustache and that golden bright twinkle that had dominated his eyes as he bent to greet Marco, formally, at least, lost a little of its glimmering sheen. "We don't need to bandy that around Jozu, not to scare little boys or otherwise. I am just Whitebeard."

"Or Pops, I'd rather," came Vista's contribution.

Newgate's twinkle sprung anew at this and that smile, lost under the golden moustache for just a moment, crept out again. "Yes, yes. I would rather that too."

There was little time for Jozu to argue about it though—and the young once-diamond fighter had been opening his mouth to tell Vista or even Newgate exactly what he really thought about all of that—as more of the Whitebeards has begun returning from the battlefield. Some were carrying wounds and slashes from the blades and spears of the Seme pirates. Others were pocketing coins and jewels, no doubt lifted from those same warriors that had been dolling out sweeping cuts moments before. One , the man that had been swinging the chomping mace , was already bandaging in a large gash on his shoulder. His blonde dreadlocks were matted with blood, Marco could see, but his cream tunic was largely unscathed, bar the shoulder slash. The man's yellow bandanna was emblazoned with a symbol that looked quite like a symmetrical cross with Newgate's monstrous white moustache stretched across the middle. That doesn't look like the Moby Dick's jolly roger though. Not really. The man spoke as Marco stared, only wincing once as he pulled the shoulder wrapping tight. "One of these Seme pirates said the rest of them are holed up in the island's capital. That doesn't make much sense, does it? Last I heard, these fellas were closer to Toroa than they were to anywhere in the Grand Line, let alone here in the New World." He threw an eye over his shoulder to the mouth of the beach. "Lying, maybe?"

Whitey Bay, who had returned in the rest of the gaggle of Whitebeards, shook her head and pointed to Marco. "It's the Seme pirates, and they're here on the island, at the city. This boy here is from Rego Calbria, he says so."

A dozen eyes, Newgate's included, turned to watch Marco. The boy's eyes followed around the circle, his words caught in his throat. Eyes from the flower swordsman Vista and the diamond boy, Jozu. The man with the chomping mace and Fossa with his now-burned-out sword hanging from his hand. The woman with the lance, and the two brawlers. The other swordsmen. Whitey Bay's piercing deep blue eyes. And there was another in the group he hadn't seen before too, a lumpy man with a wide-brim hat and green dots littered across his folded body. He had a toothy grin.

Even Newgate was staring down at him, waiting. Whitey Bay had called him out, and he's said nothing.

Marco gulped.

"Yes, that's right. And you have to stop them!"

All rights to One Piece reserved by Eiichiro Oda and Shueisha's Jump Comics.