The year was 1520 of the Sea Circle Calendar.
A day destined to be carved into history had finally arrived.
Marineford Plaza was so heavy with tension it felt almost tangible.
Morning sunlight spilled across every corner of the Navy's mightiest fortress, illuminating steel battlements and white stone alike. On the vast square below, the formation was flawless—elite Giant Vice Admirals, Headquarters Vice Admirals, and ranks of Marine officers standing in perfect alignment.
Rifles gleamed. Blades were unsheathed. Justice coats snapped violently in the sea wind, forming a forest of white.
Beyond the harbor, countless Marine warships were layered in tight formation, cannon muzzles bristling coldly, constructing an impregnable maritime wall. The sheer scale of those battleships alone was enough to dwarf ordinary vessels.
Along the coastline, every shore battery had been calibrated to optimal firing angles, all aimed squarely at the sea.
At the very center of the plaza stood the execution platform, towering high above all else.
At its summit stood the Fleet Admiral—"Buddha" Sengoku—solemn and immovable, gripping a Den Den Mushi microphone. On either side of him were the Hero of the Marines, "Iron Fist" Garp, and the former Admiral, "Black Arm" Zephyr.
One tier below them were the seats that symbolized the Navy's greatest combat power—the four Admirals.
"White Qilin," "Heaven-Shaker" Gern Reginald Sigmar.
"Akainu" Sakazuki.
"Aokiji" Kuzan.
"Kizaru" Borsalino.
Seated in order, the four formed an unshakable wall of supreme military might.
Below them, Chief of Staff Tsuru presided over the command center, overseeing battlefield coordination with icy precision.
To one side of the plaza, in a specially designated area, the summoned "high-tier forces" had also taken their places.
"Heavenly Yaksha" Donquixote Doflamingo wore an amused smile, fingers twitching as if already pulling invisible strings.
"Gecko" Moria stood disdainful, still clinging to the fading glory of his long-ago clash with Kaido.
"Pirate Empress" Boa Hancock held her head high, beauty untouchable, though a faint flicker of agitation lingered behind her composed expression.
And temporarily filling a vacant Warlord seat—barely restraining his eagerness for bloodshed—stood the "Devil's Heir," Douglas Bullet.
Only one was conspicuously absent.
"Blackbeard," Marshall D. Teach.
Time ticked forward, second by second.
Throughout Marineford, over one hundred thousand eyes were fixed upon the execution platform—upon the two figures soon to be brought forth.
Portgas D. Ace.
And the executioner.
Silence swallowed everything. Only the distant crash of waves and the whistle of wind broke the stillness.
All were waiting.
Waiting for that moment.
Waiting for the final entrance of the man known as the "World's Strongest."
The countdown to war reached zero.
...
It wasn't long before shapes appeared faintly upon the sea before Marineford—ships, many of them. Warning sirens blared across the plaza.
As attention shifted toward the outer harbor, where Whitebeard's allied fleets were emerging and shore batteries pivoted to aim, an abrupt upheaval shattered expectations.
Directly in front of the plaza—the heavily guarded semicircular inner bay—its waters suddenly began to boil violently.
Massive bubbles surged upward as though some colossal presence was ascending from the abyss.
"BOOM!"
With an earth-splitting roar, an enormous vessel burst through the surface, its hull coated in resilient bubble plating.
"What?!"
"From underwater?! That's impossible!!"
This maneuver lay completely outside the Navy's projected defensive calculations.
Seated among the Admirals, Gern watched the familiar spectacle unfold. His eyes shifted slightly, and he murmured under his breath,
"So… breaking through from the inner harbor. The entrance is the same as ever."
Yet the next instant shattered expectation.
The vessel's coating burst apart with a sharp crack—but the towering figure who should have stood at its bow, naginata in hand, the "World's Strongest Man" Edward Newgate, did not appear.
Instead—
A piercing, soul-rending cry of a bird echoed across Marineford.
"SKREEEEE—!"
Blue flames—noble and searing like those of an immortal phoenix—erupted skyward.
They blazed at the prow, swirling and expanding, unfolding into a pair of magnificent azure wings of fire.
Brilliant light flooded the battlefield, capturing every gaze.
"That is—!!!"
On the execution platform, Sengoku was the first to react. His pupils contracted sharply as he barked into the Den Den Mushi, his voice resounding across the entire plaza.
"Not good!!! That size—this isn't the Moby Dick!!
That's Whitebeard's First Division Commander—the 'Phoenix' Marco!!!"
The plan had deviated drastically.
Whitebeard himself had not come to the most dangerous frontline of the inner bay.
Instead, his strongest commander—the user of the Mythical Zoan Bird-Bird Fruit, Model: Phoenix—Marco—had led an elite force in a decapitation-style surprise assault.
Even as Marineford's focus locked onto Marco and the blazing phoenix fire within the bay, as Sengoku's warning still reverberated—
"BZZZZZZZZZ—!!!"
A completely different wave of terrifying Haki descended from the heavens.
It crashed down from tens of thousands of meters above like a tangible firmament.
Heavy. Vast. Overwhelming.
Countless Marines felt their breathing hitch. Some nearly collapsed, knees trembling beneath the crushing pressure.
At the same moment, Gern—who had been seated among the Admirals—lifted his head toward the sky illuminated by Marco's blue flames.
There was no panic in his eyes.
Instead, a blazing light ignited within them.
The corners of his mouth curled upward uncontrollably.
His voice rang out, brimming with long-awaited exhilaration.
"That man… has arrived!!!!"
The next second—
Under countless stunned gazes—
The sky itself was torn apart by an invisible, monstrous force.
Clouds spiraled violently, scattering in chaotic retreat.
And then—
From within the churning sea of clouds descended a colossal white whale-shaped ship, larger even than Marco's flagship, like a mobile fortress emerging from the heavens.
It broke through the sky itself, descending with sovereign dominance.
At the prow stood a towering figure, draped in a white captain's coat, massive and immovable as a mountain.
The "World's Strongest Man."
Edward "Whitebeard" Newgate.
There was no wasted motion.
Muscles bulging, Whitebeard drew back both arms. A white halo of energy shimmered around his fists.
The manifest power of the Tremor-Tremor Fruit.
Without hesitation, he swung both fists outward toward the empty air on either side of him.
"CRACK—!!!!"
"BOOOOOOM—!!!!"
In an instant, the sky shattered like fragile glass beneath those blows.
The sound of rupture thundered across heaven and earth.
The atmosphere screamed. Space twisted. Cataclysmic shockwaves radiated outward in all directions.
The sea surged upward, forming encircling tidal waves.
Even Marineford itself trembled beneath that godlike force.
Whitebeard gazed down upon the Marines below—like ants in formation—and upon the figure atop the execution platform whom he cherished as a son.
He lifted Murakumogiri and spun it lightly in his grip.
Drawing in a deep breath, his voice boomed like a great bell, cutting through all chaos and thunder, reaching every ear upon the battlefield.
"ACE—!!!"
"Your old man's here to take you home!!!"
A king descended from the sky.