"It's almost over."
Lucian's voice was soft, but it pierced like a needle—clean and precise—right into the shaken mind of Garp.
His neck creaked as he slowly turned, following Lucian's gaze to the battlefield drenched in magma and ice.
Yeah…
It really is ending.
Ten full days and nights of ceaseless war.
Punk Hazard no longer resembled an island.
Half of it had become a blazing hellscape—lava surging, air twisted, the sky scorched a doomsday red.
The other half was a frozen wasteland—bone-piercing winds, glaciers stabbing the heavens, every breath like swallowing knives.
At the boundary of fire and ice, two barely human silhouettes clashed for the final time.
Sakazuki.
Kuzan.
Both of them had long burned through their Haki.
Their stamina—drained.
Their minds—shattered.
Sakazuki was covered in blood. His flesh was frostbitten in massive patches, turning a terrifying shade of dark purple.
His left side was nearly frozen over, exhaling visible mist with every breath.
Yet those eyes…
They still burned.
Still insane.
Still locked onto his opponent.
His justice would not be shaken.
Kuzan, on the other hand, looked far worse.
Magma-burnt wounds tore across his body—flesh blackened and curled like dead leaves.
He leaned on an ice blade, gasping like a madman, sweat and blood mixing as they poured off him.
Worst of all…
His always-lazy gaze now brimmed with exhaustion—and a sliver of doubt.
Lucian saw it clearly.
The flame of justice in Kuzan's heart—the one that once carried the warmth of human kindness—was now nearly extinguished.
Just fatigue remained.
And a seed of hesitation, even Kuzan himself hadn't noticed.
One fought with the fury of belief.
The other faltered under its weight.
The result had been decided long ago.
Lucian's judgment had been terrifyingly accurate.
Garp's fists clenched until they turned white.
Veins bulged from his hands like they'd burst.
He could feel it—
Kuzan's presence was falling.
Dropping fast.
That lazy man who clung to his own bottom line…
He's going to lose.
"AAAAHHHHHHHHH—!!!"
Kuzan roared to the sky—like he was trying to scream out his final doubt.
He poured everything he had left into a single moment.
"Ice Age!!"
Crack.
Crack crack crack.
A massive wave of deep blue cold surged outward, centered on Kuzan.
This was no ordinary ice.
This was the power of a Logia Awakening—capable of permanently altering the environment.
The earth froze.
The air froze.
Boiling magma turned to brittle black stone—then was buried in layers of thick frost.
Even the volcanic ash in the sky froze midair, falling as ice shards from heaven.
He wanted to bury it all—
The island.
The fight.
His opponent.
All beneath eternal frost.
His final defiance.
His last pride—
as an Admiral.
Across from him, Sakazuki's frost-bitten face twisted into a cruel grin.
"Too naive, Kuzan!!"
He roared like a beast—lunging straight into the encroaching cold.
"Your justice is just like your ice—SOFT!!"
BOOM!!
A blast of magma hotter than anything he'd unleashed so far exploded from within him.
He became a walking volcano.
"Meteor Volcano!"
"Great Eruption Fang!!"
He fused his deadliest techniques into one.
Boom.
Boom.
BOOM!!
The sky turned blood-red as hundreds of massive lava fists, trailing flaming tails, rained down like meteors.
But they didn't target Kuzan directly.
They aimed at the spreading ice beneath him.
At the same time—
Sakazuki's right arm became a snarling magma hound—
Its molten jaws clamped shut on Kuzan's body.
This was no longer just a fight.
This was belief versus doubt.
"Total Justice" versus "Wavering Justice."
And in the next instant—
Fire and Ice collided.
No sound.
Just—
Silence.
Then—
BOOOOOOOM!!!!!!!!
A force beyond imagination detonated.
White light devoured everything.
It was the absolute cancellation of heat and cold—creating a storm of vaporized destruction.
A pressure wave of steam spread outward in blazing-white rings.
Mountains flattened.
Ice shattered.
Magma launched into the sky.
The entire island trembled.
Creaking. Cracking.
As if it might collapse into the sea at any moment.
Steam and ash shot into the sky—
Forming a mushroom cloud even bigger than a nuclear blast.
It blanketed the heavens.
The world lost all sound.
All color.
On the mountain summit—
Garp's bloodshot eyes stared at the battlefield, veins pulsing.
"Kuzan..."
A broken whisper escaped his throat.
He wanted to run down there.
But his legs were rooted in place.
This was their choice.
A duel fought with their lives and their pride.
He had no right to interfere.
And this helplessness—watching two Admirals destroy each other—
Hurt more than any blade ever could.
Time slowed.
It felt eternal.
Until—
The steam began to part.
Shapes emerged from the white void.
Garp held his breath.
His pupils shrank to pinpricks.
And then…
He saw it.
Hell itself.
The lake—once ripped in two by fire and ice—
Was now a single, massive crater.
Its edge—
One side: charred black crystal.
The other: shattered ice.
At the center—
Kuzan, half-kneeling.
Head bowed.
His messy curls hung low, hiding his face.
Blood poured from his lips—from countless wounds—forming a red pool beneath him.
And his left leg…
Below the knee…
Gone.
Not cut.
Erased.
Burned out of existence by heat beyond comprehension.
His flesh, bones, veins—vaporized.
The charred stump still hissed—magma's afterglow roasting what was left of him.
Ice.
Blood-soaked lava.
Across from him…
Sakazuki still stood.
Barely.
But he stood.
He had won.
Though victory came at a terrible price.
His left side—from shoulder to leg—was encased in a thick layer of frost, still radiating cold.
His Admiral's "Justice" coat—torn to bloody rags—was soaked in filth and gore.
He gasped, each breath spewing mist and blood.
But he had won.
He had claimed the Admiralcy.
And more importantly…
He had won the war over Justice itself.
He limped forward, step by step, until he stood over Kuzan.
Looking down at his fallen rival, his voice was hoarse and merciless:
"Your justice is too soft, Kuzan."
This was not opinion.
It was a verdict.
Kuzan's body trembled.
He said nothing.
He didn't even lift his head.
He had lost.
Not just the fight.
Not just the title of Fleet Admiral.
But the very justice he had upheld for half a lifetime.
Sakazuki stared coldly.
He didn't strike again.
No need.
To him, Kuzan was already defeated.
A man without belief was no threat.
He turned away—
Dragging his own broken body through the battlefield.
Leaving behind footprints soaked in blood.
He had claimed victory.
But his silhouette—
Alone.
Wounded.
Silhouetted in a world of fire and ice—
Felt nothing like triumph.
Only…
Lonely silence.