Chapter 53: The Abyss Gazes Back
Though Rayleigh's words reached his ears, Levi's mind was a million miles away, trapped in the horrific panorama unveiled by the stolen soul fragment.
The memories weren't just images; they were sensory bombardments of apocalyptic scale.
Five jagged, majestic peaks, their summits crowned with palaces of impossible opulence. Upon them stood the imposing figures of the Five Elders, and behind them, a seething mass of Celestial Dragons, their faces alight with a fervor that was both celebratory and grotesque.
Between the peaks lay a gaping maw in the earth—a crater so vast and deep it seemed to pierce the world's very heart. And into this abyss, a river of humanity was being poured.
Not a trickle. A torrent.
Levi's mind, honed by his new perception, counted, categorized, despaired. Hundreds became thousands, thousands became tens of thousands, then hundreds of thousands, then… more. A conservative estimate from the fragment alone was over ten million souls. Men, women, children. The elderly, carried or shoved. Babies, wailing as they tumbled through the air.
He saw every race the world had to offer: Long-armed tribesmen, giants towering even in their chains, tiny dwarves of the Tontatta Kingdom, fish-men gasping in the thin air, long-legged tribes from the skies, winged Skypieans… a complete census of the world, being systematically erased.
It was a grinder. Bodies fell, breaking on jagged rocks halfway down, painting the chasm's walls crimson long before they hit the indistinct, squirming mass at the bottom. The screaming was a constant, horrific chorus that lasted not for minutes or hours, but for days. Half a month of unrelenting, industrialized slaughter.
The air grew thick with a coppery haze, a bloody fog that stained the clouds sunset-red. The very wind carried the stench of death across the sea for leagues.
A voice, crisp and reporting, cut through the memory-horror: "Sir. The centennial interval is complete. The four remaining former Marine Admirals and the captured pirate leadership have arrived."
A cold, authoritative reply: "Commence the final rites."
"Yes, sir."
Then, chaos.
The scene shattered. The island—the slaughterhouse—exploded. Not from within the pit, but from an external assault. A roar, familiar from history books, shook the memory: "YOUNGSTERS! SEIZE THE WORLD GOVERNMENT'S WEAPONS! SLAUGHTER EVERY CELESTIAL DRAGON!!"
"Sir! The situation has changed! The Rocks Pirates are attacking! Our peripheral forces are not yet mobilized!"
"The island is surrounded!"
A flurry of calm, urgent commands from the Elders:
"Annihilate all evidence. All other units, engage. Nothing here can be discovered. Kosas, you remain to oversee the cleansing. Tenryu, you are our strongest blade—delay that madman, Xebec. Do not commit to a decisive battle. Retreat if necessary. We have other avenues."
"Understood."
"Wait another forty, fifty years. The world will replenish itself. The Prophecy's zenith will yield even stronger specimens. We have time."
"Proceed."
The memory ended on a final, chilling image: a signpost on one of the bloody peaks, its letters clear despite the gore: VALLEY OF THE GODS.
Levi's breath hitched. A cold, profound fury—deeper than any he'd ever felt—ignited in his chest. He was no paragon of virtue. He'd killed for convenience, experimented on the condemned without remorse. But this… this was annihilation on a geological scale. This was the world's garden being periodically, ruthlessly weeded by its self-proclaimed gardeners. Former Marine Admirals, heroes to their people, were "fertilizer." Entire cultures were compost.
For the first time, he felt a spike of genuine fear, followed by boiling anger. They'd do it to me. To anyone. When the next 'cleansing' comes, Admiral or not, if I'm not part of their machine, I'm fuel for the pit.
His earlier, transactional view of the World Government shattered. They weren't just corrupt bureaucrats; they were farmers of civilization, pruning it with genocidal scythes every century.
Pirates can't be trusted, his mind raced, logic battling fury. Too chaotic, too selfish. Rayleigh, Whitebeard… their 'freedom' is a personal creed. They wouldn't understand this scale of evil. And many pirates are just smaller monsters.
But the World Government… they are the architects of this hell. Even becoming Fleet Admiral just makes you the chief groundskeeper for the slaughterhouse.
I won't be an executioner. And I won't be livestock.
My only path is my own strength. Strength beyond anything they can imagine. Strength to say 'no' to gods and devils alike.
He took a slow, controlled breath, forcing the icy rage down, compacting it into a core of diamond-hard resolve. Knowing this horror was a burden, but also a weapon. Forewarned is forearmed.
His gaze, sharp and calculating, swept across the cells of Level 6. The broken kings, the fallen legends. Despair and defiance flickered in their eyes as they met his look.
And then, Levi smiled.
It was not a pleasant smile. It was the smile of a master chess player who has just seen a devastating, unorthodox move. A smile that promised not pain, but a terrifying, unknown purpose.
Every prisoner who saw it felt a fresh, deeper chill. What now? What fresh hell does he have planned?
Even Silvers Rayleigh, who had been about to cautiously probe Levi about the "truth," froze. That smile… it wasn't the face of a man reeling from the horror of the Void Century or the atrocities of the Government. It was the face of a man making a plan.
Could I have been wrong? Rayleigh wondered, his hope dimming. Did he see nothing? Or did he see it and… approve?
Levi's eyes finally focused back on the old pirate, the unsettling smile fading to his usual neutral mask.
"My apologies, Rayleigh-san," Levi said, his voice deceptively calm. "You were saying something to me?"
The question hung in the air, but the context had irrevocably changed. Rayleigh was no longer speaking to a potentially enlightened ally, but to a man who had just peered into the abyss of the world's greatest sin and had, inexplicably, smiled.
(End of Chapter)
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