Rip!
A massive mass of dark red, viscous magma burst apart as if it were boiling blood, violently squeezed, torn, and hurled away by a brutal, unreasonable shockwave of pure physical force.
It splashed into the churning sea that Garp had just struck open with a single punch.
A deafening, explosive boil erupted.
Hiss. Hiss. Hiss!
In an instant, thick white steam roared upward.
"Ah!"
A muffled cry escaped, forced out from somewhere deep in the throat, suppressed but unmistakably painful.
Sakazuki was forced out of his elemental form, stumbling as the color drained from his face.
He clutched his left shoulder. A large portion of the magma that made up his body had been completely shattered and erased by the impact.
Its edges glowed like molten embers, scorching and flickering with residual heat.
An unprecedented surge of pain swept over him, together with the crushing pressure of standing before an overwhelming, absolute power.
What was that?
He had never even seen this kind of energy attack before.
This strike seemed to act directly upon space itself. His elemental defense had failed.
The roaring sea, split and churned apart, thundered around them.
Buru buru buru... buru buru buru...
A sharp, rapid ringing sliced through the suffocating silence.
A communication officer, barely regaining consciousness after being stunned by the edge of Garp's overwhelming strike, staggered forward holding a special Den Den Mushi.
The telepathic creature bore a striking resemblance to Fleet Admiral Sengoku, complete with his iconic hat and curled hair. Its communication screen flashed with an urgent signal.
Garp did not even glance at the torn sea or the battered Sakazuki.
He bent down and seized the incessantly chattering Den Den Mushi with one large, vein-bulging hand.
The receiver clicked open.
Sengoku's furious roar exploded from inside, a mix of anger, shock, and barely contained anxiety.
"Garp! Sakazuki just reported an emergency! What in the world are you doing at Enies Lobby? Reports say another massive explosion occurred there. The energy readings... what is going on... have you lost your mind? Cease all action immediately and get back to Headquarters! The Five Elders are personally demanding..."
Crack!
A sharp, final snap cut everything short.
Expressionless, Garp tightened his grip.
The specialized communication device, symbol of the highest command authority of the Marines and used jointly by Sengoku himself, was nothing more than brittle clay in Garp's iron grip.
Plastic, circuitry, and unidentifiable organic mush burst apart, scattering through the air.
"Go tell those old fools sitting on top of that red line."
Garp's deep, resonant voice echoed like a judgment bell across the ruined battlefield.
"I quit!"
Whoosh!
The declaration was more earthshaking than the ocean he had just torn open.
Every conscious Marine nearby froze instantly, regardless of rank.
Mouths hung open. Eyes bulged. Minds went blank.
The hero of the Marines... Marine Headquarters Vice Admiral... Monkey D. Garp... had defected?
Sakazuki clutched his agonized shoulder, his blood-red eyes burning like molten lava. He stared at the towering figure before him, a silhouette radiating finality and irreversible resolve.
His lifelong conviction in Absolute Justice began to tear apart under the weight of that departing shadow.
Garp never looked back.
He turned sharply, his heavy boots thudding against scorched rubble as he walked toward the raging sea, toward the broken port of Enies Lobby.
Toward an unknown future and the shattered remains of an old order.
Behind him, the enormous open trench carved through the island gaped like a horrifying wound, seawater roaring into it like thunder.
After a few steps, he passed a large piece of debris. A huge concrete slab, thrown skyward by his earlier strike, had landed upright in a strange shape. Through the haze of drifting dust, its outline vaguely resembled a distorted dog's head.
Garp's steps paused, only for a moment. His eyes lingered on the makeshift dog-shaped ruin for less than half a second.
The corner of his mouth seemed to lift. Almost invisible. Perhaps an illusion.
He reached up and tore off the heavy white cloak draped across his shoulders. The cloak, stained with ash and blood, still bore the two characters for Justice.
The salty wind tousled his short, ash-gray hair, dust clinging to every strand.
He dropped the tattered cloak onto the charred ground at his feet.
The emblem of the Marine Corps, the symbol of his duty and conviction, disappeared into the soot-covered earth.
He never looked back.
He walked on.
His only direction was the endless sea.