"Ragnar, you just used my ability. Pretty handy, wasn't it?"
"Then you should understand it better than anyone."
"I, Marco, definitely have what it takes."
Despite his failed attack, Marco didn't look discouraged. He hovered in midair, wings outstretched, flames flickering around his body.
At that moment, it didn't look like they were mortal enemies—
They could've been old friends reunited after years apart.
"I'll only say this once." Ragnar's voice was cold, firm.
"Move."
But Marco stayed where he was, his blue flame wings gently beating the air.
Ragnar's vertical eye, glowing faintly between his brows, remained locked on Whitebeard below.
"True Lord," Marco interrupted, sliding into Ragnar's line of sight.
"Isn't my life enough to satisfy your ambition?"
"Isn't staying alive... a better choice?"
Ragnar's expression didn't waver. His vertical eye finally settled fully on Marco.
"Why do you insist on walking to your own death?"
As his words fell, the eye erupted with a divine brilliance.
Marco's body froze. He couldn't move.
Before he even realized it—
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Puff!
Four beams of golden divine light blasted through his forehead, neck, chest, and abdomen.
Hiss—
But in the very next instant, brilliant blue flames burst from his wounds.
Flesh, blood, and bone knit back together.
He was whole again.
"It worked," Marco muttered, rotating his neck with a cracking sound.
The unease in his tone was feigned—those who knew him well could tell he was deliberately taunting Ragnar.
"The Phoenix can die too," Ragnar said flatly.
He glanced at the Moby Dick, now just a distant silhouette.
His tone turned imperial, like a sovereign delivering judgment.
"You said I used your ability. Then you should also know—"
"I've uncovered its secret."
He had used his Seventy-Two Transformations to mimic Marco's form, and in doing so, understood the essence of the Phoenix's resurrection.
That power wasn't infinite.
As long as Marco had stamina, the Blue Flames of Resurrection could reignite.
But once his energy ran dry—
Even a Phoenix couldn't rise again.
"Then I'll just revive again."
Marco shrugged, casual as ever.
He had already prepared himself to die.
As he said earlier: as long as he could stop Ragnar, even death was worth it.
"Really now?" Ragnar's eye gleamed sharply.
Then—his entire body erupted in light.
"What now?" Marco narrowed his eyes.
His Observation Haki had locked tightly onto Ragnar.
But in a flash—
Ragnar vanished.
The hundred-foot giant disappeared completely.
Only his massive three-pointed, two-edged blade remained, stabbed into the sea like a monument.
Boom—
In the instant Ragnar vanished, an overwhelming pressure descended like gravity from the heavens.
Marco's instincts screamed.
But it was too late.
A fist, glowing like a meteor streaking across the night, smashed toward his heart.
"He's fast—!"
Marco's pupils shrank. His body couldn't respond.
BANG!
The impact and the Haki-laced fist tore through him like a storm.
Puh-ff!
He coughed blood, body hurtling down like a broken kite.
But he hadn't even hit the water before blue flames surged again.
His body recovered mid-fall.
With a powerful flap of his wings, Marco shot back into the sky.
His claws burned with fierce resurrection fire as he struck at Ragnar, who was about to break past and pursue Whitebeard.
"My fire's not out yet!" Marco growled, grinning wildly.
His talons aimed straight at Ragnar's Heavenly Eye.
He had already realized—the true horror lay in that vertical pupil.
It wasn't the Phoenix Fruit he feared, but that eye. Even the Four Emperors had to tread cautiously in its presence.
Clearly, at this moment, Marco wasn't just trying to stall Ragnar—he also wanted to leave a final impression on him, a thought that might linger even after death.
"Then let me erase it for you!"
Facing Marco's lightning-fast bird claws, Ragnar, who had already foreseen the attack, calmly raised his fist and struck.
Bang!
Fist clashed against claw.
Armament Haki and Conqueror's Haki collided violently. In just a single exchange, Marco was sent flying like a cannonball, blasted back over a hundred meters.
Chi chi—
Marco's claws scraped through the air as he tried to stabilize his spiraling body. He glanced at one of his talons—red, swollen, fractured.
Just one punch.
That single blow didn't cripple the claw, but it left it severely damaged.
For most, such an injury would cripple their combat ability. But Marco, bearer of the Phoenix Fruit, was different. Before his body even fully stopped, the injured claw had already begun healing in a blaze of blue flames.
But there was no joy on Marco's face.
Through Observation Haki, he had already foreseen Ragnar's next move.
Yet the overwhelming pressure of that fist, combined with the violent force of his Haki, made it impossible for Marco to regain balance, let alone evade.
In that split second, Marco twisted mid-air, flipped his wings, and thrust his recovering claw—now reinforced with Armament Haki—straight toward Ragnar's head.
But the claw had only moved halfway before a hand, cloaked in crackling Conqueror's Haki, seized it mid-air.
Marco reacted instantly, raising his other claw for a desperate counterattack—Crane Claw aimed at Ragnar's face.
But it too was caught by another hand.
Both claws restrained.
His flight halted mid-air.
For a moment, Marco was like a half-dead bird, hanging limp in Ragnar's grasp—his Phoenix form rendered powerless by brute strength alone.
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