Room of Authority, Mary Geoise
The tension in the room was suffocating—a stillness so heavy it felt like the air itself was about to shatter. Every breath drawn was thick with unspoken threats, and every heartbeat echoed like a war drum beneath the ornate ceiling of the Holy Land.
Yet Shanks stood tall.
His crimson cloak billowed faintly with the breeze slipping through the ancient marble pillars, but his expression was as cold and sharp as the blade at his side. Beneath the surface, rage and restraint warred within him, but he kept his fury in check—for now.
He hadn't come here by choice.
He'd sworn long ago never to set foot in this cursed land again—Mary Geoise, the gilded grave of truth and lies. But they'd left him no choice. When the so-called God's Knights targeted Uta, abducting the child he had raised and loved as his own, Shanks had known exactly what game was being played.
He had agreed to the meeting—for her safety. Not for negotiation. Not for diplomacy. And certainly not because of blood.
The God's Knights had claimed they were acting on behalf of someone unexpected—his biological father, they'd said. A Celestial Dragon. The name Figarland still tasted like ash in his mouth. But what confused him was that he wasn't brought to his so-called "father" at all. No—he was brought before the Five Elders, the rulers of the world themselves, the shadows behind the sun.
They had not spoken a word since he entered. And they had not stopped staring. Their eyes, ancient and unreadable, bore into him through the gloom of the room like predatory hawks watching an unpredictable beast.
Finally, Shanks broke the silence.
"Are you going to keep staring at me all day… or are you actually going to tell me why you dragged me here?" he growled, his voice a low rumble. His hand lingered near his sword hilt, not as a threat—but as a promise.
His senses were on high alert. Even surrounded by these monsters, he remained composed. They may have manipulated him into this audience, but he was still a pirate, and more than that—he was Gol D. Roger's apprentice.
And they knew it. Which is why he couldn't understand why they would go this far.
Suddenly— BOOM.
A deafening slam shattered the silence as Elder Mars pounded his fist into the ornate table, the force cracking its golden inlay.
"Insolence!" he thundered. "A mere pirate dares speak to us in such tone?!"
Shanks didn't blink.
"I've survived things worse than your stares and your titles," he said coldly. "If you wanted obedience, you should've sent someone other than those cowards behind titles to threaten a little girl."
His words hung in the air like a guillotine. The Five Elders shifted, ever so slightly. Then another voice spoke. Elder Saturn, ever grim and composed, slammed the butt of his staff to the floor. The sound reverberated through the chamber like thunder.
"You carry the blood of the Celestial Dragons in your veins, boy," said Elder Ju Peter, his ancient eyes gleaming with restrained contempt. "And yet you throw it away in favor of a wretched life among thieves and beggars."
Another Elder leaned forward, hands folded, voice dripping with disdain. "You could have ruled the world. And instead, you chose to hide beneath a flag of skulls and dreams."
"You chose to follow Roger's legacy, forsaking your own."
There it was. The unspoken truth. Everything about this meeting—the manipulation, the threat, the invitation—it all came down to this.
They had feared Gol D. Roger. They had feared the man who smiled at death. And now, they feared the one who carried that same will in his heart.
"You already declined once," said Elder Saturn, voice like stone dragged across iron. "When you first returned to this land as a youth. When we extended an offer of power, of legacy. And yet you turned away. You spat on your name."
"And now here we are again," added Elder Ju Peter. "One last chance, Figarland Shanks."
His full name. The name he had long buried. A silence followed, heavy and loaded. Shanks' eye narrowed. For the first time, a flicker of genuine curiosity passed across his face.
"Why?" he asked, the question cutting through the pomp of the room like a blade. "You could've killed me. With my current strength, I may not be able to resist if you pulled out your hidden cards. You know you want to. So why give me a second chance? Why now? And why all this secrecy to bring me here…?"
Elder Ethanbaron V. Nasujuro finally broke the silence, his voice calm—almost mournful.
"Because the balance of the world is shifting... and whether you accept it or not, you carry the blood of gods."
His words did not ring with arrogance. They were not meant as flattery. They were simply the cold, immutable truth.
"The Will of D has begun to stir again," he continued, his eyes narrowing. "And it's not just those ancient enemies we contend with anymore. Some of our own... have turned against us."
There was a pause—pregnant with meaning.
"Your friend, Rosinante," he said, his voice colder now, "grows bolder by the day. Dressrosa has become untouchable under his shadow. Even the Cipher Pol refuse to tread too far without consequence. Secrets buried in the Void Century draw ever closer to the surface."
He leaned forward, eyes like knives.
"The final act of this age is upon us. And we can no longer afford to ignore the blood you carry. Not with what's coming. More so—we cannot afford to see you become another Rosinante."
The words hung in the air like a blade poised above a throne. Shanks did not speak. He merely stared—expression unreadable, body unmoving, as though carved from the stone that built the very halls they stood in.
Then came the voice of Elder Mars, low and begrudging, yet laced with gravity.
"We need you," he said. "Not as a pirate. But as an Emperor. One who rules the seas not for chaos or for freedom… but on our behalf."
A moment of silence followed. Then, slowly, Shanks laughed. Not with joy. Not with humor. But with a deep, hollow sound that echoed like death in a crypt.
"A puppet," he said coldly. "That's what you mean. You want me leashed. A blood-soaked dog on a golden chain. Well…"
He took a step forward, the floor groaning under the weight of his presence.
"I've seen the throne you all worship," he hissed. "It's nothing but a gilded lie. I've stood beside real kings. Oden. Roger. Whitebeard. And they all died on their feet. Not rotting behind walls, hiding from the storm."
His single eye blazed now with the fury of a rising tide.
"I came here for one reason. My daughter, Uta. You release her. Now. Or I leave nothing of this cursed city but dust and legend."
He let his arm fall to the side. A pulse surged through the room—a monstrous burst of Conqueror's Haki that exploded outward with devastating force. The air cracked like thunder. The walls fractured, veins of darkness spreading through the marble. Pillars groaned and buckled, paintings fell from the walls, and the heavy golden doors behind him shuddered as if they, too, wanted to flee.
The Conqueror's Will of a young pirate. A king who bowed to no one. Guards outside collapsed instantly, unconscious from the sheer spiritual pressure. Even some of the elite Cipher Pol agents staggered in the outer halls. Yet inside the chamber, the Five Elders remained on their feet—eyes narrowed, aura rising.
"Enough!" Saturn's voice boomed, his staff crashing to the floor like a thunderbolt.
His own Conqueror's Haki erupted—ancient, immense, suffocating, like the shadow of a god. The collision of their wills clashed like roaring titans. The floor beneath them shattered into spiderwebs of stone. The chandeliers above exploded, and cracks etched across the ceiling like lightning bolts.
Yet through it all, Shanks stood firm. His cloak rippled, his boots dug into the ground, his eyes locked onto Saturn's with a defiance that screamed louder than any words. Hundreds of years of power met the unbending resolve of a man who had stood beside the Pirate King—and refused to kneel.
The struggle lasted seconds that felt like eternity. Then the Elders slowly withdrew their Haki. The room creaked in the aftermath, walls scarred, dust still drifting down like ash after a fire. Silence reigned once again—shaken, broken, raw.
The Five exchanged glances, unreadable thoughts flickering in their expressions. Somewhere, from the veil of shadows behind them, an unseen observer watched through the slit of a hidden door—still, silent.
Saturn's staff tapped once more against the stone.
"We will give you your daughter," he said, voice measured. "But…" A smile crept to his lips—thin, venomous, victorious.
"You will do certain things for us, Shanks. You've made your weakness clear. And now we hold it in our hands."
Shanks said nothing. But the silence was louder than any threat. The temperature in the room dropped. The only sound was the slow crackle of a fractured torch flame. Shanks turned his head slightly, just enough to let the red of his hair catch the light.
Shanks stood still as a statue, his one visible eye narrowed like the edge of a blade. His voice came out low, controlled, yet coiled with fury just beneath the surface.
"What do you want from me…? And do you honestly think I'd wag my tail to your commands like some obedient mutt? What's stopping me from going on a rampage right now?"
His Haki simmered in the air like a barely-contained wildfire. But Elder Ju Peter only smiled thinly, unconcerned. He knew the power they held—the leverage they carried in the form of the girl.
"As long as we have her, you won't do anything reckless," he said, folding his hands across the table. "You're not here as the Red-Haired Pirate. You're here as a father. And that, more than anything else, makes you predictable."
He rose slowly, each step echoing with quiet finality.
"From today," he declared, "you will bear the Abyss Mark." The name hung in the air like a curse.
"You may continue to play your game—pose as a pirate, sail the seas, build your crew. But know this: you will do so under our watch. We want you to excel at it. To grow. To rise. To dominate. Because you will become our anchor point in the New World—the balancing force in the chaos that brews."
His voice dropped into a grave tone.
"The seas are shifting. The era is on fire. The D stir from slumber. The weapons of the ancients have begun to reawaken. If something—someone—doesn't keep order... the world will burn."
Ju Peter looked down at him, gaze like a guillotine.
"As Roger's apprentice, you should understand the importance of balance. He did. That's why, even when he found Laugh Tale... he chose not to reveal it. He maintained the balance of the world until the end. And for that—we respect him."
There was a beat of silence.
"Tell me, Shanks… do you think you can maintain that balance, like Roger did?"
For a moment, nothing stirred. Then Shanks tilted his head back and let out a dry, humorless laugh.
"Praising Roger…? That's the funniest thing I've heard in years. Not even Buggy's sad excuse for jokes come close."
His tone turned scornful.
"You worms never understood Roger. You feared him. You hunted him. And now you stand there, pretending to honor him like you understood the weight he carried."
He stepped forward, letting his boots echo on the cracked stone beneath.
"You respect him? Please. If any of you had known where Laugh Tale was, you'd have dragged him in chains to extract its secrets and erase the truth from history—just like you've always done."
He turned slightly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
"Wouldn't you like to know what's on that island?" he teased. The Five Elders' expressions darkened. A nerve had been struck.
Nine centuries. Nine hundred years of searching, manipulating, erasing. Yet still—Laugh Tale eluded them. Elder Ethanbaron's composure cracked, his voice sharp as a blade.
"Shut your mouth. Enough games. Tell us now—do you accept the terms… or shall we slit the girl's throat and feed her to the sea beasts?"
The room dropped into a heavy, murderous silence. But it was broken by a whisper.
A whisper that froze the air. Shanks looked at them—no, through them. His voice barely above a whisper, but as lethal as the reaper's scythe.
"Then listen to me. And I'll say this once."
"If you ever harm her... or pull a stunt like this again—there will be no throne high enough to hide you. No bloodline sacred enough to shield you. No gods real enough to save you."
He took another step forward, and the very walls groaned under the weight of his presence.
"If I agree to your little bargain… then Uta walks with me, free, now. Not later. Not watched. Now. Or this deal burns with your entire Holy Land."
The Elders remained still. But behind their immortal masks, a ripple of unease passed through the room. For in that moment—they were no longer speaking to a pirate. They were speaking to a man who had walked the path of Gol D. Roger.
****
The sun dipped low into the horizon, casting a blood-red glow across the turbulent sea. Its dying rays glinted off the hulls of Marine warships and World Government vessels, which sat anchored in tight formation like a blockade—an armada designed to intimidate.
But amidst that wall of power stood a massive galleon, its weathered wood painted crimson by the setting sun. Unlike the pristine vessels of the Government, it flew a flag that should never have been allowed so close to this sacred territory.
The Jolly Roger of pirates. But not just any pirate—a Supernova whose fame had exploded across the seas like cannonfire. A name whispered in the same breath as emperors. Rumors swirled that soon, this crew might challenge even the Yonko for control of the New World.
And yet, this time, the ship wasn't sailing to conquer. It had come for something far more important.
Red-Haired Shanks had entered the lion's den alone… to retrieve his daughter.
On the deck of the Red Force, his crew stood in grim silence, every one of them armed and braced for war. Their expressions were etched with tension, fury, and barely-restrained panic. They had watched their captain walk alone into the Holy Land, into the heart of global power, surrounded by monsters who ruled from shadows.
It wasn't just duty that had brought them here. It was love. For Shanks. For Uta. For the family they had built across the sea.
Many among them were still bleeding from their last encounter—a battle that had nearly cost them everything. Uta had been taken in the chaos, not by Marines, but by mysterious enemies wielding strange and terrifying abilities. Abilities that had twisted Uta's will and led her straight into the hands of their enemies.
At the back of the deck, Buggy the Clown sat hunched over, his normally flamboyant demeanor stripped away. His fists trembled against his knees, and his eyes were bloodshot from grief and guilt.
Shanks had entrusted Uta to him. And he had failed. Buggy had cracked jokes in the past to hide his fear. But there were no jokes now. Just rage. And shame. He didn't care if he died here—as long as he could help get her back.
"Buggy… trust in Shanks."
Benn Beckman placed a strong, grounding hand on his shoulder. His voice was low but firm, the kind you could lean on in a storm.
"If he said he'll bring her back, he will."
But even as he said it, his other hand never left his rifle. He was ready. If their captain didn't return… or if he returned in chains… they would burn the Red Port to ashes before they let Uta be taken again.
The tension was unbearable. Every minute that passed felt like a noose tightening around their necks. Then, from the crow's nest above, a shape dropped with feline grace.
"He's coming back."
Yasopp's voice. Rough. Breathless. But filled with something the crew hadn't dared to feel yet.
Hope.
"He's bringing Uta back," Yasopp repeated.
The words rippled across the deck like a gust of fresh air after a drowning storm. Some of the crew staggered in place. Others closed their eyes in relief. They had trusted Shanks. They always would.
But walking into Mary Geoise, into the chamber of the Five Elders, and coming back alive—with his daughter intact—that was something no one in history had ever done.
And then they saw him. A silhouette against the fire-red sky. Walking down the slope from the stone path, his long coat fluttering in the breeze, Shanks appeared—carrying Uta on his shoulders, her arms wrapped around his head as if she had never left.
He was bloodied from the last battle. Bruised. His Conqueror's Haki still faintly sizzled around him like heat from a dying forge. But he was alive and had walked out of the Holy Land unharmed. And so was she.
"UTA—!!"
Buggy leapt from the deck without thinking, crashing down on the docks below and sprinting forward with reckless abandon. Tears poured down his face as he ran, tripping over crates and barrels, not caring if he fell, only needing to reach her.
When he reached them, he didn't even speak. He dropped to his knees and wrapped both arms around the girl, trembling with relief. Uta blinked in surprise, then smiled softly.
"Uncle Buggy…"
"I'm sorry—I'm so sorry," Buggy choked out, burying his face into her coat. "I let them take you. I—I should have protected you. I should've—"
Shanks knelt beside him and placed a hand on his old friend's back.
"You did what you could," he said, his voice quiet. "No one's blaming you. Least of all her."
Uta looked between them both and nodded. "Uncle Buggy fought the hardest," she whispered. "I remember."
The rest of the crew began descending the gangplank. Some laughed through their tears. Others just stood in awe, watching their captain walk back from hell with their precious sister safe in his arms. But not all was calm. Because etched into the skin of Shanks' upper left arm, hidden beneath his shirt, glowing faintly like smoldering embers, was a new mark.
The Abyss Mark. The price of Uta's life. And though they rejoiced now, the crew knew: this victory had cost something. Something heavy. Something they might one day have to confront.
But for now… She was home. And that was enough.