With the unexpected arrival of Shanks and the retreat of Blackbeard along with the remainder of his battered crew, the savage conflict finally sputtered to a halt. At least for the time being, the battlefield grew still, though the tension still remained in the air.
The aftermath left a haunting silence in its wake. By this point, nearly half of the island had already succumbed to the sea, slowly breaking apart and sinking beneath the ocean's surface. It would only be a matter of hours before the rest of it vanished completely, swallowed whole by the depths.
Thanks to the Red Hair Pirates' ship doctor, those who had sustained injuries were promptly treated. Under Shanks's firm but compassionate insistence, the surviving members of the Whitebeard Pirates were offered sanctuary aboard the Red Force until a safer destination could be reached. Considering the bleakness of their situation, with no ship to command, no supplies to sustain them, and barely enough strength left to stand, Marco and the others did not even entertain the notion of refusing the Yonko's generosity. Refusal required energy they no longer possessed.
There were moments when pride offered nothing but death, and this was one of them..
Marco, burdened by the mantle of leadership passed down to him by their late captain, was left with no choice but to focus entirely on safeguarding what remained of his shattered family. Beneath his calm exterior, guilt gnawed ruthlessly at his spirit. He knew he had already failed his crew once, allowing them to fall into this devastating state under his command, command that had been entrusted to him by the man they all revered as Father. And now, with so many brothers slain, Marco could not allow even one more life to be lost due to what he perceived as his own inadequacies. The thought alone tightened in his chest like a relentless fist. He refused to fail them again.
On the deck of the Red Force, several members of the Whitebeard Pirates sat in heavy silence. Their faces were drawn, hollow, and shadowed with despair, their eyes fixed on the distant horizon as if they hoped to find something out there that no longer existed. Others remained inside the infirmary, wrapped from head to toe in bandages, their minds drowning in grief and exhaustion.
Now that the fury of battle had faded, the crushing weight of reality settled over them in full. The pain they had ignored for hours demanded attention, and the emotional wounds cut even deeper than the physical ones. They had just finished burying their fallen brothers on the very island that had served both as battleground and graveyard.
When they had first set sail to hunt down Teach, every man among them had done so with a single, burning purpose: to avenge Whitebeard and the brothers they had lost, including Thatch. They had embraced the idea of death long before they reached the battlefield. They had accepted that they might perish. They had vowed to draw their final breath with blades in hand, if that was what justice required. They were ready to rest beside those whose memory they carried into war.
And so, Marco and the others had not hesitated to lay their fallen crewmates to rest on that crumbling island. Though they had failed to kill Teach, they refused to let themselves believe their sacrifice had been meaningless. Each grave they dug was a promise: they would not let their comrades be forgotten.
Tears flowed freely as the Whitebeard Pirates collected the lifeless bodies of their brothers. Some corpses were missing limbs, others mutilated beyond recognition, yet not a single one of them needed help in identifying the fallen.
They had lived together for too long, fought side by side across too many seas, shared too many scars, jokes, and late night stories. No disfigurement could ever hide the presence of someone who was family.
Strangely, none of the dead whose faces remained intact showed even a flicker of fear. Their expressions were still, peaceful even, as if they had faced their end with unwavering resolve and accepted the price of their loyalty without regret.
As for the enemies who had served under Blackbeard, no mercy was extended toward them. Whether those subordinates lay dead or merely wounded, they were given no funeral, no ritual, and no words of farewell. Marco and the others cast their bodies into the frigid sea without hesitation.
The act carried no triumph, only cold necessity. There was no room in their hearts for compassion toward those who had dared stain the name of Whitebeard. The ocean swallowed the enemy corpses without ceremony, a fitting end for those who had brought nothing but betrayal and bloodshed.
.
.
.
Staring at the quiet, despondent group before them, the Red Hair Pirates could scarcely comprehend what they were seeing. Never in all their years of sailing the Grand Line did they imagine that the proud remnants of their old rivals, the once mighty Whitebeard Pirates, would one day sit in such somber silence upon the deck of their ship. The sight alone struck them harder than any blow landed in battle.
One of the Red Hair crew members leaned slightly toward the man beside him, keeping his voice low and soft, almost as though speaking too loudly might disturb the fragile atmosphere surrounding the survivors.
"They really went through hell, did they not?" he whispered.
The other man nodded gravely, exhaling a long sigh that seemed to carry a thousand thoughts.
"Blinded by grief and the thirst for vengeance… They charged ahead without caring for what might happen. Honestly, it's no surprise they ended up like this."
Around them, the rest of the crew remained quiet. The silence that wrapped around the deck felt almost sacred, the kind that made men reflect on their own lives, their own crews, and the terrifying possibility that they could one day face the same fate. A hush settled as each man pictured the devastation that could have been theirs.
Among pirates, loyalty was sacred. A single act of treachery could shatter an entire crew, corrupting it from within like a poisoned wound. And with someone as deceitful as Marshall D Teach among the Whitebeard Pirates, their collapse now felt tragically inevitable. Betrayal of that magnitude could topple even the strongest of families.
The soft, familiar sound of approaching footsteps made the men turn. Their captain was walking toward them.
"Captain!""
Shanks nodded at them, before sweeping his gaze across the deck. He appeared to be searching for someone, and his frown deepened when he did not find who he sought.
"Captain, if you're looking for Marco, that guy is over there," one of the men said while pointing toward the far side of the ship.
Following the man's gesture, Shanks spotted the blond-haired man standing alone near the railing, his figure bathed in moonlight, staring silently out at the endless ocean as if hoping it would provide answers he could never find on land.
"Instead of sitting here doing nothing, why don't the two of you go ahead and clean up the store rooms?" Shanks grinned at the two men from hiw crew, before making his way to the blonde haired man, ignoring the groans from the two behind him.
Reaching the older man in no time, he casually leaned his back against the railing, with his one and only arm resting on top of it. He raised his head towards the sky, watching the stars and clouds with a peaceful look on his face.
Marco did not flinch or even acknowledge Shanks's sudden approach. It was as if he had already known he was there.
Neither spoke at first. They simply stood there, side by side, two captains united not by rivalry but by the quiet aftermath of destruction.
Eventually, Marco broke the stillness.
"Thank you. For coming," he murmured. His voice was rough, worn thin by exhaustion and the countless emotions he had been forced to swallow. "If it were not for you… every single one of us would be dead."
"Finding you was not exactly simple. Honestly, we would not have arrived in time if it had not been for a certain someone."
"Wasn't easy finding you. Honestly, we wouldn't have made it in time if it weren't for a certain someone's help."
Marco's lips twitched faintly. "Kitsune?"
"Yes," Shanks confirmed with a small chuckle. "That one."
"Figures. That woman has the uncanny ability to track down her brothers no matter where they wander," Marco muttered. "I wouldn't be surprised if she has placed an invisible tracker on Ace, yoi."
Shanks chuckled, before informing him of their plan. "We will head to Uzu. You and the others can stay there for as long as you need. I heard Akainu is on his way here as well. No doubt the marines already know something is wrong."
Marco nodded. No emotion could be seen on his face, even his eyes appeared to be so void without anything to tell the world about his inner feelings. It was like the man did not feel anything at all. Yet the tension in his hands betrayed him. His fingers dug into the railing with such intensity that the veins bulged starkly beneath his skin, the strain revealing the truth he refused to voice.
Shanks, of course, noticed this.
For a moment, the two men fell silent again. The gentle crash of waves against the hull filled the space between them. The ship creaked and swayed, a living reminder of the sea's ever-present breath.
Then Shanks spoke again, his voice low but firm.
"You never really saw yourself as a captain, did you… Marco?"
The question struck Marco like a blow to the chest. His entire body stiffened, and he inhaled quietly as though the words themselves carried weight. When he finally answered, his voice was heavy, every word pulled from somewhere deep inside him.
"Edward Newgate will always be the only real captain of the Whitebeard Pirates."
It was not merely an opinion. It was truth carved into the marrow of his being.
Marco had been one of the first to join Whitebeard's crew when it had barely begun to form. He had grown from a young boy into a formidable man beneath Whitebeard's guidance, mentored and shaped into a leader until he eventually rose to command the First Division. The ship had been more than a vessel. It had been his home. A place filled with brothers and sisters. A life built around Whitebeard's enormous presence and unwavering ideals.
And he was not alone in that sentiment. Every one of the commanders had grown up under that same roof.
That was what made Teach's betrayal unbearably cruel. Perhaps even more so for Marco than for Ace. And perhaps it was that same bitter pain that drove Marco to lead the remnants of their once proud crew into a battle that they were not ready for, throwing everything they had into the desperate attempt to end Teach once and for all.
But they had failed. Teach slipped away again. And more than half of their family was now dead because of it.
Marco had never expected Shanks to intervene. He had certainly never expected him to save them. Yet here he stood, alive, breathing, and drowning in guilt so heavy it threatened to drag him beneath the sea.
Marco let out a bitter, joyless laugh, a rasp that came from somewhere dark.
'I am nothing but a failure. Oyaji… I failed you. I could not protect them. I could not protect a single one of them.'
Shanks did not respond immediately. Instead, his mind wandered to a memory from decades past, a memory from when the Roger Pirates and Whitebeard Pirates clashed in a battle so tremendous it lasted three days and nights. On the fourth day, the two crews shared drinks and stories as if they had never tried to kill each other. In those days, Shanks remembered seeing a teenaged Marco standing proudly beside a much quieter and strangely unsettling Teach. He and Buggy used to joke about Teach's odd mannerisms back then.
The memory made a faint ache pulse beneath the three scars carved over Shanks's left eye. He resisted the urge to touch them.
"You know, Marco," he began, his voice soft yet carrying a steadiness that demanded attention, "you need to see this entire ordeal for what it truly is. A lesson. A harsh one, sure, but a necessary one. I understand how you feel. I really do. Trying to lead a crew when you have not even accepted the role of captain is like trying to steer a ship through a storm with no compass. And going after Teach when your crew was already at its lowest point? That was not bravery. That was recklessness."
Marco did not answer, but the railing creaked softly under his tightening grip.
Shanks continued, his voice gaining a quiet intensity.
"It is not that Teach does not deserve what is coming. Trust me, I would love nothing more than to put an end to him myself. But that is not the priority right now. What matters is the crew you still have. The ones who survived. They are still here, still breathing, and they are looking to you for guidance. If you lose yourself now, they will lose themselves too. Do not let them drift any further."
Shanks pushed himself away from the railing, brushing off the front of his coat. Just before stepping away, he glanced back one more time, his expression steady and unwavering.
"If you truly want to honor Whitebeard's legacy… then stand tall. Accept the role he trusted you with. Protect your family. That is the responsibility of a captain."
With those final words, he turned and began to walk away. His footsteps gradually blended with the sounds of the sea, leaving Marco alone with the endless ocean, the memories of the past, and the truth he could no longer hide from.