Ivankov's tension hormones surged through Luffy like a tidal wave of raw, volatile energy. The haze of pain and exhaustion that had dulled his senses shattered in an instant. The world snapped into brutal clarity—every heartbeat a thunderclap, every nerve a live wire. His body screamed in protest, but his soul screamed louder.
Ace.
He staggered upright, swaying like a flame in a storm, eyes burning with a wild, desperate light.
"Luffy-kun!" Jinbe gasped, stunned by the unnatural resurgence.
"Straw Hat-boy! Don't push yourself too far!" Ivankov warned, voice tight with concern. But Luffy was already gone.
"ACEEEEEEE!" he roared, voice raw and ragged, and hurled himself forward like a cannonball of willpower and rubber. He wasn't dodging anymore—he was charging, absorbing blows that would have shattered lesser men. His body groaned under the strain, but he bounced back, relentless.
Marines who dared block his path were flung aside by wild, desperate Gomu Gomu no Bazookas and Gatlings. The attacks lacked finesse, but they carried a terrifying, primal force.
The pirates still fighting saw him—this small, indomitable figure refusing to fall—and something stirred in them. Hope.
"Straw Hat's still moving!"
"Clear a path!"
They surged forward, throwing themselves into the fray, carving fleeting openings for Luffy to exploit.
On the execution platform, Sengoku watched the chaos unfold. Luffy's impossible advance, the crumbling order—it was now or never.
"Executioners injured—stand down!" he bellowed. "Replacements, step forward! Carry out the sentence. Now!"
Two new executioners emerged, towering and grim, their faces hidden behind iron masks. Their glaives gleamed in the harsh light as they took position behind Ace.
Ace's heart sank. He looked down at his brother, so close, yet impossibly far, fighting like a man possessed.
"Luffy… run…" he whispered, voice cracking.
Elsewhere, the lull in the clash between Whitebeard and Akainu had ended. The fall of Ragnar had bought mere seconds. Akainu, eyes blazing with fury, saw his chance.
"You're finished, Whitebeard!" he snarled, his body erupting in molten fury. "Your era dies with your whelp!"
He didn't strike with a single blow—he unleashed a storm. Magma-infused punches and kicks rained down, relentless. Smaller, faster Hound Blaze constructs burst from his limbs, snapping and biting.
Whitebeard roared in defiance. "Not while I still draw breath, Sakazuki!"
His bisento swung wide, quake shockwaves dispersing the magma beasts. But Akainu pressed in, forcing a brutal, close-quarters brawl. Magma seared flesh. Quake-force battered Logia defenses. Blood and fire mingled in the air.
Whitebeard was being stalled—pinned by sheer, unyielding aggression.
Back on the scaffold, the executioners raised their glaives. The steel caught the light, arcing high.
"NOOOOOOO!" Luffy screamed, voice tearing from his throat. He was mere feet away—but a wall of Vice-Admirals and elite Marines stood between him and the platform.
He launched a desperate Gomu Gomu no Jet Bazooka—but it was deflected by a Haki-shield. He was too late.
The blades began their descent.
Despair crashed over him, heavier than any blow. His vision blurred—not from pain, but from the crushing weight of failure. Ivankov's hormones were fading. His body was failing. His spirit flickered.
Ace… I… failed…
The glaives swung down.
And in that instant—when all seemed lost—something deep within Luffy erupted.
It wasn't a conscious act. It wasn't a Devil Fruit technique. It was something older, deeper. A roar from the soul.
His eyes, unfocused and rolling back, suddenly blazed with violet light.
And from his lips, barely conscious, came a single, silent command—a feeling that tore through the battlefield like a divine decree:
"STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPPPPPP!!!"
The world froze.
It wasn't a sound that could be heard with ears.
It was a wave—a surge of pure, overwhelming willpower. A silent scream of spirit that tore through the battlefield like a tempest. The air around the execution platform shimmered, distorted by the invisible pressure. Time itself seemed to hesitate.
The two executioners, their glaives mere inches from Ace's neck, froze mid-swing. Their eyes widened, pupils dilating in shock—then rolled back. Foam bubbled at their lips. Their bodies convulsed, weapons clattering to the stone floor as they collapsed, unconscious. Their minds had been shattered by a force they couldn't comprehend.
Around the scaffold, chaos rippled outward.
Vice-Admirals and elite Marines staggered, clutching their heads. Some dropped to their knees, gasping for breath, their vision swimming. The pressure was suffocating, like drowning in a sea of unseen power.
Even Crocodile, poised to strike again, faltered. He took a step back, eyes narrowing. A flicker of recognition passed across his face—something ancient, something familiar. "That brat…" he muttered, voice low. "Impossible…"
Ace, closest to the epicenter, felt the wave crash over him. His will was strong—he didn't fall—but the sensation was dizzying. For a moment, the world tilted. The chaos dulled. A strange clarity bloomed in his chest.
He turned his gaze to Luffy.
His brother was slumped, unconscious, head lolling, body limp. The last of Ivankov's hormones had burned away. But even in defeat, Luffy's spirit had roared.
From the command post, Sengoku reeled. "What… what was that?! What just happened?!"
Garp stood frozen, fists clenched, eyes wide with disbelief. That feeling… that pressure… He knew it. He had felt it before. But not from Luffy. Not yet.
"No…" he whispered. "It can't be…"
Far across the battlefield, even Whitebeard paused mid-swing. His bisento hovered in the air, magma licking at its edge. He felt it—a ripple in the world, a tremor in the soul.
Akainu faltered, his molten fists slowing. "What is this…?" he growled, eyes scanning the battlefield.
It was Conqueror's Haki.
Uncontrolled. Unconscious. Born from the deepest pit of despair and the fiercest love a brother could hold. It had erupted from Luffy like a tidal wave, a silent roar that had brought the execution to a screeching halt.
For a moment, the battlefield was still.
Luffy lay motionless, his body finally succumbing. But his spirit—his will—had spoken. And the world had listened.
Ace stared at him, heart pounding. "Luffy…" he whispered, voice trembling. "You…"
He didn't finish the thought. He didn't need to.
Because in that moment, everyone knew.
The boy who had charged into hell for his brother… was no ordinary pirate.
He was a king in the making.
The execution platform fell into a stunned, unnatural silence.
The glaives, once poised to end Ace's life, now lay inert on the stone, mere inches from his neck. The two executioners who had wielded them were sprawled unconscious, their bodies twitching faintly, eyes rolled back, foam at their lips. Around them, elite Marines staggered, clutching their heads, their senses scrambled by a force they couldn't name.
And at the center of it all, Monkey D. Luffy lay crumpled on the blood-soaked plaza—unmoving, unconscious, his body finally succumbing to the brutal toll of Ivankov's hormones and the battle's relentless punishment.
The source of the disruption was invisible, but unmistakable.
A wave of willpower, raw and unrefined, had erupted from Luffy's soul. It hadn't been a sound, nor a strike. It was a presence—a spiritual pressure that had slammed into the battlefield like a tidal wave.
Fleet Admiral Sengoku stood frozen on his command platform, his jaw slack.
"What… what in the blazes was that?!" he barked, eyes scanning the chaos. "Did anyone see an attack? A projectile?!"
His officers shook their heads, equally baffled.
"No sir! No visible assault! No Devil Fruit activation!"
Sengoku's gaze fell on Luffy's unconscious form, then to the collapsed executioners. A chill crept down his spine.
"That color…" he whispered. "The Color of the Supreme King…?"
Vice-Admiral Garp sat motionless on the Admiral's dais, his eyes locked on his grandson.
He had felt this pressure before—from Roger, from Shanks. But from Luffy?
His face twisted in a storm of emotions: pride and a heavy dread.
"That idiot…" he muttered, voice hoarse. "He actually possesses it…"
He covered his mouth with a trembling hand. The weight of generations—Roger, Dragon, and now Luffy—pressed down on him like a mountain.
"This cursed lineage…"
Admiral Akainu, locked in a brutal exchange with Whitebeard, felt the ripple mid-strike. The air thickened, his magma hissed erratically.
He glanced toward the scaffold, saw the downed executioners, and snarled.
"What now? More tricks from these damned pirates?!"
He didn't understand the source, but he didn't care. Any delay in Ace's execution was an affront to his absolute justice.
With a roar, he redoubled his assault on Whitebeard, fists blazing.
Admiral Aokiji, engaged with Squard and another commander, paused mid-motion.
His usually sleepy eyes sharpened.
"Ara-ra… Haoshoku Haki," he murmured. "And a powerful, uncontrolled burst at that."
He watched the unconscious Luffy with quiet intrigue.
"So, Straw Hat isn't just Dragon's son… he's one of those too."
He wasn't alarmed—just thoughtful. The battlefield was becoming a crucible for legends.
Admiral Kizaru, mid-flight, shimmered to a halt as the wave passed through him.
"Ooooh?" he mused, golden light flickering. "What was that little… tingle?"
He looked toward the scaffold, saw the commotion, and chuckled.
"My, my… this party just keeps getting more unpredictable."
He was amused more than anything, treating the phenomenon like another firework in a chaotic festival.
Marco the Phoenix, groaning as he pushed himself up from where Garp had slammed him, felt the wave and froze.
His eyes widened.
"That kid… he has it too?" he whispered. "The Supreme King's Haki… just like Pops… just like Shanks…"
He trailed off, the implications crashing down.
"Ace… Luffy… What kind of destiny are you two carrying, yoi?"
A fragile flicker of hope stirred in his chest.
Isshin Ashina, dueling Vice-Admirals alongside Jozu, faltered for a heartbeat.
His sword paused mid-swing, eyes narrowing.
"Haoshoku… from one so young," he murmured. "Interesting."
He registered it, filed it away, and resumed his battle. The world was full of prodigies. This was just another one.
Even Whitebeard, locked in a vicious clash with Akainu, felt the pressure.
His own Conqueror's Haki resonated faintly with the burst.
He glanced toward the scaffold, his one good eye catching the scene.
"So… the little brother carries it too," he muttered.
The memory of Roger flickered in his mind. This war was no longer just about territory or justice—it was the birth of a new generation of kings.
For a moment, the battlefield held its breath.