—Broadcast—
The transformation power from the Tori Tori no Mi, Model: Seiryū turned Wendy into a creature nearly identical to her mother Grandine—a majestic being covered with pristine white feathers, possessing a massive serpentine body approaching one hundred meters in length.
She appeared before the Marine sisters in draconic magnificence, a creature from mythology made flesh.
"Monster!" one woman shrieked, voice shrill with terror. "There are creatures like this on the island? How did we not know?"
"Where's Wendy?!" the other Marine screamed, looking around frantically for the child. "Where did that little girl go?"
The two female sailors—who possessed minimal combat ability and had been assigned to this island specifically because it was supposed to be safe—hugged each other in primal fear before the monster that had appeared without warning. They tried desperately to draw some sense of security from physical contact, as though embracing could protect them from a hundred-meter dragon.
The dragon spread her wings fully, revealing a terrifying wingspan that exceeded the body length. Nearly one hundred meters from tip to tip, the massive wings cast humans below into deep shadow. Sunlight filtered through the translucent feather membranes, creating ethereal patterns on the sand.
Wendy was growing familiar with this strange new body's capabilities, testing how her consciousness interfaced with draconic anatomy. Everything felt simultaneously alien and natural—as though she'd always been meant for this form.
But she didn't dare make too many large movements yet. The fear of accidentally stepping on the Marine sisters beneath her clawed feet kept her movements careful and controlled. These women had been kind to her over the past months. She wouldn't repay that kindness with accidental death.
She needed to make arrangements for the people on this island before departing. Sooner or later, she'd have to return here—this was still home, regardless of what happened in Mary Geoise.
"You need to leave," the dragon spoke, Wendy's voice emerging with harmonic layering that made it recognizable yet otherworldly. "I'm going to Mary Geoise. Get away from me before I take off."
The monster could talk! And its voice sounded quite familiar to the Marines despite the supernatural resonance.
Soon, the more intelligent of the two women finally recognized the truth. That feathered dragon standing before them was definitely Wendy transformed. The child had somehow gained incredible power.
Could it be a legendary Mythical Zoan Devil Fruit? The realization struck like lightning. Wendy was such a fortunate child—blessed with a good brother who was regarded as an outcast by other Celestial Dragons, and now possessing such strength herself.
This sea would never be able to imprison her. Sooner or later, the girl would leave the place where she'd been born and rush toward her own new world, carving a path through whatever obstacles stood in her way.
Wendy used her fruit's enhanced senses to detect the direction conveyed by Saint Mjosgard's Life Card. The burning paper pointed unerringly toward Mary Geoise's location, marking her destination with supernatural precision.
It was time to leave.
She flapped her massive wings, driving her enormous body upward with a single powerful stroke. The wind generated by that motion created a minor sandstorm, forcing the Marine sisters to crouch and shield their faces.
Her affinity with the sky strengthened exponentially as she maintained dragon form. It felt like swimming in an ocean of energy—atmospheric particles flowing into her body continuously, accumulating strength for her draconic physiology without any conscious effort.
After several minutes of familiarizing herself with flight mechanics—testing maneuverability, practicing turns, gauging her maximum speed—the dragon flew toward the holy land of the God Clan with determined purpose.
During the flight, Wendy discovered she could enter something like a fast lane through the atmosphere. She felt absolutely no air resistance whatsoever. The wind that should have pushed against her body at high velocity instead seemed to part before her, creating a frictionless corridor through which she could travel.
Her flying speed increased exponentially. Faster and faster until she was crossing impossible distances with each wingbeat. Eventually, she could fly across a thousand miles with just a single flap of her wings—covering in seconds what would take ships weeks to traverse.
The raw speed was intoxicating. Terrifying. Exactly what she needed.
The Marine sisters who witnessed this incredible departure stood frozen in shock for a long time, staring at the empty sky where the dragon had disappeared beyond the horizon.
Finally, one of them remembered their professional obligations. They needed to report this to Marine Headquarters immediately.
The woman fumbled with her Den Den Mushi, hands shaking from adrenaline and residual fear. When the connection established, she delivered her message with as much composure as she could muster:
"This is Observation Post Seven reporting emergency intelligence. A user with Mythical Zoan Devil Fruit abilities—specifically a white dragon form—is en route to Mary Geoise at incredible speed. Estimated arrival: within the hour. Purpose: to rescue the condemned Celestial Dragon from execution. Repeat: incoming dragon attack on Mary Geoise. Please relay to all relevant commands."
She paused, then added: "The dragon is a child. Approximately ten years old. Desperate to save her brother. She's not thinking strategically—this is pure emotion. Someone needs to... I don't know. Just please be ready."
The Den Den Mushi's receiver—a duty officer at Marineford—sounded appropriately alarmed: "Confirmed. Any additional details on capabilities?"
"Hundred-meter wingspan. Speed exceeding anything I've ever witnessed. She covered the horizon in seconds. If she maintains that velocity, Mary Geoise has less than an hour to prepare."
"Understood. Maintain position and await further orders."
The connection terminated, leaving the two women alone on the beach, wondering if they'd just condemned a desperate child to death.
The broadcast's perspective shifted dramatically, transitioning from the isolated island to civilization's pinnacle.
Mary Geoise appeared on the Sky Screen in all its terrible grandeur—the holy land of the Celestial Dragons, the place where gods supposedly dwelt above the common world.
At this moment, the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky with beautiful red clouds that seemed almost too perfect. Crimson and orange streaked across the heavens like divine brushstrokes, creating ironic beauty for what was about to unfold below.
Street lights ignited one after another across Mary Geoise's carefully planned districts. Torches surrounded a massive execution platform erected in the ancestral land of the Celestial Dragons—the oldest section of their holy city, where the first World Nobles had established their reign eight hundred years ago.
Most of the world's nobility had chosen to extend their stay in Mary Geoise following the World Conference. They'd remained for months specifically to witness today's spectacle: a Celestial Dragon being publicly executed.
This kind of unprecedented event absolutely couldn't be missed. It would provide material for bragging to friends and children for decades. "I was there when they hanged Saint Mjosgard. Let me tell you what really happened..."
CP0 agents in distinctive white suits and CP9 operatives in black maintained basic order around the execution grounds. The world nobles could talk amongst themselves, but loud disruptions were forbidden. This was supposed to be a solemn occasion—entertainment, yes, but dignified entertainment befitting their divine status.
The carnivorous upper class whispered to each other in excited undertones, discussing the man about to die.
Saint Mjosgard had left distinctive footprints across the seas. His actions had appeared in newspapers multiple times, each instance making him more notorious among his own people.
He'd been rescued by Queen Otohime of Fish-Man Island after a shipwreck—that gentle queen who'd advocated for peace between fish-men and humans despite centuries of slavery and oppression.
Following that rescue, he'd publicly called for the liberation of slaves and racial equality alongside a mermaid representative. He'd restored all slaves under his personal control to freedom—dozens of people suddenly released from bondage without compensation or conditions.
He'd even secretly urged fellow Celestial Dragons to follow his example. "Free your slaves. Recognize their humanity. We don't need to rule through terror and chains."
However, the results had been negligible. Actually worse than negligible—there had been no progress whatsoever, and his advocacy had generated active hostility.
Other Donquixote Celestial Dragons—those sharing his bloodline—only cursed or rolled their eyes at this embarrassing relative. Father Saint Mjosgard himself hadn't released the slaves in his possession, so why should other nobles free theirs? They should just mind their own business and stop making the entire clan look soft!
After Queen Otohime was assassinated by extremists who opposed her reconciliation policies, the grief-stricken Saint Mjosgard had stopped all external advocacy. He'd finally realized the futility of his approach.
If racial equality could be achieved through talking, through moral persuasion and appeals to conscience, the Celestial Dragons would have died out a hundred million times over. History didn't work that way.
The real world was not subject to individual will. Few people would genuinely listen to what you said, especially when listening threatened their material interests and social position.
In this sea governed by survival of the fittest, you could only convey ideas to others through force. Violence was the ultimate language of change. Words meant nothing without the power to back them up.
Saint Mjosgard's fate today had been destined from the beginning of his reformation. The God's Knights didn't like Celestial Dragons who questioned the natural order. The Five Elders despised Celestial Dragons who possessed functioning moral compasses.
He was an object of common hatred among his own people. It was just a matter of time before he died—sooner or later, someone would manufacture an excuse for execution.
Today was simply when that excuse arrived.
The time of execution approached with inexorable certainty.
The mysterious God's Knights emerged from the elevator system connecting Mary Geoise's various levels, escorting Saint Mjosgard in prisoner's chains.
His uniform had been stained with blood from repeated beatings. The man looked utterly exhausted—barely conscious, hanging between his guards more than walking under his own power.
Even now, moments before they would hang him, the Celestial Dragons' whips continued falling on the man periodically. Torturing their own species with physical pain, trying to make this kind outcast's final hours a living hell.
The Saint Charlos family was the primary source of violence—the very people whose cruelty toward Fish-Man Island's princes had triggered this entire catastrophe. They seemed to take particular pleasure in beating the man who'd humiliated them before international witnesses.
A female member of the God's Knights standing beside the prisoner asked with ritualistic formality: "Do you have any last words before sentence is carried out?"
Saint Mjosgard raised his head slowly, every movement obviously painful. He glanced below the execution platform with unfocused eyes, searching for something specific in the assembled crowd.
He no longer possessed the strength to speak audibly. But his eyes continued scanning systematically until they found what they sought.
The Marine flag. A high-ranking officer who appeared to be a fish-man stood in the front row, with several fish-man colleagues positioned behind him. They wore Marine uniforms with pride despite the obvious hostility radiating from nearby Celestial Dragons.
A human Marine officer beside the fish-man was reporting something urgently through Den Den Mushi communication—receiving critical information from outside Mary Geoise that seemed to require immediate relay to command staff.
The Celestial Dragon and the fish-man officer locked eyes across the distance separating execution platform from audience. Both sides understood the meaning conveyed through that wordless exchange.
Saint Mjosgard silently pleaded: Don't do anything stupid. Don't sacrifice everything you've built for my life alone.
Once the fish-men attacked Mary Geoise's holy land to rescue him, it would represent an unforgivable slap in the face to the Celestial Dragons and Five Elders. The relationship Fish-Man Island had worked so desperately to establish with the Marine—years of careful diplomacy, painful compromises, gradual trust-building—would be completely ruined by such reckless action.
However, the high-ranking fish-man officer didn't share Mjosgard's assessment.
He'd brought his team here today partly because of personal impulse—gratitude for the Celestial Dragon who'd genuinely tried to help their people. But a larger motivation came from direct instructions by senior Marine leadership.
The Marine was no longer the organization it had been in the past. There was a bigger stage now, new possibilities emerging. It was necessary to express independent opinions rather than simply following World Government orders without question.
The life of being a dog wagging its tail and begging for scraps was too uncomfortable. Some elements within the Marine wanted to try being human instead—standing upright, making their own moral judgments, protecting people who deserved protection regardless of politics.
The person about to be executed simply shook his head helplessly, conveying his final wish through that small gesture.
Saint Mjosgard didn't want to implicate more innocent people because of his own life. Using one person's death to protect Fish-Man Island's future wasn't just worthwhile—it was a way to repay Queen Otohime for giving him a second chance at moral existence.
Her gift had been showing him that change was possible. That Celestial Dragons could become better. That nobility didn't require cruelty.
If his death could advance that vision even slightly, it was a good trade.
The appointed time arrived.
The executioner—a slave forced to perform this duty, his own collar visible beneath his dark hood—placed the rope around Saint Mjosgard's neck with shaking hands. The rough hemp settled against vulnerable flesh, already beginning to chafe.
Then the slave turned the mechanical rocker at the executioner's command.
The rope began tightening upward with mechanical precision. Slowly. Inexorably. The noose compressed against Mjosgard's throat, reducing airflow incrementally rather than cutting it off completely.
This was intentional cruelty. Quick drop hangings that broke the neck instantly were considered too merciful for condemned Celestial Dragons. They needed to suffer. To experience the full horror of approaching death while conscious.
The death process would be extremely slow and agonizing. Less and less air entering with each labored breath. The victim experiencing a powerful sense of impending death, consciousness fading gradually as oxygen deprivation damaged the brain.