The tremors that had shattered Hachinosu were still rippling through the ocean floor, sending micro-tsunamis radiating across the New World. But on the surface, miles away from the epicenter of the Monkey D. family's wrath, the sea was deceptively, hauntingly calm. A thick, unnatural mist—colder than the surrounding air—clung to the waves. It wasn't a product of the weather; it was a shroud, a deliberate veil for a small, unassuming raft that glided through the water with an impossible, deathly silence.
To any passing Marine patrol or sky-bound scout, the space occupied by this raft would appear as nothing but empty, gray air. This was the pinnacle of Shiryu of the Rain's evolved mastery. Since consuming the Suke Suke no Mi, he had moved beyond the simple trick of turning flesh invisible. He was now weaving a veil of "Absolute Nothingness" around the entire vessel. He wasn't just bending light; he was erasing the ship's presence from the world—masking their heat, their sound, and even the "scent" of their Haki from the standard reach of Observation.
The Architect of the Abyss
On the center of the raft, curled like a wounded titan, Marshall D. Teach groaned. His massive, hirsute body was a canvas of ruin. His chest, usually a mountain of muscle and fat, was scorched black, still humming with the residual static of the "Dragon's Judgment Bolt." The combined Haki of the Sun God and the Storm King had done more than burn his skin; it had rattled the very core of his "atypical" biology.
His eyes flickered open—not in unison, but in a staggered, unsettling sequence. All three "perspectives" inside his mind snapped into a jagged alignment.
"Captain," Van Augur whispered. He sat perfectly still, his rifle Senriku resting across his knees. His cape was tattered, but his hands were steady. "You're awake. We have cleared the primary search perimeter. The Revolutionary winds are blowing east; we are moving west, into the blind spots of the world."
Teach sat up, the thick logs of the raft creaking and groaning under his immense weight. He doubled over in a fit of coughing, spitting out a globule of dark, viscous blood that hissed and sizzled as it hit the salt spray.
"Zehaha... Zehahahaha!" The laugh was wet and pained, but the fire in his eyes was undimmed. "The Sun God... and the Storm. A dangerous combination, Augur. My nervous system is... vibrating. I can feel the 'drums of liberation' in my teeth. It's a foul music."
He looked around the cramped, invisible space. "The girl? The shadow-master? Tell me they weren't left behind to rot in that rubble. If Pizarro failed me, I'll feed his heart to the Sea Kings."
"As you commanded," Shiryu's voice drifted from the empty air as he partially materialized, his translucent form shimmering like a ghost. "Avalo Pizarro used the last of his island-synced strength to shift the high-value assets into the subterranean bunkers before the bedrock buckled. They are secured in the auxiliary transport being towed behind us. Charlotte Pudding and Gecko Moria are our guests. But Captain, the crew is asking... what is the endgame? Pizarro is broken, and the girl is a liability. If Katakuri catches our scent, he'll bring the entire Big Mom fleet down on our heads."
Teach's laughter began as a low rumble in his gut, escalating into a jagged, three-toned roar that made the mist swirl in agitation.
"Endgame? Shiryu, you think too small. We are no longer playing for territories or stone rubbings of Poneglyphs," Teach said, his eyes glowing with a manic, purple light. "We are going to perform a surgical strike on reality itself. We are going to the coordinates that the world tried to delete forty years ago. We are going to raise God Valley from the seafloor."
The crew went silent. Even the stoic Van Augur adjusted his glasses, his finger twitching near the trigger of his rifle.
"That island was erased by the Mother Flame," Augur noted, his voice flat. "The Marine records are absolute. Nothing remains but a hole in the ocean that never fills."
"Nothing remains in the physical world," Teach countered, his voice dripping with ancient, inherited malice. "But the souls are still there, trapped in the cold dark where the light of the sun can't reach. My father's soul... the souls of the 'Davy D.' lineage... they are waiting in the pressure. With Moria's power, I will give those shadows vessels. And with Pudding..."
He gestured toward the auxiliary raft where the young Three-Eyed girl sat huddled in a corner.
"With her 'Third Eye' and her memory manipulation, I will bypass the World Government's erasure. I won't just find the island; I will pull the 'True History' directly from the minds of the dead. I will force the ghosts of God Valley to remember the faces of the God's Knights. I will show the world the true face of their 'Heroes.'"
Inside Teach's head, the Three Souls—the internal "They"—were in a frenzy of discord:
The Ravenous (The Monster): Eat the past. Consume the blood of the Gods. Tear the sky down!
The Patient (The Strategist): If we reveal the truth of Xebec's rescue mission, the Marines will defect. The system will collapse from the inside.
The Craven (The Survivor): But Imu... the light from the sky... if we wake the dead, the sky will burn us again.
"In a few days," Teach whispered, staring at his trembling, shadow-draped hands, "the world will realize that you cannot kill a dream by sinking an island. You only give the dream a place to grow in the dark. And I am the King of that Dark."
The Council of the Wind
Miles away, the revolutionary flagship Wind Granma cut through the waves with a grace that belied its massive, armored hull. On the upper deck, a somber, heavy quiet had taken hold. In the central medical bay, Monkey D. Garp lay stable but unconscious. The "Hero of the Marines" looked smaller in the bed, his legendary strength finally taxed to its breaking point by the battle against the man who carried his old captain's ghost.
Outside the bay, a gathering of the world's most influential—and dangerous—men took place.
Monkey D. Dragon stood by the railing, his green cloak snapping like a whip in the gale. Beside him stood Sengoku the Buddha, his white hair disheveled, looking older than he had a few hours ago. Kuzan sat on a crate of supplies nearby, idly freezing a small bit of sea-spray between his fingers, his expression unreadable.
"He's a maniac, Dragon," Kuzan said, the ice between his fingers cracking. "I spent enough time in Teach's orbit to know that he doesn't think like a Pirate King. He doesn't want the One Piece for the sake of freedom. He thinks like a god-slayer. He was obsessed with Pudding's bloodline. He believes the Three-Eyed tribe can 'see' the memories of the earth itself—the residual Haki left in the stones."
Sengoku sighed, his pet goat chewing on a piece of discarded rope nearby. The former Fleet Admiral looked at his hands, the hands that had signed a thousand execution orders.
"If he uses Moria to reanimate the fallen of God Valley... and Pudding to restore their erased memories... he won't just have an army," Sengoku whispered. "He'll have the ultimate blackmail against the Five Elders. He'll have the truth of the 'Great Sin' that Garp and I helped cover up. He will turn the world's 'Justice' into a joke."
"And he won't be the only one moving," Dragon added, his eyes scanning the horizon for the coming storm. "My scouts report that Charlotte Katakuri has officially taken the mantle of Captain of the Big Mom Pirates. He's not interested in the throne right now; he's coming for his sister. He's leading a monstrous formation of the remaining Sweet Commanders. The sea is becoming too small for all these giants to walk without stepping on each other."
The Revelation of the Empty Throne
The heavy conversation was interrupted by the sound of firm boots hitting the deck. Sabo, the Flame Emperor, stepped forward. His face was grim, his top hat pulled low over his scarred eyes. He carried a weight that went beyond physical exhaustion.
"There's more," Sabo said, his voice cutting through the wind. "Information that the Marines haven't released. Information that even you, Sengoku, might not fully grasp."
Sengoku narrowed his eyes, his posture straightening into that of a commander. "The death of King Cobra? We were told the Revolutionaries—"
"A lie," Sabo spat, his fist igniting with a brief flicker of orange flame. "I was there. I was in the heart of Pangea Castle. I saw it with my own eyes. Cobra wasn't killed by us. He was executed by the Five Elders... and the one who sits on the Empty Throne."
The air on the deck seemed to vanish. Sengoku's jaw dropped, his legendary composure shattering. "The Empty Throne... is empty. It is the symbol of the world's equality! No one king—"
"It's a throne for a king of the world," Sabo countered. "A being called IMU. They have a power that makes the Buster Call look like a firecracker. They are the ones who deleted Lulusia from the map. They are the ones who ordered the erasure of your father's history, Dragon. They are the reason God Valley had to sink."
Dragon didn't look surprised, but his Haki flared, causing the wind around the ship to howl in a sudden, violent gust. "So the puppet-master finally showed their face to you, Sabo. This changes the calculus. The World Government isn't just preparing for a war; they are preparing for a 'Great Cleansing.' They intend to reset the world to zero, just as they did eight hundred years ago."
Sengoku leaned against the railing, his hand trembling as he looked at the unconscious Garp through the medical bay window. "To think... I served a shadow for decades. Garp... my old friend... you were right to stay a Vice-Admiral. You were the only one of us who kept your hands clean because you refused to look up at the throne."
The Dawn of the Sun God
While the elders discussed the end of the world, a different, more vibrant energy thrived on the main deck of the Wind Granma.
The Straw Hat Pirates were scattered across the wood, sharing stories and rations with the Revolutionary soldiers. The tension of the battle had begun to melt away, replaced by the resilient spirit of the crew. Luffy sat atop the figurehead, his rubbery appetite finally returning in full force as Sanji brought out a massive platter of roasted Sea King meat.
"You really grabbed the lightning, Luffy?" Usopp asked, his eyes wide enough to fall out of his head. "Like, you just... picked it up and rubberized it? That's impossible! Even for a Devil Fruit!"
"Shishishi! Yeah!" Luffy laughed, a massive piece of meat hanging from his mouth. "It felt like rubber! Dad made the wind really pushy and the clouds really 'buzzy,' so I just grabbed the sparkly ropes and threw them at the big dark guy! It was fun!"
Zoro sat nearby, cross-legged, slowly running a whetstone over the edge of Wado Ichimonji. His eyes were closed, replaying the moment his Haki had sliced through Shiryu's nothingness.
The 'Calculus of the Blade,' he thought. I felt it. For a second, the world wasn't just things to cut. It was a map of pressure and void. If Teach comes back... if he becomes the Void itself... I have to be able to cut the shadow before it touches the ground.
Nico Robin stood near Jinbe, her expression thoughtful as she watched the interaction between Dragon and the crew. "The connection between Dragon and Luffy... it was more than just a family reunion, Jinbe. It was the first time the Storm and the Sun worked together in recorded history. The ancient texts say that when the 'D' unites its facets, the world turns upside down. I think we just saw the first gear of the final era turn."
"Indeed," Jinbe rumbled, his arms crossed over his chest. "But a turning gear can crush those caught in the teeth. We must be ready for the friction."
The crew shared a moment of rare peace, a brief lull in the storm of their lives. They had saved Garp. They had stood against the darkest man on the ocean and survived. They were a family, and for the moment, that was enough.
But as the sun began to set, casting long, orange shadows across the deck, every member of the Straw Hats felt a subtle, cold chill. They knew that the battle on Hachinosu wasn't the end. It was the prologue.
The world was holding its breath. In the dark, crushing depths of the sea, an island was waiting to rise like a drowned corpse. In the high, sterile towers of Mary Geoise, a God was preparing to strike. And in the middle of it all, a boy with a straw hat was just finishing his dinner, his grin wide and his heart light, ready for whatever the dark decided to bring next.
To be continued...