The royal study in Alubarna was a room drowning in a heavy, suffocating silence, a silence that pressed down on the occupants like a physical weight.
Four months had passed since the miracle, since the desert had bloomed. Through the grand arched window, a view once defined by an endless sea of golden sand was now a lush, vibrant, and impossibly green heaven.
The very air that drifted in, once dry and hot, now carried the cool, humid scent of life, a testament to the unprecedented transformation. It was a paradise, a testament to hope, but within those walls, it felt like a gilded prison, a suffocating reminder of something lost.
At his polished mahogany desk sat King Nefertari Cobra, his regal robes doing little to hide the weary slump of his shoulders, the lines of worry etched deeply into his face.
Opposite him, an impassive statue of Marine justice, sat Vice Admiral Tsuru, her presence radiating an unsettling stillness. A delicate porcelain cup of tea rested in her hands, untouched, the steam long since dissipated.
She had not spoken a single word since arriving.
His gaze flickered for a moment toward Tsuru before he spoke into the receiver, his voice strained but carefully maintaining its regal tone, his words chosen with meticulous precision. "Saint Marcus Mars of the Five Elders. I thank you for accepting my call."
The Den Den Mushi on the desk shifted, its soft, snail-like features hardening, pulling into an expression of aristocratic disdain. Its delicate antennae recoiled, and its gentle eyes narrowed into slits. It now bore the stern, impassive face of Saint Marcus Mars, complete with his distinctive mustache and severe eyes, radiating an aura of cold, unyielding authority.
His voice, when it came, was like a stone grinding against stone, utterly devoid of warmth or empathy, a chilling reminder of the power he wielded.
"King Nefertari Cobra," Saint Marcus Mars said flatly, his tone dismissive, as if addressing a bothersome peasant. "Your persistence is noted, though not appreciated. This is the fourth time you have requested this audience, a display of tenacity that borders on insolence. State your purpose. The Five Elders' time is not to be squandered on trivial matters."
Cobra's jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists beneath the table, his regal composure threatening to crack. "My purpose is the same as it was four months ago, Your Excellency," he said, his voice trembling slightly but maintaining a semblance of control.
"I demand an explanation, a justification for the events that transpired. The intelligence provided by Vice Admiral Sakazuki… it was a lie, a fabrication designed to deceive and manipulate."
A dry, humorless click, like static, came from the speaker, a sound that sent a shiver down Cobra's spine. "A strong accusation, King Cobra. The man you speak of, Sakazuki, is a traitor, a rogue element who acted alone, without the knowledge or sanction of the World Government. Our intelligence indicates he fed you fabricated information, exploited your fears for his own twisted agenda. You, King Cobra, chose to act upon the words of a turncoat, a decision for which you alone are responsible."
"He spoke of an army!" Cobra's voice rose, cracking with remembered fear, his carefully constructed facade beginning to crumble. "A force led by the butcher 'Guts,' a man whose bounty beyond imagination, that sought to destabilize my kingdom, together with the 'Demon Child,' Nico Robin! He painted a picture of Ohara, of imminent annihilation, with the full authority of your government, with the weight of your seal upon it! Don't you dare act as if you had no hand in it, as if you were merely innocent bystanders to this charade!"
Saint Marcus Mars's voice took on a mocking, condescending edge, dripping with disdain for the Alabastian King. "Are you not aware, King Cobra, that Nico Robin's clemency was granted long ago? The 'threat' you perceived was our Shichibukai, the phantom menace that drove you to such drastic measures, was based on outdated intelligence, information that should have been corrected through your own channels. A failing on your part, not ours. A tragic oversight, perhaps, but hardly grounds for such… dramatic accusations."
"Then why were your Marines not sent to capture Sakazuki before the incident?!" Cobra's voice trembled with fury, the carefully constructed dam of his composure finally cracking under the weight of his grief and rage. "After the slaughter, after my soldiers lay dead in the sand, your own ships arrived, not to hunt the traitors, but to publicly declare Robin a protected individual, an agent to save my kingdom, to rewrite history before my very eyes! The World Government called your Marines heroes, lauded their actions as a triumph of justice! You made me a fool in my own kingdom, a puppet dancing to your twisted tune!"
"We were forced to correct the narrative to account for your... precipitous actions," Saint Marcus Mars said, the Den Den Mushi's lips curling into a smug smile, a gesture that amplified the cruel indifference in his voice. "We released a statement to maintain stability, to prevent widespread panic and unrest. Consider it a kindness, a gesture of goodwill towards a valued ally."
"A KINDNESS?!" Cobra slammed his fist on the desk, the sound echoing in the silent room like a thunderclap, rattling the porcelain teacup in Tsuru's hand. "A hundred thousand of my soldiers are dead! A generation of Alabasta's men, wiped from existence, slaughtered for a lie! Their families cry out for my abdication, demanding justice for their fallen family! They see me not as their king, but as the butcher who attacked the woman who gave them this! I'm no more than a tyrant!"
His hand gestured helplessly towards the window, towards the impossible sea of green that now blanketed his country, a verdant paradise born from blood and deceit, a constant, agonizing reminder of his betrayal.
"Nico Robin turned our barren sands into a paradise," he gritted out, his voice thick with grief and self-loathing, each word a venomous accusation leveled against himself.
"An act my family has dreamed of for eight centuries, a legacy pursued by generations of my ancestors, accomplished in a single day by the woman I sought to destroy. The people call it the 'Verdant Miracle,' a testament to her power, her compassion. They revere her, they worship her as a savior. And I… I am the man who sent an army to kill their savior, the monster who attempted to extinguish the light she brought to our world. Your lie has branded me a tyrant in the eyes of my own people, a pariah in my own kingdom!"
A long, cold silence followed, stretching out into an eternity of unspoken accusations and chilling implications. The Mars-faced snail seemed to stare down its nose at Cobra's, its expression radiating an icy indifference that cut deeper than any blade.
"The traitor Sakazuki fed you a lie, and you feasted upon it with ravenous hunger," Saint Marcus Mars stated coldly, his voice dripping with disdain.
"Now you choke on the consequences, poisoned by your own paranoia. Your kingdom is green, thriving as never before. Your people are prosperous, their lives enriched by Robin's actions. You should be grateful, King Cobra, for the unintended benefits of your… misguided decisions. Instead, you whine, you complain, you dare to question the motives of those who hold the very fate of the world in their hands."
"This is about your responsibility, about the lives that were lost, about the truth that you have buried!" Cobra choked out, aghast, his voice barely a whisper.
"This has everything to do with it, King Cobra," Saint Marcus Mars continued, his voice dropping, becoming more sinister, laced with a subtle threat that sent a chill down Cobra's spine.
"The world is a delicate balance, a carefully constructed ecosystem of power and influence. Sometimes, sacrifices are necessary to maintain that balance, to prevent the whole structure from collapsing into chaos. Your army was a regrettable casualty, a necessary sacrifice in a much larger game, a game whose rules you do not understand and whose stakes are far beyond your comprehension."
"A casualty?! My men were not pawns on your chessboard, expendable pieces to be sacrificed for your twisted machinations!"
"The World Government's hands are clean," Saint Marcus Mars said, his voice flat and final, brooking no further argument. "It was The King of Alabasta who gave the order to march, who unleashed the dogs of war upon an innocent woman. It is the King of Alabasta whose people now demand his head, who holds himself accountable for the tragic events that unfolded. This is an internal matter, a crisis of your own making. We have provided the official history, the narrative that will be etched into the annals of time. There will be no amendments, no retractions, no apologies. The world will remember you as the man who brought paradise to Alabasta, but at a terrible cost."
Cobra's voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible, filled with a dawning, soul-crushing horror as the full weight of his situation crashed down upon him. "So that's it..." he murmured, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You orchestrated their deaths, you manipulated my fears, and now you use their memory to destroy my reign, to leave me a broken, hollow shell of a man. Why? We have been loyal allies for centuries, unwavering in our support of the World Government. What have we done to deserve this?"
"Loyalty is not a shield, Cobra," Mars's voice was now a chilling whisper, devoid of any warmth or compassion. "It is a leash, a means of control, a tool to be used and discarded at will. You would do well to remember who holds it, who dictates the terms of your existence." His tone became a sharp, final command, brooking no further argument.
"Control your people. Quell this talk of revolution, this simmering discontent that threatens to boil over and disrupt the delicate balance of the world. The Reverie approaches, and the eyes of the world will be upon Alabasta. Do not disappoint us again, King Cobra. We expect a new king of Alabasta, a man free from crime and without flaw."
"Wait! I demand an explanation, a chance to defend my actions—"
Gacha.
The line went dead with an abrupt, brutal click, severing the connection and leaving Cobra stranded in a sea of despair.
The Den Den Mushi's face went slack, returning to the placid, sleeping expression of a simple snail, its features betraying no hint of the malevolent force that had just spoken through it.
King Cobra slumped back in his chair, utterly defeated, his spirit crushed beneath the weight of the Five Elders' power, the vibrant green paradise outside his window mocking his silent agony, a constant reminder of the price of his obedience.
His gaze then shifted to Tsuru, his eyes filled with a mixture of resignation and quiet defiance. "So this is what you wanted? This is what the World Government wanted, isn't it? My humiliation, my downfall, my ultimate demise?"
Tsuru merely closed her eyes, her face etched with a deep sadness, unable to utter a single word in the face of the tragedy that had befallen the King of Alabasta, a tragedy she was powerless to prevent.
"So be it, then," Cobra said, his voice regaining its regal tone, his spine straightening with newfound resolve.
He rose from his chair, his movements deliberate and purposeful, and strode out of the royal study, heading towards the throne room where his ministers were already waiting.
He opened the doors to the throne room and walked regally towards his throne, where his ministers—Igaram, Chaka, Pell, and even Ho the doctor—were gathered, their faces etched with anxiety. Once he was seated, he delivered his final command as a king, his voice ringing with a somber authority.
"Prepare for my execution."