"You little bastard… tell me… tell me! How did you know?!"
Xebec's roar tore across the heavens like thunder. His saber howled as he swung, the air itself splitting before the void-black slash he unleashed. It was no ordinary attack—this was space itself rending apart, a crescent of annihilation that sought to consume everything in its path.
But I was already moving.
With both blades drawn—Shusui crackling with black lightning and Akatsuki wrapped in scarlet flame—I unleashed my own strike. The air screamed as my slash met his, black lightning ripping through the void.
The two forces collided midair. For an instant, the world seemed to pause. Then—BOOOOOOM!—the clash detonated, a collision of void and lightning that exploded outward in a shockwave that could have leveled a mountain. The heavens rippled violently, clouds scattering as if fleeing the wrath of gods.
"ROOOAR!" Xebec's Conqueror's Haki surged outward like a tidal wave, his aura a beast without chains. But my will was no less ferocious. My Haki surged to meet his, our spirits colliding like storms. The clash tore the Birdcage overhead, threads snapping under the sheer pressure, yet still it held—barely.
We moved again, two streaks in the sky, blades sparking as they met.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Each strike sent shockwaves rippling across Coral Port, sparks cascading like meteors as steel rang against steel. Xebec's strikes were monstrous, each swing of his saber heavy enough to split the sea itself. My body trembled beneath the weight of his fury, but my blades—my will—refused to break.
He came from above, saber wreathed in void, descending like judgment incarnate. I met him with crossed blades, Shusui and Akatsuki screaming as they locked against his weapon. The impact rippled the air, the ground far below cratering as if struck by a meteor.
Our eyes met in that instant—his burning with fury and pride, mine with cold defiance. Then we exploded apart, only to collide again midair.
Each clash was an echo of legends, blade auras carving the sky into ribbons of shadow and lightning. The heavens themselves became a battlefield of tearing energies, each of us unwilling to yield even a fraction of ground.
"Your will is strong, brat!" Xebec snarled, slashing upward with such force the very stars seemed to tremble. "But it will never surpass mine!"
I spun, both blades arcing, and roared in reply. "Then let's test it, old bastard—whose will rules the seas!" Our blades collided once more, and the heavens screamed.
While gods clashed above, Coral Port burned. The entire harbor had become an inferno, consumed by two domains of flame. One burned gold—the ravenous, all-devouring soul flame of Charlotte Linlin. The other blazed purple-black, a hellish inferno that twisted the air and bled into the stone—Doflamingo's flames of damnation. Together, they turned the port into a sea of fire, each breath drawn in that battlefield tasting like ash and brimstone.
"MAMAMAMAMAMA!" Linlin bellowed, her saber Prometheus cleaving downward, engulfed in golden fire and Armament Haki. Each swing was a hurricane of destruction, splitting the ground and carving trenches of molten stone. But Doflamingo was no longer simply a man.
He strode through the inferno like a demon reborn, strings lashing outward, flames writhing around him, spiked seastone gauntlets gleaming with murderous hunger. With every clash, sparks erupted as his fists met her blade head-on.
BOOOM!
The ground split apart, stone melting into magma beneath their feet. Linlin swung horizontally, her saber roaring with Homie's soul. Doflamingo ducked low, a flaming fist arcing upward, seastone spikes grinding against her blade, sparks exploding in all directions.
"Hiken: Imperial Lance…!"
Then he lashed out with his fist. A torrent of black flame shot outward, weaving into a thousand spears that fell upon her like a storm.
Linlin roared, her Conqueror's Haki bursting outward, shattering dozens of flaming black spears in an instant. But some sliced deep into her skin, leaving trails of crimson that hissed against her soul-flame.
"Fufufufufu…!" Doflamingo's laugh was venomous, reverberating through the inferno. "Bleed, hag! Bleed, and let the world see your era crumble!"
Linlin answered with a thunderous swing, her saber cleaving through his attack. Fire and lightning collided, sending ships in the harbor flying like toys. Their auras swelled higher, ethereal giants forming behind them.
Linlin swung down with the weight of an unstoppable mountain. Doflamingo met her strike with a rising uppercut, his flames shrieking against her soul-fire. The shockwave tore through the cage itself, rattling its very foundations.
The port burned. The sky split. The seas roared. And in the midst of that inferno, two titans raged—one a relic of the old world, the other a demon of the new.
****
Just outside the Birdcage, Señor Pink stood rigid, his face pale and sweat rolling down his brow. His arms trembled as he poured every ounce of Haki he possessed into the monstrous construct, reinforcing the cage to contain the devastation. But the battlefield inside was no ordinary clash.
If Doflamingo and Linlin's duel below was tearing at the land and sea, then the battle above—between Rosinante and Xebec—was unraveling reality itself. Every swing of their blades shook the very fabric of space, each clash threatening to shred the Birdcage into ribbons.
"Damn it…" Señor muttered, his teeth biting down so hard that his gums bled. Threads trembled under his control, groaning as though they were alive. "I can't… hold this much longer."
At his side, Issho—calm, blind eyes closed—understood the truth. If this carnage spread beyond Coral Port, the entire island of Dressrosa would be annihilated. That was something he could not allow. He inhaled deeply, fingers curling around the hilt of his shikomizue.
"Señor," Issho said, his voice steady but heavy with resolve, "just hold on… for a few moments more."
Then, with deliberate grace, he unsheathed his blade. A pulse of violet energy rippled outward, soft at first, then building into a resonant hum that set the very air trembling. Purple lightning arced around his form, crackling like the wrath of the heavens. His Conqueror's Haki rolled outward like a rising tide, calm yet unstoppable, pressing into every corner of the Birdcage.
Issho raised his blade, then slowly plunged it into the earth. The ground answered.
BOOOOOM.
Waves of gravity surged outward, invisible yet undeniable, sinking into the very bones of the island. At first, it seemed as though nothing had changed. But then the earth itself groaned, a deep, primal rumble that shook Dressrosa to its foundations.
Coral Port buckled. The streets fractured. The sea surrounding it spiraled violently. And then, impossibly—the land rose.
The entire section of the island, Birdcage and all, tore itself free from Dressrosa's body, ripped upward by Issho's will. Mountains groaned and snapped, water cascaded in great waterfalls from the edges, and the port screamed as it was wrenched from the sea. The island was flying.
Señor's eyes widened in disbelief. Even with all his faith in Issho, the sight defied comprehension. But the strain was immense. For this was no ordinary lift.
Beneath his feet stood not just civilians or soldiers—but titans. Doflamingo, Rosinante, Xebec, and Linlin. Four monsters whose Conqueror's Haki weighed upon the land like the chains of the world itself. The ground pulsed with their wills, every clash sending shockwaves of spiritual gravity crashing into Issho's own.
Sweat poured down his face, veins bulging along his neck as his grip tightened on the shikomizue. Even for a man who could summon meteorites with ease, this was different. This was heavier.
"Ngghh…" His teeth grit, his knuckles white against his blade's hilt. His body trembled, the sheer pressure threatening to crush him into the dirt. "Even with strength enough to split the heavens… their wills… weigh more than mountains…"
Still, he endured.
"MAMAMAMAMAMA!" Linlin's laughter split the sky, her voice booming over the roar of fire and stone. "My, my… your little crew is full of surprises! But did that blind man really think I'd let him do as he pleased?"
Her colossal feet planted firmly into the ground, golden soul-flame bursting outward in a tidal wave of resistance. She roared as her Conqueror's Haki lashed against Issho's gravitational pull, her sheer will dragging the island back toward the sea.
The flying landmass shuddered, caught between the pull of a god and the defiance of a goddess. But Linlin's moment of triumph lasted only a heartbeat.
"Are you sure…" A mocking voice slithered through the inferno. "…you can afford to be distracted while fighting me?"
Her eyes widened as her observation haki flared. Doflamingo was already there, in her guard, his entire body blazing with cursed black inferno. His right fist roared with fire and red lightning, Conqueror's Haki entwined into a storm of pure annihilation. The air warped around it, strings lashing out in a crown of crimson.
His grin was the grin of a demon.
"Inferno Purgatory!"
BOOOOOOM!
The fist crashed toward Linlin's face, a comet of flame and destruction. She managed to raise her arm at the last instant, but the impact detonated against her guard, sending her body flying like a cannonball. She tore through burning buildings, stone and steel collapsing around her as she skidded into the rubble, her massive frame shaking the land.
Her arm smoked, flesh seared, the brunt of the blow leaving her snarling in rage. Above it all, Issho roared.
The Coral Port rose higher and higher, streams of seawater cascading like waterfalls into the ocean below. The Birdcage groaned, threads vibrating as if alive, but still the landmass lifted.
He could not lift all of Dressrosa—not now, not while four titans warred upon it. But this section… this battlefield of gods… he could wrench it away, far from innocents, far from the country that still remained.
"Better to lose a piece…" Issho's voice was strained, sweat dripping into the dust at his feet. "…than the whole."
With one final surge, his Haki flared. Purple lightning cracked across the sky as gravity itself bent to his command.
And then— The torn landmass, with Birdcage and all four titans upon it, hurled itself into the heavens. It tore across the sky like a drifting continent, carried far, far from Dressrosa's shores.
The island of battles was gone. Dressrosa remained.
And Issho—panting, his blade buried deep in the ground—allowed himself the smallest of sighs.
The people would never know how close they had come to extinction.
****
Marineford, Grand Line
The Fleet Admiral's office was unusually quiet, save for the sound of footsteps. Sengoku paced back and forth by the window, his massive frame framed by the afternoon sun bleeding through the blinds. His brows were furrowed so tightly they looked carved into stone. Each step echoed against the polished wooden floor, the steady rhythm of a man drowning in calculations, searching for a solution that refused to exist.
His hand never left his brow, rubbing in circles as though the very act might summon an answer.
On his desk, a small goat—oblivious to the crushing weight of the world—was happily munching away at the stack of documents Sengoku had yet to review. Teeth tore into classified reports, marine ledgers, and sealed envelopes from Mariejois as though they were nothing more than hay.
Admiral Aokiji noticed. His sharp gaze flicked once toward the animal, then back to Sengoku. He opened his mouth to say something—then promptly closed it. He decided against pointing it out. The last thing this room needed was more fire.
Across from him, Admiral Ginshimo sat stiffly, his uniform freshly cleaned but his body still bandaged from his last encounter. The scars of that battle were etched raw across his body and face, a reminder of how close he had come to being crushed beneath the weight of a Yonko. His hands rested on his sheathed blade, posture upright, his presence serene and relaxed in contrast to Aokiji's calm slouch.
And then there was the sound.
"Crunch… crunch… crunch."
The tension was broken by the obnoxious sound of crackers being devoured. On the couch, Vice Admiral Garp leaned back as though he were in his own living room. A tray of Sengoku's finest tea rested beside him, and in his hand was a half-empty box of crackers that he was chewing through with zero restraint. His eyes, though casual, were sharp as they studied the room.
Behind him stood Bogard, silent as ever, like a shadow carved from steel. The man's presence was so commanding that even most admirals treated him with caution. Yet here he was, nothing more than Garp's personal aide—a testament to the infuriating paradox that was Garp.
Every crunch of the crackers echoed louder and louder in Sengoku's skull. His temples throbbed, his lips tightened, and his steps became sharper. The goat's munching was one thing—but Garp's chewing, in the midst of crisis, was unbearable.
Finally, Sengoku snapped.
"GARP! You bastard!" Sengoku's roar shook the glass panes. He spun on his heel, his fist slamming down on his desk with such force that the goat bleated in protest. "If you aren't going to help with the situation, then get out of my office! Don't you have your own damn office!?"
Crumbs spilled down Garp's chest as he calmly raised his teacup. "Well," he said with his mouth still half-full, "the snacks in my room are empty. And no one's restocked the tea." He sipped from Sengoku's personal reserve of premium tea, sighing in satisfaction. "So yours will have to do."
Sengoku's body trembled. His hand hovered dangerously close to flipping the entire table over and pummeling Garp into the floor. Only the presence of Aokiji and Ginshimo kept him tethered to sanity. With a deep breath, he turned away, deciding—forcing himself—to act as though the man didn't exist.
"...Enough of this," Sengoku said, his voice lower, tighter, but no less furious. His gaze landed on the two Admirals. "This matter is going to be troublesome. Even with two admirals on escort, we failed to secure the Celestial Tribute."
The silence in the room thickened. Sengoku wasn't blaming them, not directly. But the weight of failure hung in the air. Ginshimo was the first to speak, his voice steady despite the raw honesty in it.
"She was stronger than me, Fleet Admiral. There was no way I could have handled her alone while also protecting the tribute. Admiral Aokiji here had his hands full keeping the rest of their crew occupied and our men alive. Their cadres are… formidable. We should revisit their bounties, especially those top Charlotte siblings."
His jaw tightened at the admission. He had faced Yonko Scarlett D. Lachlan herself, a duel that pushed him to the brink. He had gained clarity in swordsmanship after his clash with Rosinante back in Sabaody, yes—but it had not been enough. She had forced him back, and in the end, she had chosen not to capture the Tribute ship, but to annihilate it entirely, sending the World Government's wealth to the depths of the sea.
Aokiji finally spoke, his tone casual but his words heavy.
"I saved who I could. Gold can be replaced. Men can't."
The disappointment on Sengoku's face was clear, though restrained. He couldn't truly fault them—they had faced a Yonko and returned alive with most of their men. But excuses meant nothing to the Gorosei. To them, this would be painted as nothing but Marine incompetence. And Sengoku would be the one to shoulder the blame.
A low chuckle cut through the air.
"You're pressing them too hard, Sengoku," Garp said, his tone suddenly absent of its usual frivolity. He set the teacup down, his face losing its smile. "We all knew the kind of powder keg the New World is and who exactly controls the power over in those seas. You thought those pirates would let something as juicy as the Heavenly Tribute sail by without a fight? Heh… then you've forgotten the kind of place New World is..."
The room grew still. Even the goat stopped chewing. Garp's eyes, sharp as blades, stared into the past. His voice was not playful now—it was edged with memory, with the weight of scars unseen.
"Back in the day, it took everything I had just to tear an arm off her. And even then… she escaped. Broken, bleeding, with half her body ruined—she still escaped."
His fist clenched around the cracker box, crushing it into crumbs.
"She isn't like the riffraff running wild in the New World now. She was the kind of monster that even the old monsters of the sea thought twice before crossing. A titan. A storm. A true pirate of the seas from the previous era."
Sengoku said nothing. Neither did the admirals. The only sound was Garp's voice, low and steady, heavy with truth.
"So what, Garp?" Sengoku's voice carried both exhaustion and steel as he stopped pacing, finally turning to face his lifelong comrade. "You expect me to go to the Elders and give them that excuse?"
His sigh was heavy. The weight on his shoulders was heavier still. Fighting a Yonko was never simple. It wasn't just their overwhelming individual power—it was the battlefield itself. The New World was a crucible of monsters, a sea where only the strongest could endure. The Yonko ruled it as apex predators, kings of a food chain where even the Marines were outsiders.
If the Marines ever chose to directly confront one of them, they would have to mobilize nearly their entire strength. And even then, victory wasn't guaranteed. Worse still—it was not practical. The Marines could not commit the bulk of their forces to a single fight while leaving the rest of the world exposed.
"NO!" Garp's sudden bark of laughter echoed off the office walls, drawing a twitch from Sengoku's brow. "You just have to go and tell those old bastards this—if they want to collect their blood money in the New World, then next time, they can send their own damn forces to do it!"
Sengoku pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling slowly. The idea of watching Garp argue with the Gorosei directly was a nightmare in itself. He sank back into his chair, exhaling in resignation.
There was no point in pressing him further. Sengoku knew this man too well. He could waste an hour screaming at Garp and get nowhere—or he could accept the value of his presence. After all, Garp had only just returned from one of his "vacations."
Keeping him anchored at Marineford was already a victory. Even if Garp never officially took on missions, his mere existence here was enough to steady the HQ. With both himself and Garp holding Marineford, Sengoku could move the Admirals like chess pieces without worrying about their fortress being vulnerable.
"Fine," Sengoku muttered. "There is nothing more we can do right now. I'll submit both of your reports directly to the Elders and hope they can see the bigger picture."
His words barely finished before a hurried knock rattled the office door.
"Come in!" Sengoku commanded.
A young Marine officer burst inside, his face pale with urgency. He snapped a sharp salute before blurting out, "Sir, we've received an urgent missive from one of our New World scout ships! They were monitoring the borders of Donquixote waters!"
The room shifted instantly. Even Bogard—silent as stone until now—straightened ever so slightly at the name.
"Donquixote…" Sengoku repeated, his eyes narrowing.
The officer nodded quickly. "Fleet Admiral, we don't have all the details yet, but it seems something major has gone down in Dressrosa. Our reports speculate—" he swallowed hard—"that two Yonko crews are currently clashing within Donquixote territory."
The room froze.
"What!?" Sengoku surged to his feet, palms slamming down on his desk. The goat bleated in protest as papers scattered. "A clash between Yonko!? That's impossible!"
But even as he barked the words, Sengoku paused. His mind was already spinning, sharp as a whetted blade. They had no scout ships inside Donquixote waters—any Marine vessel that dared trespass was immediately destroyed. For them to have received intelligence…
"Did one of our ships make it through?" he demanded. His eyes drilled into the officer like cannons.
The Marine hesitated, stumbling over his words. "N-no, Fleet Admiral. None of our vessels entered their waters. But… the scout ship outside Donquixote territory picked up the shockwaves."
"Shockwaves?" Sengoku's voice lowered, dangerous.
"Yes, sir. The disturbances were so massive, the aftershocks are estimated to have to be carried over a thousand nautical miles. Tidal waves. Atmospheric ruptures. The crew thought it was a natural disaster, but… no. It's a battle. We tried sending in two more ships for confirmation, but—as always—they were shot down before entering Donquixote waters."
Sengoku's gaze fell away from the officer, his mind racing faster than the words.
A thousand nautical miles away…? And still they felt it? What kind of clash could generate such devastation…? What kind of monsters are moving in Dressrosa?
He didn't waste another heartbeat. His eyes snapped toward Garp—the only man in the world he trusted for moments like this.
"Garp," Sengoku said firmly, his voice iron, "I want to know exactly what's happening in Dressrosa. If possible, I want you to see it yourself. Confirm the situation."
Garp's grin spread instantly. He had already risen from the couch, draping his justice coat across his shoulders with Bogard at his side. He needed no further prompting—his instincts had flared the moment Dressrosa was mentioned.
But Sengoku wasn't done. His sharp gaze flicked toward the admirals. Garp was too unpredictable. If left to his own devices, he'd spend a week drinking with Rosinante and call it reconnaissance. Sengoku needed insurance.
"Kuzan," Sengoku ordered, turning his eyes to Aokiji, "you're going with him." Aokiji gave a lazy shrug, rising from his chair, his Justice coat fluttering as he stretched. "Guess I'm headed south, then."
"Ginshimo," Sengoku continued, his voice firm but not unkind, "you stay here at HQ. Recover. We'll need you ready for what comes next."
Finally, his gaze returned to the Marine officer. "I want constant updates. Every movement, every ripple from the Four Emperors—if a leaf falls in the New World, I want to hear it."
"Yes, sir!" the officer saluted before sprinting from the room.
Already, Garp and Bogard were out the door, Aokiji's heavy footsteps following them down the hall. Ginshimo remained seated, silent, watching Sengoku with the respect only a true warrior could offer.
Left with these new turbulent events, Sengoku leaned back in his chair. His fists tightened, his mind already five steps ahead, assembling possibilities, outcomes, contingencies. The Gorosei would want answers. The Marines needed strength. And the world—the world was trembling again.