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----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Ace's scream, a ragged, single-word monument to his fallen friend, tore through the battlefield and then died, leaving a void in its wake. But the rage that had fueled it did not die. It coalesced. The fiery, emotional inferno of Portgas D. Ace and the cold, analytical detachment of Kenji Tanaka, which had been at odds within their shared soul, finally found a terrifying, singular purpose. The fusion was complete, not in a gentle merging, but in the crucible of absolute hatred.
The world came back into sharp focus. The sounds of battle returned, but they were different now, muted, as if happening on the other side of a thick pane of glass. Ace's mind, a new and terrible engine of wrath, began to catalog, to process, and to sentence.
His eyes, burning with a cold fire, flickered to the Warlords.
Gekko Moriah. The hulking coward who fought with another's shadow. He saw him not in Marineford, but in a dark, sunless room, his limbs removed, his own shadow forced to mock him for an eternity as he slowly starved. That would be his fate.
Donquixote Doflamingo. The grinning puppet master, floating above the chaos with such casual cruelty. He pictured him hanging from his own strings, his joints severed one by one, forced to dance and laugh for an audience of his victims' ghosts until his vocal cords shredded and his mind shattered. That would be his fate.
Bartholomew Kuma. The silent, emotionless weapon. For him, a different kind of punishment. Ace would find a way to restore his consciousness, just so he could be fully aware as his cyborg body was disassembled, piece by agonizing piece, his every nerve ending exposed to the air until he begged for the oblivion he so readily dealt to others. That would be his fate.
The oath echoed in the silent chambers of his soul, a vow sworn on the grave of his friend and the fragments of his own broken innocence. It was a promise colder than Aokiji's ice and hotter than Akainu's magma. If I survive this day. If I walk away from this platform a free man, I will not rest. I will not sleep. I will hunt down every single person responsible for this, from the spineless footsoldier who loaded the cannon to the Fleet Admiral who gave the order, and they will know what an inhumane death truly is. I will become a devil worse than the one they claim my father was, and I will drag them all to a hell of my own making. This, I swear.
This silent, venomous promise, this crystallization of absolute will, was the catalyst. It was a concentration of purpose so pure and so potent that it could no longer be contained. The Sea-Prism Stone cuffs were designed to nullify the energy of a Devil Fruit user, to sap their physical strength and render them as weak as a normal human. They were not designed to contain the united will of two souls, amplified to a god-like pressure and focused into a single, murderous point.
It started as a tremor, a vibration in the very air around the execution stand. The two guards flanking Ace stumbled, their hands flying to their heads as a wave of inexplicable dread washed over them. They felt a primal, instinctual fear, the terror of a rabbit that has just realized it is in the presence of a dragon.
The feeling radiated outwards.
Down on the plaza, the Admirals felt it. Aokiji's lazy posture straightened slightly. Kizaru's mocking smile faltered for a fraction of a second. Akainu, his face a mask of grim determination, grunted, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. It was a pressure, a sudden, immense weight on their spirits. It wasn't the unfocused, explosive wave of a novice Conqueror knocking out fodder. This was different. It was a thin, razor-sharp needle of pure, distilled dominance, and it pierced through the chaos of the battlefield to touch them all.
And it was coming from a man in Sea-Prism Stone shackles.
Beside Ace, Sengoku's eyes widened, and for the first time, a hint of genuine shock broke through his stern composure. He could feel it pressing on him, a king's contempt so profound it was almost a physical force. Garp, standing at his side, gritted his teeth. He recognized that spirit. It was the same indomitable will he had clashed with countless times in the past, the will of Gol D. Roger, but it was tainted with a cold, murderous intent that was utterly alien.
On the Moby Dick, Whitebeard stopped mid-stride. He looked towards the platform, his eyes narrowing. He felt it clearly—his son's spirit, lashing out against impossible odds. A slow, grim smile spread across his face. "Gurararara..." he rumbled, a sound of paternal pride mixed with grim resolve. "So, you've awakened it completely, you fool of a son."
Marco, soaring in his phoenix form, felt the wave of Haki and nearly faltered in the air. "Ace...?" he whispered, shocked that his brother could unleash such power while chained.
This fleeting moment, this spiritual shockwave, was imperceptible to most. But to the masters of Haki gathered at Marineford, it was a thunderclap. It was a declaration. The man they were about to execute was not just the son of the Pirate King; he was a king in his own right, one with a will that could defy the very laws of their world.
Sengoku's shock quickly hardened into something colder. This was unacceptable. This display of potential was the single greatest argument for Ace's immediate demise. The bloodline was too dangerous. The will was too strong.
"Do not falter!" Sengoku's voice boomed, regaining control. "He is the son of a demon! His very existence threatens the world! All forces, press the attack! Annihilate the Whitebeard Pirates!"
His words broke the spell. The war, which had seemed to pause for a breath, crashed back into motion with redoubled fury.
The pirates, surging through the breach Oars had created, met the full force of the Marine vice-admirals. It was a clash of titans, a maelstrom of Haki, swordsmanship, and Devil Fruit abilities that tore the plaza apart.
"Flower Sword" Vista, the 5th Division commander, engaged a dozen vice-admirals at once, his twin sabers a blur of motion, a dance of steel and rose petals. Diamond Jozu, his body glittering with impenetrable carbon, acted as a living shield, deflecting cannonballs and charging headfirst into Marine lines, scattering them like bowling pins.
But the Marines were not idle. The vice-admirals, masters of the Six Powers, were formidable opponents. Vice-Admiral Momonga moved like a phantom, his blade striking with surgical precision. Vice-Admiral Onigumo, his hair morphing into spider-like appendages each wielding a blade, was a whirlwind of death.
The battle for the plaza had become a bloody, grinding stalemate. For every Marine that fell, a pirate was cut down. For every inch the pirates gained, they paid for it in blood.
Ace watched it all, his rage now a cold, smoldering ember in his chest. His Haki had receded, forced back into submission by the draining power of the cuffs, but the statement had been made. He had rattled them. He could see it in Sengoku's eyes. The fear.
Good, Kenji's voice whispered in the back of his mind. They need to be afraid. But it's not enough. They're going to push harder now. They're going to pull out all the stops.
As if on cue, Sengoku raised a hand, speaking into a Den Den Mushi connected to the main control room. "The situation is escalating. The pirates have breached the inner wall. It is time. Deploy the Pacifistas. All of them. Seal the bay and bombard them from all sides."
Down on the battlefield, Doflamingo let out another gleeful laugh. "Fufufu! Here comes the main event!"
From the cannons lining the fortress walls, new figures began to emerge. They were identical, towering men, all with the exact same face: the face of the Warlord Bartholomew Kuma. But they were not Kuma. Their eyes were dark, lifeless voids, and from their mouths, they fired beams of pure, destructive yellow light—a perfect replication of Admiral Kizaru's laser.
The Pacifistas had been unleashed. They began to fire indiscriminately into the pirate ranks, their beams melting steel and vaporizing pirates where they stood. The tide of the battle, which had been precariously balanced, began to shift dramatically in the Marines' favor.
Panic began to spread through the pirate forces. These new weapons were a nightmare, durable, powerful, and utterly relentless.
Whitebeard slammed the butt of his bisento onto the deck of the Moby Dick. "Don't lose your nerve! They're just mindless puppets! Commanders, deal with them!"
Even as the commanders moved to intercept the cyborgs, a new sound echoed across Marineford. It wasn't the sound of cannon fire, or clashing steel, or screams of pain. It was a colossal, rending crash from high above.
Everyone—Marine, pirate, and Warlord alike—looked up.
A massive hole had been torn in the sky itself. Or rather, in the frozen tsunami that Aokiji had created. Something had crashed through the ice mountain from the outside and was now plummeting towards the center of the battlefield.
It was a Marine battleship. It was falling out of the sky.
Ace stared, his mind struggling to comprehend what he was seeing. Kenji's knowledge, however, surged to the forefront, and a single, insane possibility presented itself. A thrill, the first positive emotion he had felt since arriving in this hell, shot through him.
No way. It's too early. Is it... could it be him?
The warship crashed into the bay with a monumental splash that sent a new wave of water over the plaza, dousing pirates and Marines alike. As the water receded, the battered ship righted itself. And on its deck, scrambling out from the wreckage, were some of the most bizarre and unexpected figures imaginable: Buggy the Clown, Mr. 3, Jinbe the Knight of the Sea, Crocodile the former Warlord, Ivankov the Queen of the Kamabakka Kingdom...
And at the very front, standing on the broken prow, soaked to the bone but with a look of unshakable determination on his face, was a young man with a straw hat.
Monkey D. Luffy had arrived.
Ace's scream, a ragged, single-word monument to his fallen friend, tore through the battlefield and then died, leaving a void in its wake. But the rage that had fueled it did not die. It coalesced. The fiery, emotional inferno of Portgas D. Ace and the cold, analytical detachment of Kenji Tanaka, which had been at odds within their shared soul, finally found a terrifying, singular purpose. The fusion was complete, not in a gentle merging, but in the crucible of absolute hatred.
The world came back into sharp focus. The sounds of battle returned, but they were different now, muted, as if happening on the other side of a thick pane of glass. Ace's mind, a new and terrible engine of wrath, began to catalog, to process, and to sentence.
His eyes, burning with a cold fire, flickered to the Warlords.
Gekko Moriah. The hulking coward who fought with another's shadow. He saw him not in Marineford, but in a dark, sunless room, his limbs removed, his own shadow forced to mock him for an eternity as he slowly starved. That would be his fate.
Donquixote Doflamingo. The grinning puppet master, floating above the chaos with such casual cruelty. He pictured him hanging from his own strings, his joints severed one by one, forced to dance and laugh for an audience of his victims' ghosts until his vocal cords shredded and his mind shattered. That would be his fate.
Bartholomew Kuma. The silent, emotionless weapon. For him, a different kind of punishment. Ace would find a way to restore his consciousness, just so he could be fully aware as his cyborg body was disassembled, piece by agonizing piece, his every nerve ending exposed to the air until he begged for the oblivion he so readily dealt to others. That would be his fate.
The oath echoed in the silent chambers of his soul, a vow sworn on the grave of his friend and the fragments of his own broken innocence. It was a promise colder than Aokiji's ice and hotter than Akainu's magma. If I survive this day. If I walk away from this platform a free man, I will not rest. I will not sleep. I will hunt down every single person responsible for this, from the spineless footsoldier who loaded the cannon to the Fleet Admiral who gave the order, and they will know what an inhumane death truly is. I will become a devil worse than the one they claim my father was, and I will drag them all to a hell of my own making. This, I swear.
This silent, venomous promise, this crystallization of absolute will, was the catalyst. It was a concentration of purpose so pure and so potent that it could no longer be contained. The Sea-Prism Stone cuffs were designed to nullify the energy of a Devil Fruit user, to sap their physical strength and render them as weak as a normal human. They were not designed to contain the united will of two souls, amplified to a god-like pressure and focused into a single, murderous point.
It started as a tremor, a vibration in the very air around the execution stand. The two guards flanking Ace stumbled, their hands flying to their heads as a wave of inexplicable dread washed over them. They felt a primal, instinctual fear, the terror of a rabbit that has just realized it is in the presence of a dragon.
The feeling radiated outwards.
Down on the plaza, the Admirals felt it. Aokiji's lazy posture straightened slightly. Kizaru's mocking smile faltered for a fraction of a second. Akainu, his face a mask of grim determination, grunted, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. It was a pressure, a sudden, immense weight on their spirits. It wasn't the unfocused, explosive wave of a novice Conqueror knocking out fodder. This was different. It was a thin, razor-sharp needle of pure, distilled dominance, and it pierced through the chaos of the battlefield to touch them all.
And it was coming from a man in Sea-Prism Stone shackles.
Beside Ace, Sengoku's eyes widened, and for the first time, a hint of genuine shock broke through his stern composure. He could feel it pressing on him, a king's contempt so profound it was almost a physical force. Garp, standing at his side, gritted his teeth. He recognized that spirit. It was the same indomitable will he had clashed with countless times in the past, the will of Gol D. Roger, but it was tainted with a cold, murderous intent that was utterly alien.
On the Moby Dick, Whitebeard stopped mid-stride. He looked towards the platform, his eyes narrowing. He felt it clearly—his son's spirit, lashing out against impossible odds. A slow, grim smile spread across his face. "Gurararara..." he rumbled, a sound of paternal pride mixed with grim resolve. "So, you've awakened it completely, you fool of a son."
Marco, soaring in his phoenix form, felt the wave of Haki and nearly faltered in the air. "Ace...?" he whispered, shocked that his brother could unleash such power while chained.
This fleeting moment, this spiritual shockwave, was imperceptible to most. But to the masters of Haki gathered at Marineford, it was a thunderclap. It was a declaration. The man they were about to execute was not just the son of the Pirate King; he was a king in his own right, one with a will that could defy the very laws of their world.
Sengoku's shock quickly hardened into something colder. This was unacceptable. This display of potential was the single greatest argument for Ace's immediate demise. The bloodline was too dangerous. The will was too strong.
"Do not falter!" Sengoku's voice boomed, regaining control. "He is the son of a demon! His very existence threatens the world! All forces, press the attack! Annihilate the Whitebeard Pirates!"
His words broke the spell. The war, which had seemed to pause for a breath, crashed back into motion with redoubled fury.
The pirates, surging through the breach Oars had created, met the full force of the Marine vice-admirals. It was a clash of titans, a maelstrom of Haki, swordsmanship, and Devil Fruit abilities that tore the plaza apart.
"Flower Sword" Vista, the 5th Division commander, engaged a dozen vice-admirals at once, his twin sabers a blur of motion, a dance of steel and rose petals. Diamond Jozu, his body glittering with impenetrable carbon, acted as a living shield, deflecting cannonballs and charging headfirst into Marine lines, scattering them like bowling pins.
But the Marines were not idle. The vice-admirals, masters of the Six Powers, were formidable opponents. Vice-Admiral Momonga moved like a phantom, his blade striking with surgical precision. Vice-Admiral Onigumo, his hair morphing into spider-like appendages each wielding a blade, was a whirlwind of death.
The battle for the plaza had become a bloody, grinding stalemate. For every Marine that fell, a pirate was cut down. For every inch the pirates gained, they paid for it in blood.
Ace watched it all, his rage now a cold, smoldering ember in his chest. His Haki had receded, forced back into submission by the draining power of the cuffs, but the statement had been made. He had rattled them. He could see it in Sengoku's eyes. The fear.
Good, Kenji's voice whispered in the back of his mind. They need to be afraid. But it's not enough. They're going to push harder now. They're going to pull out all the stops.
As if on cue, Sengoku raised a hand, speaking into a Den Den Mushi connected to the main control room. "The situation is escalating. The pirates have breached the inner wall. It is time. Deploy the Pacifistas. All of them. Seal the bay and bombard them from all sides."
Down on the battlefield, Doflamingo let out another gleeful laugh. "Fufufu! Here comes the main event!"
From the cannons lining the fortress walls, new figures began to emerge. They were identical, towering men, all with the exact same face: the face of the Warlord Bartholomew Kuma. But they were not Kuma. Their eyes were dark, lifeless voids, and from their mouths, they fired beams of pure, destructive yellow light—a perfect replication of Admiral Kizaru's laser.
The Pacifistas had been unleashed. They began to fire indiscriminately into the pirate ranks, their beams melting steel and vaporizing pirates where they stood. The tide of the battle, which had been precariously balanced, began to shift dramatically in the Marines' favor.
Panic began to spread through the pirate forces. These new weapons were a nightmare, durable, powerful, and utterly relentless.
Whitebeard slammed the butt of his bisento onto the deck of the Moby Dick. "Don't lose your nerve! They're just mindless puppets! Commanders, deal with them!"
Even as the commanders moved to intercept the cyborgs, a new sound echoed across Marineford. It wasn't the sound of cannon fire, or clashing steel, or screams of pain. It was a colossal, rending crash from high above.
Everyone—Marine, pirate, and Warlord alike—looked up.
A massive hole had been torn in the sky itself. Or rather, in the frozen tsunami that Aokiji had created. Something had crashed through the ice mountain from the outside and was now plummeting towards the center of the battlefield.
It was a Marine battleship. It was falling out of the sky.
Ace stared, his mind struggling to comprehend what he was seeing. Kenji's knowledge, however, surged to the forefront, and a single, insane possibility presented itself. A thrill, the first positive emotion he had felt since arriving in this hell, shot through him.
No way. It's too early. Is it... could it be him?
The warship crashed into the bay with a monumental splash that sent a new wave of water over the plaza, dousing pirates and Marines alike. As the water receded, the battered ship righted itself. And on its deck, scrambling out from the wreckage, were some of the most bizarre and unexpected figures imaginable: Buggy the Clown, Mr. 3, Jinbe the Knight of the Sea, Crocodile the former Warlord, Ivankov the Queen of the Kamabakka Kingdom...
And at the very front, standing on the broken prow, soaked to the bone but with a look of unshakable determination on his face, was a young man with a straw hat.
Monkey D. Luffy had arrived.