"BOOM—!"
In the frozen, silent hell of Impel Down's Level 6, a new, golden hell was unleashed.
A deafening roar shook the very foundations of the prison.
A golden, house-sized Buddha raged.
Each roar, each earth-shattering stomp, was accompanied by a golden shockwave of pure, concussive Haki.
The once-feared, legendary pirates, already weakened, were swatted aside like flies, their bodies grievously wounded by this overwhelming force.
This wasn't a battle; it was a purge, an eruption of fury that had been suppressed for decades.
'To hell with the World Government! To hell with the Celestial Dragons!' Sengoku's mind roared, his heart pounding with a righteous, liberated fury.
'The future of these seas belongs to the New Marine! Justice SHALL reign supreme!'
"GUHAHAHA—! ITS SOOOOOO REFRESHING!" Garp, his knuckles already bloody, let out a wild, cackling laugh.
"It's been a while since I've had such a satisfying slaughter! I really did haul in quite a few of these bastards back in the day!"
His fists, wreathed in the red-black aura of Conqueror's Haki, struck with the weight of mountains.
This was the eruption of a hero who had finally realized the old policy had, perhaps, caused as much suffering as it prevented.
How many innocents had died because of the scum he'd let live, the scum he'd personally thrown in here, only for them to be used as political pawns or to one day escape?
'No more!' he thought, his fist smashing into a former pirate captain, the impact echoing like a cannon shot.
'I may be old, but Ace and Luffy are still young. With these fists, I'll carve a clean path to the new era for them! I'll purge every last one of these unrepentant monsters from the seas!'
"True Justice is not weak mercy!" Zephyr roared, his mechanical "Pulverizer" arm crushing a sea-prism stone cell door like paper.
"It is the thunderous, absolute annihilation of all evil!"
Three former legends of the Marine, now the three great elders of the New Marine, fought side-by-side once more.
The prisoners of Level 6, weakened by years of starvation and imprisonment, stood no chance.
But more importantly, they were facing three monsters who had finally, truly reclaimed their Justice.
"Cough… cough…"
Patrick Redfield, the "Red Count," a man who had once stood as an equal to Roger and Whitebeard, lay powerless on the frozen ground, blood trickling from his lips.
He looked up at Garp and Sengoku, who stood over him like twin gods of judgment, a complex, almost respectful emotion flashing in his golden eyes.
"Garp… Sengoku…" Redfield's voice was a hoarse, weak rasp. "Your Conqueror's Haki… it's grown stronger."
They were no longer restrained, no longer bound by their conflicting loyalties.
Their hearts, now pure in their singular, destructive purpose, had become overwhelmingly powerful.
Sengoku and Garp remained silent, simply watching the man who had once been unrivaled, now a flickering candle in the wind, his life's flame about to be extinguished.
Magellan appeared at just the right moment, his face expressionless.
He walked over to the legendary pirates who still clung to life, beaten and unconscious, and began injecting them, one by one, with a specially formulated, slow-acting poison.
It wouldn't kill them now, but it would keep them weak, eroding their vitality until the grand parade in two weeks.
After the parade, the true World Cleansing Plan would commence.
Not a single piece of scum that harmed the seas would escape.
"Magellan…" Shiryu, the former Head Jailer, his body broken and bleeding, stared up in disbelief.
He never imagined he would end up like this, on the receiving end of the prison's judgment.
He opened his mouth, trying to beg for mercy.
"I—"
'Thud—!'
A flaming naginata blade suddenly, violently, pierced straight through Shiryu's heart from behind.
"!!!"
Shiryu jerked his head, his pupils contracting in agony and shock.
"Hannyabal… you…?!" He looked down in disbelief at the blade embedded in his chest.
'How… how dare this clown, this worthless fool I never took seriously…?!'
"Shiryu," Hannyabal's voice, no longer whiny or ambitious, was now cold, hard, and resolute, his eyes burning with a cold fire.
"As long as trash like you continues to wreak havoc, the people of the world will lie awake at night, terrified of losing their loved ones." He tightened his grip on the naginata, veins bulging on his hands.
"So…"
He yanked the blade out in a spray of blood.
"Goodbye!"
The naginata plunged down again, and again.
Blood stained Hannyabal's new Warden cloak, and with it, washed clean his once-cowardly heart.
...
Soon, the purge was complete.
The Level 6 prisoners on the public execution list were loaded onto the warships, injected with Magellan's poison.
The rest… were executed on the spot.
"Take them away."
'Rumble—'
The massive warships slowly departed the now-silent Impel Down, their bows pointed toward Marineford.
...
New Marine Headquarters—Marineford.
"Splash—"
The enormous, whale-shaped hull of the Moby Dick slowly entered the harbor, its iconic bow cutting through the calm sea with a gentle, splashing sound.
On the docks, thousands of New Marine soldiers stood in perfect, neat formations.
Their postures were straight as pines, their eyes sharp and full of a new, vibrant energy.
Their gazes were fixed, respectfully and curiously, on the approaching white leviathan.
The atmosphere was solemn, yet strangely, powerfully harmonious.
Every single one of them knew the news that had just been cleared for internal release: "Whitebeard" Edward Newgate, the "Strongest Man in the World," was now the foremost member of the New Warlords of the Sea, under the command of Mike.
"Thud—"
Whitebeard, leaning on his massive bisento, descended the gangway, his heavy steps echoing on the pier.
The division commanders—Marco, Jozu, Vista, and the others—followed closely behind him, their expressions a mixture of awe, uncertainty, and relief.
"Take me to see that kid, Mike."
Soon, the core members of the Whitebearer Pirates were led into a spacious, well-lit room on the top floor of the headquarters.
Mike stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, his back to them, looking out over his new, bustling base.
Hearing the footsteps, Mike turned with a casual, welcoming smile on his face.
He gestured toward the plush, oversized sofa in the center of the room.
"You're here. Have a seat."
Whitebeard's massive frame paused for a fraction of a second—the sofa looked ridiculously small—before he slowly sat down, his heavy body sinking into the soft cushions with a faint creak.
Marco and the others remained standing silently behind him, like a phalanx of loyal sons.
"Kid, Ace has already called me," Whitebeard broke the silence, his voice a gruff, appreciative rumble.
"Thanks for this."
No matter what, Ace was safe.
That was all that had ever mattered.
"Small matter," Mike smiled and nodded. "There is, however, another piece of news for you."
"What news?"
Mike took a light breath before speaking, his voice clear and even.
"It's about Teach."
"Teach?" Whitebeard repeated the name, his brow furrowing as a flicker of pure, unadulterated disgust and anger flashed in his eyes.
The man who had murdered Thatch, who had betrayed his family… a permanent, festering wound in his heart.
"Yes," Mike said, his smile fading into a neutral, matter-of-fact expression.
"Teach is dead."
"What?!"
"Teach… is dead?!"