"The winner takes everything — the loser starts again!"
Golden Lion Shiki gripped his twin swords, blood seeping from his wounds, yet he refused to leave the cliffside.
Rayleigh and Jaba stood shoulder to shoulder, guarding their injured crewmates. Both were bloodied and pale, breathing heavily.
Silver Axe's body was locked in armor, his eyes hidden behind a cold mask.
Wang Zhi's form was half fused with the island itself — flesh merging into the land like molten tar.
And there, still standing tall amid it all, was Whitebeard.
His blade, Murakumogiri, reflected the storm of the battlefield.
Even gravely injured, Edward Newgate showed no intention of retreating.
Nearby, Sengoku leaned against Zephyr, both men swathed in bandages. Their expressions were grim — not just from pain, but from the weight of realization. Justice itself felt heavier than ever before.
Vice Admiral Tsuru sat quietly on a shattered chair, behind her three unconscious bodies — Steel Bone Kong, Saint Saturn, and Saint Gringoo.
This had once been a hospital. Now it was a graveyard.
The doctors and nurses who once served the Celestial Dragons had perished in the "Hunting Game" they'd helped enable.
A fitting irony.
Big Mom, arms crossed, leaned against a crumbling wall. If not for her monstrous constitution, she would have already collapsed.
Kaido, battered worse than anyone, stared fixedly at the battlefield's heart — silent, brooding.
From the Marine ranks, Bogard gripped his sword tight. He wanted to charge in like Roger himself… but the corpses of the Celestial Dragons lying all around told him he couldn't.
Dragon had noticed Sharn's arrival but said nothing. In his arms was a sealed box — a gift thrown to him earlier by Garp. Dragon hadn't opened it yet, but he would. It was fate — the wind's chosen destiny. Inside waited the Devil Fruit that would one day change the world.
John lay sprawled among rubble, head resting on an oak barrel, pouring himself another cup of wine.
No one here could still fight.
It had been nearly three full days since the Battle of God Valley began. Every side — Rocks Pirates, Roger Pirates, Marines — was utterly spent. Bodies broken, spirits strained, stamina gone.
Every attack had carried its toll: ambushes, interference, betrayals.
Even victory after victory had drained them dry.
Now all they could do was breathe and wait.
Because whoever still stood when this final clash ended — would decide the fate of the seas.
"Rocks has always been lucky," John mumbled, taking another swig before falling back asleep.
Sharn wasn't sure if it was a real nap or a fake one.
No one here could be trusted — not even supposed allies.
Like John said before: Rocks is a gambler, and every one of us is a wager.
Now only the final chip remained — Rocks himself.
The last hand of fate.
"The winner takes it all," someone whispered. "This time… what will it be?"
Even Big Mom didn't understand it anymore.
How were Roger and Garp — just mortals — still standing?
Why couldn't Rocks crush them as he always did?
If he lost here, everything ended. All their years of blood and ambition would scatter into the sea.
There would never be another crew like the Rocks Pirates again.
There was only ever one Rocks.
Every half-dead soul on the island stared at the same three men locked in the storm's center.
Sharn, meanwhile, looked ridiculous — steam billowing off him like a boiling kettle.
"Are their Haki waves gonna kill us 'fragile pirates' by accident?" he muttered.
He had the right to call himself fragile — compared to monsters like these, everyone was.
If Garp and Roger won, the Rocks Pirates would scatter to the winds.
But if Rocks won… every Marine here would turn to ash and rubble.
With his Haki alone, he could revive his crew, crush the Marines, and take the world.
Everyone watching understood: only one outcome could exist.
No second chances.
Rocks had planned for this day far too long — from the ambush of the God Knights to the bait of the Hachinosu treasure.
If he won, he'd not only annihilate Marine Headquarters but capture the Celestial Saints as leverage.
God Valley was now an isolated island, wrapped in fog.
Only an Eternal Pose could guide anyone in or out.
Sharn leaned against the cliff, stones tumbling onto his head like pebbles on a drum.
At the center of the island, three men faced each other — the final confrontation.
Rocks stood shrouded in darkness, his long black hair coiling like living shadows.
Armament Haki coated his body, Conqueror's Haki blazed around him, and even from afar, one could feel the crushing weight of his presence.
His blood-red eyes saw the future, heard every heartbeat, and sensed every warrior still breathing on the island.
Lightning flickered from his aura; black sparks cracked the air and lifted debris around him.
The other two formed a triangle with him.
Garp rolled his shoulders, lightning-blue Haki snapping across his fists.
His Iron Fist of Love had evolved into something divine — each punch now roared with the crackle of divine judgment.
Across from him, Roger gripped his sword tightly — golden eyes burning, Conqueror's Haki blazing.
His blood-red aura coiled around his blade like a dragon in flight.
Then — he vanished.
He hadn't moved. He was right there — visible to the eye — but gone from every sense.
Even Rocks' all-seeing Observation Haki couldn't locate him.
Sharn blinked from afar. "He's gone… his presence is gone!"
It was the ultimate art — Conqueror's Cloak, masking one's existence by overwhelming Observation Haki itself.
Combine that with lightning-speed movement, and a warrior could truly vanish.
Every Haki master watching froze.
Rocks tilted his head.
Garp clenched his fists.
And from the edge of the battlefield, Kaido — watching history unfold — murmured words that would define his future:
"Only Haki… reigns above all."
BOOM.
Black, crimson, and blue-white collided — three Conqueror's Haki explosions at once, as if meteors had struck.
"Gol D. Roger!"
"Monkey D. Garp!"
"Rocks D. Xebec!"
The War of D had begun — destiny's final clash.
The heavens split open.
Storm winds shredded the clouds; lightning danced across the valley.
Every pirate, every Marine outside the center collapsed under the shockwave of the kings' wills.
The sea roared, the sky screamed — and the world itself felt the weight of three names.
The God Valley trembled.
The world would never be the same again.
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