Chapter 1: The Unseen Pressure
The air in the military town hummed with a familiar kind of excitement. It was the buzz that always followed in the wake of a celebrated hero's return.
"Did you hear? Vice Admiral Gion is back!" a young recruit whispered to his companion, his eyes wide. "They say she captured two more pirates with bounties over a hundred million Berries this time."
His friend nodded vigorously, polishing his rifle with a bit more enthusiasm. "If she keeps this up, promotion to Admiral is guaranteed. She's practically a legend already."
All along the neat, stone-paved streets and in the shaded alleys between barracks, similar conversations were happening. The focus of the entire Marine headquarters seemed to shift toward the central training grounds.
"Look, that's where she's teaching a special tactics session today. I wish I could get a spot."
"Vice Admiral Gion is incredible. She's as strong as she is beautiful."
"Tell me about it. She could have chosen an easier path, but she built her reputation on pure skill. It's inspiring."
The three Admirals—the ultimate power of the Marines—were figures of near-myth, their interventions reserved for world-shaking events. It was the Vice Admirals and Rear Admirals, like Momousagi Gion, who were the visible pillars of strength, the heroes the ordinary Marines saw and aspired to become. The consensus was clear: Gion was the frontrunner, the one most likely to claim an Admiral's mantle, or perhaps even pioneer a fourth seat with a truly monumental achievement.
"WOOOOOOOO—"
The piercing, urgent shriek of the alarm sirens cut through the chatter like a blade.
Silence fell, heavy and immediate, before exploding into a wave of confused shouts. "What's happening?!" "An attack?!"
In his spacious office, Fleet Admiral Sengoku paused, the report in his hand forgotten. He walked slowly to the large window, his brow furrowed. The view of the calm, blue waters of the headquarters bay showed no invading fleet, no chaos. A fame-seeking pirate making a suicidal charge? he thought, skepticism warring with instinct.
Across the base, other high-ranking officers—Vice Admirals, Rear Admirals—paused their duties, curiosity piqued by the alarm. It was a rare sound during peacetime.
Then the news came. It didn't arrive through official channels first; it spread like a virus, from person to person, each whisper laced with disbelief.
"Vice Admiral Gion… she was attacked! In the baths!"
"What? That's impossible! This is Marineford!"
"The report says she's unconscious. No signs of a struggle where she was found."
In a meeting room, Vice Admiral Dalmatian (the Flying Squirrel) shot to his feet, his chair clattering backward. "An attack here?!" he roared, his mobilization briefing instantly irrelevant.
A junior officer stammered, "S-Sir! Admirals Garp and Kizaru are both on base! Even a direct assault from an Emperor shouldn't have been so… quiet!"
"Don't you understand? She was bathing!" another officer shouted, face red with anger. "It was a cowardly sneak attack! We must find whoever did this!"
The orders began to bark out, echoing through the stone corridors. "All personnel, secure the ports! Lock down the airfields! Search every ship!"
"Yes, sir!"
The entire fortress of Marineford shifted gears, transforming from a place of order into a bristling, angry hive ready for war.
Back in his office, Sengoku held a Den Den Mushi, its face a pale mirror of his own shock. "…Unconscious. No signs of a struggle. Are you absolutely certain?" he asked, his voice low. The notion was absurd. This was the most fortified stronghold in the world.
"It seems we have a bit of trouble~," drawled Admiral Kizaru from a plush chair in the corner, finally setting down his teacup. "I didn't notice a thing~."
Sengoku's gaze snapped to the other figure in the room. "Garp! You idiot, wake up! Did you sense anything just now?!" he bellowed.
Monkey D. Garp snorted, blinking sleep from his eyes. "Ah… is it dinner time already?" he mumbled, a leftover rice cracker stuck to his cheek. The severity on Sengoku's face finally registered. "Hm? What's wrong?"
Before Sengoku could unleash his fury, the world changed.
The bright daylight leaching through the windows dimmed, not with clouds, but with a profound, soul-deep gloom. Then the pressure came.
It was not physical. It did not press on the shoulders or strain the bones. It descended from some unseen height and pressed directly upon the spirit. It was as if the entire weight of an invisible island had been placed upon the soul of every living being in Marineford.
The air itself seemed to whine, crushed beneath this impossible force.
Garp's lazy expression vanished, replaced by sharp, focused alarm.
Haki? Conqueror's? his mind raced. But no Conqueror's Haki he had ever felt—not even from the strongest kings on the sea—felt like this. This was colder, more absolute. It felt like being frozen from the inside out.
Instinct took over. Sengoku and Garp, titans of the Marines, clenched their wills. Armament Haki flared within them, a instinctive shield against the spiritual onslaught.
It was a mistake.
The moment they resisted, the pressure transformed. It became a raging, endless tsunami, wave after terrifying wave crashing against the fortresses of their souls. Each impact was heavier, more vicious than the last. The sheer, relentless force of it stole the breath from their lungs and the words from their throats.
Their eyes met across the room. In that shared glance was a shock so profound it bordered on fear. They had faced the world's greatest. They had hunted the most feared pirates. They knew the aura of Red-Haired Shanks, considered by many to possess the most formidable Conqueror's Haki. This… this was something else entirely. This was a depth of power that felt alien, yet hauntingly familiar in a way Sengoku couldn't immediately place—a faint, distorted echo of a past he'd tried to forget.
Just as they gathered their formidable strength to push back with everything they had, the pressure vanished.
It was gone as suddenly as it had arrived, leaving behind a ringing silence that was somehow louder than the alarm.
Sengoku stumbled to the window again. The scene below was one of utter defeat. Marines in uniform, hundreds of them, were scattered across the courtyards, training grounds, and streets like fallen leaves. They lay unconscious, unharmed but utterly overwhelmed. He saw the forms of Vice Admirals Stainless and Momonga among them. The entire fighting force of the headquarters, felled not by blades or bullets, but by sheer, suffocating intimidation.
Even Admiral Kizaru was visibly shaken. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead. He took a long, deliberate sip of tea, his usual nonchalance fractured. "What a frightening monster~," he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "If that was an enemy… we might be in for quite a bit of trouble~."
He stood and left to find Sengoku, stepping out into a citadel of the fallen. Marineford stood silent. Of its thousands of defenders, only three men remained conscious and on their feet on the command level: Fleet Admiral Sengoku, Admiral Kizaru, and the Hero of the Marines, Monkey D. Garp.
Garp stared at his old friend, his usual boisterousness completely absent. "Sengoku… what in the blazes was that?"
Sengoku's face was grave, his mind racing over possibilities, settling on one that seemed both impossible and, suddenly, terrifyingly plausible. "Perhaps… I have an idea who it might be," he said slowly, each word heavy. "But it feels… like a dream. It can't be real."
Garp cracked his knuckles, a grim smile touching his lips. "Want me to punch you and find out?"
"Get lost," Sengoku grumbled, but his eyes were fixed on the horizon, searching for a shadow that had already passed. The rules of the world he knew had just been quietly, violently, rewritten
(End of Chapter)
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