The rain came down in heavy sheets, unrelenting, soaking through clothes, boots, and even spirits. The battlefield had become a mire of mud and blood, but still the fighting raged on.
At the center stood Silvers Rayleigh, the Dark King, Roger's first mate. His sword gleamed despite the storm, and every swing of that blade carved down another challenger from Whitebeard's crew. His movements were relaxed, almost casual, yet not a soul could match him.
He was Roger's right hand. A man whose very name carried terror. The more the Whitebeard Pirates charged, the clearer it became, they could not overcome him.
Marco, burning with frustration, could bear it no longer. Flames burst from his body as he transformed into a blue phoenix and dove from the sky. His talons slashed down, sharp enough to split steel.
A metallic clang rang out. Marco froze, eyes widening. Rayleigh hadn't raised his blade, hadn't even shifted his stance—he had stopped Marco's full-powered strike with a single finger, hardened with Armament Haki.
"I'm always serious, kid," Rayleigh said with a faint smile, as though mocking him with calmness alone.
Marco grit his teeth, wings flaring wider. He had speed, firepower, stamina—yet against Rayleigh it felt like trying to claw through a mountain.
Elsewhere, chaos reigned. Layock's meteor hammer swung like a thunderbolt, smashing boulders apart as Shanks and Buggy barely avoided being crushed. Mobius, Voss, and Peto fought desperately against another Roger Pirate, yet still found themselves on the back foot.
The entire island felt like a world war zone.
Marco pushed on, but Rayleigh swatted him aside again and again, smiling as if this were a friendly spar. That was when another figure appeared, dropping from the canopy like a shadow.
Black claws slashed straight toward Rayleigh's head.
It was Teach.
After Eyedragon fell earlier, he had found no worthy opponent—everyone else was already locked in duels he didn't care to interrupt. So his eyes had settled on Rayleigh, who toyed with Marco as though swatting flies.
Rayleigh pivoted, his senses sharp, and raised his Haki-hardened arm to block. Claws screeched against steel-like flesh.
In the same breath, Teach's left hand reached behind him and gripped the hilt of his greatsword. With a hiss of steel, Dragon Abyss was drawn.
"Fuzan!"
The downward slash ripped through the storm, violent and unyielding. Sparks erupted as Rayleigh raised his own blade to meet it.
"Marco! We'll take him together!" Teach barked, voice hard with determination.
Marco exhaled in relief, nodding sharply. "Got it!"
With Teach pressing forward, Marco once again launched into the fray, his talons crackling with blue flames.
Rayleigh's smile widened. "Now this is getting interesting."
He swung once, casually yet with force enough to blast Teach backward, boots gouging trenches in the mud. Marco dove next, only to meet Rayleigh's sudden kick to the chest, sending him tumbling before he caught himself midair with a furious flap of wings.
Teach steadied his stance mid-slide using Moonwalk, the impact still rattling through his bones. He spat into the mud, grin widening despite himself. His blood was boiling—this was a real fight.
"Dragon Roar!"
The blade of Dragon Abyss shuddered, silver light bursting as draconic cries echoed from its edge. Unlike before, the energy wasn't released in a wave—it was condensed directly into his sword.
He swung.
The descending strike split the storm itself, the roar of dragons vibrating through every raindrop.
Rayleigh's eyes sharpened. His sword shot upward, catching the strike. The clash detonated with a thunderous boom, shockwaves cracking the ground like glass. Marco dove again from above, only to be caught by Rayleigh's free hand and hurled aside like a child.
But Teach was unrelenting.
Dragon Abyss whirled, then sheathed in one smooth motion. His hands went to the hilts of two shorter blades. Purgatory in his left. Thunderclap in his right.
Flame coiled around one. Lightning danced around the other.
His grin widened into madness. "Take-Mikazuchi! Take-Minakata!"
From the twin blades surged divine fury—flame and lightning, gods of destruction given form. He slashed with both arms, unleashing torrents of fire and thunder that collided midair, twisting together in unstable union.
The fused slash screamed forward, a chaotic blade of flame and lightning barely under control. Even Teach himself knew one slip would backfire, but he had no choice—this was power worth risking his life to wield.
Rayleigh finally showed something beyond leisure. His eyes narrowed as he swung. A flash of silver met the oncoming chaos, splitting the unstable attack clean in two.
The world exploded.
The ground heaved as a crater ripped open. Fire roared. Lightning sizzled. Air blasted outward in a storm that swallowed the battlefield. For a moment, all sound was gone but the howling of unleashed forces.
Both fighters leapt back as the explosion consumed the earth. When the dust cleared, blackened soil stretched in a wide scar across the land, arcs of lightning still dancing over charred stone.
And still, the duel raged.
Day bled into night. Night bled into day.
The third day came, and Teach's body screamed from exhaustion. Every muscle tore, every breath burned. Marco's phoenix flames sputtered, wings tattered, body covered in wounds.
Rayleigh stood tall. Calm. Smiling. As though this entire battle had been little more than a spar.
At last, twilight of the third day descended. Roger and Whitebeard's own battle slowed, the two legends grinning as they clashed one final time before pulling away. By unspoken agreement, the war ended.
On the fourth morning, the storm had passed. The battlefield was filled not with violence, but laughter.
Members of both crews now traded treasures and trinkets as though old friends.
Rayleigh sat cross-legged on a mushroom stalk, chuckling as he observed. "Thieves turning into gift-givers. What a sight."
Nearby, Marco sat heavily on a boulder, body swathed in bandages. Mobius and Voss leaned close to Teach, whispering. Their gazes were fixed on two boys across the way.
Shanks and Buggy.
"Boss Teach," Mobius muttered, "are those… apprentice pirates?"
Teach smirked, lifting a sake bottle. "Seems that way. First time I've met Roger's brats."
"They don't look that strong," Mobius said, skeptical.
Marco laughed tiredly from behind. "Don't underestimate them. They've been here longer than you think. They're stronger than they look."
Shanks and Buggy stood straight-backed, arms crossed, glaring with all the arrogance their small bodies could muster.
Buggy leaned close to Shanks, whispering urgently. "Hey, you see that guy? White shirt, black bandana?"
Shanks squinted. Teach was easy to pick out, sake in hand, chest bare beneath an unbuttoned shirt.
"Yeah, what about him?" Shanks asked.
"That guy… hasn't slept. Not once. Not yesterday, not the day before… nothing!" Buggy hissed.
Shanks blinked, then grinned. "So what? That just means life's twice as fun!"
Buggy nearly screamed. "Idiot! It makes him a monster!"
He glanced at Teach again, whispering fiercely. "I asked around. His name's Marshall D. Teach. Not even fifteen yet. A year older than us—and he fought Rayleigh for three days without rest."
Shanks' grin faded slightly. "...A monster, huh?"
Their eyes lingered on Teach, who simply laughed, tilting his bottle back.
Behind him, Mobius clenched his fists. Voss adjusted the heavy iron rings on his limbs. Both had the same thought—they needed to get stronger.
Marco chuckled, watching the boys swing training weapons again despite their wounds. "They're full of energy."
Teach grinned wider, fire in his eyes as he drained the sake. "Good. That's how it should be."