The sky over Marineford descended like a tombstone.
Light died in shades of purple and gold, painting massive shadows over the frozen ruins. Each breath turned to white clouds in the biting air, every step creaked on the ice like a grave's lament.
At the center of the shattered plaza, Edward Newgate advanced.
His chest, torn by old wounds, steamed with each silent roar of his heart. His scarred skin vibrated under the tension of muscles still defying death. The trident dragged behind him, carving furrows in the cracked ground.
Ahead, Borsalino slid like a golden spark.
His light body flickered through debris, dodging the giant's lethal strikes.
Kuzan gritted his teeth.
His left arm trembled under the strain of keeping the ice solid, trying to bind Whitebeard's legs — but each trident strike tore through the frozen restraints like fishing line.
Marco soared.
His blue flame wings pulsed with restrained desperation.
His gaze locked on Ace, shackled, waiting for the moment to save him.
'Old man…'
The thought vibrated with each wingbeat.
'Trust me.'
Garp steadied his feet on the cracked ground.
Armament Haki dyed his skin vibrant black, steam rising from his body like smoke from a living furnace.
The old hero charged.
His leap shattered the ice beneath his feet.
Marco saw the shadow growing.
He spun in the air to dodge.
Too late.
Garp's fist sliced the sky.
It struck Marco square in the chest.
The air fled the Phoenix's lungs like a choked thunderclap.
His body shot like a blue bullet into the half-destroyed towers.
The impact fractured the concrete into golden shards.
Embers scattered like falling stars.
Marco rolled across the ground, coughing celestial blue blood.
His wings trembled.
His gaze found Garp, standing amid the destruction, eyes dark, merciless.
"You're not getting through."
The hero's voice was a restrained thunder.
Marco gritted his teeth.
His wings rebuilt slowly.
The Phoenix's fire glowed through cracks in his skin.
He rose.
Every muscle screamed.
But his heart pulsed stronger.
'Old man… I promised.'
The ground froze beneath his faltering steps.
---
Atop the execution platform, the executioner trembled.
The silver blade wavered in the cold air.
Ace watched.
His chest heaved.
His eyes shook with terror and impotence.
His fingers dug into the seastone shackles.
His dry throat wanted to scream, but shame and pride sealed his lips.
Sengoku, still in his Buddha form, roared.
"EXECUTE HIM NOW!"
The sound exploded through the ruins.
The echo struck broken walls and shattered hearts.
The executioner raised the sword with trembling hands.
The blade gleamed in the sun's last golden breath.
Sweat dripped down his temples.
His hand faltered in the air.
'End it.'
'End it before it's too late.'
Ace closed his eyes.
The world seemed to thrum with the imminent.
---
In the broken field, Whitebeard roared.
His trident struck the ground.
CRAACK!
Space shattered.
The quake tore Marineford in two directions.
The sea roared beyond the cracked wall.
The ice snapped like glass under the heat of the apocalypse.
Kizaru vanished in golden light, escaping by a hair's breadth.
Kuzan hardened his body into pure ice, trying to withstand the crushing force.
The ground erupted beneath their feet.
Vice-admirals and Pacifistas fell like broken marionettes.
Whitebeard shouted again.
His voice pierced the storm.
"ACE!!"
The echo cut through souls.
The trident pointed to the broken sky.
The day's last star faded above.
---
Marco flew again.
Blue fire illuminated the plaza.
Garp appeared before him, a wall of iron and hate.
His black fist tore the air.
Marco crossed his arms, shielding his chest.
The impact unleashed waves of blue flames in all directions.
The ice wall cracked.
---
Atop the platform, the executioner swallowed hard.
The blade descended.
Ace opened his eyes.
The glint cut the cold air.
The blade's edge shimmered.
The executioner gritted his teeth.
His trembling arm descended, slicing through his own fear's resistance.
The sound of the cut echoed like a muted scream.
Ace watched.
Ace knew.
'There's no time…'
The world's final snap seemed to sound.
But before the blade touched skin…
The sky exploded.
A boom not from the earth.
Not from the sea.
From a punch.
Edward Newgate's punch.
Whitebeard's fist, cloaked in raw Haki, cracked with pure will, tore through reality like a hammer of sleeping gods.
The air shattered.
The execution platform exploded.
The executioner was hurled like a broken doll.
The blade flew far, spinning uselessly in the air.
Ace fell sideways, arms still bound, body dragged by the brutal force of the impact.
The ice wall, so resilient until now, crumbled like eggshell underfoot.
The sea flooded the plaza, spitting foam and debris.
Whitebeard stood there.
His arm still extended.
The trident planted beside him.
His chest heaving.
His eyes burning.
The last roar of a living era.
"MY SON WON'T DIE TODAY!"
The sound made the clouds tremble.
The ice at his feet cracked.
Marines collapsed.
The ground splintered.
The sea roared in answer.
The world heard.
And obeyed.
Whitebeard was a force even death dared not defy.
---
Kizaru appeared.
Golden light sliced the sky.
Too fast.
A condensed light spear, tinged with Haki, crossed the empty space between them.
The beam struck.
It pierced the right side of Whitebeard's chest.
Blood sprayed in a cruel, gleaming arc.
The old giant's body trembled.
The trident wavered for a second.
The world stopped.
Ace saw.
Horror stabbed his eyes.
"OLD MAN!!!"
His voice broke Marineford's chest.
Whitebeard staggered.
His right knee buckled.
The trident sank deeper into the cracked ground to hold him up.
Blood flowed freely.
His skin, marked by centuries of war, glowed under the dying light.
But the old man… didn't fall.
Not a single step back.
His legs firm as ancestral roots.
His eyes burning with the fire of one who refused to die before saving the only thing that mattered.
"Oooh…"
Kizaru murmured softly, floating meters away, eyes hidden behind glasses, hand still extended.
"…that's… terrifying."
---
Ace tried to rise.
The shackles weighed heavier than mountains.
His chest ached.
But his heart burned.
'I need… to help him.'
The ice cracked beneath Marco's wings.
He fought Garp — brutal blows exchanged without pause.
Each impact fractured the world.
But Marco saw in glimpses.
Saw the blood.
Saw the man who carried them all enduring the wound.
Still standing.
Still shouting without words:
'RUN.'
'LIVE.'
'RESIST.'
---
In the shattered field, vice-admirals gathered like broken shadows.
Sengoku roared orders, but his golden aura flickered with exhaustion.
The world crumbled beneath the weak.
And only monsters, heroes, and legends remained standing.
Marineford was no longer a fortress.
It was the tomb of an era.
And Whitebeard — bleeding, wounded — was still the pillar holding up the sky.
---
Blue fire tore the sky.
Marco dove like a sacred comet.
His wings curved inward, spinning his body in a spiral as Armament Haki darkened his right fist like molten iron.
Garp charged to intercept.
The old man's eyes burned with fury and fear.
But Marco didn't hesitate.
The Phoenix's fist struck Marineford's ground with ancestral force.
BOOOOOOOM.
The execution platform erupted upward.
Stone and iron flew in massive chunks, split by the fury of a brother who'd already lost too much.
The impact thundered across the icy walls.
Blue flames consumed the scaffold's grooves.
Support columns fell like ancient bones.
The base gave way.
Ace fell.
His shackled body spun in the air like a blood-soaked feather of hope.
Marco caught him mid-leap.
His wings beat once.
Twice.
The regenerative heat enveloped Ace, but the seastone shackles burned at the touch.
Marco gritted his teeth.
"Hold on, brother."
The blue heat shielded him — but the cursed stone bit Ace like invisible claws.
Garp's fist sliced the air seconds later.
Marco spun in the momentum, dodging by inches.
The air snapped like torn leather.
The old hero roared behind them.
But they didn't stop.
The Phoenix's fire carved a path through the debris.
Hot stone fragments fell from the sky like a cursed rain.
Ace coughed blood.
His voice came as a whisper:
"Marco… the shackles…"
Marco looked.
The chains still bound Ace's wrists.
Seastone.
Unbreakable.
Unremovable by force or fire.
His gaze trembled — but only for a second.
"The old man knows what to do."
His wings beat with fury.
Marco dodged three projectiles and an ice spear.
At the plaza's far end, Whitebeard saw.
The wounded giant — chest torn open, trident planted in the ground — saw what he needed to see.
Ace… had been torn from the altar.
And that was enough.
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