The ship sped through the dark waves, a silent arrow aimed at the massive Red Line. Inside the cabin, the atmosphere was suffocating. Bartholomew Kuma sat rigidly, the Bible he always carried forgotten back at the headquarters in Baltigo. Ginny's words echoed in his mind, a painful, repeating memory.
"Let's get married, Kuma-dear!"
He could still see her face, cheeks flushed but eyes bright, filled with a galaxy of stars. He remembered how he had refused her. His Buccaneer bloodline was an original sin in the eyes of the World Government, a curse that brought disaster to everyone he cared for. He could not, and dared not, chain her to such a heavy fate. But now, she had been dragged into that deepest hell anyway—because of him, because of the Revolutionary Army. His refusal, his attempts to keep her safe, had all been for nothing. It had only left her to face the worst possible outcome alone.
He clenched his fists, his large hands trembling slightly from the force. The knuckles made soft, cracking sounds. Silent suffering was always more agonizing than any scream.
"Hey, Kuma, cheer up!" Ivankov said, wiggling a pinky finger in an attempt to lighten the mood. "Ginny isn't some weak little girl; she's tougher than anyone! Vee-hah! We will definitely rescue her!"
Kuma didn't respond. He only buried his head lower into his chest.
At the bow of the ship, Monkey D. Dragon stood against the wind, his dark green cloak rustling behind him. His gaze was profound, his thoughts already on the Holy Land. The name 'Kyle' spun in his mind. This unannounced attack had thrown everyone's plans into disarray. What was his true goal? Was it simply to provoke the World Government, or was there a deeper scheme at play?
"Dragon, we're here!" Ivankov's startled cry pulled Dragon back to the present.
The three of them looked up, and their pupils contracted in unison.
At the summit of the Red Line, the divine city, which should have been pristine and untouchable, was burning. Several towering infernos lit up the night, twisting black smoke into the sky. Even from across the sea, they could feel the scorching heat and the palpable sense of utter chaos.
"Is this… Kyle's doing?" Ivankov's jaw nearly hit the deck.
Dragon didn't answer, but he knew one thing for certain: this was a golden opportunity. This fire had captured the full attention of the World Government. It was a chance for the revolutionaries hiding across the world to breathe, but it also forced his hand. Should they strike now, or continue to wait in the shadows?
He slowly raised a hand, his palm facing the sea of fire. Gusts of wind began to gather around him, roaring to life.
"Wind will fuel the fire," Dragon's voice was clear and steady above the growing storm. "And it will also blow the seeds of freedom to every corner of the world. A single spark can start a prairie fire!"
As he spoke, a visible hurricane surged from his position, crossing the sea and rushing toward Mary Geoise. The wind fanned the flames, turning the fires that had been burning in separate areas into ferocious dragons of destruction that devoured everything in their path. Chaos would be their greatest cover.
Meanwhile, in the slave prison of Mary Geoise.
Clang! Crash—!
The last prison guard was sent flying by a single punch from Fisher Tiger, hitting a wall and slumping to the ground, unconscious. Tiger walked to the heavy main gate of the prison. His crimson muscles bulged as he gripped the cold steel doors, his arms straining.
"Hoo… ahhhhh!"
With an earth-shattering roar, the gate, said to be indestructible, was forcibly torn from the stone wall by his sheer brute strength.
Boom!
He threw the gate to the ground, kicking up a thick cloud of dust. Inside the prison, countless numb, hopeless eyes flickered with emotion at the enormous sound. Tiger stood at the entrance, silhouetted by the distant fires, looking like a god of vengeance.
"I am Fisher Tiger!" His voice echoed through every dark corner of the prison. "I have come to free you! If you don't want to be slaves anymore, then follow me! Reclaim your freedom!"
For a moment, there was a deathly silence. Then, a suppressed commotion began to build. A single prisoner stumbled out, then a second, and a third. Finally, like a dam breaking, hundreds, then thousands of slaves poured out of that hell. Years of suppressed rage and despair erupted in a single, cathartic moment.
Boa Hancock held her two sisters' hands tightly, moving with the crowd. But unlike the others who ran aimlessly, she remained calm, observing her surroundings. She used the chaotic mob as cover, steadily moving in the direction of the Holy Land's outskirts that she remembered from her capture.
Gild Tesoro, however, pushed against the flow of people, his eyes desperately scanning every escaping face. "Stella? Stella!" His shouts were lost in the roar of the crowd, but he didn't give up. In the firelight, his golden eyes burned with the last embers of hope.
High above, on the walls of Mary Geoise, Kyle, Mihawk, Moriah, and Doflamingo stood like spectators in the top box of a grand theater, overlooking the drama unfolding below.
"Kishishishishi… What a spectacular sight!" Moriah let out his signature laugh.
Mihawk stood with his arms crossed, his hawk-like eyes scanning the chaos, calmly observing the movements of the CP agents trying to restore order.
Kyle said nothing. He just watched quietly.
Doflamingo adjusted his sunglasses, his body trembling slightly with an extreme, almost painful excitement. He watched his former kin, the Celestial Dragons who were usually so high and mighty, now screaming and fleeing like headless chickens. He watched the pristine castles, symbols of divine authority, twist and collapse in the flames, turning into charred ruins. This was his former home, the place that had cast him and his family into hell.
"Fuffuffuffu…" An uncontrollable, low laugh escaped his throat. He felt no sadness or anger, only a morbid, twisted exhilaration.
Burn! Burn even brighter! Burn this false sanctity, and burn those so-called gods, until there is nothing left but ashes!
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