Marineford was no longer a fortress.
It was an arena of furious gods.
The cold of the ice wall enveloped everything, but the heat of war melted the reason of every soldier and pirate.
The sky was a dirty white ceiling, cracked by smoke and screams.
Each breath was difficult, heavy — like pulling air through iron and gunpowder.
At the center of the chaos, Riser walked.
His black coat untouched.
The Mangekyō Sharingan gleamed in his left eye, spinning with predatory patience.
Each step crushed shards of ice and black gunpowder underfoot.
He looked ahead — where Borsalino, Admiral Kizaru, approached, floating.
Golden particles shimmered around Kizaru's body like fragments of shattered sunlight.
"Oooh… you've made quite a mess, haven't you?"
A lazy smile cut across his face.
But his eyes… didn't smile.
Riser stood motionless.
The Kamui whispered beneath his skin, folding the space around him like an intangible second skin.
Kizaru moved his hand slowly.
A beam of light condensed at his fingertips.
"The Government wants your head, Riser-chan."
The smile widened.
"So do I."
The flash was instantaneous.
The spear of light shot like lightning born from the sun itself.
The air crackled.
The ice melted in a straight line.
The attack hit — or should have hit.
The energy passed through Riser's body as if he were made of smoke.
The Kamui absorbed it all.
No resistance.
No sound.
Kizaru raised his eyebrows behind his eyebrows.
"Ooooh… that's annoying."
His body exploded into light.
Soru combined with Yata no Kagami — reflections in a straight, fast as thought.
He appeared behind Riser.
His foot, cloaked in light, kicked the air.
The leg passed through the space where Riser's chest should have been.
But found only void.
The Sharingan spun.
The Kamui warped reality around Riser like an invisible cloak.
The light particles scattered into the cold air.
Riser turned his head, a slow grin slicing through the tension.
"Frustrating, isn't it?"
A different glint crossed Kizaru's eyes.
The next assault wasn't just light.
His body condensed, his leg coated in molten gold Armament Haki, its edges gleaming with lustrous ebony.
The air trembled with the vibration of concentrated force.
"Let's see… if you can handle this."
Kizaru exploded into the air.
The world became a golden blur.
The kick descended like a spear sent by the gods.
Riser shifted his left eye.
The Mangekyō Sharingan spun slowly, absorbing every intent, every shift in momentum.
The Kamui could ignore.
The Kamui could devour the blow like smoke.
But that would expose the secret.
And Riser… didn't play fair.
His right arm rose.
Armament Haki cloaked his fist.
The glossy black trembled like contained thunder beneath his skin.
The impact came.
Riser's fist met Kizaru's kick in mid-air.
The sound erupted like a wall cracking.
The shockwave hurled shards of ice and blood in all directions.
Nearby marines and pirates staggered, some thrown meters back.
Kizaru slid backward through the air, his expression shifting subtly behind his glasses.
"Ooooh… what an unpleasant surprise."
Riser's wrist buzzed in the air.
His black coat rippled, his boots still firm on the cracked ice.
His smile didn't waver.
"I'm not made of just tricks."
Kizaru cracked his shoulders.
Haki coated his body again, this time over his fists and elbows.
He surged forward.
Soru, reflection, Haki — all fused in a dance of golden death.
Punches. Kicks. Light blades infused with Haki.
Each strike could kill ordinary men instantly.
But the Sharingan spun.
And where needed, Riser blocked — with fists black as ancestral iron, with almost cruel precision.
The sound was of mountains colliding.
Each clash shook the ice wall, sending cracks sprawling like broken veins.
Kizaru paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing.
'He's not just untouchable.'
'He's technical.'
'He's hiding something.'
Riser rotated his fist slowly, Haki vibrating in every inch.
The smile on his face was pale, arrogant, and true.
"If you want to bring me down…"
The Sharingan flared like an eclipse.
"…you'll need more than light."
The other side of the field groaned.
Edward Newgate advanced.
His massive chest heaved with each step, muscles vibrating like ship cables.
His trident dragged across the broken deck of the Moby Dick.
The scar on his face pulsed with the memory of a thousand battles.
Before him, Aokiji snapped his fingers.
Ice crystals formed beneath his feet.
Each step froze the air's moisture.
His half-lidded eyes and calm expression — but the power in the air was undeniable.
"You're not getting through."
Kuzan's voice came as a frozen breath.
Whitebeard smiled.
The smile wasn't wide.
It was thin.
The tips of his white teeth showed, as if even his bones carried the arrogance of the seas.
The ground between them trembled, each fissure a prelude to collapse.
Aokiji moved first.
Ice rose like moving walls, forming spears, chains, crystal dragons.
His right arm lifted, unleashing a frigid blast that froze the air itself, crackling like glass shattering in the void.
Whitebeard responded with a low growl.
His fist gripped the trident.
The world's foundation shook.
CRAACK.
The space before him shattered in invisible waves.
The ice burst as if it were no longer solid.
The walls Aokiji raised were pulverized before they could reach the giant.
The cold that once dominated the field was torn apart by the mute sound of a broken world.
Kuzan took a step back.
His pupils narrowed.
'The strength… is absurd.'
The wind whipped ice shards like razors in every direction.
Whitebeard's body seemed larger than any structure there.
The weight of his presence crushed the field.
'No matter how much I freeze… he'll shatter it all.'
The trident came down.
The earth rose in twisted pillars.
The ice Aokiji created was obliterated before it could take form.
The clash of forces spawned internal tempests that tore the courtyard.
And then — something sliced the air.
A flash of blue fire.
Kuzan's gaze shifted as a flaming figure dove toward him.
Marco.
The Phoenix.
The pirate's chest glowed with blue flames, his wings spreading like an inverted sun.
The aura of regeneration pulsed like a second heart.
Marco crossed the field like a furious shooting star.
His kick slammed into Kuzan's flank with brutal force.
The ice on the Admiral's body cracked.
The surrounding air froze and vaporized simultaneously, a dance of extremes.
Kuzan was hurled into the rubble of a shattered tower.
The impact fractured the structure.
Dust rose like a silent scream.
Marco landed amid the ruins.
His fiery wings expanded, scattering embers over the broken ground.
His gaze met Whitebeard's for a second.
A quick nod.
A silent promise that no one would touch his father while he drew breath.
Kuzan emerged from the dust.
Ice slowly reformed over his torn coat.
His cold eyes analyzed.
His face still calm.
But the weight of the now-unbalanced fight was undeniable.
'With Marco in the field… this changes.'
The blue flames illuminated the ice wall behind them, casting distorted shadows.
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