The eruption of Luffy's Conqueror's Haki had bought only a fleeting pause—a breath held in the throat of war. But Marineford was no place for miracles to linger. The moment passed, and the battlefield roared back to life with renewed, merciless fury.
Fleet Admiral Sengoku, his face twisted in rage, bellowed across the plaza, "More executioners! NOW! Finish the sentence!"
But the tide had shifted. With Luffy unconscious and Ace momentarily spared, the full, crushing weight of the Marine offensive turned toward the heart of the rebellion—the Emperor himself.
Whitebeard, already locked in a savage duel with Admiral Akainu, now became the epicenter of a coordinated, all-out assault.
"FOCUS ALL FIRE ON WHITEBEARD!" a Vice-Admiral screamed through a Den Den Mushi, his voice laced with hatred. "BRING THE OLD RELIC DOWN!"
And the world obeyed.
From every direction, a storm of destruction converged.
Cannonballs, hundreds of them, shrieked through the air, slamming into Whitebeard's massive frame. Each explosion tore at his flesh, sending shockwaves through his bones.Rifle fire, thousands of rounds, many laced with Haki, peppered him like a swarm of hornets.
They bit deep, tore muscle, shattered skin. Devil Fruit users unleashed their powers—beams of light, slicing winds, concussive blasts. A Vice-Admiral in a monstrous Zoan form rammed into Whitebeard's legs, trying to buckle the titan. Swordsmen, from seasoned officers to desperate recruits, surged forward, blades flashing, hacking at his limbs, his back, his sides.
Whitebeard roared—a sound of pure, primal defiance. His bisento swung in vast arcs, sending shockwaves that shattered cannonballs mid-air, hurled Marines like rag dolls, and cracked the frozen battlefield beneath him. His Quake-Quake Fruit erupted, fracturing the ice, tilting the ground, creating a perimeter of chaos.
But it wasn't enough.
A cannonball exploded against his chest, sending him staggering. Blood gushed from his mouth. A Haki-infused blade sliced deep into his thigh. A Pacifista's laser scorched his arm, leaving a cauterized wound that smoked in the cold air.
His iconic white coat, once regal, now hung in tatters—riddled with holes, soaked in blood. His legendary back, once unmarred by retreat, was now a canvas of fresh, brutal wounds.
He swayed.
His knees trembled.
The Marines roared in triumph. The pirates cried out in despair.
"POPS!" Marco screamed, trying to break through, but Kizaru intercepted him, beams of light pinning him down.
"OYAJI!" Jozu bellowed, his diamond form cracking under a barrage of attacks, still pushing forward.
But then—Whitebeard stood.
He planted his feet on the blood-soaked ice, muscles trembling, jaw clenched. He let out a roar—not of pain, but of fury. Of defiance.
He would not fall.
Not yet.
Not while his sons still fought.
Not while Ace still lived.
His back, though torn and bleeding, remained unbent.
And that was when Akainu struck.
He had waited, biding his time, letting the others wear the Emperor down. Now, he surged forward, his right arm transforming into a colossal, seething mass of magma—larger, darker, hotter than anything he had unleashed before.
"You are a relic of a bygone era, Whitebeard!" Akainu snarled. "Your stubbornness only prolongs their suffering! It's time you were extinguished!"
"MEIGO!" — Dark Hound!
The magma didn't just erupt—it lunged, shaped like a demonic hound's maw, aimed directly at Whitebeard's chest. The same spot a cannonball had just torn open.
Whitebeard saw it coming.
He tried to raise his bisento.
Tried to summon another quake.
But his body was too slow.
Too battered. As the blood flow stopped, his hand wasn't quick enough.
The magma fist slammed into his chest with a sickening, wet SQUELCH.
HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Silence.
A deafening, absolute silence fell over Marineford, broken only by the crackling hiss of Akainu's magma and the distant, horrified gasps of those who had witnessed the unthinkable.
Whitebeard stood impaled, a smoking chasm carved through his chest. The magma had burned deep—through flesh, through bone, through the very soul of the man who had once split the seas with a swing of his blade. And yet, he did not scream. He did not fall.
His colossal frame trembled, blood pouring from the gaping wound, his breath ragged and wet. His one good eye locked onto Akainu, not with fear, but with a fury and immense rage it seemed to shake the air itself.
The Emperor of the Sea had suffered a mortal wound. And still… he stood.
The wound was grotesque—a magma-seared crater, blackened and raw, the edges still sizzling. Steam rose from the cavity, mingling with the blood that gushed like a river. His ribs were shattered, his lungs scorched, and yet his grip on his bisento remained firm.
"Is that… all you've got… Sakazuki?" Whitebeard rasped, his voice a shadow of its former thunder, but laced with defiance that made even Akainu hesitate.
Akainu, his magma arm still embedded in Whitebeard's torso, stared in disbelief.
"You… stubborn old monster…" he growled, and with a vicious twist, he drove his arm deeper, seeking to obliterate what remained of the Emperor's insides. "JUST DIE ALREADY!"
Whitebeard's roar was primal—pain and rage fused into a sound that shook the battlefield. With a final surge of his Quake-Quake powers, he brought his bisento down.
GURA GURA! KRA-BOOM!
The blow struck the ground, not Akainu. The plaza erupted—ice and magma flung skyward, the earth splitting beneath their feet. Akainu was forced to retreat, leaping back as the shockwave tore through the battlefield.
Whitebeard staggered, his legs buckling, blood pouring from his mouth, his chest, his limbs. His coat was shredded, his back a tapestry of fresh wounds and old scars. His body was failing—but his spirit was not.
He was buying time.
Time for his sons.
Time for Ace.
Time for Luffy.
And Luffy—fueled by Ivankov's life-burning hormones and the unconscious roar of his own Conqueror's Haki—was back on his feet.
The world was a blur of pain and chaos, but the sight of Ace, still alive, still bound, was a beacon.
"ACE!" he screamed, voice hoarse, legs pumping.
The remaining Whitebeard Pirates, inspired by their captain's impossible endurance and Luffy's insane persistence, rallied around him.
"Protect Straw Hat!"
"Get him to Ace-bro!"
They threw themselves into the fray, absorbing lasers, blades, and bullets, forming a living shield around Luffy as he charged.
On the execution platform, Fleet Admiral Sengoku was livid.
"The executioners are down! Someone else—get up there! Finish it!"
From the shadows of the scaffold, two new figures emerged—cloaked, silent, deadly. Their glaives gleamed, sharper and more menacing than before. They moved with chilling efficiency, prepared for resistance.
Luffy saw them.
He was so close.
But a wall of Vice-Admirals, led by Momonga, blocked his path.
"Not one step further, Straw Hat!" Momonga roared, his katana flashing.
Just as Luffy was about to be overwhelmed, a familiar voice cut through the chaos.
"Still struggling, brat?"
Sir Crocodile, sand swirling around him, stood nearby.
"Hmph. Pathetic," he sneered. But then, he raised his golden hook.
"Don't think this means anything. I just want to see the World Government humiliated."
"SABLES: PASARELA!"
A ramp of compressed sand erupted beneath Luffy's feet, angling sharply toward the execution platform—a miraculous highway to Ace.
"Get on, you idiot!" Crocodile barked.
Luffy didn't hesitate. "Shishishi! Thanks, Sand-Guy-Who-Used-To-Be-A-Jerk!"
He scrambled up the ramp, rubbery legs pumping, eyes locked on Ace's face—terror, hope, disbelief all mingled.
But Sengoku had seen enough.
Golden light enveloped him. His body swelled, muscles bulging, hair turning brilliant gold. He transformed into a Daibutsu—a Giant Golden Buddha.
"YOU WILL NOT INTERFERE, STRAW HAT LUFFY!"
His voice rang like a temple bell, and he raised a massive palm, aiming a shockwave-infused blow at Luffy.
Luffy, halfway up the ramp, saw the colossal fist descending.
No time to dodge.
No room to run.
His instincts screamed.
"GOMU GOMU NO… FUSEN!"
He inhaled—his body inflating to a ludicrous size, a massive rubber ball, far larger than ever before.
The golden fist slammed into him—
BOOOOOOM!
—and bounced off, the shockwave dispersing harmlessly across his inflated form.
Luffy ricocheted forward, propelled by the impact, flying toward the platform—
BOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
Sengoku's Haki-infused golden palm slammed into the super-inflated Luffy with the force of a divine judgment. The sand ramp beneath him shattered into a million grains, vaporized by the shockwave. But instead of being crushed, Luffy—now a massive, taut rubber sphere—bounced.
He ricocheted off Sengoku's colossal fist like a cannonball, careening wildly through the air. His inflated body slammed into the execution platform with a thunderous crash, splintering wood and steel. A section of the scaffold cracked and broke away, sending debris—and one of the new executioners—tumbling into the chaos below.
Luffy, still deflating, bounced erratically off the side of the platform, limbs flailing, his body finally giving in to exhaustion.
Sengoku, momentarily thrown off balance, roared in frustration. The unexpected elasticity had disrupted his attack, damaged the platform, and—most infuriatingly—delayed the execution again.
With surprising speed for his massive form, Sengoku lunged. His golden hand shot out, fingers radiating Haki, and closed around Luffy's neck.
The boy went limp.
His body, pushed beyond its limits, finally surrendered. His head lolled, his eyes rolled back.
"I HAVE YOU NOW, SON OF DRAGON!" Sengoku thundered, lifting Luffy high. "YOUR RECKLESSNESS ENDS HERE!"
On the scaffold, Ace watched in horror.
His heart shattered.
Luffy had been so close. So impossibly close.
And now he hung, unconscious, in the grip of a golden titan.
Ace screamed, his voice raw and broken. "LUFFY! NO!"
He thrashed against his chains, tears streaming down his freckled cheeks. Around him, the executioners regrouped, their glaives gleaming. Sengoku bellowed orders. The Marines surged.
Hope was dying.
But elsewhere, in the smoking ruin of the battlefield, a forgotten figure stirred.
Ragnar, his veins glowed red and blue after so many years, his mind fractured, lay sprawled on the ice.
He pushed himself upright. His brain dizzeled with a Hangover feeling. His golden eyes, no longer blazing with elemental fury, widened with dawning clarity.
He saw Whitebeard, impaled, bleeding, still standing.
He saw Marco, his flames flickering, barely holding off Kizaru.
He saw Luffy, limp in Sengoku's grip.
And then he saw Ace.
Bound. Bleeding. Screaming.
"GUNNAR!" Ace's voice tore through the battlefield, a desperate, anguished cry. "PLEASE! CAN YOU HEAR ME?! IT'S ME, ACE!"
Ragnar flinched.
The name hit him like a hammer.
Memories surged—laughter under starlit skies, clumsy spars, and vanished. Sweat dripped down his forehead.
"Ace…" he whispered, voice hoarse, unfamiliar.
"YES! GUNNAR!" Ace sobbed. "Look at them! Pops is dying for us! Marco, Jozu—they're fighting, they're falling! And Luffy… my stupid little brother… he came all this way… he's going to die too!"
Ace's voice cracked. "You were always the strongest, Gunnar! You always found a way! Remember our promise? That we'd protect our family, no matter what?!"
The executioners advanced.
Sengoku raised his fist again.
But Ace's world had narrowed to one figure.
"You're the only one left who can do something!" he cried. "Please! Don't let them die! Don't let me be the reason we lose everything!"
Ragnar stood frozen.
The battlefield blurred.
Ace's words were hammer blows against the dam of his fractured mind. He looked at his hands—scarred, trembling.
A guttural roar erupted from Gunnar's throat—a sound that tore through the battlefield like a shockwave. It wasn't power. It wasn't pride. It was pain. Unrelenting, unfiltered, and incandescent.
He didn't need to transform.
He didn't need lava or ice.
The fury inside him burned. It was the rage of a man who didn't know who he was, didn't care who he had been, and couldn't bear what he was becoming.
With a thunderous leap, Gunnar launched himself skyward, his body a blur of raw, volatile energy. He soared above the battlefield, a silhouette against the blood-red sky.
"I'M DONE!" he roared, voice cracking with fury. "DONE WITH THE LIES! DONE WITH THE SCHEMES! DONE WITH THIS DAMN WAR!"
His golden eyes, blazing with sorrow and wrath, locked onto Whitebeard, still locked in his brutal, dying struggle with Akainu.
"You want to die, old man? THEN I'LL GIVE YOU DEATH!"
The battlefield froze.
"I'LL KILL YOU MYSELF!"
It wasn't malice. It was desperation. A son who didn't remember being a son. A warrior who saw no end but blood.
"GUNNAR, NO!" Ace screamed, his voice breaking. "WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?!"
Sengoku and Garp turned, stunned. Even Whitebeard paused, his one good eye widening, sorrow flickering behind the pain.
But Gunnar didn't care.
"I don't know who you are!" he shouted. "I don't know who I am! But I know this—this war ends now!"
He clenched his fists, Haki crackling around him like lightning.
"I'll tear this battlefield apart if I have to!"
And then the sky split again.
Not with his Haki.
A massive, obsidian-winged bird descended, elegant and ominous. And standing atop it, poised like royalty, was Charlotte Smoothie.
Her pale hair flowed like silk, her impossibly long legs balanced with ease, and in her hand was a ridiculously long sword, its jeweled hilt gleaming.
"Now, now, Gunnar dear," she called, voice cool and amused. "Killing your own father? So terribly gauche."
Gunnar's eyes narrowed. "Who the hell are you?"
Smoothie smiled. "Still so dramatic. You always were."
She stepped off the bird with lazy grace. Her blade arced downward in a flash of dehydrating energy.
SLASH!
Gunnar barely raised his head. The blade struck his side, sending him crashing to the ice, skidding across the battlefield like a broken comet.
He groaned, blood pouring from the wound, his body trembling.
The obsidian bird landed beside Smoothie, who looked down at him with a bored, proprietary gaze.
"CHARLOTTE SMOOTHIE?!" a Whitebeard commander shouted. "SHE'S THE ONE WHO KILLED GUNNAR!"
The cry echoed, a wave of fury rising among the pirates.
Sengoku and Garp exchanged tense glances.
"Big Mom's forces?" Garp muttered. "Why now?"
Doflamingo cackled from his perch. "Fuffuffuffu! This cast just keeps getting better!"
Smoothie ignored them all.
Her eyes locked on Gunnar.
"It's been a long time, husband."
Gunnar pushed himself up, clutching his bleeding side. His voice was low, dangerous.
"Husband…?"
The name triggered a flood of memories—political alliances, forced vows, betrayal.
"You…" he growled. "Daughter of Big-Mom, You have no place in this War."
"Still so dramatic," Smoothie sighed. "You always were."
Gunnar roared, lunging forward, his fist wreathed in Haki.
Smoothie met him with her blade.
CLASH!
The impact sent shockwaves across the ice, Haki against Haki, fury against elegance.
Ace's scream tore through the battlefield like a blade.
"SMOOTHIE! YOU BITCH! WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?!"
His voice was raw, trembling with rage and heartbreak. The woman who had supposedly killed Gunnar now stood calmly, claiming to be his wife. The battlefield, already a maelstrom of chaos, seemed to tilt further into madness.
Smoothie turned her gaze toward Ace, her expression unreadable. "Apologies, Fire Fist," she said coolly. "But your brother isn't dead. Obviously." She gestured toward Gunnar, who was still rising from the ice, bloodied but burning with fury. "The man you know as Ragnar… is Gunnar. My errant husband. It's a long story. Let's just say he had a rather nasty knock on the head."
Ace's fists clenched. "You twisted—!"
But before he could finish, the battlefield shifted again.
Akainu, seeing Whitebeard distracted by the chaos, saw his moment.
"YOUR END IS HERE, WHITEBEARD!" he roared, his body erupting in molten fury.
He surged forward, magma fist blazing, aimed directly at Whitebeard's head—a killing blow.
"POPS!" Marco cried, his flames faltering.
"OYAJI! NO!" Jozu bellowed, his diamond form cracking.
Ace watched, frozen, his voice gone.
Whitebeard turned, his one good eye narrowing. He was too wounded, too slow. He closed his eye, memories flashing—his crew, his sons, his legacy.
And then, Smoothie's voice rang out—not affectionate, but ritualistic, commanding.
"No harm will overtake you, no disaster will come near your tent! Rise now, Edward Charlotte Newgate Gunnar!"
The words slammed into Gunnar's fractured mind like a thunderclap.
Memories surged—of who he was, of what he was meant to be. Not Ragnar. Not a weapon. But a son. A protector. A Brother. A Husband.
And as Akainu's fist descended—
BOOOOOOOOOOM!
A shockwave of pure willpower erupted from Gunnar.
THE COLOR OF THE SUPREME KING.
Not silent. Not subtle. A focused, violet-black blast of Conqueror's Haki slammed into Akainu's magma fist.
KRA-THOOOOOOOOOM!
Magma met will. The explosion rocked the battlefield. Akainu was thrown back, his arm dispersed, his face stunned.
He had been stopped—not by strength, but by charge of Haki.
And there, standing between Akainu and Whitebeard, his arm outstretched, his fist crackling with violet-black Haki, was Gunnar.
But he was changed.
His hair, slowly changed, as Smoothie caressed his hair, Reverting back the oil and nutrient component to it's origianl form, once fiery red, was now split—half crimson, half snow white. His golden eyes burned with clarity. With purpose.
He turned to Whitebeard, who stared at him, tears welling in his eye.
A small, weary smile touched Gunnar's lips.
"Sorry I'm late… Dad."