-Broadcast-
Boa Hancock's surprised cry attracted everyone's attention across the ruined battlefield. Before she could articulate the next warning, black radiance erupted skyward from Blackbeard's position—detonating with apocalyptic force.
The Empress, positioned closest to ground zero, suffered the worst effects. Her body was hurled several miles through the air by the shockwave, tumbling end-over-end before impacting terrain with bone-shattering violence. Severe cranial trauma caused instant unconsciousness. Any of her weaker sisters would have died on impact.
"It hurts... everything hurts so much..."
An unknowable duration passed before Boa Hancock slowly regained consciousness. Her head bled profusely from multiple lacerations, symptoms of severe concussion making the world spin sickeningly.
The explosion had thrown her tremendous distance. Her elegant cheongsam was damaged across multiple sections—fabric torn, dignity shredded. Every bone in her body protested movement with screaming agony. After her brain completed its disoriented reboot sequence, fragmented memories returned: Blackbeard Teach's invasion, the desperate five-on-one battle, the certainty of victory...
Then nothing but pain and darkness.
The formidable Empress forced herself upright despite catastrophic injuries, beginning a tentative survey of surrounding ruins. Everything appeared profoundly unfamiliar. The terrain itself had been fundamentally altered beyond recognition.
Is this still Nine Snake Island? Or have I awakened in hell itself?
Hancock dragged her seriously injured body forward, observing the landscape's transformation as she progressed. The entire island appeared to have been plowed by divine wrath. Every building on Nine Snake Island had been completely obliterated—reduced to component rubble and dust. Even the iconic rock formations serving as navigational landmarks had been erased from existence.
What kind of cataclysmic battle had transpired during her unconsciousness?
The woman desperately wanted answers, needed to understand how this conflict had concluded. But no allies remained visible anywhere. Nobody could provide Boa Hancock with explanations for the apocalypse surrounding her.
This isolation stemmed partially from her perforated eardrums—blood trickling periodically from both ears, deafness rendering her vulnerable and alone.
"Where has everyone gone?" Hancock murmured to herself, voice barely audible over the ringing silence. "Is the battle finally over?"
As Boa Hancock spoke those words into the void, a powerful sound of something falling pierced the air. The object descended from clouded skies, landing directly behind the woman with earth-shaking impact. A massive dust cloud erupted, obscuring a deep crater formed by the collision.
Sensing the disturbance through Observation Haki—her one remaining reliable sense—the Empress hurriedly turned to investigate. The figure emerging from settling dust proved to be Phoenix Marco, transformed back from beast form into battered human appearance.
"What happened to you, Marco?!" Hancock's voice carried genuine horror. "How did you sustain such catastrophic injuries?"
She crouched down to assess his condition, professional composure shattering as the full extent of damage registered. Marco had lost both arms—violently torn from shoulder sockets rather than cleanly severed. Blood poured continuously from his mouth, rendering speech impossible through choking crimson.
The blood pooling in his throat kept flowing backward into his airway, preventing Marco from articulating even a single word. He could only cough violently, using desperate eye contact to communicate urgent warning: Leave. Run. Escape this island immediately.
But Hancock couldn't interpret the frantic ocular signals. She lifted Marco's back carefully, attempting to improve his compromised breathing so her friend wouldn't suffer needlessly.
With the woman's continuous patting between his shoulder blades, Marco finally coughed up the blood that had been drawn into his trachea. The first words he managed were barely intelligible gasps: "Hancock... don't worry about us... you need to escape alone... it will be too late if you don't leave now... Blackbeard is—"
Before Marco could complete the warning, an overwhelmingly evil aura descended behind both survivors. Blackbeard had appeared in the sky above them, manifesting in a form that defied natural law.
"Marco!" The voice carried malicious amusement layered over genuine surprise. "I'm genuinely impressed you're still drawing breath!"
Boa Hancock felt that invincible presence pressing down like physical weight. Sweat beads formed across her neck despite shock-induced cold. She continued suppressing primal terror, slowly turning her head to confront Blackbeard directly.
Under the direct noonday sun, a figure gradually emerged before traumatized eyes. His entire form was enveloped by layers of black radiance—as though he'd achieved fundamental fusion with darkness itself.
Beneath his feet floated a black lotus flower, the platform rotating slowly while emanating mysterious otherworldly aura. The manifestation possessed a strange appearance: three distinct heads and six powerful arms, each limb moving with agile yet terrible purpose.
The three faces resembled demonic entities—hideous and distorted, exuding terrifying presence like messengers who'd walked directly from hell's deepest circles. His body was tall and overwhelmingly mighty, muscle definition clearly visible beneath dark skin that gleamed with unnatural luminescence—as though containing mysterious energy at cellular level.
The eyes across all three faces were cold and sharp, revealing profound indifference and ruthless calculation.
The scene surrounding this transformed Blackbeard under harsh sunlight radiated gloomy and horrifying atmosphere that inspired visceral dread. This mysterious three-headed, six-armed being seemed to embody darkness incarnate—carrying endless malevolence and overwhelming power that made direct eye contact psychologically unbearable for Boa Hancock.
After a brief moment of shocked dissociation, the woman's vision focused enough to register what Blackbeard's multiple arms held as trophies.
One hand grasped a male human head—silver hair matted with dried blood, lifeless eyes still open in final surprise.
Another arm held half a female limb, the severed portion still clutching a golden rope even in death.
A third hand brandished a blood-stained and badly torn Marine justice cloak, the white fabric rendered unrecognizable through violence.
Boa Hancock's eyes filled with tears of disbelief. She covered her mouth desperately to prevent sobs from escaping. "Rayleigh... Rayleigh..."
The Dark King Silvers Rayleigh was dead. His severed head had become the enemy's gruesome trophy. The legendary Vice-Captain of Pirate King Gol D. Roger—the man who'd trained Luffy, who'd survived countless battles against impossible odds—had died here on Nine Snake Island.
Killed by a trainee crew member from the Whitebeard Pirates whom he'd once dismissed as beneath notice.
Blackbeard didn't immediately attack Boa Hancock. His dark incarnation represented the complete opposite of Buddha's enlightened compassion. More appropriate designations would be Māra—the demon of temptation and spiritual corruption—or the Sixth Heaven Demon King from Buddhist cosmology.
This was another Awakening state of the Hito Hito no Mi, Model: Daibutsu (Human-Human Fruit, Great Buddha Model). Not enlightenment, but its corruption. Not salvation, but damnation.
The radiance behind this Demon Lord manifestation was deeper and more profoundly wrong than what he'd displayed in human form. Extreme darkness seemed capable of swallowing absolutely everything—draining human resistance before consuming souls entirely.
The power level displayed by Marshall D. Teach in this moment represented what true King-class strength should resemble. This was a Yonko operating at full apocalyptic capacity.
"So the proud Empress possesses a tragic past after all," the leftmost head spoke with cruel curiosity.
"I didn't expect you were once a slave to the Celestial Dragons," the center head added with mock sympathy.
"I genuinely thought you were a delicate flower grown in some protected greenhouse," the rightmost head concluded with malicious amusement.
Three heads produced three distinct voices simultaneously—a chorus of corruption that made Hancock's blood run cold.
The revelation struck like physical assault. Her biggest secret, the shame she'd guarded desperately, was now exposed to this monster's gaze.
The cheongsam fabric covering her back had been damaged during the explosion and subsequent impacts. A small section of skin was now clearly visible—and upon that skin, unmistakable and permanent, was branded the symbol every slave recognized with horror.
The Hoof of the Celestial Dragons.
People across these seas were intimately familiar with that particular emblem. It represented the ownership mark burned into Celestial Dragon property—slaves who'd been reduced from human status to living tools. Once branded, the mark could never be washed away or removed through any conventional means.
Not even advanced Seimei Kikan (Life Return) techniques could alter the scar tissue. The only method involved deliberate self-mutilation—using alternative scars to obscure the original brand through layered tissue damage.
During the fire that consumed portions of Mary Geoise years ago, many escaped slaves had employed precisely this method to cover their ownership marks, desperately hoping to forget humiliation's memory entirely.
Boa Hancock covered the damaged section of her back with trembling hands. Her greatest secret—the source of nightmares and defensive arrogance alike—had been discovered.
The revelation made her hands and feet turn ice-cold. Powerlessness flooded through her nervous system. At this moment, she seemed transported back through time—returned to the Celestial Dragons' possession, that terrible period replaying with horrific clarity.
"Don't look at me..." Hancock's voice emerged as broken whisper. "Don't look at me..."
The Queen's imperious bearing had evaporated completely. When confronted by absolute strength combined with absolute humiliation, she proved no different from any other traumatized woman.
Boa Hancock had always been pretending strength—maintaining a facade of cold arrogance to protect the extremely sensitive and fragile person dwelling beneath the mask.
Now that protection had shattered. The frightened slave girl emerged, exposed and helpless before her worst nightmare incarnate.
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