As Darren's demonic silhouette vanished into the sea of clouds, the Marines stood motionless, their collective exhale breaking the suffocating stillness. Some collapsed outright, armor clattering against the fractured ground as they gasped for air, their faces pale and drenched in sweat.
Before them lay ruin.
The proud Marine Headquarters—once a fortress of order—had been reduced to a wasteland. Streets were torn apart, buildings flattened, the earth itself ripped open and scorched black. Smoke rose from every corner, mingling with the bitter stench of magma that still spewed from the massive chasm splitting the island in two.
"This… this is Vice Admiral Darren's true power," someone whispered hoarsely.
"No—Rogers Darren's power…" another corrected, trembling.
"Even our three 'Monsters' couldn't stop him…"
"If he hadn't held back, Marineford itself would be gone…"
Their murmurs trailed off, replaced by a silence thick with dread. The truth hung in the air like smoke—they had faced something far beyond their comprehension.
Not long ago, during Darren's clash with the Gorosei at Felsek Island, most Marines had only glimpsed his power through the lens of awe and disbelief. But here, in the heart of their own stronghold, they had felt it—the despair, the helplessness, the sheer suffocating pressure of facing him head-on.
They had once looked up to him as a symbol of Justice.
A comrade. A savior.
Now, that same man had become their greatest threat.
He had still held back. Every Marine who had fought that day knew it.
If Darren had truly unleashed everything—if he had drawn that cursed blade, Enma—Marineford would have ceased to exist.
He hadn't come to destroy. Not yet. But what about next time?
This battle wasn't an end. It was the beginning of something worse.
As long as the Gorosei refused to order a ceasefire, this war would continue. And when they faced Darren again… would it be as soldiers fighting a former comrade? Or as prey before a god of war?
Would he spare them? Or would he strike them down without hesitation, as he had done to countless enemies before?
If the latter proved true—
—then the Marines would soon face an enemy unlike any in their history.
A man with the unbreakable body of Kaido, the monstrous might of Big Mom, the ruthless precision and mobility of Golden Lion, and command over the greatest airborne fleet the world had ever seen.
An unprecedented foe.
When that man once again cast his gaze upon the Holy Land of Justice—
When the Flying Fleet that had leveled Mary Geoise returned—
When thunder roared and a million cannons opened fire—
What future would await the Marines then?
The thought sent a tremor through the ranks. No one spoke. The silence stretched endlessly.
---
Sengoku stood amid the devastation, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His eyes, cold and storm-dark, remained fixed on the horizon where Darren had disappeared. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles bled.
"Shall I pursue him, Admiral Sengoku?"
Golden photons shimmered beside him, reforming into Borsalino's tall, languid frame. His tone was light, but the grin on his face carried a teasing edge.
Sengoku turned, his expression sharp enough to cut. He took a steadying breath before answering.
"Forget it. Even if you caught him, it wouldn't change a thing."
He knew Borsalino's strength better than most—knew that beneath that lazy drawl hid power few could match. But even so… even if Borsalino gave his all, could he really defeat Darren?
"Are you sure?" Borsalino asked mildly. "He's badly injured, you know. If I go after him, I might just finish the job."
His hand brushed the stubble on his chin, smile widening. Beneath his sunglasses, something flickered—something cold and calculating.
Sengoku's tone dropped several degrees. "Borsalino. Don't test me."
The light-user chuckled and raised both hands in mock surrender. "Understood, Admiral. I follow orders."
But the smirk never left his lips.
"Don't get clever," Sengoku warned, voice low. "Darren's now a fugitive—wanted by both the Marines and the World Government. You think I'd ever protect him?" He exhaled sharply. "I just don't want you walking into a death trap."
"Right, right…" Borsalino murmured, still smiling as he turned away.
Sengoku ignored him. His gaze shifted toward the distant crater where magma still churned.
A shape was crawling out.
Sakazuki.
He emerged from the molten pit in silence, his face and body grotesquely burned, skin sloughing off in places, his uniform reduced to ash. Even so, he stood tall—defiant, indestructible.
"Vice Admiral Sakazuki!" Marines rushed to his side, reaching for stretchers and medical kits.
"I'm fine," he rasped, swatting them away. The blood dripping from his chin hissed as it hit the ground, evaporating instantly. He turned his gaze toward Sengoku, eyes burning through the pain.
Sengoku gave a slow shake of his head.
Not far away, Kuzan lay sprawled among the ruins, his face swollen and bruised, his once-frozen field now melting into mist. The battlefield had gone deathly quiet again.
Then—
"Huh? Is that… a News Coo?" a Marine stammered.
Heads turned skyward.
Through the drifting smoke, hundreds—no, thousands—of white seagulls filled the air, their wings flashing silver in the weak sunlight. Rolled newspapers fell from their talons like rain.
Thud… thud… thud…
Papers fluttered to the ground, spreading across the shattered earth.
Sengoku reached for one with trembling fingers.
He unfolded it slowly, every movement deliberate. The Marines around him held their breath, watching.
And when his eyes fell on the front-page headline—
—his expression froze.
To be continued...