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The Oro Jackson hit the beach of God Valley. The moment the ramp dropped, it was a blur of gold, silver, and steel.
Roger, his captain's coat flaring, was a laughing, joyous whirlwind. He didn't run; he blitzed, his saber Ace a blur of Haki-infused steel that seemed to be everywhere at once. "BWAHAHAHA! OUT OF THE WAY, BOYS! COMING THROUGH!"
Marines flew, their formations shattering, their rifles useless. Alongside him, Rayleigh was the opposite: a cold, precise, and lethally fast river of silver. His blade was a surgeon's scalpel, every movement disabling, every parry a bone-shattering counter. They were two parts of a perfect, conquering storm. The rest of Roger's crew, securing the perimeter, their objective clear.
They tore through the disorganized and still Haki-stunned Marine forces at the port, leaving a path of groaning, unconscious bodies in their wake.
They weren't here for the war. They were here for a rescue.
"This way!" Rayleigh shouted, his Observation Haki already miles ahead, sifting through the chaos.
They burst through the opulent, burning gates of the Celestial Dragon's residential quarter. The sight made even Roger's manic grin falter. This was the "native hunting" ground. Slaves, marked and chained, cowered in ornate cages, their eyes hollow with a terror that went beyond the battle.
"Gaban! Free them!" Roger bellowed, his voice suddenly stripped of its joy, replaced by a cold, hard command. "Free every last one of them! Take what you can carry from these bastards' homes! We're not leaving empty-handed!"
"AYE, CAPTAIN!"
But Rayleigh had already moved on. He was a blur, his mind focused. He stood in the center of the burning plaza, his eyes closed, his Haki a fine, sweeping net. He felt the thousands of terrified minds... the handful of cold, cruel, noble minds... and the approaching, thunderous battle from the center of the island, a clash of titans that he instinctively knew was Rocks.
And then... he found it.
A tiny, flickering, familiar spark, buried under a mountain of stone and despair.
His eyes snapped open. "Shakky."
He was gone. He didn't run. He vanished. He tore through a reinforced steel door, blasted his way down a set of dark, stone stairs into a holding-cell block, and arrived in a dark, damp room.
She was there. Chained to the wall, her wrists and ankles raw. She was thin, her hair was matted, but she was alive.
A sound, a movement in the dark, made her slowly, wearily, lift her head. Her eyes, dull with despair, widened, struggling to believe what she was seeing through the gloom.
"R...R...Rayleigh...?" her voice was a dry, cracked whisper, heavy, as if she was certain this was just one last, cruel illusion before the end.
Rayleigh's face, usually a mask of calm, cool amusement, broke.
SHIIIING!
He didn't bother with the lock. A single, furious, Haki-infused slash of his sword vaporized the cage bars and the heavy chains binding her.
She fell, her strength gone, but he was there, catching her before she hit the floor. He pulled her into him, his arms crushing her, his face buried in her matted hair. He was shaking.
"I... I found you, Shakky," he whispered, his voice thick, his eyes, the eyes of the Dark King, streaming with tears. "I found you."
Shakky's dam shattered. A lifetime of fear, of pain, of humiliation, erupted in a single, desperate, wailing sob. She clung to him, her hands grabbing his shirt, her whole body shaking. "Rayleigh... Rayleigh... Rayleigh..."
They just held each other for a long moment, an island of desperate, relieved reunion in a world of fire and war.
Above them, on the plaza, Roger's crew was in a full-blown celebration, carrying freed slaves and hauling massive bags of treasure. Roger, however, was on the ground, comically kicking the dirt.
"Dammit! Why does he always get the cool, romantic reunion?!" he yelled, envious. "I'm the Captain! I should have been the one to bust in and have her cry in my arms! It's just... it's not fair!"
Rayleigh emerged from the darkness, carrying Shakky in his arms, her face hidden in his shoulder. He walked straight to Roger.
Roger's laughter died. He looked at his First Mate, and then... he felt it.
The other battle. The one at the heart of the island. The one that was making the very island tremble. The one that was not Garp, and not the Holy Knights. It was the dark, corrosive, familiar will of his greatest rival.
"Rocks," Roger said, his voice a low, sudden growl.
Rayleigh nodded, his face grim. "He's here. This whole thing... this was for him."
Roger's grin returned, but it was no longer joyful. It was a cold, sharp, predatory slash. "Go," he said. "Now."
Rayleigh stared at him. "Roger, I'm not leaving--"
"That's an order, Ray," Roger said, his voice an iron-clad command. "Take her. Take the Red (a small, fast boat). Get her safe. We'll meet at the 'bubble island.' Get her to Sabaody."
Rayleigh looked at his captain. He looked at the aural, apocalyptic storm cloud of Haki that was the battle in the island's center. He knew that look in Roger's eyes. This was no longer a rescue. This was a war. And Roger... Roger was going.
He nodded, his jaw tight. "Don't die, you fool."
"BWAHAHA! Who do you think I am?"
Rayleigh didn't look back. He carried Shakky, his most precious treasure, toward the chaos of the beach, his only mission now to get her to safety.
The second his First Mate was gone, Roger's face turned chillingly cold. He turned to the rest of his crew, who had stopped their plundering, their faces now hard and ready.
"Alright, boys!" he roared, his Haki flaring. "The real party is that way!"
He pointed his saber, Ace, toward the pillar of black-red energy that marked the center of God Valley.
"Let's go say hello!"
His crew roared. As one, their bodies glinted, a foreign, burning, red light glinted in their eyes.
***********************************************************
Meanwhile, at the port where the Sabre of Xebec had landed.
The battle was a slaughter.
"WORORORO!" KaidĹŤ, a drunken, teenage demon, had simply tanked a barrage of cannonballs, the explosions barely scratching his skin as he brought his kanabĹŤ down, shattering a naval battery in a single, devastating strike.
"MA-MA-MA-MA!" Linlin, riding on Zeus, had simply eaten a cannonball, her eyes wide with psychotic glee. "NOT! BAD! But not as good as my attacks! Indra!"
A bolt of lightning from Zeus had vaporized an entire platoon of Marines.
"GURARARA!" Newgate was a one-man army. He stood at the center of the port, his naginata, Murakumogiri, in one hand. He wasn't even using his Devil Fruit. He was a master of Haki, a whirlwind of steel, every swing sending dozens of men flying.
"Jihahaha! Too slow! Too slow!" Shiki cackled, zipping through the air, his twin blades, Oto and Kogarashi, turning the battlefield into his own, personal abattoir. Captain John and Wang Zhi were already halfway to the storehouses, cackling as they murdered and plundered.
The Marines were broken. Defeated. This wasn't a battle; it was a feeding frenzy.
And then, a new figure walked onto the battlefield.
The fighting... just... stopped.
Whitebeard, his naginata dripping, turned. Linlin, her mouth open for a scream, paused. KaidĹŤ, his club, lowered. They all stared at this old man who had walked, completely unbothered, into a warzone of titans.
Saint Jaygarcia Saturn, of the Five Elders, stopped in the center of the port, his gaze sweeping over the assembled, monstrous crew. He sighed, a faint, weary sound.
"Such... chaos," he said, his voice a dry, rasping monotone. "Such... waste. All for him."
He tapped his staff on the blood-soaked stone. "Rocks D. Xebec. He is a danger to the balance of the world. He is a brute. An anomaly. A... problem."
He looked up, his gaze seeming to pierce each of them.
"But... he is also in your way."
Linlin's eye twitched. Shiki's cackle died.
"Don't you want to be the greatest?" Saturn's voice was a soft, reasonable, seductive whisper. "Don't you all burn with your own ambition? To be Kings? To be Queens? How can you, when you are all... his? Kneeling. Following. Second."
He smiled, a thin, cold, logical smile. "He is trapped. He is fighting the Holy Knights. He may even be fighting Roger. He is... vulnerable. This is your chance. Your one chance. To take the lead. To... begin... your own era."
The air was thick. He was right.
They were all thinking it. This was a perfect opportunity. They were the Rocks Pirates. Loyalty was a currency, not a virtue.
But before any of them could act on that selfish, treasonous thought, a new pressure slammed the port.
"GURARARA!"
Whitebeard stepped forward, his Haki a pure, white, furious wave of Conqueror's Will. "You dare..." he growled, his voice a low earthquake of rage, "you filthy, government pig... You dare stand on our ship, in our territory, and tell us... to kill our Captain?"
He leveled his naginata, the air around him beginning to crackle with his power. "I will tear you limb from limb."
Saturn just sighed, his head bowed. "I truly... truly wished you had listened. This could have been so... simple."
He looked up. His face... changed.
It went dark, as if a shadow had fallen over him. A massive, indistinct, shadowyhead, like a crown of pure, dark energy, seemed to emerge over his own. His eyes, once calm, now glowed with an ancient, alien, Drak Red light.
The voice that came from his mouth was no longer his. It was a deep, ancient, layered voice. The voice of Imu.
"I never expected his crew... to have a loyal one. How... disappointing. But never mind. You won't be... for long."
Saturn/Imu raised his staff.
A new Haki, a power none of them had ever felt, erupted from him. It was not black and red. It was not white. It was a brilliant, blinding, Golden-Reddish light, a Haki that felt... holy... and absolute. It was the color of a divine, judgmental sun.
It didn't just push them. It washed over them.
"ROCKS D. XEBEC IS A DANGER TO THE WORLD," Imu's voice commanded, the golden-red Haki sinking into their skin, into their minds, into their very souls. "HE IS A CANCER THAT MUST BE CUT OUT. HE IS NEEDED... TO BE PUT DOWN. AND EVERY... SINGLE... ONE...of his family."
The Haki wave passed. It was gone.
The Rocks Pirates stood frozen for a beat. KaidĹŤ shook his head. Linlin blinked. Shiki stumbled.
And Whitebeard... Whitebeard lowered his naginata, his face a mask of sudden, cold confusion.
They all snapped back, as if waking from a dream. Their faces were the same. Their ambitions were the same. Their Haki was their own.
But... a new thought was there. A single, simple, unquestionable absolute.
They all, as one, turned their heads. They looked at where the pillar of dark, corrosive Haki was still raging.
And, in their eyes... all of their eyes... from Linlin, to Shiki, to KaidĹŤ...
...and even to Edward Newgate...
...was a foreign, cold, red glint.
Their feelings were their own. Their ambition was their own. But a new, implanted, divine command now sat at the very top of their minds.
The death of Rocks D. Xebec... is a must, for the sake of their future.
Silently, as one, the most powerful and monstrous crew ever assembled began to walk, their footsteps a unified, heavy, doomful drumbeat, heading toward their captain.
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