Oars Jr. was a maelstrom of blood and fury, a dying storm tearing through the battlefield with the last of his strength. His katana, now more a slab of destruction than a blade, carved through Marine ranks with terrifying momentum. His body was a ruin — torn, burned, bleeding — but his eye never left the scaffold.
Ace.
"HE'S GOING TO BREAK THROUGH!" a Marine Captain screamed as Oars Jr. slammed his shoulder into the inner wall, spiderweb cracks racing across the reinforced ice.
From the Warlords' dais, Mihawk remained still, his hand no longer on Yoru, his gaze fixed on the chaos. He had been stayed once — by Ragnar.
And Ragnar was still watching.
He stood at the edge of the platform, arms folded, his expression unreadable. But something had changed. His golden eyes, usually half-lidded and amused, were sharp now. Focused. Beneath his calm exterior, something stirred.
A deep, low hum began to resonate around him — not a sound, but a pressure. The air grew heavy. The temperature dropped.
Then rose.
Frost crept across the stone beneath his feet. At the same time, heat shimmered in the air above his shoulders. Marines nearby stepped back instinctively, their breath catching.
Ragnar exhaled slowly.
"This feeling…" It felt an incredible amount of Rage, and Sadness wash over him as he saw Oars jr. fighting his way through the front-line.
He staggered slightly, one hand going to his temple and another clutching his heart in pain.
"What is this… feeling?"
Then it happened.
The air tore.
Not with sound — with force. A ripple of pressure exploded outward from Ragnar's body, sending a shockwave across the dais. His coat shredded, vaporized by the energy erupting from his skin. Steam hissed violently as frost and flame collided across his body.
His skin cracked — not with injury, but transformation. Veins of molten fire glowed beneath his flesh, while jagged lines of glacial blue ice formed across his arms and shoulders. His body expanded, not grotesquely, but with terrifying symmetry — a perfect fusion of heat and cold, of chaos and control.
From his brow, two horns began to form — one a twisting spire of lava, dripping molten stone; the other a crystalline arc of ice, radiating cold so intense it frosted the air around it.
He grew.
The size of Oars Jr., enough to tower over the other Marineford. His presence was overwhelming — not just physical, but also the aura of Haki he carried.
Then he opened his eyes.
They were no longer golden.
They were white-hot flame and glacial blue, burning with a calm, terrifying anger.
He didn't roar.
He didn't scream.
He simply stood — and the battlefield noticed.
Marines froze mid-charge. Pirates stumbled. Even the Admirals turned.
"What… is that?" a Vice-Admiral whispered.
Doflamingo's grin widened, manic.
"Fuffuffuffu! Another monster joins the stage! This war… this war is divine!"
Mihawk's eyes narrowed. His hand returned to Yoru.
"Now… He told me to hold back, while he went berserk himself."
Hancock stared, her composure cracking.
"Such… vulgar power…"
Moria gibbered, eyes wide.
"Kishishishi… That shadow… it's enormous… it's perfect…"
And still, Ragnar said nothing.
He looked toward Oars Jr., who was still pushing forward, still trying to reach Ace.
Marines froze mid-charge. Pirates stumbled. Even the sky seemed to hold its breath.
"W-WHAT IS THAT?!" a Marine screamed, voice cracking.
"He's as big as the giant!" another shouted. "Is that… the Warlord?!"
"Did he eat a Devil Fruit?! What kind of power is that?!"
The panic spread like wildfire.
On the command platform, Sengoku's eyes widened. His fists clenched.
"That's not a logia… It's a Zoan… What is this transformation? Looks Familiar!"
Beside him, Garp leaned forward, his usual slouch gone. His eyes narrowed, jaw tight.
Sengoku turned sharply.
His gaze was fixed on Oars Jr., who was still pushing forward, still trying to reach Ace. The two giants — one dying, one newly risen — stood like twin monuments on the battlefield.
Doflamingo was laughing uncontrollably.
"Fuffuffuffu! This war! This war is divine! Giants! Monsters! Chaos incarnate!"
Hancock stared, her expression unreadable.
"Such vulgar strength… and yet…"
Moria was gibbering.
"Kishishishi… That shadow… it's perfect… it's enormous… it's mine…"
Oars Jr. was a storm of dying fury.
His katana, once wielded with pride and precision, now swung like a desperate cry for survival. Each step toward the inner wall was agony. His body was a ruin — torn, burned, bleeding — but his eye never left Ace. That was all that mattered.
Ragnar, the new Warlord, had transformed — not into a man of fire or ice, but into both. His body now matched Oars Jr. in scale, towering over the battlefield at over two hundred feet. One half of him shimmered with glacial blue ice, jagged and cold enough to freeze the air. The other half burned with molten lava, veins of fire pulsing beneath cracked, obsidian skin. Steam hissed violently where the two elements met, forming a swirling vortex of mist and elemental fury.
From the execution platform, Ace stared.
His voice was a whisper, trembling.
"G-Gunnar…?"
The name fell from his lips like a ghost.
Those eyes. That face. Even distorted by elemental power and scale — it was impossible. But it was him.
"But… your hair… there's no… no white…"
On the Moby Dick, Marco's flames flickered violently.
"GUNNAR?! NO! IT CAN'T BE! HE'S DEAD! WE BURIED HIM!"
Jozu nearly dropped the ice he was about to hurl.
"That power… that face… Gunnar-bro?! Is that truly you?!"
Vista's swords clattered against the ice.
"It's… him… But how? That Devil Fruit… 'Ymir'… it was Gunnar's!"
Even Oars Jr., bleeding out, turned his massive head.
"Gu…nnar…bro…?"
A single tear traced through the grime on his face.
"You… came… back…?"
From the Admirals' dais, Aokiji straightened.
"Ara-ra… That specific Devil Fruit… 'Ymir,' if memory serves. A Mythical Zoan of truly devastating potential. And its last known user… vanished years ago."
He wasn't just recognizing the fruit. He was connecting it to a file long buried.
But the most profound reaction came from Whitebeard.
His massive frame trembled.
The bisento slipped slightly in his grip.
"Gu… Gunnar…?"
The name was a whisper from his soul.
He had thought his son lost — vanished on a solo mission, presumed dead. The boy who had inherited a Devil Fruit of terrifying power. The boy who had fought with fierce loyalty.
"My… my son…?"
But Ymir-Ragnar did not respond.
His mind was a maelstrom of instinct and elemental rage. All that remained was a singular urge:
Eradicate threats. Protect… something.
His blazing eyes scanned the battlefield.
And locked onto Oars Jr.
To Ymir-Ragnar's fractured consciousness, the giant was a threat — a chaotic force battering the wall, endangering the objective.
"ROOOOAAAR!"
The sound tore through the battlefield, silencing cannons and screams alike.
Oars Jr., seeing the colossal figure turn toward him, summoned the last of his strength.
"WHO… ARE YOU?!"
He swung his katana weakly.
Ymir-Ragnar didn't answer with words.
He answered with force.
His left arm — a mountain of glacial ice — shot forward.
His right arm — a river of molten rock — followed.
CRASH! BOOM!
The ice fist collided with Oars Jr.'s shoulder, trailing shards and freezing mist. The lava fist slammed into his ribs, steam exploding outward. The impact sent Oars Jr. stumbling back, his frame shuddering.
He cried out — a sound of pure agony.
The Whitebeard Pirates watched in horror.
"GUNNAR, NO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Marco screamed.
"THAT'S OARS JR! HE'S ONE OF US!"
"STOP IT, GUNNAR-BRO!" Jozu bellowed.
"HE'S YOUR BROTHER!"
Ace could only stare, his heart shattering.
"Gunnar… why…?"
But Ymir-Ragnar heard nothing.
He reared back, both fists clenched, ready to deliver another blow.
The battlefield, already a scene of unimaginable chaos, had descended into a fresh layer of nightmarish confusion. A Warlord, transformed into a legendary beast, was attacking one of Whitebeard's most beloved allies — while the crew recognized him as a long-lost brother who now seemed to have no memory of them.
The war for Marineford had just become infinitely more personal.
And infinitely more tragic.
Ragnar, those golden eyes, remembered as sharp with wit and warmth, now burned with a hollow, primal instinct. There was no recognition. No hesitation. Only destruction.
Oars Jr., a mountain of loyalty and pain, stood in his path.
"ROOOOAAAR!"
The sound tore through the battlefield, shaking the very bones of Marineford. Ymir-Ragnar lunged, his massive form moving with terrifying speed. The ground cracked beneath each step, steam hissing from his body as fire and ice collided in his wake.
Oars Jr., barely standing, raised his katana in a final act of defiance. The blade swept through the air in a wide arc.
CLANG! SCRREEECH!
It struck Ymir-Ragnar's icy arm, sending shards flying — but it did nothing. The titan didn't even flinch.
Then came the counter.
Ymir-Ragnar's lava arm lashed out, wrapping around Oars Jr.'s remaining leg like a serpent of molten stone. With a violent tug, he yanked the giant off his feet.
THUD!
Oars Jr. crashed onto the ice, the impact sending tremors through the bay.
"GUNNAR, STOP IT! THAT'S OARS!" Marco screamed, his voice raw, wings of blue flame flaring as he tried to reach them — but the elemental storm surrounding Ymir-Ragnar forced him back.
"WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS, BROTHER?!" Jozu bellowed, helpless, fists clenched.
But Ymir-Ragnar heard nothing.
He straddled the fallen giant, his massive form blotting out the sky. Then he raised both fists — one a jagged mountain of ice, the other a seething cauldron of lava — and brought them down.
BOOM! CRUNCH! SIZZLE!
Again.
BOOM!
Again.
CRACK!
Each blow shattered bone, melted flesh, and sent up clouds of steam and blood. Oars Jr. groaned, his voice barely a whisper now, his one good eye dimming with every strike.
"ENOUGH!" Ace shrieked from the scaffold, rattling his chains until his wrists bled. "GUNNAR! PLEASE! REMEMBER US! REMEMBER OARS!"
But the beast did not remember.
With a final, guttural roar, Ymir-Ragnar wrapped his arms around Oars Jr.'s torso. Ice and lava hissed and steamed as they locked together. Then, with a surge of impossible strength, he lifted the giant into the air.
For a moment, the battlefield froze.
Oars Jr. hung there — broken, bleeding, suspended by the very being who once called him brother.
Then Ymir-Ragnar slammed him down.
CRRAAAAAASSSSSHHHHHHHH!
The impact was apocalyptic.
The ice beneath them shattered like glass. The sound of it — the scream of tearing metal, the roar of collapsing stone — drowned out everything else.
And then the wall broke.
The inner Wall of Siege — the final barrier protecting the execution platform — groaned, buckled, and split in two. A gaping chasm, hundreds of feet wide, opened in its place. The path to Ace was no longer guarded.
Oars Jr. lay still.
Half-submerged in the churning water and broken ice, his body was motionless. His life force, once so fierce, had finally flickered out.
He had done it.
In the most tragic, ironic way possible — with the unwilling aid of his lost brother — he had broken the wall.
He had cleared the path.
And the war for Marineford had just changed forever.
Ymir-Ragnar stood amidst the wreckage.
Steam hissed from the shattered ice. Frost curled around his feet. His chest heaved, each breath a furnace blast. The battlefield was silent, stunned into stillness by the destruction he had wrought. The wall was broken. Oars Jr. lay still. And the titan's golden eyes, still blazing, turned slowly toward the Moby Dick.
Toward Whitebeard.
The Emperor stood tall on the deck, bisento in hand, his gaze locked on the elemental behemoth. Pain, confusion, and a desperate, fatherly plea warred in his eyes.
"GUNNAR!"
The name rang out across the battlefield, amplified by the power of a man who had shattered seas and split islands. It wasn't a command. It wasn't a threat. It was a cry — raw, aching, filled with history.
"MY SON! WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO YOU?! LOOK AT ME, GUNNAR! IT'S ME! YOUR FATHER!"
For the first time, something flickered in Ymir-Ragnar's face.
A tremor ran through his body. The name… Gunnar… Father… The words echoed in the vast, empty chambers of his mind, stirring something buried. His head tilted, confused. The glow in his eyes dimmed slightly. And he didn't like this feeling even by a bit.
But the power inside him was still surging.
His maw opened — a cavern of molten rock and jagged ice. A sound began to build, not a roar, but a storm. Ice crystals formed around his jaw. Lava dripped from his throat.
"He's… he's going to attack Pops!" Marco cried, horror in his voice.
"Sengoku! That Warlord of yours is out of control!" Garp shouted, fists clenched.
Sengoku's face was pale.
"Ragnar! Stand down! That's an order!"
But the words were lost in the rising power.
Ymir-Ragnar was preparing to unleash everything — a breath attack of lava and ice, a cataclysmic blast that could incinerate and freeze the Moby Dick and everyone on it.
On Sabaody Archipelago, Silvers Rayleigh watched the broadcast in grim silence.
"Whitebeard… You are stuck in quite a situation," he murmured. "To think you would have such a reunion,"
Back at Marineford, Whitebeard did not flinch.
He planted his feet. His bisento gleamed. His eyes, filled with sorrow, also burned with the will of an Emperor.
"If you've forgotten who you are, my son," he said, voice thick with emotion, "then I will beat the memories back into you."
He drew back his fist.
GURA GURA! SHATTER!
The air cracked. A shockwave erupted, not aimed to destroy, but to disrupt.
It struck Ymir-Ragnar's coalescing breath attack.
KRA-KOOOOM!
The blast detonated prematurely, erupting skyward in a chaotic explosion of fire and ice. Steam and shards filled the air. Ymir-Ragnar staggered, his colossal form shuddering.
The force of Whitebeard's will. The cries of "Gunnar!" from his crewmates. The echo of his name.
The glow in his eyes faded.
Confusion replaced fury. Then horror.
Images flashed — fragmented, chaotic. Death in an Orphan Age, And suddenly holding just born Iris. And then it paused.
His body trembled violently.
Steam and frost intensified, then began to recede. The horns cracked, then dissolved. Lava cooled. Ice melted.
With a final, agonized groan, the titan shrank.
In seconds, the elemental behemoth was gone.
Standing amidst the devastation was Ragnar.
Human again.
His furs and leathers were tattered, smoking. His red hair clung to his forehead. His golden eyes were wide, unfocused, staring at his trembling hands.
"Wha… what…?" he stammered, voice hoarse. "I feel sick,"
He looked up.
Whitebeard. Marco. Jozu. Ace.
The memories crashed down — Pirate — a torrent of guilt, confusion, and aching loss.
He had no idea who "Gunnar" was.
He was Ragnar, a normal transmigrate from other world.
And yet… the faces… the feelings…
He collapsed to his knees.
Head in his hands.