-Broadcast-
Admiral Kennen bolted upright, a strangled gasp tearing from his throat.
The nightmare clung to him like a second skin—blood-soaked waters, the earth-shattering tremors, and that laughter. Always that damned laughter echoing across the ruins of what had once been Amazon Lily. His small hands clutched at the sheets, fingers trembling as electrical sparks danced involuntarily across his knuckles. The purple combat suit he wore even in sleep was drenched in cold sweat, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to his fur-covered skin.
Breathe. Just breathe.
But the hellish scene refused to fade from his memory. Even now, more than a year later, the Battle of Nine Snake Island remained his most persistent demon—a waking nightmare that stalked him through every quiet moment.
"Another nightmare? Let me guess—Nine Snake Island again?"
Caesar voice cut through the haze. The scientist stood near his workstation, test tubes clinking softly as he adjusted his equipment. During these late-night sessions when Vegapunk retreated to his dormitory, Caesar had taken to engaging the diminutive Admiral in conversation. Genuine curiosity colored his tone—what exactly had transpired on that forsaken island to leave such deep scars on a Marine Admiral?
Kennen's gaze drifted toward the darkening sky beyond the laboratory windows. The experimental base had emptied hours ago, leaving only himself and Caesar in this sterile space. Here, at least, he could speak freely without the weight of his rank pressing down on every word.
The convenience of this arrangement wasn't lost on him. Caesar Clown could analyze the past through the lens of cold rationality—a scientist's perspective unburdened by the trauma of having been there.
The Amazon Lily Kingdom, once ruled by Empress Boa Hancock with all her terrible beauty and power, had been swept into the garbage dump of history by Blackbeard Teach. Even Nine Snake Island itself had vanished—not conquered, not occupied, but erased from the physical plane. Future generations would only know of its existence through faded maps and dusty records, learning about the Daughter Country composed entirely of female citizens as one might study ancient ruins.
Kennen raised one small hand to his temple, feeling for the voices. The other two personalities—his unwelcome passengers—had quieted for now. Caesar's experimental treatments were working, however temporarily. The symptoms of his failed ascension had weakened again, the dissociation that threatened to tear him apart pushed back for another few precious hours.
But he knew the truth. The frequency of his visits to this experimental base grew shorter with each passing month. His body was collapsing from the inside out, the price of attempting something that should have been impossible. All he could do now was balance the three consciousnesses warring within his skull, buying time through sheer force of will.
"It's been over a year since Nine Snake Island," Kennen said at last, his high-pitched voice crackling with residual static. "Honestly, the confidentiality period expired months ago. The results reported in the newspapers weren't exaggerated." His eyes—too large for his small face—fixed on Caesar with an intensity that made the scientist pause. "There was only one winner in that war."
The image of Blackbeard Teach filled Kennen's mind. That sinister, gap-toothed grin. That face of gleeful malice and cunning cruelty. He dared not forget it—not for a single moment. The alternative was complacency, and complacency against that monster meant death.
Admiral Kennen had escaped with his life. Among all the participants in the Battle of Nine Snake Island, his slight injuries classified as miraculous. His luck had exceeded that of every other combatant by orders of magnitude. The strength Blackbeard Teach had demonstrated surpassed even the former Pirate King, Gol D. Roger himself. His new bounty wasn't hyperbole or inflation. It was a cold, mathematical assessment of the threat he posed to the world.
"The newspapers from Morgans only described the battle's outcome," Caesar mused, setting down his test tube. "When I first read that edition, I thought the birdman had finally lost his mind and started fabricating news." A wry smile crossed his face. "I actually caught the newspaper bird and demanded a refund. Felt like my intelligence had been personally insulted."
The scientist's expression shifted, memory darkening his features. "Only after I joined the Marine system did I learn the truth. By then, of course, Morgans had already blacklisted me. Those damned newspaper birds avoid me like the plague now. Haven't gotten a fresh paper in months."
"What's true cannot be false, and what's false cannot be true." Kennen's small hands clenched into fists, electrical current dancing between his fingers. "I couldn't save Nine Snake Island. That failure is mine to carry."
The memories surged back—not the sanitized version he presented in official reports, but the raw, unfiltered horror of it. The battle replayed behind his eyes, and his entire body began to tremble. If he encountered Blackbeard Teach again, there would be no hesitation. No consideration of duty or honor. Just one imperative: run.
To deal with a force that transcended the Admiral level, the Marine would need to dispatch at least five Admirals simultaneously. Anything less was suicide. They'd learned that lesson in the most brutal way possible.
The five-on-one strategy had been attempted on Nine Snake Island. The result? A massacre. Blackbeard Teach had beaten them all—every single combatant killed, wounded, or permanently disabled. The only victor in that apocalyptic clash had been the Trinity Emperor of the Sea.
As if sensing the weight of Kennen's memories, the Sky Screen above activated, its ethereal glow drawing both men's attention. The mysterious broadcast system was about to delve into those very recollections—about to show the world what had transpired in that hell.
But the camera didn't focus on Nine Snake Island's ruins.
Instead, the view shifted across thousands of miles of ocean to Beehive Island—the base camp of the Blackbeard Pirates. The island that had once belonged to Rocks D. Xebec now served as paradise for the most vicious scum the seas had to offer.
Not a single civilian lived on Beehive Island. Every soul who called it home was a pirate—murderers, rapists, thieves, and worse. They had blood on their hands and darkness in their hearts. Each one had earned their place through violence and cruelty.
The residents of Beehive Island lived for three things: killing, stealing, and indulging. They killed anyone weaker than themselves. They plundered whatever treasures they could find. They played with women like toys and drowned themselves in alcohol at every opportunity. The concept of "tomorrow" didn't exist in their vocabulary. The idea of building something, of creating rather than destroying, never crossed their minds.
They were destroyers of order by nature—locusts who consumed the labor and lives of the weak and left nothing but ashes in their wake. Weakness was a crime on Beehive Island. If you wanted to rise in the ranks of the Blackbeard Pirates, you climbed over corpses. In this particular crew of the Four Emperors, only raw strength mattered. Everything else was negotiable.
At the center of Beehive Island stood a palace that defied description.
The exterior was paved entirely in white jade, its surfaces gleaming even in the dim light. The architecture rivaled Pangaea Castle itself—soaring towers, intricate carvings, and a grandeur that spoke of unlimited resources. To construct this monument to excess, the Blackbeard Pirates had expended tremendous manpower and material. Thousands had died in its construction, their lives spent like cheap currency to satisfy their captain's ambitions.
The palace looked high-end and luxurious from the outside. But its interior told a different story—one of obscenity and decadence.
This was Blackbeard Teach's personal residence. His paradise on earth.
The man himself sat upon an iron throne, a beautiful woman in each massive hand. Like the dancers writhing on the floor below him, the women wore nothing—their bodies as much decoration as the gold fixtures and silk banners. Maids scurried forward periodically to pour wine directly into his mouth, saving him the effort of even lifting a cup.
"The music hasn't stopped, has it? Keep dancing! The quality of these beauties is exceptional."
Blackbeard's voice boomed through the hall, rich with satisfaction and dark amusement.
The man himself cut an imposing figure—burly and rough-featured, his skin a deep brown that contrasted sharply with his thick, wild hair. A turban sat casually atop his head, barely containing the unruly mane beneath. Dense body hair covered every visible inch of his exposed skin, adding to his aura of raw, animal vitality.
Gem rings adorned each of his ten fingers—different styles, different colors, all glittering with obscene wealth. A jeweled necklace hung around his thick neck, the precious stones large enough to fund a small kingdom for a year. Everything about him screamed nouveau riche excess.
But it was his smile that truly unsettled—the gaps where teeth should have been gave his grin a sinister, predatory quality. That smile promised cruelty and cunning in equal measure.
Character Note: Sea Emperor - Marshall D. Teach, wielder of the Trinity Devil Fruits: Dark, Tremor, and Buddha
This man—this monster—who held unlimited power and made no attempt whatsoever to hide his ambitions, sat enjoying his reign from the throne of Beehive Island.
"Bring out my most prized wine ship," Teach commanded, his voice carrying effortlessly over the music. "Time to sample that fine vintage Chrollo sent yesterday."
A maid dressed in translucent silks searched through the palace stores, eventually locating a wine vessel unlike any other. She ran back quickly, head bowed in respect, and presented it to her master with trembling hands.
The women surrounding Teach took the initiative to fill the vessel, their movements practiced and subservient. After they finished, the Emperor accepted his prize—a wine ship crafted entirely from a human skull.
Blackbeard Teach opened his mouth wide and drank deeply, showing not a trace of disgust or hesitation. He gulped down the expensive wine with obvious pleasure, savoring both the taste and the symbolism of the vessel itself.
The wine ship, crafted from bone and horror, bore a small inscription on its back surface. Carved in meticulous letters that couldn't be mistaken, a name:
Rayleigh, the Dark King