Chapter 3: The Curtain Rises on an Absurd Theater
The Gates of Justice were a monument to impossibility. Two colossal structures of dark steel, rising from the ocean floor to pierce the clouds, they stood as a silent testament to the World Government's near-limitless power and reach. They were not mere gates; they were a declaration that this stretch of sea belonged not to nature, but to order.
As the stolen warship drifted towards the massive entryway, a sense of awe settled over its deck. Most of the escapees stared, mouths agape, at the impossible sight. Buggy shrieked in terror, clinging to the mast as if it were his only salvation. Luffy, however, had eyes that sparkled with childish wonder, seeing not a symbol of oppression, but an incredible adventure.
Madara alone stood unmoved. He saw no majesty in the gates, only function. A cold analysis of their purpose. Such an impossible structure required a mountain of resources, a river of labor, and a brilliant engineering mind, all for a symbolic gateway. It was a display of power, designed to awe simple minds. To him, it was just a construction—massive but hollow, much like the system it represented.
The ship passed through the open gates into the quiet darkness beyond. The sound of wind and waves ceased, replaced by a deep, echoing thrum as the water was drawn towards the central vortex that would propel them to their destination. In this strange, relative calm, one man detached himself from the boisterous crowd and approached the isolated figure at the prow.
It was Sir Crocodile. His cigarillo dangled from his lips, his golden hook gleaming in the dim light. He stopped a few paces away, looking not at Madara, but at the darkness ahead.
"Quite a reception they have planned for us," Crocodile said, his voice a gravelly rasp laced with cynicism. "A stage fit for a king's demise."
Madara did not turn. His voice, when it came, was as calm and deep as the darkness surrounding them. "Kings? I see only a dying old man, a collection of glorified mercenaries, and a government of frightened old men. Where are the kings of whom you speak?"
Crocodile let out a puff of smoke. It was a deliberate prod, and it had worked. "Every great man aspires to be a king. Did you not have your own kingdom once? Did you not seek a throne?" He gestured to himself with a confident smirk. "I sought one. An entire kingdom would have been mine."
Here, for the first time, Madara turned his head slightly, giving Crocodile a sideways glance. It was a cold, analytical look that seemed to peer straight through him, seeing the paltry ambition within.
"You sought a throne," Madara said slowly, each word a judgment. "A limited, fragile seat built on a foundation of sand. Your ambition was to rule over others. A truly enlightened ruler does not seek to rule over them; he seeks to rule them. To command their very will, to bring an end to the contradictions of their nature."
Madara paused, letting his words sink into Crocodile's mind. "You wanted their loyalty. I seek their subjugation for the sake of true peace. There is a world of difference between one who wants a kingdom, and one who wants to reshape reality itself."
The smirk froze on Crocodile's face. He felt as if his life's ambition had just been belittled into a childish whim with a few simple words. This man did not think on the scale of pirates or even kings. He thought on an entirely different scale, one terrifying in its scope. He could offer no reply.
The conversation was over as quickly as it began. Madara had cast the seeds of his philosophy and saw they had fallen on barren ground. He returned to his silence, leaving Crocodile to contemplate the vast chasm between their ambitions.
Suddenly, the darkness gave way.
The ship burst from the exit gate into blinding daylight, propelled by the force of the current. As their eyes adjusted, every sound on the ship died. Buggy's shrieks stopped. Luffy's laughter ceased. Even the most savage prisoners froze where they stood.
They had arrived.
Before them, the bay of Marineford spread out in a massive crescent. It was not just a bay; it was an inconceivable fortress. One hundred thousand of the Marines' finest soldiers stood in perfect formation, their swords and rifles gleaming under the sun, an army of organized ants ready to crush anything in their path. Fifty warships flanked the bay, their cannons primed.
And on the shore, the sight was even more dreadful.
Lined up in a single, formidable row were the Shichibukai, monsters of legend. The silent giant, Bartholomew Kuma. The jeering Gekko Moria. The grinning Donquixote Doflamingo. The world's greatest swordsman, Dracule Mihawk, with his hawk-like eyes. And the Pirate Empress, Boa Hancock.
Above them, on a raised platform, were the true seats of power. Three chairs. On the right, Aokiji, wreathed in a cold aura, the very air seeming to frost around him. On the left, Kizaru, lounging lazily as if he were made of pure light. And in the center, Akainu, his face a grim mask, faint smoke rising from his shoulders, radiating a murderous heat. The three Admirals. The World Government's ultimate military might.
And finally, at the very top, before the main fortress structure, was the execution platform. There, Portgas D. Ace was on his knees, cuffed, flanked by executioners.
The scene was silent, majestic, and crushing. It was a declaration that anyone who dared defy this order would be mercilessly annihilated. A sense of hopelessness washed over the escapees, the weight of the entire world pressing down on their shoulders. Luffy's features hardened, all trace of innocence gone from his eyes, replaced by a core of steel. Jinbe gripped the ship's wheel, his face a mask of grim determination.
Only Madara felt no despair. His gaze swept across the battlefield, from the common soldiers to the Admirals, to the man condemned to die. He did not see an invincible force. He did not see absolute justice.
He saw a theater. An absurd, grandiose theater.
And a cold, quiet smile touched his lips. The curtain had risen, and the actors had taken their places.