Chapter 46: The Nightmare of Marineford! A New Era of Terror!
One Day Later.
Grand Line – Marine Headquarters, Marineford.
The sky above the fortress of Absolute Justice was a suffocating gray, heavy with unshed rain. It was as if the heavens themselves were holding their breath, afraid to disturb the volatile atmosphere brewing inside the massive pagoda at the center of the island.
Inside the Fleet Admiral's office on the top floor, the air was so thick with tension it felt like lead. The usual calming scent of green tea and old parchment was completely obliterated by the acrid smell of burnt tobacco, ozone, and suppressed rage.
The room was occupied by the most powerful individuals in the Navy, yet the silence was deafening.
A stack of high-definition photographs lay scattered across the thick, mahogany desk like a deck of cursed cards. Each glossy image depicted a different angle of the catastrophe at the Twin Capes—burning ships, shattered ice, and the twisted corpse of a God.
BANG!
The silence shattered.
Fleet Admiral Sengoku's fist slammed onto the desk with enough force to crack the solid wood. The shockwave rattled the windows and sent a porcelain teacup dancing off its saucer, spilling hot liquid over a stack of mission reports.
Even Sengoku's pet goat, usually chewing oblivious in the corner, bleated in alarm and retreated behind the sofa.
"Inexcusable..."
Sengoku's voice started as a low growl, vibrating deep in his chest, before erupting into a roar that shook the very foundations of the room.
"ABSOLUTELY INEXCUSABLE!"
Veins throbbed on Sengoku's forehead, bulging like angry snakes beneath his skin. His usually composed, strategic face was contorted into a mask of uncontrollable fury and disbelief. His round glasses reflected the chaotic spread of photos on the desk, multiplying the disaster a hundredfold.
"Saint Jalmack... a World Noble... a descendant of the Creators... was murdered in cold blood!"
He grabbed a handful of papers—casualty reports, distress signals, witness testimonies—and threw them into the air. They fluttered down like white feathers around the Admirals.
"The Heavenly Tribute—billions of Berries intended for the Holy Land—was stolen! A Marine Vice Admiral, a veteran of the New World, is dead! An elite CP0 unit was wiped out to the last man!"
Sengoku leaned over the desk, his breathing ragged. He glared at the three men sitting before him.
"And to stop this, I authorized the deployment of TWO ADMIRALS! A force sufficient to burn down a nation! A force that should make Yonko hesitate!"
He slammed his hand down again.
"But the Suzaku Pirates still managed to escape completely?! Not a single capture? Not even a hostage?!"
Sengoku slumped back into his chair, rubbing his temples as a migraine pounded behind his eyes.
"The Gorosei have been calling me every ten minutes. They want heads to roll. Who can give me an explanation that doesn't involve me resigning in disgrace right now?!"
Across the desk, the atmosphere was grim.
Aokiji (Kuzan) sat slumped in his chair, his long legs stretched out. His sleeping mask was pulled up, but his eyes were shadowed by the brim of his hat. He looked exhausted, his usual lazy demeanor replaced by a heavy, brooding silence. The burn mark on his white suit was still visible, a badge of shame.
Kizaru (Borsalino), usually the picture of relaxed indifference, was uncharacteristically tense. He sat upright, his fingers tapping a nervous, rhythmic beat on the armrest of his chair. Tap. Tap. Tap. He wasn't smiling. His amber sunglasses hid his eyes, but the set of his jaw betrayed his frustration.
To the side, seated on a sofa, was Great Staff Officer Tsuru. The veteran tactician sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap. Her sharp, intelligent gaze swept over each photo on the table, dissecting them, analyzing them, looking for patterns in the chaos.
Silence stretched for a long minute.
Finally, Kizaru broke it. He reached out with a gloved hand and pulled a specific photo from the pile. He slid it slowly to the center of the table.
It was a picture taken by a Marine scout ship from a distance.
It showed Albedo. She was standing on the deck of the Vermillion Wing, her black wings spread wide, encompassing the frame. She wasn't wearing her armor in the photo, but her golden, slit pupils stared directly at the camera lens, transmitting a killing intent that could be felt even through the paper.
"Hmm... regarding this 'Blackwing Demon' Albedo..."
Kizaru pushed up his sunglasses with one finger. His tone was slow, but it lacked its usual mocking lilt. It was deadly serious.
"I'm afraid she's no ordinary character, Sengoku-san. I fought her personally. And it was... confusing."
Sengoku frowned. "Confusing? You are light itself, Borsalino. What could confuse you?"
"Her physiology," Kizaru explained, pointing at the horns and wings in the photo. "Judging from her physical characteristics, she is very likely a Mythical Zoan user. Perhaps a Demon model, or a Fallen Angel. But that's not the issue."
Kizaru paused, recalling the sensation of his lasers bouncing off her black armor. He recalled the sound—CLANG—that still rang in his ears.
"The crucial thing is her defense. She can summon a set of pitch-black armor instantly. It envelops her completely. And that armor... it is unbreakable."
"Unbreakable?" Tsuru repeated, raising an eyebrow. "There is no such thing as unbreakable in this sea. Diamond Jozu? Seastone?"
"Stronger," Kizaru stated flatly. "I hit her with a light-speed kick directly to the chest. I bombarded her with Yasakani no Magatama. I used concentrated laser beams that can melt through the hull of a battleship in a nanosecond."
He tapped the table for emphasis.
"I couldn't even leave a scratch on that armor. It absorbs energy. It defies physics. It felt like hitting a Poneglyph, but harder."
The room went silent. The destructive power of the Pika Pika no Mi was legendary. It was the Navy's ultimate weapon. If Kizaru admitted he couldn't scratch her, then who could?
"What's more troublesome," Kizaru continued, his voice dropping to a murmur. "Is that her combat experience is completely unlike a newcomer. She fights like a veteran of a thousand wars. Her reaction time, her dirty tricks... she used hidden spikes coated in poison."
He touched a small bandage on his cheek where the wind of her spike had cut him.
"And... she possesses Conqueror's Haki."
Sengoku's eyes widened behind his glasses. "Conqueror's?"
"Yes. But not the charismatic kind like Roger or Shanks," Kizaru shuddered slightly. "It carries an icy chill. A fear that strikes the soul. Standing near her feels like standing next to an open grave. It suppresses the will to fight."
Tsuru reached out and picked up Albedo's photo, examining it closely with her reading glasses.
"An absolute defense that ignores Admiral-level attacks," Tsuru mused, her analytical mind working rapidly. "Combined with a terror-inducing Conqueror's Haki... This woman poses an Emperor-level threat by herself. Human wave tactics are meaningless against her. Ordinary Vice Admirals would faint before they could draw their swords."
"To deal with her," Tsuru concluded, placing the photo down, "we would need to mobilize Garp, or perhaps Mihawk. Conventional weaponry is useless."
At this moment, Aokiji finally looked up. His voice was hoarse, as if he had been shouting for hours.
"That 'Combat Maid' Rem is also not simple," Aokiji said, tossing another photo onto the desk.
It showed the blue-haired maid, her single eye glowing red, holding a massive spiked morningstar that looked heavy enough to crush a tank.
"She fought Vice Admiral Ferguson to a standstill before crushing him. Her physical strength is monstrous—likely an Ancient Giant bloodline or something similar. But that's not the worst part."
Aokiji took a deep breath, delivering the news that would give Sengoku ulcers for the rest of his life.
"I have confirmed... visually and tactically... that Golden Lion Shiki's Float-Float Fruit (Fuwa Fuwa no Mi) is now in her hands."
CRACK.
The armrest of Sengoku's chair snapped off in his grip.
He stood up abruptly, his face draining of all color.
"WHAT?!"
Sengoku roared, staring at Aokiji.
"The Float-Float Fruit?! The ability that allowed Shiki to destroy half of Marineford twenty years ago? The ability that lets him drop islands from the sky?!"
"Yes," Aokiji nodded grimly. "That's how they escaped. They didn't sail away, Sengoku-san. They flew. They lifted their entire galleon into the stratosphere."
Aokiji gestured vaguely at the ceiling.
"They broke through the cloud layer in seconds. Unless we keep Kizaru on patrol 24/7 in the upper atmosphere, we can't touch them. They have absolute air superiority."
Tsuru sighed heavily, rubbing her temples. This was a nightmare scenario.
"So, their mobility is absolute," Tsuru summarized. "They can strike anywhere, anytime—Loguetown, Alabasta, even Mary Geoise—and vanish into the clouds before we can mobilize. We can't track a ship that doesn't sail on the sea."
She pulled out a close-up photo of Nami from the stack. The orange-haired girl looked terrified in the photo, clutching her staff, but her eyes were focused on the horizon.
"And this one? The Navigator?"
"Nami," Aokiji said. "She didn't display Devil Fruit abilities. She was terrified. But..." Aokiji paused. "She navigated that ship out of my ice field and into the air currents with zero hesitation. To hold a cadre position in a crew of monsters... she must be a genius navigator."
"Put a bounty on her," Tsuru ordered coldly. "A genius navigator is the most dangerous weapon for a flying ship. Without her, they are just lost birds."
Sengoku sank heavily back into his broken chair. He felt ten years older than he had this morning.
He picked up the topmost photo. The one that would be on the front page of every newspaper in the world tomorrow, unless the World Government censored it.
It was the "Candid Shot."
A close-up of Suzaku. He was hovering in the air, golden flames wreathed around him like a cloak. He was laughing—a boisterous, unhinged laugh. In his hand, he held the corpse of Saint Jalmack like a trophy. In the background, Aokiji looked shocked, and Kizaru looked frozen.
It was an image of absolute rebellion.
"Then, the most dangerous one is this..." Sengoku's voice trembled with suppressed fury.
"Suzaku Yareon."
"Attacking a Celestial Dragon's ship. Robbing the Heavenly Tribute. Killing a God in front of two Admirals. Possessing a Mythical Zoan fruit that rivals Marco the Phoenix. And commanding a crew of monsters."
Tsuru took over, her tone grave.
"He is not just a brute. He is intelligent. He knew very well that we wouldn't dare fire on him while he held the Noble. He knew we won't publicly announce the Tenryuubito's death to avoid global panic and revolution."
She tapped the photo.
"He used the death of a God as leverage to escape. This is a crazy person with a strategic brain. He wants to make a name for himself, and he chose the Navy as his stepping stone. He humiliated us intentionally."
"Aokiji," Sengoku looked at the silent Admiral. "You clashed with him directly. Give me your assessment. No sugarcoating."
Aokiji hesitated.
For a moment, he wanted to talk about the civilians. He wanted to talk about the slavery he saw on the Saint Noros. He wanted to tell Sengoku about Suzaku's speech regarding "Justice."
Does a garbage pig like this deserve to be called innocent?
The question still rang in Aokiji's ears.
But he looked at Kizaru, who shook his head slightly. Not here. Not now. Politics first.
Aokiji swallowed his words. He buried his feelings under a layer of ice.
"Suzaku Yareon is also a Conqueror's Haki user," Aokiji reported steadily. "His Haki is strong. Violent."
"Through our clash, I determined his strength is still some distance from Emperor-level. He cannot coat his attacks in Conqueror's Haki yet. But..."
Aokiji touched his lip, remembering the blood.
"His physique is robust. His recovery power is astonishing—he healed from a direct punch to the face in seconds. He controls golden flames hotter than magma. He melted my Ice Time Capsule instantly."
"Two Conqueror's Haki users in one rookie crew..." Tsuru tapped the desk, the sound echoing in the quiet room. "It's unprecedented. It's the birth of a new Rocks Pirate crew."
Sengoku rubbed his face with both hands.
"Where did they come from? Every single one of them can fly. Two Mythical Zoans. Two Conquerors. An impenetrable shield. The Float-Float Fruit. The difficulty of capturing them is S-Rank."
The air in the room began to heat up.
It wasn't a metaphor. The temperature actually rose. The papers on the desk began to curl at the edges.
A figure in the corner stood up.
Admiral Akainu (Sakazuki) had been sitting in the shadows near the window, listening silently. His face was hidden under his Marine cap, but his shoulders were shaking. Smoke curled from the fabric of his crimson suit.
"A bunch of incompetents," Akainu growled.
His voice sounded like grinding stones. It was deep, hateful, and dripping with magma-hot contempt.
He walked toward the door. With every step, the carpet beneath his boots singed and blackened.
"I should have been sent," Akainu snarled, not looking at his colleagues. "If it were me... I wouldn't have cared about hostages. I wouldn't have cared about negotiation."
He stopped at the door, his fist clenching. Lava dripped from his glove, sizzling on the floor.
"In the face of Absolute Justice, aerial mobility is a joke. If it were me, I would have burned the sky itself to ash. I would have rained meteors until that ship was nothing but cinders."
He turned his head slightly, his eyes glowing red under the shadow of his cap.
"Since you've understood their abilities, next time there's news of them, notify me directly. I will not fail like some people."
He glared at Aokiji and Kizaru.
"I will incinerate them all. Pirates... are evil. And evil must be eradicated."
He slammed the heavy oak door shut.
BANG!
The frame cracked. The heat lingered in the room.
Sengoku sighed, picking up a pen to sign the new bounty posters. His hand trembled slightly.
"The era is changing, Tsuru-chan," Sengoku whispered, looking at Suzaku's laughing face one last time. "And not for the better."
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