"BOOOOM—!"
The ocean itself seemed to groan as Akainu's fleet, a massive armada in its own right, executed a perfect, hard-angled turn.
It was like watching a chunk of a continent break away.
With engines churning the sea into a white-hot froth, the New World Army's main force peeled off from the primary formation, charging back toward the familiar, chaotic waters they were born to tame.
These warships were the fist of the New Marine, long-prepped and thirsty, built for the sole purpose of hunting the world's biggest game.
This sudden, brazen division of forces, right on the doorstep of the enemy's stronghold, immediately caused a stir of disbelief atop the Red Line.
....
In the Holy Land, Mary Geoise, the tension was already on a knife's edge.
"Hmm? What... what are they doing? The New Marines is splitting their forces?"
A CP0 agent, one of the thousands stationed at the periphery of the Room of Authority, whispered in pure, unadulterd shock.
His voice was a strained hiss through the vents of his mask.
"Facing Mary Geoise... facing... us... where the World Government has gathered its entire might..." he stammered, "they... they dare to divide their forces...?"
This was more than a tactical gamble.
This was a slap in the face.
This was nothing short of open, utter contempt for the World Government's eight centuries of unbroken rule.
It was an act of arrogance so profound, it was almost hard to process.
"Silence!"
His superior hissed, the single word cold enough to freeze steam.
The superior's eyes, however, remained locked on the distant, churning sea, where the dark shadows of the separating fleet were already growing smaller.
He couldn't hide the tremor in his own hand.
"The Five Elders... they will decide what to do."
....
Deeper within the Holy Land, the transformation was complete.
Mary Geoise was no longer a city of gods; it was a fortress on the highest possible alert.
Every blade of perfectly manicured grass looked like a potential soldier.
Countless white-suited, masked CP0 agents swarmed like agitated ants along every critical pathway, every grand plaza, every hidden corridor.
They were the Celestial Dragons' most loyal shields, a sea of white and black, ready to die at a word.
And at the very core, standing in the grand plaza before Pangea Castle, were the true guardians.
The God's Knights.
This special, mythical force, composed entirely of Celestial Dragon bloodlines, held the supreme authority to judge their own kind and execute the highest-level, most classified missions of the World Government.
They were the secret fist of the gods.
At the absolute forefront of the formation stood their leader.
A man who was a legend wrapped in an enigma: Figarland Garling.
His expression was unreadable, his posture as straight and unyielding as a thousand-year-old pine.
He gripped a long, elegant sword tightly in one white-gloved hand, his other clasped behind his back.
He just... stood, a statue of pure, aristocratic authority.
Behind him, just as stern and unmoving, was the vice-leader of the God's Knights, Garling's own son: Figarland Shamlock.
His long hair was braided into intricate plaits on either side, a strange contrast to the short, rough stubble lining his mouth.
He wore an ornate, high-collared, long-sleeved outfit, a cravat tied perfectly at his throat.
Gold chains linked the buttons on his chest, and an ornate rapier hung at his waist.
This rapier was no mere decoration.
It was a weapon that had consumed a Devil Fruit: the Mythical Zoan-type Dog-Dog Fruit, Model: Cerberus.
It was a living, breathing biological weapon known as Cerberus, capable of transforming into the three-headed hound of hell on its master's command.
Further back, the core members of the Knights stood in a formidable, silent line.
Rimoshifu Killingham, a tall, imposing man whose body contained the power of the Mythical Zoan-type Dragon-Dragon Fruit, Model: Qilin.
ManmayerGunko, her face hidden by a bandages and wear a newboys cap, known for her terrifying mastery of the Arrow-Arrow Fruit.
Their combined presence was an overwhelming, suffocating blanket of power.
Garling's gaze lingered for a brief moment on the distant, dividing fleet.
His eyes narrowed imperceptibly behind his signature sunglasses.
'Did someone take a portion of their forces and leave?'
'Are they carrying out another mission? Or is that brat, Mike... up to something else?'
"Hmph—"
After a long moment of thought, a cold, thin smirk curled at the corner of his lips.
It doesn't matter.
Whatever tricks this "New Marine" thought they could play, however many forces they had... it was irrelevant.
Anyone who dared to aim their cannons at the Holy Land, anyone who dared to dream of setting foot on the sacred soil of Mary Geoise, would be reduced to dust.
Their ashes would serve as nothing more than nourishment for the roots of the Red Line.
The dignity of the Celestial Dragons was absolute, and it was not to be challenged.
He had lived through far more chaotic events than this.
He had stood at God Valley.
He had faced stronger, more terrifying enemies.
He had looked Rocks D. Xebec in the eye. (and got low diff)
And in the end, victory always belonged to the World Nobles.
This time would be no exception.
....
Deep within Pangea Castle, in the Chamber of Authority, the air was different.
It was thick as congealed blood.
It reeked of sulfur, ozone, and an ominous, ancient foreboding.
Five massive, distorted, monstrous figures occupied the room, each wreathed in the same swirling black flames.
The Five Elders, their Devil Fruit powers fully, terrifyingly unleashed, were gathered.
Their cold, inhuman eyes observed everything unfolding beneath Mary Geoise.
"Hmm?"
"They... split their forces?"
Saint Shepherd Ju Peter's colossal Sand Worm body writhed, the sound of grinding rock filling the chamber.
His voice was laced with an offended, guttural fury.
"Those lowly wretches dare divide their troops before the Holy Land?!"
"Hmph. It seems they're dealing with loose ends," Saint Topman Warcury grunted. "Charlotte Linlin and Red-Haired Shanks... That brat Mike must be worried about trouble at home. Trying to clean his house first before knocking on our door."
"But to split their forces... now... when facing Mary Geoise, where we have gathered our full might..." Saint Shepherd seethed.
"How arrogant. They must have a death wish!"
"Speaking of..." one of the others mused. "Since they're going after Red-Hair... should we contact Shanks?"
The room fell silent for a second.
"After all," the voice continued, "he is Figarland Garling's son. His veins flow with our Celestial Dragon blood."
"We could have him cooperate with us. Stall that New Marine detachment. Cripple it from the inside, even. With noble blood in him, he should know what the right choice is."
"Unnecessary!"
Saint Nusjuro's voice, cold and sharp as his blade, cut through the debate.
In his "Bakkotsu" form, he was a terrifying centaur of skeletal-white and icy-blue.
His gaze swept over his four colleagues, each in their bizarre, monstrous forms.
"The New Marine splitting their forces plays right into our hands," he stated, his tone resolute and final.
"Let them exhaust their strength in the New World. Let them run themselves ragged."
"Our objective is simple: Concentrate all of our power. And utterly crush this audacious, insulting New Marine fleet that dares to approach our gates at Mary Geoise!"
"Agreed." The other four Elders nodded in unison, their monstrous forms shifting.
Once the New Marine's main force is completely defeated, scattered, and broken... the rest...
They won't even be worth mentioning.
"Then let us..."
"Show these insolent, up-jumped mortals..."
"...the true meaning of divine retribution!"
Five massive, distorted figures, wreathed in hellish black flames and radiating an overwhelming, world-ending pressure, slowly emerged from the Chamber of Authority.
They would personally lead the World Government's armed forces to deliver the most thorough, complete, and merciless destruction to these invaders.
....
"Whoosh—"
The massive, silent bow of the Nautilus cut through the waves, coming to a steady hover a few kilometers from the base of the Red Line.
The towering, impossible silhouette of Mary Geoise loomed above them, its faint lights just barely visible through the thick sea mist.
On the deck, the New Marine's top combatants stood assembled.
The atmosphere, once filled with bickering, was now thick with a heavy, electric tension.
The pre-game chatter was over.
"Hah—"
Mike stood at the very forefront, one hand casually tucked in his pocket, the sea breeze tousling his bangs.
In his other hand, he casually tossed a small, metallic sphere—the controller for the Death Star.
'This was it. The final act. The war to end the old era.'
Of course he would participate.
He had to.
Given the opposition—those five old transformed monsters, the entire roster of the God's Knights, and, somewhere hidden, the mysterious Imu—he couldn't just sit this one out.
But... he couldn't handle everything himself...
The Death Star's "Doomsday Protocol" was... well, it was hilariously overpowered.
Instant annihilation upon sight.
No cooldown. No wind-up. Just... look and delete.
Theoretically, he could just stand here, scan the battlefield with wide eyes, and the war would be over in about thirty seconds.
But then...
Mike glanced over his shoulder.
The two old men, Garp and Whitebeard, were still bickering over Ace, though now in hushed, furious whispers.
'Look at them. Combined age nearing 150, and they're still squabbling like children over a toy.'
Every single one of his subordinates, from the old legends to the admirals, was here.
They were itching to fight.
They needed to earn merits, prove themselves, and, frankly, blow off an incredible amount of steam.
If he just poofed the entire World Government single-handedly... who would they complain to? He'd be robbing them of the greatest battle of their lives.
Ace might genuinely get torn in half by those two.
So, he decided, he'd just make a token gesture.
He'd take out one target first.
'You know, just to give the others some room to shine.'
Mike weighed the controller in his hand, his gaze shifting up, up, up... toward the faintly visible, distorted, and monstrous figures now appearing on the cliffs of Mary Geoise.
"Alright," Mike murmured to himself, a tiny smile playing on his lips.
"Let's randomly select one lucky little star to send off."
'Who would it be?'
'Hmm... Saint Saturn's gyuki... definitely not fast. And besides, I promised Kuma I'd leave Saturn for him to deal with personally. Can't steal his thunder.'
'Hm? What was that sound?'
"SCREEEEEEECH—!"
A piercing, grating, and deeply ominous bird cry split the sky, echoing down from the heavens.
'Oh. Saint Mars's Itsumade.'
Mike looked up, shielding his eyes.
The massive, serpentine bird-monster was already in the air, soaring high above the others, clearly in a hurry to be the first to die.
A faint, amused smile curled Mike's lips.
He raised his hand, pointing the controller toward the distant, screeching speck in the sky.
"Morning, Mars."
"Had breakfast yet?"
He gently, almost casually, pressed the button on the Death Star's controller.
"If not..."
"...too late now!"
"BOOM—"
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