Sengoku had never imagined things would come to this.
He watched as the Floating Town drifted higher and higher, the purple-haired figure at its edge standing unmoving, like an unyielding reef in a rising tide.
He watched the bullets and artillery shells streak through the air, each one "missing" by mere inches.
His mind went blank.
His expression twisted—rage, frustration, helplessness—all fighting for dominance across his face. His fists clenched and relaxed again and again.
For once, the great strategist had no plan.
They fired. They just missed.
He gazed up at the sky blooming with sparks and smoke, a hollow laugh escaping him.
If I were the one leaving the Marines today… would Zephyr send me off the same way?
The answer was obvious.
He sighed. The weight in his chest grew heavy.
"In the end," he murmured, "there's only one Black Arm Zephyr in this world."
The gunfire faded into silence. The floating landmass dwindled to a shadow, then slipped into the sea of clouds, disappearing beneath the sunlight.
Thin wisps of smoke drifted from the barrels of the Marines' guns. They lowered their weapons and turned toward the last figure standing.
The young Vice Admiral stood bare-chested, his body crisscrossed with scars—old and new, each one telling its own brutal story. His muscles gleamed beneath the golden light.
No one spoke. No one dared to move.
The air thickened—heavy, taut, ready to snap.
Then Darren reached into his pocket, drew out a cigar, and held it between his teeth.
"All the nuisances are gone."
He flicked open his lighter.
Click.
A flame danced. He took a long, deliberate drag.
"Hah…"
Smoke rolled from his lips like the breath of a dragon, veiling his sharp eyes.
"So…"
He swept his gaze across the assembled Marines. One by one, they flinched, unable to meet it.
A faint smirk tugged at his mouth—dry, arrogant, dangerous. Beneath it burned something fierce and wild.
"Which of you wants to go first?"
---
At that same moment…
The Red Line. The Holy Land of Mary Geoise.
After half a day of fire and chaos, the inferno consuming the Holy Land was finally smothered.
But the land was ruined.
The once-pristine white walls and blue-tiled roofs of Mary Geoise were now blackened and broken. The proud boulevards lay buried beneath debris and corpses—those of Guards, officials, even Celestial Dragons.
The noble city had become a graveyard.
Where elegant lamps once shone, twisted metal stood. Black smoke curled through the blood-red sky, clinging to the ruins like a curse.
The nobles themselves now moved like refugees, wrapped in ash and soot, shuffling through the rubble under guard escort. They stumbled over torn World Government banners, eyes hollow, skin pale.
Their gaze flicked skyward—haunted, fearful—at something they could not name.
Through the smoke and ruin strode Kong, the Fleet Admiral, his white coat sweeping behind him. Deep fatigue carved lines into his weathered face, his bloodshot eyes threaded with red veins.
He had seen war before, but nothing like this.
Half of the Holy Land was gone.
Even with the Government's bottomless wealth, it would take years to rebuild.
But it wasn't the stone and marble that mattered—it was the people.
A third of the Government's officials had perished in the fire and rebellion. The administrative and military paralysis that would follow would shake the world.
And worse, the Celestial Dragons—the "gods" of this world—had been slaughtered in staggering numbers.
The North Blue Fleet's bombardment had leveled the Land of the Gods. A quarter of the Celestial Dragons were dead; half of them, unrecognizable. Some had been vaporized in their sleep by laser fire.
It was annihilation.
Coupled with the report from the fleet returning from Felsek Island, the truth was undeniable.
A complete and utter defeat.
Kong could hardly believe it.
The World Government—the greatest power of the past eight hundred years, ruled by "immortal" gods—had been brought to its knees by one man.
A Vice Admiral barely past his twenties.
"That kid Darren… he's gone too far this time," Kong muttered, disbelief clouding his eyes. "I never imagined he'd grow this strong… or that he'd secretly build a flying fleet in the North Blue."
Bitterness flooded him. A Marine like Darren—strong, brilliant, born to lead—and the Gorosei's arrogance had turned him into their enemy.
The thought of Marineford made him move faster.
He climbed the Stairway to Heaven, the colossal statues looming overhead. CP0 agents lined the path, pale and motionless as ghosts.
Finally, he reached the doors of Pangaea Castle.
"Fleet Admiral 'Steel Bone' Kong, requesting audience with the Gorosei!"
He steadied his breath and pushed the doors open.
The scent of green tea drifted out to meet him.
Inside, the five elders of the world sat around a brazier, calmly brewing tea as though the world outside hadn't burned.
Kong's hands trembled with restrained fury.
At a time like this… and they're sipping tea?
"Gorosei Excellencies," he said, his voice low but steady. "We've received the latest report from Marineford."
"Former Admiral Zephyr has acquired the Float-Float Fruit from Darren and escaped with Toki and several key Headquarters officers."
"Admiral Sengoku's forces lack aerial combat ability—and with Darren's interference, they failed to stop Zephyr's departure."
"In my judgment, Zephyr's defection will cripple Marine morale."
He straightened, his voice hardening.
"Even if we mobilize every Marine at Headquarters, we won't be able to capture Rogers Darren. Not with the North Blue Fleet unaccounted for—they could strike the Government again at any moment."
"This war… can't be won."
"Continuing it will only waste more lives."
"My subordinate suggests—"
"So you mean to say…"
The hoarse voice cut through him like a blade—cold, emotionless.
"…we've already lost?"
To be continued...