The silence that followed Sengoku's booming declaration and Ace's anguished cry was a fragile thing, stretched taut like a drumskin. Every Marine gripped their weapon tighter, eyes darting between the defiant prisoner, their resolute Fleet Admiral, and the vast, empty expanse of the sea. The name 'Gold Roger' still hung in the air, a phantom legacy casting a long, dark shadow over the proceedings.
Suddenly, a gasp tore through the ranks near the edge of the bay. Then another, and another, spreading like wildfire. Heads turned, a ripple of unease transforming into a wave of dawning horror.
The sea, moments before placid and grey, began to churn. Not with the natural rhythm of waves, but with an unnatural, violent roiling. Bubbles, vast and ominous, broke the surface, as if colossal beasts were stirring in the depths.
"W-What's happening?!" a young Marine stammered, his rifle trembling in his grasp.
"The sea… it's… it's rising!" another cried.
From the very heart of the bay, directly in front of Marineford's central plaza, the water bulged upwards. Then, with a sound like the world's largest whale breaching, a colossal ship erupted from the depths, shedding cascades of seawater like a surfacing leviathan. It was the Moby Dick, Whitebeard's flagship, its massive whale figurehead seeming to glare defiantly at the assembled might of the World Government.
And it was not alone.
To its left and right, more shadows detached themselves from the ocean floor, revealing ship after ship of the Whitebeard Pirates' allied fleet. They surfaced in a perfectly coordinated, breathtaking maneuver, bypassing the Marine blockade entirely, appearing as if by dark magic right in the heart of the enemy's stronghold.
On the Moby Dick's enormous deck, a figure of truly monumental proportions stood silhouetted against the tumultuous sky. He was a giant of a man, his bare, scarred chest crisscrossed with old wounds, a testament to countless battles. A crescent-shaped white mustache, magnificent and iconic, framed a weathered face. In his massive hand, he gripped a bisento, its polearm shaft towering over even him. This was him. The Strongest Man in the World. Edward Newgate – Whitebeard.
His eyes, though aged, blazed with an indomitable spirit and a father's protective fury as they fixed upon the small, chained figure on the execution platform.
A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, growing into a full-throated laugh that seemed to shake the very air.
"GURARARARARARARA!"
The sound was not one of mirth, but of sheer, unadulterated power and defiance. It rolled across the bay, over the stunned Marines, a promise of the storm to come.
"Sengoku…" Whitebeard's voice, amplified by some unseen means or simply by its own inherent power, boomed across the plaza, each word a hammer blow. "You old dog… Still playing your dirty tricks, I see. Announcing that boy's lineage to the world… Do you think that will break his spirit, or ours?"
He raised his free hand. "Ace is my son! And I've come to bring him home!"
On the execution platform, Ace's head snapped up. Tears streamed freely down his face, no longer of rage, but of overwhelming, gut-wrenching emotion. "POPS!!!" he screamed, his voice cracking. "EVERYONE! WHY?! WHY DID YOU COME?!"
From the dais where the Admirals were stationed, just below the execution platform, reactions were swift and characteristic.
Admiral Akainu , his face a mask of molten fury, magma bubbling faintly around his fists, growled, "So, the old relic finally shows himself. He and his entire flea-bitten crew will find their graves here today."
Admiral Kizaru, lounging with a deceptive nonchalance, pushed his yellow-tinted sunglasses up his nose. "Oooh, scary… Right in the middle of the bay. How very… dramatic of them." A lazy smile played on his lips, but his eyes were sharp. [
Admiral Aokiji, his usual sleepy demeanor slightly more alert, let out a sigh. "Ara-ra… This is going to be a real pain. They certainly didn't waste any time." He scratched his head, a thoughtful frown on his face.
Sengoku's face was grim. "So, you've arrived, Newgate! Just as predicted! Your recklessness will be your downfall!" He gestured sharply. "ALL FORCES, PREPARE TO ENGAGE! DO NOT LET A SINGLE PIRATE SET FOOT ON THIS ISLAND!"
The sky hung heavy over Marineford, a canvas of steel grey stretched taut with tension. Below it, the plaza was a crucible — thousands of Marines lined the stone, weapons drawn, nerves fraying. At the center, the execution platform loomed like a gallows of fate, and atop it knelt Portgas D. Ace, shackled and silent, his lineage freshly exposed to the world.
Then — the sea stirred again.
It began as a whisper beneath the waves. A ripple. A breath. Then the ocean convulsed. Marines turned toward the bay, confusion giving way to dread.
From the heart of the harbor, the water bulged unnaturally. A moment later, it erupted.
A ship — no, a leviathan — breached the surface, shedding torrents of seawater. Its figurehead, a massive white whale, glared defiantly at the fortress before it.
And it was not alone.
One by one, ships surfaced around it, rising from the deep like specters. The allied fleet of the Whitebeard Pirates had bypassed the blockade entirely, emerging in perfect formation. It was a maneuver so bold, so impossible, it stunned even the seasoned tacticians among the Marines.
On the deck of the Moby Dick stood a man who dwarfed legends.
Edward Newgate, Whitebeard, the Strongest Man in the World.
His chest was bare, crisscrossed with scars that told stories no history book could hold. His crescent mustache gleamed like ivory. In one hand, he held his bisento. In the other, the weight of a father's fury.
He looked toward the execution platform, and his voice rolled across the bay like thunder.
"ACE IS MY SON. AND I'VE COME TO BRING HIM HOME."
Ace's head snapped up, eyes wide, tears streaming. "POPS!"
The plaza erupted into chaos.
On the high dais, the Warlords of the Sea observed the spectacle.
Dracule Mihawk stood motionless, his gaze locked on Whitebeard.
"So the old lion still roars," he murmured. "Let's see if his claws are as sharp as the stories say."
Donquixote Doflamingo laughed, his grin wide and wild.
"Fuffuffuffu! This is it! The world's balance is cracking! What a beautiful mess!"
Boa Hancock watched with veiled concern, her eyes scanning the fleet.
"Luffy… you better not be here," she whispered, heart tight with dread.
Gecko Moria shifted uneasily, his bravado thinning.
"Kishishishi… So many strong shadows… if they die…"
But even he didn't sound convinced.
Bartholomew Kuma remained silent, unreadable, a sentinel of unknown intent.
And then there was Ragnar.
He stood apart, arms loosely crossed, his fur-lined cloak swaying gently in the wind. His golden eyes followed the unfolding chaos with quiet calculation.
He spoke softly, almost lazily, but each word landed with weight.
"A father's wrath… That's not something you measure in numbers."
He tilted his head, watching the tsunamis rise from Whitebeard's punch.
"Hm. That'll wake the Admirals."
Whitebeard drew back his fist and struck the air itself.
GURA GURA! CRACK!
The sky fractured. The sea buckled. The island groaned.
Two tsunamis rose, towering and merciless, curling inward toward Marineford.
Panic spread like wildfire.
"TSUNAMIS! THEY'LL DESTROY EVERYTHING!"
Sengoku shouted, "ADMIRALS! NOW!"
Aokiji moved first.
"Yare yare…"
He leapt into the sky, arms wide.
"ICE AGE!"
The waves froze mid-crash, suspended in jagged monuments of ice. A path spread across the bay, glistening and cold.
Relief swept through the Marines — brief, fragile.
Then came the cannon fire.
Whitebeard's fleet opened fire. Commanders leapt into battle — Marco, Jozu, Vista, and more.
Marco, blazing with blue flame, soared toward the execution platform.
"ACE!"
Kizaru intercepted, light-speed and lazy.
"Ooh… fast bird."
PCHEW! BOOM!
The war had begun.
Ragnar watched the first clash unfold, unmoved.
He turned slightly, speaking to no one in particular.
"The board's set. The pieces move. Let's see who plays to win… and who plays to survive."
He cracked it knuckles.
Not yet.
"No need to rush the dance. The music's just begun."
The battlefield was no longer a place — it was a force.
Kizaru body cracked with gura gura power. As he fell onto the sea.
Smoke curled into the sky. Ice stretched across the bay like a frozen graveyard. The roar of cannon fire echoed like thunder, and the clash of titans shook the very bones of Marineford.
On the deck of the Moby Dick, Whitebeard stood like a monument to an era. His bisento rested against his shoulder, but his presence alone was a weapon. Every quake he unleashed rippled through the battlefield, a reminder that the old lion still had teeth.
But the Admirals were not idle.
Kizaru, shimmering with golden light, hovered above the battlefield, his body refracting the sun like a prism.
"Ooh… Marco-kun, you're quite the energetic one."
Below him, Marco the Phoenix soared, his wings of blue flame trailing embers across the sky. His body glowed with regenerative fire, each wound healing before it could settle. He moved like a comet — fast, fluid, and relentless.
Kizaru raised a hand, light gathering at his fingertips.
"Yasakani no Magatama."
A storm of light spears rained down, each beam a pinpoint of destruction. The air screamed with heat and velocity.
Marco twisted mid-air, wings flaring wide. He intercepted the barrage head-on, his flames absorbing the impacts. Each hit flared his body with light, but the fire never dimmed.
"You'll have to do better than that," Marco said, voice calm, almost bored.
He dove toward Kizaru, talons outstretched. Kizaru shifted, becoming light itself, reappearing behind Marco in a flash.
"You're fast," Kizaru admitted, "but I'm light."
Marco spun, a burst of flame erupting from his wings, forcing Kizaru to retreat. The two danced in the sky, a duel of speed and precision, neither gaining ground, both refusing to yield.
On the deck below, Whitebeard watched the clash with narrowed eyes. His grip on the bisento tightened.
"Marco," he muttered, "don't waste time with that glowing mosquito."
He turned his gaze toward the frozen bay. His fleet was immobilized, trapped in Aokiji's ice. The Marines were advancing, using the frozen surface as a battlefield.
Whitebeard stepped forward.
The air around him shimmered.
He raised his fist.
GURA GURA!
A localized quake erupted from his knuckles, shattering the ice beneath the nearest Marine squad. The frozen bay cracked like glass, sending soldiers tumbling into the frigid water below.
"You think ice can hold me?" Whitebeard roared. "I'll split the sea itself if I have to!"
He swung his bisento, sending another quake toward the advancing Vice-Admirals. The ground split, stone rupturing, bodies flung like leaves in a storm.
From the Warlords' dais, Ragnar watched it all unfold.
He leaned slightly against the railing, one hand tucked into his sleeve, the other lazily holding a rice cracker he'd somehow produced from his coat.
"You know," he said, chewing thoughtfully, "for a man his age, Whitebeard's got a real flair for drama."
Mihawk didn't respond, his eyes still locked on the battlefield.
Doflamingo laughed.
"Fuffuffuffu! He's not just fighting — he's rewriting the rules!"
Ragnar tilted his head, watching Marco and Kizaru spiral through the sky.
"Phoenix versus photon. That's a poetic matchup."
He turned slightly, eyes scanning the horizon.
"Still no sign of the Advancements…" he murmured. "Which means things are about to get worse."
He sighed, brushing crumbs from his sleeve.
"Guess I'll keep watching. For now."