Whitebeard's gaze hardened, the air around him rumbling with the low growl of restrained fury. The wind, heavy with the scent of salt and storm, swept across the deck of Anne's Grace, tugging at his massive white coat like an omen. Opposite him stood Doflamingo—smiling, languid, utterly unafraid—his pink feathers swaying gently, like a serpent coiled in silk.
"Speak plainly, Doflamingo…" Whitebeard finally said, voice thick as thunder. "What do you truly want in exchange for letting the fishmen settle on Punk Hazard?"
He already knew the man wasn't here out of sympathy. People like Doflamingo never acted out of kindness; they acted out of calculus. And Whitebeard, after everything that happened, had finally begun to see the larger board—one where the World Government moved pieces while the Yonko entertained themselves with illusions of power.
Doflamingo's grin widened, the lenses of his shades flashing dangerously.
"Fufufufufu… What I want?" he murmured, stepping forward, arms spread as if offering the world. "What I've always wanted—chaos."
The word cracked like a whip.
"I want the world to spiral so far out of control that those cowards on the red throne will be forced to crawl out from behind their masks. I want to rip the peace they fabricated into shreds and watch them scramble."
He dropped his arms, his voice sharpening like a blade.
"And what I want from you, Whitebeard… is for you to stop pretending." A tremor rippled through the ship—not from battle, but from the sheer tension between the two titans.
"Throw away that charade of being the benevolent king of the seas. Stop sitting on your rotting throne, hoarding sons and calling it a family while the enemy burns the world around you."
Whitebeard's jaw tightened.
Doflamingo stepped closer. His smile faded. His voice turned to iron.
"They took your pride." A step closer. "They took the lives of your sons." Another step. "And they erased an entire race you called your kin."
Silence crushed the deck. Whitebeard's fingers curled on the hilt of his bisento. The memory of Fishman Island—broken, drowned, silent—stabbed into him like a spear.
"I want you," Doflamingo continued, "to be what you were born to be. A natural disaster. A force of nature. The kind of pirate who makes the world government tremble just hearing your name. I want you to step to the front of the stage and tear at their throats, force their hand, expose the filth they hide behind."
Whitebeard exhaled slowly, the breath shaking the air itself. "You play a dangerous game, Doflamingo…"
Doflamingo let out a single, sharp laugh.
"Dangerous? Aren't we all playing a dangerous game, Whitebeard? The only difference is this—up until now, you've been playing on a child's board. A fake battlefield the world government built for you, where everyone pretends the balance matters."
He tilted his head.
"But the real battlefield is out there… behind the curtain. And you've let yourself grow soft pretending otherwise." He pointed toward the sea—toward the Red Line, toward the heart of the world.
"You've forgotten the first law of these seas… Peace was never an option. Not as long as they rule from the shadows."
The words hung in the wind, heavy as fate. And for the first time in years, Whitebeard felt the old fire—the fire from an era when he and Rocks shook the heavens—roaring back to life.
"Fine… if that is what it takes—then I'll do it." Whitebeard's voice rumbled like distant thunder, ancient and heavy with a resolve that shook the deck of Anne's Grace. "I will no longer pretend that everything is fine as long as I am left alone. Even if you hadn't put forth that condition… I was already going to settle my scores with them."
Marco's breath hitched. "Pops—we can't just—"
But Whitebeard silenced him with a single raised hand. That gesture alone carried decades of history—gentle, commanding, and absolute. Marco's protest died on his tongue. He saw it in his father's eyes: something had changed; something old had awakened.
For decades Whitebeard had sat upon a throne he never asked for, allowing the world to balance itself around him. He thought the lack of interference meant respect or fear. But Fishman Island proved the truth. They had never feared him. They had merely used him.
A stagnant emperor was as good as a chained one—an immovable cornerstone that upheld the fragile illusion of balance the World Government crafted. And when a race under his unofficial protection was exterminated beneath the Red Line, Whitebeard finally understood: they never cared for his sphere of influence. They simply trusted he would never bite back. Now he would.
A slow, delighted grin spread across Doflamingo's face as he watched the world's strongest man awaken from his long slumber.
Rosinante, leaning against the railing with arms casually folded, caught Doflamingo's eye. A silent exchange passed between the brothers—understanding, calculation, inevitability. Rosinante gave a single nod. Doflamingo turned back to Whitebeard.
"Well… now that you've shown your sincerity, it is only right that I reciprocate in kind."
The pink-feathered tyrant lifted a hand lazily, as though he were merely discussing weather patterns.
"You may keep Punk Hazard for as long as you draw breath. I will not contest it. And I will ensure the fishmen have everything they need—food, medicine, manpower, and safety. Until they can stand on their own, the Donquixote family will support them without hesitation."
Whitebeard exhaled, the weight in his broad chest easing ever so slightly. He did not thank him—men like these rarely wasted words—but a nod passed between them, heavy with meaning. But Doflamingo wasn't finished.
"And now," Doflamingo continued, his voice slipping into something colder, sharper, "I have a request of my own for the both of you." His sunglasses hid his eyes, but Marco felt the temperature drop.
"I want you to keep the truth about Shirahoshi to yourselves. From everyone," he added, "including your own crew."
He said it as a request. It did not sound like one. Whitebeard's brows furrowed. Doflamingo's tone left no room for negotiation. Shirahoshi's significance was more than political—it was mythic, world-shaking. Whitebeard grasped instantly why the Donquixote family guarded her so fiercely.
Doflamingo gestured casually toward the group behind him. Arlnold sat stiffly, scarred hands clenched, sorrow and rage buried deep beneath a veneer of control.
Beside him, Prince Fukaboshi kept Shirahoshi close, one protective arm curled around her trembling shoulders. The boy's eyes—usually warm—were flat with distrust as he stared at the Whitebeard Pirates. Only Arnold and Rosinante earned even a shred of his trust.
Whitebeard understood the message beneath the scene: These two children have already been claimed. And the Donquixote family protects their own with terrifying fervor. After a long moment, Whitebeard answered quietly,
"…Very well."
But in his heart, he made a promise. When Neptune woke, he would ask the king himself what future he envisioned for his children. No matter the decision, Whitebeard would ensure their safety. And for now… under the Donquixote family's wing, the children would not come to harm.
The sea wind howled between the three great figures—two emperors and one ghostlike shadow leaning over the railing—and somewhere in the distance, the world trembled. This was not a treaty. Not an agreement. Not even a negotiation.
This was the moment two monsters stopped pretending the world government's leash held them. And in the silence that followed, even the ocean seemed to hold its breath.
****
Wanokuni, New World
"BOOOOM…!"
Onigashima shuddered as if the island itself feared the monster that ruled it. The air trembled; the clouds above twisted into a spiraling storm. Kaido's kanabo came down again—an iron comet wrapped in thunder—slamming Ryuji deeper into the crater carved by Kaido's rage.
If not for the overwhelming life force of Ryuji's Mythical Zoan devil fruit, his body would have been reduced to pulp long ago.
"I LEFT YOU IN CHARGE OF MY DOMAIN—MY KINGDOM—AND YOU TELL ME SOME RAT FROM THE DONQUIXOTE FAMILY WALKED IN AND OUT OF WANO LIKE A GODDAMN TOURIST… AND YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHY?"
Kaido's roar blew apart the surrounding rubble, sending chunks of stone skidding across the battlefield like fleeing insects. This wasn't mere anger. This was humiliation. This was fear twisted into fury.
He had already suffered the disgrace of Water 7—his armies outmaneuvered, his ambitions exposed. But this… this was different. Wano was his fortress, his iron throne, his impenetrable kingdom. And someone had intruded.
Freely. Effortlessly. Unopposed.
The first thing Kaido checked upon returning was Caesar—the linchpin of his entire artificial Devil Fruit plan. If Caesar had been touched, Kaido would have torn Ryuji in half on the spot. But the Donquixote pirates hadn't even looked for him. That alone terrified Kaido more than losing Caesar ever could.
It meant only one thing: their goal was more important than SMILEs. More important than Caesar's research. More important than anything Kaido believed he controlled. A cold memory slithered back into his mind—Douglas Bullet's words from years ago, spoken casually while plotting Oden's downfall.
"There's a Road Poneglyph hidden in Wano. If you dig deep enough, you'll find it."
Kaido had searched for years turning Wano upside down. Every cave. Every shrine. Every forgotten corner. Nothing. But now… now the Donquixote pirates appeared. Not for Caesar. Not for SMILEs. Not for power. And they left without taking anything he could see. A fresh wave of dread curled in Kaido's gut.
"Could they have come for the Road Poneglyph…?" he muttered, voice trembling with a rage that hid something far uglier—uncertainty.
He denied it immediately. He had to.
"No… no, it's impossible. There's no way those bastards knew. No way they found what I couldn't."
But the more he spoke, the less he believed his own words. The thought lodged itself like a poisoned arrow in his skull. Every breath he took only fed its venom. And each heartbeat stoked his fury further. Ryuji clawed his way out of the debris, coughing blood, body twitching from shock and pain.
"Kaido-sama… he—he was too strong. That blind swordsman… I—it was a miracle I survived—"
Kaido's eyes snapped toward him—two burning furnaces. Ryuji felt the weight of death itself press against his spine. Though he bowed, trembling, humiliation simmered behind Ryuji's eyes. He craved carnage. He wanted the world to burn. That desire was the only reason Kaido had kept him as a calamity—he had potential, cruelty, and hunger.
But potential meant nothing before the Beast King. Strength ruled the Beast Pirates. Strength alone determined worth. And in Kaido's eyes, Ryuji was worth less than the dirt he knelt on.
"A MIRACLE?" Kaido snarled. "THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED MAKING THAT MIRACLE WORTH SOMETHING! YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED FIGHTING—NOT CRAWLED BACK LIKE A BROKEN DOG!"
Thunder cracked overhead as lightning danced along Kaido's kanabo. He raised it again. And this time, even Ryuji knew— Kaido wasn't swinging to punish him. Kaido was swinging to erase him.
Ryuji braced himself, muscles coiling, mythical zoan essence surging under his skin as he prepared to transform. If Kaido's kanabo struck him in his human form, there would be nothing left to bury. The club was already descending—wreathed in crackling black lightning as Kaido poured armament and conqueror's haki into it, the full murderous weight of a Yonko behind the blow.
This is it, Ryuji thought, jaw clenched. If I'm going to die, it'll be as a beast—
But before the killing strike could land, a single voice cut through the air—sharp, urgent, the only voice in the Beast Pirates that dared interrupt Kaido's wrath.
"Kaido-sama!"
King.
The kanabo stopped a breath from Ryuji's skull, the wind pressure alone slicing a deep trench beneath him. Ryuji sagged, trembling, as Kaido slowly turned his head.
King stood at the rim of the crater, wings half spread, mask gleaming under the molten torches of Onigashima. His voice remained steady, but only someone who knew him as well as Kaido could hear the fracture buried beneath the composure.
"Kaido-sama… punishing him can wait. You need to see this. Now."
He held out a rolled newspaper—today's edition of the World Times. Kaido's eyes narrowed. He didn't reach for the paper; he simply stood in silence, waiting. King wouldn't have dared interrupt him unless it was something that shook even his iron resolve. King swallowed—subtle, but noticeable.
"Kaido-sama… Fishman Island has been destroyed by the World Government." A beat. "The entire fishman race has been declared hostile. They are being hunted on sight across the first half of the Grand Line."
The words hit the crater like thunder. Even the roaring fires of Onigashima seemed to dim. Ryuji stared. Queen stopped laughing somewhere in the distance. The subordinates, the fodder, even the beasts lurking near the cliffs—all went still.
And Kaido… Kaido froze completely. King stepped closer, his fingers tightening around the paper. His tone remained formal, but the crack in his voice deepened—thin as a fracture in glass, but unmistakable.
"They're exterminating them, Kaido-sama. Every last one they find."
Kaido's gaze shifted—slowly, dangerously—to King. Because Kaido knew something the others didn't. King was Lunarian—the last survivor of a race the World Government had hunted to extinction. And now, before his eyes, another race—another people living under the sun and sea—was suffering the same fate.
For a heartbeat, Kaido saw not his first commander… but a child in chains, wings bloodied, watching his world burn. A low, rumbling growl built in Kaido's chest—deep, primal, shaking the stones beneath them.
He didn't shout. He didn't smash the ground. He simply breathed—and the air trembled under the weight of the fury inside him. Ryuji, still on one knee, felt it first—the shift. The wheels of the world turning. A line being crossed that could never be uncrossed.
Because Kaido knew the truth. The World Government was no longer playing by the rules. Not the fake balance. Not the puppet-game of yonko and warlords and territories. No—someone, somewhere, had forced their hand. Someone had shattered the fragile peace that held the seas together.
And Kaido, who had spent decades waiting for the world to break, felt a single thought—sharp and electric—race through his mind.
"Finally… the storm begins."
Kaido's laughter rolled across the shattered courtyard of Onigashima like an avalanche of thunder—wild, mocking, and full of venom.
"WORORORORORO…!"
The monstrous sound rattled broken pillars and sent loose stones tumbling down the walls. Even the Beast Pirates flinched at the murderous amusement in their captain's voice. Kaido wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, still chuckling darkly.
"Whitebeard… that old fool." His lip curled. "Wasn't he heading to Fishman Island after slinking away from Water 7? Doesn't he proudly call that place his territory?"
He spat on the floor, the glob sizzling on the stone like acid under the sheer heat of his breath.
"To think he couldn't even safeguard his own nest…!" Kaido sneered. "Worororo… if he died there, it'd be a fitting end—better than living long enough to EMBARRASS all pirates!"
But the laughter slowly faded. The grin twisted into something colder—sharper. He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing into slits as the gears turned behind them. Because something wasn't right. Whitebeard was many things—slow, old, stubborn, sentimental.
But weak? No. Not even Kaido would speak that lie to himself. He glanced at King, who still held the newspaper in stiff, trembling hands. The calamity's obsidian wings twitched in agitation—something extremely rare for him.
"Oi, King," Kaido muttered, voice dropping into a low growl. "You said the fishmen were being hunted everywhere… wiped out by a joint campaign from the World Government."
King nodded once. "Yes. The article states the extermination order came directly from the highest authority."
"Then…" Kaido grunted, tapping the butt of his kanabo on the ruined ground, "…if Whitebeard was there—if he was anywhere close—"
He wouldn't have gone quietly. He wouldn't have gone without shaking the entire damn sea. Kaido's grin vanished completely. A heavy silence settled, thick enough to choke on. Ryuji gulped, wiping blood from his chin as he forced himself to remain kneeling.
King spoke first. "Kaido-sama… I do not believe Whitebeard is dead. If he had fallen, the world would be shaking—every news line would be screaming it. And the World Government… they would be celebrating."
Kaido's jaw tightened. Because King was right. Whitebeard dead meant an age-ending shift. It meant a new era starting that very second. It meant every pirate, every kingdom, every warlord scrambling for pieces of a fractured world. No such tremor existed.
Which meant… Kaido let out a long, heavy breath through his nose.
"That bastard didn't die." His grip tightened on his club until the metal whined. "He isn't someone who goes so quietly." He stared at the distant mountains of Wano, eyes glowing with feral insight.
"And if he is holding back even after the fall of Fishman Island… it's because he's saving his strength for something bigger."
The air around him seemed to compress—heavy with the scent of blood, iron, and impending catastrophe. A slow, predatory grin spread across Kaido's face.
"So the world government finally overstepped… and now the Old Man is going to snap." He cracked his neck. "Worororo… good. Let him rage. Let him tear open the sky."
His laughter returned—but this time, there was no mockery in it. Only anticipation. Hunger.
War.
"Because when Whitebeard finally goes to war with the World Government…" Kaido swung his kanabo over his shoulder, eyes blazing with excitement—
"…THIS ENTIRE WORLD WILL BURN WITH HIM!"
And for the first time since arriving back at Onigashima, Ryuji and King understood— Kaido was no longer angry. He was thrilled. Because the balance that held the seas together… had finally begun to crumble. And the chaos that would ensue was exactly what he had been waiting for.
Kaido's massive frame twisted toward Queen, the air itself seeming to tighten under the weight of his killing intent. The wildfire of rage that had consumed him minutes ago did not fade—it condensed, sharpened, becoming something far more dangerous.
Queen, despite his girth, tried to shrink into himself, beads of sweat rolling down his temple. He knew that tone. He knew that look. And he knew Kaido was no longer asking out of curiosity—he was asking as a predator deciding whether the creature in front of him deserved to keep breathing.
"Has the clown made any progress with the SMILE…?" Kaido's voice rumbled low, like distant thunder promised to break. "How close are you fools to perfecting the Ancient Zoan line?"
The words echoed across the scorched courtyard of Onigashima like a verdict.
Kaido wasn't thinking about Water 7 anymore. He wasn't thinking about the blind swordsman or the Donquixote intrusion. His mind was leaping ahead—far ahead—to the storm now rolling across the world. The World Government openly committing genocide. Whitebeard possibly dead or weakened. The seas boiling with chaos. The old balance had shattered. And in chaos… a beast like Kaido thrived.
The earth groaned beneath Kaido's feet as he shifted his grip on the Kanabo. The rage rolling off him was palpable, a storm given flesh. Queen stood far beyond Kaido's immediate reach, sweat beading beneath his glasses despite the cold iron plates of his mechanical arms humming faintly.
"Kaido-sama… we've made progress, but… not much," Queen forced out, voice wavering under the oppressive air. Kaido's single exposed eye flared with violent disappointment.
"So you're telling me you idiots haven't made any progress?" he growled. It wasn't a question—more an accusation, a verdict waiting to fall like a guillotine.
Queen instinctively took a half-step back. Even from here, the weight of Kaido's killing intent pressed down like a mountain. Ryuji, sensing the captain's fury shift targets, carefully slipped into the debris and vanished without a trace. Kaido didn't bother to stop him. His attention was entirely on Queen now.
"Tell that clown Caesar," Kaido snarled, voice dripping with venom, "that if he cannot give me results in the next few weeks… then he no longer has any reason to live."
He lifted his Kanabo onto his shoulder—the motion slow, deliberate. The sight alone made Queen's gut clench. The weapon rested casually there, but the atmosphere was suffocating, the same feeling as standing at the edge of an erupting volcano. Queen bowed so low his forehead nearly scraped the dirt.
"Yes—yes, Kaido-sama! I'll tell him immediately!"
Queen didn't dare reveal the whole truth. That the attempts at ancient Zoan replication had yielded only twisted creatures barely recognizable as living things. That the gap between artificial Zoans and true Ancient Zoans was like the space between earth and sky—vast, unreachable. He swallowed. Hard.
"Good," Kaido muttered, turning away from him to stare toward the distant sea.
Something had changed in Kaido. Something fundamental. Something violent. It wasn't simply anger from Water 7. The destruction of Fishman Island… the world government declaring an entire race an enemy… the implications of Whitebeard possibly being dead or weakened… This wasn't a storm that was coming. It had already begun.
The seas themselves would convulse soon. Kaido could smell it in the air—scented with blood, ambition, and the crumbling façade of order. A war was approaching. A war that wouldn't just shake the New World but devour everything from the Blues to Mariejois itself.
"Worororororo…" Kaido's laughter rumbled, not in amusement, but in anticipation—a predator savoring the scent of prey long before the kill.
"The world's losing its balance," he said. "Perfect. It's time." He looked down at his own hand, knuckles cracking as he tightened his grip. "Prepare every factory. Every weapon. Every ship. And tell the Tobi Roppo to gather. We're accelerating everything. No more delays."
Queen's head snapped up.
"A-All of them, Kaido-sama?"
"Yes. All of them," Kaido said, eyes cold as the deepest abyss of Wano's seas. "This world is about to drown in blood. And we—" His grin widened into something monstrous. "—we will rule what remains."
The wind howled across Onigashima, as if the island itself recoiled from his words. Kaido gazed toward the horizon where black clouds massed over the oceans.
"The seas are changing. The old era's dying," Kaido murmured, almost reverently. "So we'll carve our own."
He lifted his kanabo skyward, thunder cracking behind him as if answering the call.
"READY EVERYTHING. We march toward war."
And every man on Onigashima felt it—the Beast Pirates' era was about to begin.