Two days later. The world was holding its breath.
On a massive, gray Marine battleship cutting through the Grand Line, the air was thick with steel and dread. This was not a standard operation.
This was an extermination or an execution.
Vice-Admiral Sengoku stood over a tactical map, his brow furrowed, his expression grim. His pet goat was conspicuously absent. This was not a day for mascots.
"The reports are confirmed," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Rocks is moving. His ship is on a direct course for God Valley."
"Bwahaha," a voice laughed from the corner, though it held no humor.
"About time. My fists are getting bored." Monkey D. Garp, clad in his white officer's jacket, was leaning against a bulkhead, casually munching on a rice cracker. Beside him, his right-hand man, Bogard, stood like a silent statue.
"This isn't a game, Garp!" Sengoku snapped, his usual composure strained. "This is Rocks. And that's not the worst of it." He tapped another part of the map. "Roger has been spotted. The Oro Jackson is also heading to God Valley. For... 'unknown reasons.'"
Garp stopped chewing. He swallowed. "Roger... and Rocks? In the same place? What in the hell is going on? Bwahaha! This is shaping up to be a legendary party!"
"It's a trap, Garp. Or a slaughter," a cool, female voice interjected. Vice-Admiral Tsuru, "The Great Staff Officer," walked over, her face full of worries.
"Two of the 'Emperors of the Sea,' in one location, at the same time? The world hasn't seen a convergence of power like this... ever. And at God Valley? Where the Celestial Dragons are?"
"It stinks," a new voice said. It was deep, cold, and heavy.
The three Vice-Admirals turned. Standing in the doorway, his arms crossed, was a young, impossibly tall man in a standard Rear Admiral's uniform. His face was severe, his dark hair cut short, and a strange, red, tattoo-like marking was already visible, partially covering the left side of his face. His eyes were the most unsettling part; they held none of Garp's boisterous fire or Sengoku's strategic warmth. They were cold, analytical, and filled with a quiet, burning disgust for the room, the ship, and the very mission they were on. This was Monkey D. Dragon.
"Dragon," Garp grunted, acknowledging his son. "You're supposed to be on watch."
"I am," Dragon replied, his voice a flat monotone. "I'm watching a storm gather. This isn't a pirate raid. This is a summon. The World Government wants this."
Before Sengoku could reply, the heavy steel door to the strategy room slammed open.
"Such dreary, grim faces! You should be honored!"
Saint Garling Figarland, clad in his immaculate white-and-gold Holy Knight uniform, strode into the room. He was not wearing his bubble. He breathed their air with a look of visible distaste, as if it pained him. He was flanked by two other Knights, their visors dark and expressionless.
Garling's thin, cruel smirk was fixed on Garp. "I trust you marine dogs are prepared to do your jobs properly? This is not one of your usual, messy, common-pirate-bashing excursions. This is... pest control. On a grand scale."
The rice cracker in Garp's hand turned to dust.
The air pressure in the room plummeted. Garp's body, which had been relaxed, uncoiled. In a fraction of a second, his fist was cocked, his knuckles white, his Haki a visible, crackling, black-red aura of pure, murderous rage.
"What did you just call us... you piece of shit?" Garp growled, his voice a low, rumbling earthquake.
Garling's smirk widened. He didn't even flinch, his hand resting on the hilt of his own sword, his aura, a cold, sharp, and equally monstrous power, rising to meet Garp's.
"I called you--"
"SAINT GARLING!"
Sengoku was suddenly between them, his arms out, his own Haki flaring to keep the two powers from colliding and ripping the ship in two. "A thousand apologies for his... rustic... nature!"
Sengoku turned, his body a rigid, diplomatic shield, his face a mask of forced, pained respect. "We understand the stakes. You have my word, we will do our jobs to the absolute perfection. The Marines will not fail."
Garling stared at Sengoku, then at Garp's still-raging form. He let out a high, thin laugh. "You do, you. Your... ape... is your problem. But if he gets in my way... I will put him down."
He turned, his white coat flaring. "The Holy Knights will handle the true targets. You dogs just... keep the strays from biting."
He swept out of the room.
The second the door closed, Garp's Haki vanished. He went back to the wall, his face dark. "One of these days, Sengoku... one of these days I'm not going to let you stop me."
"And that," Sengoku said, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, "is what they are counting on. Now, get your head in the game. We're about to sail into hell."
Dragon just watched from the doorway, his cold eyes filled with icy fury.
*******************************************************
In the very center of God Valley, in a pristine, white, opulent mansion, Eris was in hell.
She was in a cell. Not a dungeon, but a "holding room" in the basement, as if she were a piece of fine art being kept in storage. But it was a cage. The walls, the floor, the ceiling... they were all lined, inlaid, and reinforced with Sea Stone.
The effect was instantaneous and agonizing. It was a constant, leaden, nauseating weight. It was like drowning on dry land. Eris's Shizu Shizu no Mi power was completely, utterly suppressed. She couldn't even form the thought of her silent bubble. She was just... a woman.
In her arms, she held Teach, who was sleeping fitfully, sensing his mother's profound weakness and fear.
In the corner, curled into a small, tight ball, was Aster. He, too, was poisoned. The Sea Stone was like a physical hand, squeezing his very soul, cutting off his access to Flamey, to his power. He was weak, his limbs heavy, his 'Soul Heat' a cold, dead ember. He clutched the black haft of Crimson Abyss, the only thing in the room that felt real, but even its "song" was a dull, muted, painful buzz.
THOSE BASTARDS!
Flamey's voice was a weak, furious hiss in his mind. The Sea Stone wasn't just weakening Aster; it was suffocating the spirit, cutting him off from his host.
THOSE FILTHY, BUBBLE-WEARING... PIGS! THEY DARE?! THEY DARE USE SEA STONE AGAINST US?! AGAINST A KING?! I... I WILL... WHEN WE REACH OUT FULL POWER, ASTER, WE WILL BURN THEM! WE WILL BURN THEIR ENTIRE, UGLY, WHITE-STONE CITY TO ASH! I SWEAR IT! WE WILL UNMAKE THEM ALL!
Aster didn't have the energy to respond. He just... endured. The nausea, the weakness... it was worse than any pain his father had inflicted. He looked at his mother, at her pale, sweating, terrified face. He looked at his sleeping, vulnerable baby brother.
He pushed himself, his small arms shaking with a desperate effort, and crawled across the cold, stone floor. He crawled to his mother's side. He was trembling from the weakness, but his will was a cold, hard, Rocks-family diamond.
He reached out a weak hand and put it on his mother's arm.
"I... will protect you," he whispered, his voice a small, reedy, but unbroken sound. "Both of you. I... I swear."
Eris looked down, her eyes wide with despair, focusing on her son. On his scarred, determined, pale face. Her son... her little warrior... even here, even poisoned and caged, his spirit was not broken.
A fresh wave of tears, hot and silent, streamed down her face. She pulled him in, her free arm wrapping around him, crushing him and his brother into a single, tight, desperate family huddle.
"I know," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I know, Aster. My brave... my brave, little warrior. I know."
Teach, woken by the sudden, overwhelming wave of emotion, let out a small, confused whimper. He looked at his mother's crying face, then at his brother's grim one. His tiny hands came up, patting them both, his baby-talk a small, bright light in the suffocating, dark despair.
"Mama..." he gurgled, patting Eris's cheek. "Bwatha..." he patted Aster's head.
It was too much. Eris let out a choked, watery laugh. Aster, despite the poison, despite the fear, felt the corner of his lip twitch. In the grimmest, most impossible moment of their lives, their family was still real.
******************************************************************
In the open sea, the mood was the exact opposite.
The Oro Jackson cut through the water, its vibrant, red-and-gold hull a beacon of pure, chaotic joy. They were in sight of God's Valley.
Gol D. Roger, his signature straw hat on his head, his captain's coat flaring, was perched on the ship's figurehead, his grin as wide as the horizon.
"HERE WE ARE, BOYS!" he roared, his voice washed over his crew. "WE'RE ABOUT TO REACH GOD'S VALLEY! YOU ALREADY KNOW THE MISSION!"
His crew, a collection of hardened, laughing adventurers, roared back.
"WE STORM IN!" Roger yelled. "WE FIND SHAKKY! WE GET THE GOLD! AND WE MAKE THE RUN! REMEMBER!" he held up a finger, his expression becoming mock-serious, "DON'T KILL ANY RANDOM NOBLES! THEY GET REAL FISTY ABOUT IT! UNDERSTOOD?!"
"YEAHHHH, CAPTAIN!" the crew roared back, a thunderous wave of laughter and anticipation.
Only one man did not join the celebration. At the stern, his hand on the wheel, Silvers Rayleigh stared at the approaching, pristine island. His face was a mask of cold, hard focus. He had a bad feeling. A deep, cold, gut-wrenching feeling. This was too... convenient. The leak about Shakky. The location. The timing.
It felt... wrong. It felt like the jaws of a trap.
*****************************************************************
Five miles to the north, a darker ship approached.
The Sabre of Xebec sat on the water, a silent, dark, and heavy threat. On the main deck, the crew, Newgate, Linlin, Shiki, John, Wang Zhi, and the rest, were gathered. They were tense, their Haki a low, humming, volatile cloud of energy.
Rocks D. Xebec stood on the prow, his back to them.
He turned. His face was not the face of their chaotic, laughing captain. It was the cold, stone, demonic mask of the King.
"You all heard the message," his voice rumbled, cold and flat. "My family is on that island. The World Government has made its move. This is... my fight."
He looked at them, his cold eyes sweeping over his crew of titans. Newgate, Linlin, Shiki... they were all frowning. They were monsters. They were the Rocks Pirates. They did not sit back.
"Captain..." Newgate began, his voice a low growl, "We are not children. You can't expect us to-"
"I expect you to do what you're told, Newgate," Xebec cut him off, his voice dropping to that terrifying hiss that had frozen Kaidō. "You will all stay back. You will guard this fleet. I don't want you caught in the crossfire."
Linlin's eye twitched. "MA-MA-MA-MA! Crossfire? Xebec, what do you take us for? We can handle a few... Admirals."
"This isn't about Admirals, you fool!" Xebec roared, his patience snapping. His Haki flared, a cold, dark warning. He looked at all of them, at the most powerful and dangerous crew ever assembled.
"You will not follow me. That's a command."
He saw the defiance, the arrogance, the pride still warring in their eyes. He let out a long, tired sigh.
"You don't understand," he said, his voice suddenly heavy. "You think this is a fight. It's not. It's an extermination. The world you think you know... it is more dangerous than any of you fuckers can even begin to imagine. This isn't your fight. It's mine. Stay out of it."
The crew just stared, confused and, for the first time, a little unnerved. They had no idea what he was talking about.
Xebec turned his back on them. He didn't care if they understood. He only cared that they obeyed.
He looked at the Golden Lion.
"Shiki. Do it."
Shiki, who had been grumbling, suddenly broke into his signature, wide, crazed, "Jihahaha!" grin. This, he understood. Chaos.
"HELL YEAH, CAPTAIN!"
Shiki slammed his hands on the deck of the Sabre. "Lion's Threat: Earth Bind!"
The entire, massive, island-sized ship groaned. And then, with a shuddering sound, it lifted.
Xebec just stood on the prow, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the island in the distance. He was a king, riding his flying fortress into his final war.
---xxxx---
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