"No, no, no, I'm just here to watch the show!"
Shiro spread his hands with a casual shrug, looking for all the world like none of this concerned him.
"You little brat! Your captain's already been dragged to the execution platform by the Navy, and you still have the mood to sit here and spectate?!"
Shiki the Golden Lion roared, his blood-streaked body trembling with fury. His glare burned so hot it looked like it might tear his eyes apart.
"Oi, oi, Golden Lion," Shiro wagged a finger, his tone laced with teasing mockery.
"Look at yourself—beaten to a pulp, spine nearly snapped in half. Quit pretending you've still got the strength to posture!"
"Bullshit! If you hadn't stolen my Oto, how could I possibly have lost to these two Navy dogs?!"
Shiki jabbed a trembling finger toward Garp and Sengoku, his spit flying with every shout.
"Oh? You're that strong, huh?"
Shiro suddenly hopped backward three steps, scuffing shallow grooves into the ground with his toes. He spread his arms wide, as if politely clearing the battlefield.
"Fine then, the floor's yours—go on, keep fighting them!"
"Fight? Of course I'll fight! You think I'd fear these Navy scum?!"
Stubborn as ever, Shiki lunged forward, his last remaining blade Kogarashi cleaving through the air, a wave of sword aura howling straight at Sengoku.
The Fleet Admiral and Garp exchanged a glance. Without a word, the two legends surged forward side by side, not giving the Golden Lion an ounce of mercy.
The skies above Marineford shook with their clash—swords screaming, haki colliding in explosive bursts.
But within a dozen exchanges, Shiki's body faltered. Sengoku's full-powered strike as the Golden Buddha hammered him head-on.
The Golden Lion's battered body spun like a severed kite, smashing into the plaza's stone tiles with a deafening crash. This time, he didn't get up.
"Hah… still the same stubborn fool who doesn't know when to quit."
Shiro sighed, his body blurring. In the next instant he was standing before Shiki's unconscious form.
To the astonishment of both Garp and Sengoku, Shiro's palm glowed faint blue as he pressed it against Shiki's chest. The Golden Lion's entire body shimmered, then vanished into thin air without a trace.
"Jabal Shiro! Where did you take Shiki the Golden Lion?!"
Sengoku's furious bellow shook the plaza, his right hand gathering golden energy that sizzled in the air.
"That's none of your concern," Shiro replied coolly, his gaze sharp as ripples spread at his feet—ready to warp space at the slightest sign of danger.
"The Golden Lion only raised this ruckus for our captain's sake. I won't let you drag him into Impel Down."
"What an annoying space ability…"
Garp scratched his chin, muttering rather than moving.
"Shiro, you're far too arrogant! Marineford isn't a playground for you to run wild!"
Sengoku roared, the colossal palm of the Golden Buddha tearing through the air toward him.
But Shiro was ready. With a light tap to his chest, his body flickered out of existence.
"Until we meet again, Fleet Admiral Sengoku, Vice Admiral Garp!"
His voice rang out, light and teasing, fading into the empty air.
"Damn brat… his power is nothing but trouble!"
Sengoku ground his teeth, fists trembling as he glared at the spot where Shiro had vanished.
When Shiki awoke, he found himself sprawled on the spire of Enies Lobby's tallest tower.
The sea winds howled through his mane of golden hair, and true to his nature, he refused to sulk quietly.
With Kogarashi still in hand, the Golden Lion rampaged through the island before slipping away from the Navy's pursuit.
Shiro, meanwhile, had already moved silently on to Loguetown—because he knew the Pirate King's execution would happen here.
In Loguetown, Shiro rented a small inn by the sea.
In the mornings, he woke to the crash of waves against the rocks.
Evenings, he sat on the terrace, watching the sun sink into the horizon, painting the ocean in gold and red.
He called each of the old Roger Pirates, his voice calm, steady.
He told them Roger's situation—and more importantly, passed on the captain's last command:
Do not attempt a rescue.
On the other end of the line, Shanks and Buggy choked back sobs.
But within days, the two slipped into Loguetown in secret, desperate for one last glimpse of their captain, their father figure.
And so, the day of execution finally arrived.
The World Government had spread the news of Gol D. Roger's public death seven days earlier, using it to cow the seas. Pirates from every corner of the world flocked to the sleepy East Blue town.
They filled the streets, the taverns, the shadows of alleys—all waiting to witness the fall of the Pirate King.
Shiro stood among the crowd at the plaza's edge, a wide straw hat pulled low to hide his face. Only his sharp jawline and tight-pressed lips showed beneath.
Not far off, a red-haired boy in a straw hat and a blue-haired boy with a round red nose craned their necks, sweat dripping down their faces as they tried to glimpse the execution platform.
Shanks. Buggy.
On the other side of the plaza, a young man with a black crucifix sword strapped to his back gazed at the stage, hawk-like eyes narrowing.
"No more chances… to cross blades with a swordsman like him," he murmured.
Dracule Mihawk.
In the shadows further away, a man in a green hooded cloak stood silently, the brim casting his face in darkness. A faint sigh slipped from Monkey D. Dragon's lips, lost in the wind.
Elsewhere in the crowd, three figures stood out even hidden among the masses:
Doflamingo, sunglasses glinting, lips curled into a mocking grin.
Moria, hulking and hungry-eyed, thirsting for power.
Crocodile, cigar clenched between his teeth, gaze sharp as blades.
The future Warlords of the Sea—all silently watching history about to be written.
The execution platform towered at the plaza's center.
At its peak stood Sengoku, clad in his cloak of justice, eyes sweeping over the restless crowd below—pirates gripping blades, civilians clenching fists, Marines at the ready.
His throat bobbed, and then his voice cracked like thunder across Loguetown:
"Hold the platform!"
Two squads of Marines stormed out, boots hammering against stone in perfect rhythm.
With a series of metallic clicks, rifles were loaded.
In moments, a ring of steel and gunmetal encircled the platform, glinting cold beneath the noonday sun.
The stage for the Pirate King's final moment was set.
T/N: If you would like to read up to 20 chapters ahead for all my works, check out my P@treon: patreon.com/GhidorahWriter
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