-Broadcast-
An ascender operating beyond normal human limits. A woman carrying divine blood in her veins. Two awakened demonic ability users who had transcended conventional human categories entirely. All four worked together in disciplined coordination to suppress the Sixth Heaven Demon King, and it seemed as though the balance of victory was tilting toward them once more.
"We're nearly there—don't surrender now!" Marco's voice carried desperate encouragement, azure flames consuming everything in his phoenix form's wake. A blue sea of fire erupted outward from his transformed body, actively dissipating the black atmospheric gas the Sixth Heaven Demon King emitted with each movement.
"Victory is within reach. We cannot allow it to slip away when we're this close."
Wonder Woman Diana smeared her own blood across the Lasso of Truth's golden surface. Divine blood flowed along the rope into the Sixth Heaven Demon King's body, fighting directly against the corrupted halo radiating behind Blackbeard. The swastika symbol's rotation was visibly slowing. The blood of one born from divine heritage carried inherent restraining properties against the authority of darkness.
"Marshall D. Teach—today is the day your existence ends."
Admiral Kennen, having transformed into a living energy construct, increased his output to maximum capacity. He converted True Thunder—the nemesis of filthy and corrupted things—into pure white lightning spears. The electrical constructs bound the Sixth Heaven Demon King's form while True Thunder spears penetrated into the demon's body simultaneously, weakening his resistance against the Empress's petrification.
"If you still harbor desire to claim this body for yourself," the cold voice inhabiting Hancock's form declared, "wait for another lifetime entirely."
Medusa's golden snake pupils expanded to their widest aperture. The venomous serpents generated from Hancock's hair had evolved to their complete form, their own eyes producing irreversible petrification effects upon any enemy they met directly.
Under total suppression from every angle simultaneously, the Sixth Heaven Demon King's self-healing capability could no longer keep pace with the accelerating rate of petrification consuming his body.
First his entire face turned to stone. Then his upper body followed—powerful musculature frozen in petrified stillness. The transformation progressed downward relentlessly, reaching his lower body and advancing past his knees.
The petrification spread from thighs to calves to feet—covering one toe, then two. Medusa's sealing technique approached completion. The four inhuman entities glimpsed dawn breaking through catastrophic night.
Only one toe remained.
But in that final fraction of success, the demonic energy dwelling within the Sixth Heaven Demon King reached a critical threshold. Something fundamental shifted in the spiritual architecture of his being. Medusa's golden eyes narrowed, and she understood with terrible clarity that something catastrophic was approaching.
Before she could open her mouth to warn the others, the petrification already covering Blackbeard's body began fracturing. Cracks split across stone surfaces as black demonic energy poured through every fissure. Medusa's petrification attempted to fill these breach points, pouring sealing authority into each gap—but it was utterly powerless before what was awakening.
The next sequence of events exceeded anything she could stop.
The clear sky turned to chaos.
Darkness consumed the atmosphere above Nine Snake Island completely—total, absolute, beyond natural weather patterns. The Sixth Heaven Demon King broke free from petrified restraints and appeared above the battlefield in a form that defied comprehension.
He was like a demon lord descended from dimensions beyond human perception. His pitch-black body expanded to jaw-dropping scale—one thousand meters of malevolent presence that dwarfed every geographical feature of Nine Snake Island itself. His very existence seemed to compress the surrounding atmosphere, making the air thick and suffocating.
The Demon King manifested thousands of arms, each extending from his massive frame like twisted tentacles dancing through disturbed air. Each arm radiated tremendous power. Each was capable of casually tearing sky itself or shattering any restraint mortals attempted to impose.
His three faces remained hidden within shadows that seemed to generate from within rather than lack of light—revealing only pairs of eyes flashing scarlet luminescence, displaying coldness and cruelty that predated human civilization. When that gaze swept across the battlefield, the invisible pressure caused weaker survivors to tremble uncontrollably, robbing them of any capacity to resist.
The entire scene resembled a depiction of hell made manifest.
The Sixth Heaven Demon King displayed his absolute mastery through power and terror alone. All those below King-level might as well be insects. Marshall D. Teach had come to Nine Snake Island to prove this to the world today.
The incarnation of absolute darkness brought the deadly battle of Nine Snake Island to its conclusion.
The invincible image of the Sixth Heaven Demon King would be permanently inscribed in the hearts of every Nine Snake Island survivor who witnessed this final form. Not as a memory to overcome. As a scar that would never fade.
As Nine Snake Island was consumed entirely by darkness, Admiral Kennen's recollected memories concluded their display on the Sky Screen, and the broadcast's perspective shifted away from Nine Snake Island—returning to the Marine experimental facility where the Admiral had been delivering this account.
- Marine Experimental Facility-
Caesar Clown, the mad scientist, had proven himself an extraordinarily attentive listener throughout the entire account. He hadn't interjected during any of the narrative, yet his lab coat was drenched in sweat where the fabric pressed against his back.
The man could feel viscerally the terror conveyed through Kennen's recollection. The Sixth Heaven Demon King had left an impression on the small Admiral that transcended what normal combat trauma could produce. Caesar found himself increasingly fascinated by Marshall D. Teach—a research subject whose capabilities clearly warranted comprehensive study.
"What happened subsequently?" Caesar's excitement barely allowed him to phrase the question professionally. "Were there survivors on Nine Snake Island besides yourself?"
Admiral Kennen wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. If any outside observer witnessed a Marine Admiral displaying such obvious vulnerability, the resulting reputational damage would be comprehensive.
Fortunately, Caesar Clown possessed a particular form of cognitive organization that prevented him from caring about anything unrelated to scientific inquiry. As long as the Admiral continued providing unlimited experimental funding, the scientist functioned as a reasonably competent collaborator. His discretion in non-scientific matters was one of his more reliable characteristics.
Kennen sighed—a sound that carried the weight of someone who'd survived something they shouldn't have—and answered: "In that situation, Marco the Phoenix stood up when everything else was failing. He'd already made peace with his own death following the Battle of Marineford. In the end, he made that peace definitive—he released all of his Devil Fruit's power simultaneously, providing the three of us sufficient opportunity to escape."
A pause carried genuine emotion.
"If he weren't a pirate, I would consider someone like that worth knowing as a genuine person."
Kennen's expression shifted through complex emotions—gratitude and grief intertwined with a Marine's discomfort at openly admiring an enemy. The Empress Boa Hancock and Wonder Woman Diana had also managed survival through the chaos Marco's sacrifice created. Perhaps fortune had decided their stories weren't yet complete.
The mention of "releasing all of a Devil Fruit's power" prompted Caesar Clown into thoughtful silence. He stared at the cold laboratory ceiling as his mind worked through implications.
This represented a domain he'd never genuinely explored. His experimental subjects to date—the three artificial "Admirals" he'd assembled from seafood-type fish-men (SpongeBob, Patrick, and Squidward, as Marine intelligence had mockingly designated them)—operated at fundamentally entry-level capability.
If Caesar Clown wanted to grasp the true essence of what Devil Fruits could become at their absolute developmental ceiling, he still had a profoundly long journey ahead of him.
"Mr. Kennen," Caesar said with poorly concealed eagerness, his eyes taking on the particular gleam that preceded requests everyone else found disturbing, "you were in close combat with Four Emperor Blackbeard for an extended period. Do you happen to have retained any biological samples from Marshall D. Teach? Blood, hair, skin tissue—I'm not particular about the medium."
Kennen stared at the scientist for a long moment, unable to formulate an adequate response to the question. He settled for rolling his eyes comprehensively.
If he had Blackbeard's tissue samples, the Marine research apparatus would have begun investigation years ago. Why would they have waited until now—leaving two people to gossip in a laboratory?
The other voices within Kennen's body had diminished to quiet following the account's completion. He had achieved what he'd come here for. Spending additional time in Caesar Clown's company had no further productive purpose.
The Admiral departed without formal farewell, leaving the scientist alone in his laboratory. Caesar watched the door close and addressed the empty room.
"All that effort and not even a hair sample. Why the dramatic exit?" He transformed his physical body into gas through his Devil Fruit ability, beginning to drift through laboratory apparatus. "Marine Admirals have genuinely strange temperaments. Admiral Issho is honestly the one I get along with most naturally—I should arrange drinks with him sometime."
Caesar Clown settled into solitary work, the cold glass containers and experimental apparatus restoring his characteristic contentment. No company was more satisfactory than his own work.
The mad scientist harbored genuine gratitude toward the New Marine's leadership. Fleet Marshal Artoria Pendragon was substantially more generous with research funding than Fleet Admiral Sengoku had ever been during the previous era—and crucially, she had agreed to authorize development of weapons of mass destruction without the bureaucratic interference that had previously strangled his ambitions.
The first prototype of the Giant God Soldier was deployed in the facility directly below the experimental base. Caesar wanted to identify an appropriate testing opportunity—preferably open ocean, away from inhabited islands—to evaluate its destructive capacity and present the results to his patron.
There was genuinely nothing more satisfying than showing sponsors the fruit of their investment.
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