Stussy knelt trembling on the cold marble floor, her breath shallow, her hands slick with cold sweat. She didn't dare lift her head to meet the eyes of the five figures seated before her.
What kind of power was that…?
With a single glance, Lone Wolf's head had burst apart like a ripe melon struck by a hammer. The sound still echoed in her skull—the sickening pop, the spray of blood, the abrupt silence afterward.
If she hadn't seen it herself, she would have dismissed such a tale as madness. But she had seen it—had felt it—and that horror was now burned into her bones.
Was it some kind of Paramecia ability? Or… could that have been Haki?
No. Stussy quickly ruled both out. She had noticed it clearly: a ring of dark, flame-like energy had flared around Saint Saturn the moment he unleashed that terrible power.
That image triggered a memory—something she had once read in one of the CP0 organization's highest-level classified archives.
This sea harbored countless Devil Fruits, each with its own strange, often terrifying gift. But despite their variety, they could all be divided into three principal types.
The first: Logia, the power of nature itself. Those who ate these fruits could transform into elemental forms, making them nearly untouchable to anyone who had not mastered Haki. The Marine's new generation of "monsters" were the best examples of that overwhelming strength.
The second: Paramecia, the most unpredictable of all. These fruits granted powers so diverse they defied pattern—powers that could, at their limits, reshape the world. Golden Lion's Float-Float Fruit, Whitebeard's Tremor-Tremor Fruit… and that bastard Darren's Magnet-Magnet Fruit—all belonged to this category.
And the third: Zoan, the most common of the three. Zoan users gained the power to transform into specific animals, inheriting their speed, ferocity, and strength. They were prized by warriors who favored close combat.
But that description only covered ordinary Zoans.
Two rare branches existed beyond the norm—Ancient Zoans, modeled after creatures of prehistory, and Mythical Zoans, which drew their forms from gods and legends.
And in those same classified records, Stussy remembered one particular line:
"When a Zoan user of exceptional strength achieves Awakening, a circle of black flame will appear around their body—a symbol of transcendence."
Her expression darkened beneath her mask.
Could it be… that Saint Jaygarcia Saturn was a Mythical Zoan user who had fully awakened his Devil Fruit?
And that terrifying power—the instant death brought by eye contact—could that have been one of his abilities?
But even that seemed impossible to believe.
Lone Wolf might not have been the strongest within CP0, but he was no weakling. His combat prowess rivaled that of a Marine Vice Admiral. To destroy him so effortlessly, without even a motion… that went far beyond the scope of ordinary Devil Fruit power.
The oppressive air that still lingered in the room told her everything she needed to know.
This was the rule of gods—the absolute dominance of the Gorosei.
Silver-armored Holy Land Guards entered quietly, their movements careful and efficient. They carried away what was left of Lone Wolf's corpse and sprayed a fine mist of aromatic herbs to suppress the iron stench of blood.
Saint Saturn exhaled softly, setting his teacup down with deliberate calm. "The audacity of these fools," he muttered, voice smooth as glass. "To think they could use us as pawns… utterly absurd."
His gaze turned, sharp and cold, toward Stussy. "Fox. What do you think? Is Vice Admiral Rogers Darren suitable to lead this investigation? Do you agree with what that man said before his… demise?"
The question struck like a blade against her throat.
Stussy's pulse spiked. She could feel his gaze piercing through the mask, through her skull, through her thoughts. The faintest flicker of hesitation, the wrong word, a misplaced tone—any of it could end with her body beside Lone Wolf's.
Her first instinct was to cry out the truth.
You're wrong! That man, Darren, is the very one orchestrating the assassination of the Shichibukai candidates! He's manipulating everything behind the scenes!
But Lone Wolf's blood was still wet on the floor. The smell lingered in her nose, sickly sweet and metallic.
Her heart wrenched painfully in her chest.
If she spoke now, would Saturn see honesty—or defiance?
Would he simply turn those crimson eyes on her next?
She couldn't risk it. Not for herself—and not for Vegapunk.
If she died here, who would continue feeding him intelligence? Who would protect him from the World Government's tightening noose? Her death would spell his downfall.
She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, forcing her voice to remain steady. "This humble servant believes Vice Admiral Rogers Darren is… the most suitable candidate."
The moment the words left her mouth, humiliation crushed her like a wave.
This was her chance—perhaps her only chance—to expose that man's vile schemes. And yet, because of Lone Wolf's stupidity, she had been reduced to uttering the opposite.
Saint Saturn gave no visible reaction. He simply nodded once, as though her words had confirmed something he already knew. Then his attention shifted to the one man among them who had yet to speak.
A bald figure in a dark green suit, his expression composed and unreadable. A thick walrus mustache curved over his lips, and a distinct birthmark marred his broad forehead.
Saint Topman Warcury, the Warrior God of Justice.
"Saint Warcury," Saturn said, his tone almost deferential. "What are your thoughts?"
Hearing that name, Stussy dared to raise her head slightly, her breath catching in her throat.
Saint Topman Warcury…
Within the CP Organization, that name was whispered with both awe and dread.
He was not merely one of the Gorosei—he was their supreme commander. The architect of every CP directive. The invisible hand that dictated who lived, who vanished, and who was erased from history.
Saint Topman Warcury, the World Government's Warrior God of Justice. The man whose word alone could condemn entire nations to ruin.
This bald, quiet old man held absolute judicial power across the seas. The courts of Enies Lobby, the CP agencies of every tier, even divisions of the Holy Land Guard—all were under his direct command.
Among the Gorosei, his authority was not the loudest, but it was perhaps the most final.
His real name was Topman Warcury—but among his agents, he was known only as Saint Warcury, the shadow sovereign of justice.
It was said he had once concealed his identity to walk among men, even joining the God's Knights. A Celestial Dragon not born but forged, he had clawed his way to the summit through intellect and steel alone.
Just like the ancient sword that hung above a king's throne, his very name had become synonymous with judgment—swift, silent, and absolute.
The Sword of Damocles that ruled the world.
To be continued...