The sky shattered.
The world itself seemed to tremble as Vice Admiral Garp, the "Hero of the Marines," unleashed his final, devastating blow. His entire right arm, once an indomitable force of justice, now trembled from sheer exhaustion. His legendary fists—once thought unbreakable—were raw and bleeding, the skin cracked and torn from enduring five days of relentless, punishing battle. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body battered and bruised, yet his spirit refused to falter.
Above the ruins of Sabaody Archipelago, high in the storm-ridden sky, Garp's final attack ignited the heavens.
"GALAXY ANNIHILATION!!!"
A roar like a dying god echoed through the shattered remains of the island. His fist, now glowing like the molten core of a dying star, burned with the sheer willpower of a man who had spent decades fighting the strongest warriors the world had ever known.
The sheer force of his blow distorted the very air around it, the sky itself cracking open as if the heavens were fracturing under its might. Below him, Rosinante stood unmoving.
His body—bruised, bloodied, broken beyond recognition—refused to fall. His two blackened swords, now more extensions of his very soul than mere weapons, trembled in his weakening grip. His entire form crackled with raw, unrelenting Haki, his very spirit roaring in defiance against the inevitable.
For five days, he had pushed Garp beyond his limits. For five days, he had matched the Hero of the Marines blow for blow. And yet, at this moment, even Rosinante knew—this was the end. The fist of a legend, a strike infused with the will to bring down an era, descended upon him like a judgment from the gods themselves.
The moment Garp's fist made contact, Sabaody ceased to exist.
A light unlike anything the world had ever seen swallowed the entire horizon, brighter than the sun itself. The sea split apart, monstrous waves exploding outward for miles, drowning ships that had been unfortunate enough to be caught in the blast radius. The very atmosphere distorted from the sheer magnitude of the impact, the clouds above vaporized in an instant.
And then—silence.
Rosinante stood at the center of the abyss. His body, battered and broken, was long past its limit, yet his will refused to break. Two blades—one pitch-black as the void, the other glowing crimson like a dying ember—trembled in his grip. His haki, a force that had shaken even the Hero of the Marines, burned like an undying flame around his crumbling frame.
Even now, as death itself came crashing down upon him, he did not kneel.
"Not yet…"
He raised his blades, his vision blurred by blood and exhaustion. His muscles screamed, his bones cracked under the weight of his defiance, but he lifted them nonetheless. The impact came like a wrathful god's decree. A fist mightier than history itself met the twin blades of defiance, and for a single, impossible moment—the world held its breath.
Then—the universe exploded.
A blinding white light engulfed everything. A shockwave, powerful enough to level entire continents, erupted from the point of impact. The very sea was cleaved apart, monstrous walls of water rising miles high as the force of the attack reshaped the ocean itself. The air cracked, the sky split open, and the last remnants of Sabaody were utterly erased from existence.
And at the heart of it—Rosinante fell.
His body, weightless amidst the destruction, was thrown into the endless abyss below. His swords slipped from his fingers, spinning into the void as he plummeted into the sea. His battered form, barely recognizable beneath the blood and wounds, vanished beneath the churning waters, swallowed whole by the darkness.
Garp hovered in the air, his body refusing to obey him any longer. His breath was ragged, his vision flickering, his once-indestructible fists now shattered and dripping with blood. His heart pounded painfully in his chest, not from the battle—but from something deeper.
He watched as Rosinante sank, his form disappearing into the blackened abyss of the ocean.
For a moment—he almost moved.
Almost.
But his body, heavy with exhaustion and the weight of his choices, remained frozen. His jaw clenched, his fists trembled, and for the first time in decades, Garp felt powerless. His former student… the boy he had once guided… the man who had become a force strong enough to shake the very world… Gone.
The waves crashed violently, the ocean roaring as if mourning the fallen warrior. A deep, endless darkness swallowed the spot where Rosinante had vanished, leaving nothing behind. No trace. No confirmation of death. Only uncertainty. And somehow, that was worse.
Garp closed his eyes, his body slowly descending as his strength finally left him. He had won.
But why did it feel like a loss?
The ocean, once vast and untamed, now bore the scars of a godlike clash. Where the famed Sabaody Archipelago had once stood—a thriving hub of pirates, bounty hunters, and dreamers—now lay nothing but a monstrous, gaping void.
Garp's final attack had rivaled the wrath of an Ancient Weapon.
The force of Galaxy Impact had obliterated the island, shattering the massive mangrove trees that had once formed Sabaody. Out of the dozens of groves that had made up the archipelago, only a handful had survived—those fortunate enough to have drifted away in the early days of the battle. The rest… were gone.
The sea itself had been permanently altered.
The abyss left behind refused to be filled. The ocean roared in protest, an unstoppable current rushing toward the immense crater left in the wake of Garp's fist. Yet, no matter how much water poured in, the void remained. The sheer force of the attack had torn apart the very seabed, creating a pit so vast and so deep that it defied nature itself.
And somewhere, at the bottom of that abyss—Rosinante had fallen.
Garp's battered form hovered above the ruin, his chest rising and falling with ragged, uneven breaths. Blood dripped from his shattered knuckles, staining the wind as he strained to stay afloat with what little remained of his strength. His once indomitable fists—renowned for their unyielding power—were now bruised and scarred, the skin peeled back to expose torn flesh and bone.
"You little bastard…" Garp muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. His jaw clenched, his expression unreadable as his tired, bloodshot eyes scanned the abyss.
"Why didn't you just give up...?"
His observation haki spread across the endless void below, desperate—searching. But there was nothing. No life, no presence—only the unrelenting darkness of the sea. A strange, uneasy sensation clawed at Garp's chest.
He had fought countless battles. He had crushed pirates, toppled entire fleets, and battled monsters who threatened the world itself. Yet, as he floated above the ruin of Sabaody, staring into the abyss that had swallowed Rosinante… For the first time in decades—he felt hollow.
****
The storm-churned sea trembled beneath them, the once-proud waters now a battlefield scarred by an apocalyptic clash. Where once Sabaody had thrived, now lay a gaping abyss—an endless void that devoured all in its wake. Aboard the battered warship, chaos raged.
"Let me go, Lucci...!" Dora's thunderous roar echoed across the deck, her massive form thrashing violently against his grip. Her entire body crackled with electricity, waves of sheer ferocity and grief surging through her as she struggled to dive into the sea.
She had seen him fall. Her mentor—Rosinante. Like a dying comet, he had plummeted from the heavens, his body tearing through the very world beneath him, swallowed by the abyss below. She needed to go to him. She needed to save him.
"Dora, trust Master!" Lucci snarled, his grip tightening as he pinned the giantess to the half-destroyed deck. His strength strained against hers, but he refused to let her go. "Do you think he'd just give up…? And have you forgotten? You're a Devil Fruit user! If you jump into that sea, you'll die before you ever reach him!"
Dora's teeth clenched, her massive hands digging into the splintered wood beneath her. She could barely think past the anguish gripping her chest, but Lucci's words pierced through her madness. He was right. She knew her master—better than anyone. And Rosinante was not a man who would fall so easily.
But her body still trembled with the urge to plunge into the abyss, to do something, anything—because standing here, powerless, while the man she had sworn loyalty to vanished into the unknown was tearing her apart. Lucci had seen it too.
Even from miles away, the battle between Rosinante and Garp had been blinding—like two stars colliding. The sheer force of their attacks had reshaped the very ocean, and now, even from this distance, the monstrous crater Garp had left behind remained untouched by the rushing tides, an unfillable wound on the world.
His master had fought with everything he had. And still, he fell. Lucci's fist clenched. A deep, unfamiliar rage churned in his gut. It was a rare, almost foreign feeling—powerlessness.
Ever since consuming his Mythical Zoan, he had believed there were few in the world who could stand above him. But watching that battle, witnessing true monsters clash, Lucci had come to understand just how deep the chasm between them truly was.
Yet, despite everything, his belief in Rosinante did not waver. His master had said he could handle this. And that meant he could.
"Bring the ship around! Get us as close to that crater as possible!" Lucci roared, his voice cutting through the deafening sound of crashing waves.
The crew—those still conscious after enduring the shockwaves of the battle—hesitated. Their faces were pale, their bodies trembling. They had seen what had happened to Sabaody. They had witnessed devastation beyond anything they had ever imagined.
"But... but if we get too close, the ship will be dragged down!" one of them stammered, mustering the courage to speak against Lucci's order.
He never got the chance to say anything else. A single shigan—faster than the human eye could follow—pierced his skull. His head exploded, the sound swallowed by the howling winds. Blood splattered across the deck as his lifeless body crumpled. Lucci's golden eyes burned with fury as he turned his gaze to the others.
"I won't repeat myself." His voice was deathly calm now, cold and absolute. "Turn the damn ship around. NOW."
The remaining crew scrambled, fear overriding their hesitation. The ship groaned as the helm was turned, its ruined sails barely holding as it adjusted course. Dora, still on the ground, stared at Lucci. His usual smirk was gone.
There was no arrogance in his expression, no cruelty—just pure, unshakable determination. Dora took a deep breath. Her body still ached, her soul still screamed for their brother. But for now, she clenched her fists and stood.
****
Darkness.
The abyss was endless, cold, and unfeeling. No light, no sound—only the crushing silence of the deep, where even death found itself swallowed whole. Rosinante drifted, his body broken, his heart silent. His once-proud form, the very vessel of defiance that had stood against a legend, now lay limp, carried by the chaotic currents that raged beneath the world. His form, once the epitome of a proud warrior, was now nothing more than shreds, fluttering like whispers of a battle lost. His hands, which had wielded power enough to shake the heavens, floated uselessly by his sides.
He was sinking. Deeper. Deeper still. The ocean had claimed countless warriors, emperors, pirates, and monsters alike. It was a graveyard without end, a void that erased even the memory of those who fell into its embrace.
Yet—
Rosinante was not alone. His swords drifted beside him, moving as if bound by an invisible tether. Twin obsidian blades, humming with an eerie, unnatural power, their presence defying the will of the abyss itself. They refused to part from him, their edges shimmering with something primal—something waiting.
The ocean had noticed. And so had they. From the blackness, something stirred. A presence—no, many. The first appeared like a phantom, gliding through the abyss with an ease that defied its impossible size. A colossal Sea King, stretching more than a thousand meters, its scales shimmering with the deep hues of a predator that had ruled these depths for millennia. Its eyes, golden and vast, locked onto the small drifting form of Rosinante.
And it was not alone. Dozens. Hundreds.
The sea itself twisted with movement as ancient titans emerged from the darkness. The smallest among them were larger than entire island chains, their very presence warping the water around them. The largest... the largest could swallow nations whole, their gargantuan bodies weaving through the abyss like gods of the deep.
They encircled him. Drawn by something primal. Something irresistible. A life force unlike any they had ever known. Even in his broken state, Rosinante radiated something unnatural. A vitality so vast, so immeasurable, it called to them like the scent of divine nectar. If they devoured him, they could transcend—become something more than mere beasts of the sea.
But they hesitated. The swords. They pulsed, radiating a power so suffocating, so overwhelming, it made even these primordial titans falter. Their instincts screamed caution, warning them that to consume this being was to invite something far worse than death.
And yet—hunger and instincts were a cruel master. The largest among them, a creature so vast its shadow swallowed the rest, abandoned all restraint. It moved first, surging forward at blinding speed, its titanic maw parting to consume the broken warrior whole.
And as if that act had shattered the fragile hesitation of the others—they followed. A storm of monstrous bodies, their colossal forms twisting through the abyss, their hunger obliterating their fear. They would devour him. They would take his power.
And then—
"THUMP."
A sound. Low. Deafening. Impossible. The very sea shuddered. The abyss froze. The approaching Sea King—mere moments from consuming its prey—jerked to a violent stop. Its eyes, once filled with primal hunger, widened in pure terror.
"THUMP… THUMP…"
A second heartbeat. Louder. Faster. The entire sea quaked. And then— a pitch black light. From the depths of the abyss, golden and black lightning erupted. Not a spark. Not a flicker. A storm. A violent, world-breaking storm of divine fury coiled around Rosinante's sinking form. Lightning arced from his skin, tendrils of golden fire crackling through the water, illuminating the abyss like a second sun.
And then—his fingers twitched. His body, once still, jerked violently. His shattered bones groaned and realigned. His wounds sealed, but not as they once were. His very flesh reformed, no longer merely human, but something beyond. His hair, once golden blonde, now darkened at the edges, streaks of black coursing through it as if the abyss itself had left its mark upon him.
And his eyes— Once filled with cunningness and mischief— Now burned white-hot. The Sea Kings, gods of the deep, trembled. The one that had lunged for him tried to flee. It never got the chance. Rosinante's body moved. No hesitation. No weakness. Just a blur—an impossible movement in the crushing depths.
He had been drifting. Now he was standing. The twin swords, once floating beside him, snapped to his grasp. And with a single motion— He swung. A slash of golden fire ripped through the abyss. The Sea King, a beast larger than any ship, exploded.
Its flesh was not cut. It was erased. The light consumed it, leaving nothing behind but a hollow space where the titan once stood. The others reeled in horror. For the first time in their ancient lives, they knew what it meant to be prey.
Rosinante exhaled. The storm crackled around him, the abyss bending to his will. The ocean, which had for eternity devoured and consumed, now yielded to something greater. He turned his gaze upward. The distant light of the surface called to him.
He smiled.
****
Deep within the heart of the Holy Land, Mary Geoise, beyond the grandeur of the gilded halls and the divine opulence worshiped by the world, there existed a place unseen by all but the most privileged. A chamber that did not exist in history. A secret so ancient that even whispers of its presence had been erased from time itself.
This place, untouched by war, unseen by mortal eyes, lay buried beneath the very foundation of the world's ruling power. Even as the recent disaster had shaken the Holy Land to its core, this chamber remained unscathed, its existence proof of its sanctity—of its importance.
At the center of this forbidden vault, standing upon a raised pedestal of obsidian stone, rested a relic of a forgotten age.
A massive straw hat.
It was colossal, far too large for any human to have ever worn. A remnant of a time long before the World Government, before the tides of history had been rewritten to serve the will of its rulers. It sat in silence, frozen in time, its woven structure preserved against the decay of centuries. A crown without a king.
And before it—stood Imu. The sovereign of the world. The ruler of the unseen. The one who sat upon the Empty Throne, yet commanded the destiny of all beneath the heavens. Draped in darkness, Imu did not speak. They simply stared, their unseen gaze locked onto the ancient relic as if peering through time itself, reminiscing about a past long buried.
Perhaps, to any outsider, it would seem that Imu was merely reflecting—lost in the echoes of a forgotten era. But then—
A shift. A ripple. A sensation. For the first time in centuries, something changed. A pulse. Faint—yet undeniable. At first, it was like a whisper. A murmur on the edge of perception, something so subtle that even the most sensitive of Observation Haki users would have ignored it.
But Imu felt it. It was impossible not to. A presence. Foreign—yet familiar. Something that had been lost to time, to history, to the very will of the world itself. And now—it had returned. Imu's posture stiffened, their shrouded form straightening as if a long-buried instinct had been rekindled within them. Their gloved fingers twitched slightly at their sides.
Then it came again.
"Thump."
The chamber trembled.
"Thump… Thump."
The very air became heavy. The pressure was immense, suffocating—like the weight of a god's gaze had fallen upon the world once more. It was not just an awakening. It was a rebirth. And for the first time in countless centuries, Imu felt something stir within them that had long been buried beneath their absolute rule.
A cold, sharp sensation. Not fear. Dread. Because they knew exactly what this was. Something that should not exist. Something that had been erased from this world, condemned to oblivion, swallowed by the tides of history and buried beneath the will of the gods themselves. Yet now—it lived again.
Imu slowly turned their gaze toward the ceiling, as if peering beyond the chamber, beyond the Holy Land itself, beyond the very heavens. Out there, in the endless vastness of the world—
A new god had been born.
And for the first time in centuries, the absolute ruler of the world realized a horrifying truth—
They were no longer alone.