Haki Monster in One Piece World - Chapter 14
Chapter 14: Hunting Kuroobi
The metallic tang of Chew’s blood, scrubbed away by seawater but vivid in his memory, served as a grim catalyst. Mike hadn’t lingered by the cove; adrenaline and a chilling pragmatism had driven him back towards the relative safety of the deep jungle. He met Nojiko briefly at their pre-arranged dead drop spot – a hollow log hidden far off any known path – confirming Chew’s elimination with a terse nod and receiving a tightly wrapped bundle of dried fish and slightly stale bread in return. He also received the next piece of critical intel: Kuroobi.
Nojiko, her face pale but resolute, had explained that Kuroobi, unlike the more solitary Chew or the often-absent Hatchan, sometimes met with a few lower-ranking crewmates at a disused fisherman’s shack near an old, dilapidated pier, a couple of kilometers south of Arlong Park. It was a place they could drink and gamble away from Arlong’s immediate oversight. He was likely there tonight, she’d whispered, having overheard two grunts complaining about guard duty while Kuroobi got to relax.
Urgency clawed at Mike. Chew’s death wouldn’t go unnoticed forever. Maybe a day, maybe two, before Arlong realized one of his officers was missing. And Arlong’s reaction… Mike didn’t need Observation Haki to predict that.
He knew the stories, the underlying current of explosive rage beneath the Fishman’s arrogant control.
Arlong wouldn’t launch a careful investigation; he’d lash out. And the easiest target, the one he despised most, was Coco Village. Mike pictured flames, screams, indiscriminate slaughter.
The image solidified his resolve into icy determination. He couldn’t wait. Kuroobi had to fall, now, before Arlong even knew Chew was gone. Sow chaos, make it look like internal conflict, anything but a direct human threat Arlong could retaliate against easily.
As Mike moved swiftly but silently through the darkening jungle towards the coordinates Nojiko had described, his thoughts inevitably turned to the architect of this island’s misery: Arlong himself.
Why such profound, unwavering hatred for humans? His mind sifted through the fragmented lore he’d absorbed years ago, pieces clicking into place with the grim context of his current reality.
He thought of Fisher Tiger, the legendary Fishman adventurer who had climbed the Red Line and attacked Mary Geoise, the heart of the World Nobles’ power. An act of defiance that freed countless slaves – Fishmen, humans, giants – slaves like Arlong. Arlong had seen humanity at its absolute worst: the decadent cruelty of the Celestial Dragons, the systemic prejudice that deemed his kind inferior, monstrous. He’d joined Tiger’s Sun Pirates, sailing under a banner meant to erase the mark of slavery. But where Tiger, despite his own deep scars and eventual betrayal by humans, still held onto a fragile hope for coexistence, Arlong’s experiences had seemingly cauterized any capacity for empathy towards humankind. His rage simmered, fueled by centuries of Fishman oppression.
And then, the ultimate betrayal: Fisher Tiger’s death. Mortally wounded, he’d refused a transfusion of human blood, a final, tragic testament to his disillusionment. Mike recalled reading that Arlong was captured shortly after, likely by the Marines – maybe even Admiral Kizaru himself. The subsequent torture, the imprisonment, the reinforcement of every negative stereotype he held about humans… it would have forged his hatred into an unbreakable core.
‘The world absolutely broke him,’ Mike acknowledged internally, the thought offering no comfort, only bleak understanding. ‘Slavery, betrayal, torture… it’s a recipe for creating a monster. He has every reason to hate the World Government, the Marines, the humans who perpetuated that system.’
But the sliver of potential empathy Mike might have felt died there. ‘He had a choice,’
Mike reasoned, his hand tightening on the hilt of the fishing knife Nojiko had given him.
‘He could have followed Tiger’s path, fighting for freedom, demanding equality. Instead, he took his pain and twisted it into a weapon to inflict on others. He became the oppressor. He recreated the same system of fear and domination, just with humans on the bottom this time.’
Arlong hadn’t learned from his trauma; he’d weaponized it. There was no reasoning with that depth of ingrained hatred, no scenario where Arlong suddenly saw the error of his ways. He was too far gone, trapped in his own cycle of vengeance. He and his crew, the enforcers of his racist tyranny, weren’t victims anymore; they were perpetrators. And they needed to be stopped. Permanently.
Steel Kills steel. That’s the only way.
His thoughts solidified his grim purpose as he reached the vicinity of the shack. Switching Observation Haki to Lv.3, he scanned the area. The shack radiated warmth, crude light spilling from grimy windows, along with the harsh, grating sounds of drunken Fishman laughter. Inside, four distinct signatures. One felt disciplined, coiled even in relaxation, significantly stronger than the others – Kuroobi, Physique easily Lv.40 or higher by Mike’s estimation. The other three were weak flames in comparison, Lv.5 to Lv.10 grunts, sloppy with alcohol.
Mike circled the shack slowly, hidden by the coastal darkness and scraggly vegetation. One main door, crudely built. Two windows, both filthy, offering distorted views of the interior. He could see the flicker of lamplight, silhouettes moving, heard a bottle smash followed by raucous laughter. This was his chance.
Kuroobi was the target, but those three grunts, however weak and drunk, were variables he couldn’t afford. They could shout, run for help, or just get in the way during the crucial first seconds. They had to go down instantly.
His plan solidified: Breach through the door. Maximum speed, maximum surprise. Use Armament Haki on the knife for the first kill, maybe fists for the others to conserve Haki slightly if possible, but prioritize speed above all. Eliminate the three grunts before Kuroobi could fully react or organize a defense. Then, face the Karate master. Observation Lv.3 active now.
He took a deep breath, centering himself, pushing down the slight tremor that wasn’t just from adrenaline but from the cold-blooded nature of the impending act. He felt the familiar solidness of Armament Haki coat his knife hand, the power thrumming, ready. He focused his Observation Haki, feeling the immediate intentions within the shack – drunken boasts, lazy thoughts, Kuroobi’s slightly more alert but still relaxed state.
Then he moved.
He didn’t creep to the door; he hit it like a battering ram. With a surge of Physique Lv.36 strength, he kicked inwards, hinges ripping from rotten wood, the door exploding into the shack with a deafening crash.
For a fraction of a second, the scene inside froze – Fishmen turning with startled, drunken expressions, mugs halfway to mouths, eyes wide.
Mike was already through the splintered frame, a blur of lethal motion.
Observation Haki screamed the immediate reactions. Grunt 1 (Lv.8, closest) – mouth opening in a surprised roar, reaching for a crude club leaning nearby. Mike’s Armament-coated knife was already there, slicing cleanly across the thick neck before the roar materialized, silencing it in a wet gurgle.
Grunt 2 (Lv.10, slightly further) – fumbling drunkenly for a bottle to throw, eyes wide with panic. Mike didn’t waste Haki; a devastating front kick, powered by his enhanced Physique, snapped the Fishman’s sternum with an audible crack. The Fishman flew backwards, hitting the wall and slumping, instantly lifeless.
Grunt 3 (Lv.5, scrambling) – actually managed to pull a rusty dagger, turning towards Mike with more terror than aggression. Observation Haki predicted the clumsy stab. Mike, already pivoting towards Kuroobi, lashed out with a brutal backhand, coating his knuckles with Armament Haki just for insurance. The blow connected with the side of the Fishman’s head, shattering bone.
Three bodies hit the rough floorboards almost simultaneously. The entire sequence took less than two seconds, a whirlwind of calculated violence.
Silence slammed back into the small shack, thick with the coppery smell of blood and spilled cheap alcohol. Dust motes danced in the lamplight. Mike stood panting slightly, knife held ready, Haki still coating his fist and blade, amidst the carnage he’d wrought.
Only one other figure remained standing.
Kuroobi.
The Ray Fishman had reacted with incredible speed, leaping back from the table as the door imploded, avoiding the initial chaotic rush. He stood now in a perfect Fishman Karate stance, knuckles white, water dripping from his grey skin where his drink had spilled. His usually cold, disciplined eyes were wide, not with fear, but with utter shock that morphed instantly into blazing, incandescent rage as he registered the scene – his fallen comrades, the human intruder standing amidst them.
Waves of pure killing intent rolled off Kuroobi, so potent Mike could almost taste them through his Observation Haki.
“You… BASTARD!” Kuroobi’s voice was a low, guttural growl, vibrating with a fury that seemed to shake the very air in the shack. He took in Mike’s appearance – human, yes, but radiating an energy, a deadliness, that belied his species. “Who… WHO ARE YOU?!” His gaze flickered to the bodies on the floor, his expression twisting further. “My brothers… you slaughtered them!”
Mike remained silent, his own Armament Haki humming, Observation Haki focused entirely on Kuroobi, analyzing his stance, predicting his next move. Words were useless here. The fight was inevitable. Let the rage fuel Kuroobi, perhaps make him reckless.
The standoff lasted only a breath. With a roar that rattled the loose timbers of the shack, Kuroobi exploded forward. No subtlety, just pure, focused rage channeled into his martial art. He unleashed a signature Fishman Karate move – Karakusagawara Seiken! A straight punch, driven by powerful Fishman muscles, projecting a shockwave of force through the air itself, aimed directly at Mike’s center mass.
Mike’s Observation Haki screamed danger, predicting the attack’s trajectory and feeling the crushing weight of the invisible force seconds before it arrived. There was no room to dodge completely in the confined space.
Reacting on pure instinct and Haki-fueled precognition, Mike roared, pouring Haki into his own defense. He crossed his forearms, coated in the solid blackness of Armament Haki Lv.2, bracing for the impact even as he tried to angle his body to lessen the blow.
The shockwave hit.