The waters surrounding Wano Island were silent, locked beneath a thick layer of ice.
"GURARARARA!"
A white-haired teen looked down at the gathering crowd. "Heroes. Villains. Vigilantes. Hunters. I even see a few living butterfly effects among you."
His grin widened. "To come here... to dare attempt an invasion of my land... I assume you all brought a reason worth dying for?"
"Yes, young man."
The challenge came from a man who stood seven feet tall, a mountain of blonde muscle. His hair, a crown of stiff golden spikes, was unique, with two tufts standing vertically like rabbit ears. But it was his face that commanded attention: his upper features were perpetually shrouded in shadow, leaving only his piercing, electric-blue irises visible—glowing with the intensity of a dying star.
"I've come here to take that thing, or destroy it," he declared, "so that no evil one can ever use it."
As the blonde giant finished his declaration, a sharp, commanding voice cut in.
"Then you must be the guardian the legends speak of."
The speaker was a woman of powerful, toned frame, suggesting explosive speed and strategic flexibility. Her attire was a bold, unapologetic declaration: a hero costume mirroring the American flag, dominated by royal blue and stark white stripes. A golden, eagle-emblazoned corset cinched her waist, leading the eye to the bright, metallic star accents on her collar, wristbands, and boots, giving her the polished, military-grade look of a national champion.
A vibrant red cape, a massive, theatrical flourish, billowed behind her, symbolizing her readiness to fly across continents. Her most striking feature was her bright blonde hair, pulled back in a practical high ponytail, yet featuring two distinctive, vertical spikes that mimicked iconic V-shape horns. Her blue eyes were keen and intelligent, shining with clear, unwavering focus and a fiercely determined expression.
Guardian?"
The question came from a man who stepped forward immediately after the woman spoke. His heroic appearance was sleek, confident, and aerodynamic, designed for the limitless heights his power now commanded. Hes vibrant blue full-body suit that emphasized his refined athleticism.
The suit itself was an electric blue, stripped of all amateur frills. It was practical, protective, and gave him the clean, powerful silhouette of an expert aerial combatant.
A fourth figure, distinct from the others, cut through the tense silence.
"I just came here to fight," he said, his voice raw.
He stood tall and was heavily muscled, his frame dense and unyielding, clearly carved by years of relentless street combat rather than superhuman genetics. His physical presence was intimidating—a man who looked less like a hero and more like a brawler who had walked out of the roughest part of town. He had short, dark hair and thick, prominent eyebrows that framed a perpetually intense glare. His rugged face was often obscured by heavy stubble. The most defining mark was a noticeable, prominent scar running diagonally down his left cheek, a badge of honor from a brutal past
Then, the very ground seemed to vibrate. A strong, guttural roar, like voices chimed from a great distance, echoed from the back ranks of the invaders.
"GET—POWER—STRONGEST—FOR—MASTER!" The words were broken, unsettling.
The speaker was a force of nature given flesh, a primeval horror that dwarfed even the tallest buildings. He was the ultimate, terrifying embodiment of raw, overwhelming physical might. Standing at an absolutely colossal height, he was a hunch-backed behemoth whose body was a chaotic, grotesque mass of bulging, dense musculature.
His skin, a deep, dark tone, was stretched taut over immense fibers. His face was dominated by a heavy, metallic, muzzle-like apparatus strapped tightly around his lower jaw. Thick horns erupted from his skull, and his wild, dark hair flowed backward like a mane, adding to his savage, bestial appearance. When his mouth was visible, his teeth were large and jagged. His body was covered in deep, rugged scars—marks of the constant, agonizing stress his body sustains from its own immense power.On this monster hand a purple-fog was standing in its palm.
A new, incredibly languid voice sighed into the tense atmosphere.
"Alalala... what a hassle," he murmured.
The speaker was exceptionally tall and lean, possessing a quiet, almost sleepy intensity. His features were distinctive, framed by a mop of dark, curly hair. A signature sleep mask, typically pushed up onto his forehead, gave him the perpetually weary look of a man who had just rolled out of bed—or was perpetually ready to fall into one..
Out of the shadows, a single, unnerving voice spoke, echoing the ultimate threat.
"A power to finally destroy the Quirk itself."
The speaker was tall and slim, but his most immediate, unnerving feature was the color of his skin: a luminescent light blue (or neon blue) tone. This glow was the side effect of the perpetual, mirror-like force field generated by his Quirk, separating him with an alien, otherworldly gleam.He wore a religious, cult-like uniform that conveyed authority and mystery. It included a long white cloak with dark red lining, giving him a stark, dramatic visual presence over his red robe, golden belt, and dark combat gear.
POWER! I WANT THAT POWERRRRR!"
The shout was pure, desperate greed. It came from a man who possessed the same immense, hyper-muscular physique as the blonde giant—a towering, overwhelming mass of power. Yet, where the other shone, this figure was corrupted. He appeared in duller, sickly tones, often a dark, flat gray or black, giving him a heavy, unnatural density.
His eyes glowed with a feral, almost mechanical intensity—bright red pinpricks against a darkened face, suggesting a complete lack of humanity or control. Even his massive, golden-blonde hair was corrupted; it was now a stiff, dark gray or black crown of spikes, maintaining the signature shape but stripped entirely of its light.
A ninth voice, measured and low, cut through the clamor of desire and power.
"I came here to challenge the so-called strongest man."
The speaker was a tall, lean man with a perpetually serious and observant demeanor. His presence was characterized by a silent confidence that spoke to his undisputed title. His most defining physical trait, which earned him his nickname, was his gaze: strangely colored yellow eyes that were sharp, piercing, and intensely resembled the eyes of a hawk. His black hair was usually kept long, and he sported a distinctive short beard, mustache, and sideburns that pointed upwards.
"Hmph." The soft, dismissive sound carried across the frozen sea. "I came here to check if the man worthy of me is really in this place, just like what our Ancestor said."
The claim was made by a breathtaking woman. Her long, jet-black hair was styled in a characteristic hime cut, with blunt bangs framing a wide forehead. Her deep blue eyes, slender and delicate, carried a look of aloofness and immense pride. Her flawless, pale skin contrasted sharply with her dark hair.
She wore a long, qipao-style dress, often in crimson or deep red, featuring golden snake motifs and trimmed with white frills and purple sashes. The robe was typically slit high on both sides, emphasizing her curves and revealing her long, slender legs. Her signature accessories were a large, ornate pair of snake-shaped gold earrings worn beneath her ears.
"I came here to unravel the missing history and the true origin of quirks," a feminine voice added, quiet but resolute.
The speaker was a woman of classic beauty. Her attire was a stunning Wafuku, often described as a short white kimono with delicate floral decorations. A broad purple waist-band (obi) cinched the kimono, tied with a red cord. On her back, a prominent, large lilac bow acted as a visual focal point, contrasting sharply with the white fabric. Her long black hair was often styled in a traditional updo, emphasizing her graceful, scholarly demeanor.
"In our family history, this island was our hometown," a twelfth woman spoke, her voice measured and tinged with sorrow. "I request of Mister Guardian to let me in so I may return our heirloom and fulfill a promise."
She was a slim woman of average height (170 cm), though she appeared much taller due to the elaborate height of her traditional wooden clogs (geta). Her hair was long, flowing, and an ethereal turquoise or seafoam blue-green, reaching past her waist. Her blue eyes were uniquely slanted at a downward
angle, giving her a naturally gentle, almost sorrowful look.
She wore vibrant fuchsia lipstick and immaculate, traditional makeup (like a courtesan), further enhancing her flawless beauty. Her attire was an extremely opulent furisode kimono. Her most iconic version was a vibrant red one that appeared to sparkle, richly adorned with the magnificent illustration of a peacock and flowers on the sleeve.
"Chill, Mister Guardian! We're just here to have some adventure."
The declaration came from a pair of cocky young men.
The first was tall, lean, and exceptionally muscular, possessing a powerful, athletic build. With his curly, jet-black hair and perpetual, cocky smirk, he stood shirtless, showing off his powerful torso. He wore short black shorts, tall black boots, and most iconically, an orange cowboy hat adorned with red beads and his insignia of frowning and smiling faces.
The one beside him was also tall, possessing a sharp, powerful, and classically refined physique. His curly, golden-blonde hair was usually worn messy beneath a black top hat with goggles. He carried a metal pipe tucked into his belt.
As they spoke, both young men were emitting a clear, fierce fire from their fingers, pointing their defiant flames directly at the frozen island before them.
"Hey! Watch it, you two! Didn't I tell you to stay put?" the Old Man bellowed, instantly lecturing the wananabe adventurers.
He was exceptionally tall and possessed an extremely muscular, bulky physique despite his age (in his late 70s). He stood as a living testament to incredible, purely physical strength. His face was dominated by an infectious, wide grin that often showed his teeth, and though he had a few prominent age lines, he maintained a powerful, youthful energy. He sported a distinctive, thick, crescent-shaped gray mustache that framed his mouth beneath short, steel-gray hair that was thinning on top.
And still, many more distinctive characters were slowly approaching the frozen island, their figures blurring into the ever-expanding crowd.
The landmass they sought was a fortress. The island itself was entirely covered by a thick, circular rock formation, encircling the coast like a massive, petrified wall. The only possible way to enter the territory from the frozen sea was through a single choke point: the vast column of water flowing out from the very tip of the island, creating a deadly waterfall entrance
GURARARA!"
The white-haired teen laughed, and then released his Conqueror's Haki. An unbelievable pressure—a visible white, transparent lightning—enveloped the entire island and the frozen sea below. The invaders felt a massive pressure pressing down on them, as if gravity itself was pulling them down to kneel.
Many people collapsed to the ground, falling unconscious. Yet, as the heroes, villains, vigilantes, hunters, and those with familiar faces were shrouded by the massive force, they couldn't help but feel a terrifying mix of fear, excitement, and awe at his aura alone.
"GURARARARARARARA... I see your curiosity, your ignorance, your lust, and your desire for this hidden power. What a bunch of fools you all are!"
His voice boomed, cutting through the overwhelming pressure.
"Let me tell you something, invaders! The 'Guardian' you are looking for has long been dead! And the power you desire has been standing here, looking down at you all this time!"
"GUARARARARARA!"
The white-haired teen's gaze would lock onto the empty space—the void—where the intended attack was meant to originate. Then, with a slow, grinding intensity, his fingers began to curl inward, transitioning from an open palm to a massive, crushing fist. This movement was a profound act of will—the decision not merely to inhabit space, but to control it.
As the fist completed its heavy, deliberate clench, the Gura Gura no Mi's power surged. The physical action was immediately mirrored in the surrounding atmosphere: The air within a small radius of his knuckles would shimmer violently, appearing to be under intense pressure. It ceased to be invisible and began to resemble a solid, yet fragile, medium.
This tension would escalate instantly. Fine, serpentine cracks would appear, radiating outward from his fist. These were not cracks in the air, but visible fractures in the very fabric of space, as though the laws of physics were shattering around his hand.
In the final microsecond of the clench, the fractured air would coalesce, snapping into the definitive visual: a perfect, hollow, white sphere of destructive energy that encased his fist completely. It looked like an ornate, yet terrifying, crystal gauntlet—the physical manifestation of the tremor force.
At this point, his hand was no longer grasping air; it was holding a tangible, invisible section of the world's surface, ready to be violently pulled or pushed to trigger a cataclysm.
With a single pull, the effect was instantaneous: the whole frozen sea tilted—no, not just the sea, but the whole world itself seemed to shift on its axis.
Because the power isn't a simple surface shock but a disruption of the entire tectonic plate structure, the frozen ocean beneath them was violently and rapidly uplifted and tilted to a precise, dramatic degree.
The frozen water, its massive container suddenly warped and slammed, could not react gently. This rapid displacement of the sea floor instantly generated colossal, towering walls of water and frozen ice.
The frozen sea was thrown into chaos, listing violently as the very ice floor sloped. The frozen sea was no longer flat; it was a gigantic, agitated bowl of water precariously balanced on a tilted surface. The vast, deep-blue ocean was now unnaturally tilted and churning, with impossible tsunamis threatening to consume the world.
The teen watched the devastation and said, "You want to witness the power that can destroy this world? Then be my guest, and be a witness. GURARARA!"
As the impossible occurred, the white-haired teen shouted with greater authority and absolute declaration:
"REMEMBER MY NAME! I AM ARCH D. NEWGATE, SON OF WHITEBEARD—THE STRONGEST MAN EVER SEEN THROUGHOUT THE ENTIRE HISTORY OF THIS WORLD!"
"GURARARARARARA!"
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.TEASER ENDS....