The stalemate was a symphony of strain—Elvira's raw, grunting power against the desperate, elastic give of Jelly's body and the taut sinew of Galit's whips. With a final, furious roar, Elvira wrenched her clawed hand free from Jelly's gelatinous grasp, sending the blue jellyfish tumbling through the air with a startled "Bloop!"
"Enough of this farce!" Elvira bellowed, her hybrid form a monument to primal fury. She lowered her head, her powerful Megalosaurus legs digging furrows in the frozen earth as she prepared for a devastating charge. It was a textbook move of overwhelming force, the kind that had shattered formations and broken spirits. She was a battering ram, and they were the gate.
Galit's emerald eyes darted, analyzing the angle, the tension in her muscles, the predictable path of destruction. A reckless idea, the kind only possible with Jelly, sparked in his mind. "Jelly! Springboard, now! Right in front of her!" he yelled, his voice sharp, not with fear, but with tactical excitement.
Jelly, still wobbling mid-air, didn't question it. His body morphed instantly, flattening into a wide, perfectly bouncy, bright blue trampoline that settled on the ground directly in Elvira's path. She was already committed, a juggernaut in motion. With a ground-shaking bellow, she thundered forward—and slammed directly onto the trampoline's surface.
The result was anything but destructive. Instead of a catastrophic impact, there was a deep, resonant boing! Her immense momentum was converted into pure, vertical lift. The Primal Vanguard, a warrior of legendary might, was launched unceremoniously into the air, her roar of rage shifting into a startled grunt as she sailed upward, legs kicking at nothing.
"Now, Jelly! The net!" Galit commanded.
Still in trampoline form, Jelly simply curled his edges upward. Stretchy, gelatinous strands shot from his sides, weaving together in mid-air to form a giant, sticky net directly above Elvira. She fell back into it with a heavy thwump, the rubbery material stretching and entangling her. She hit the ground wrapped in a wobbly, azure prison, struggling like a fly in honey. "What is this insufferable nonsense?!" she shrieked, her voice muffled.
"Jelly Jail, upgraded!" Jelly chirped from within his own net, his form reverting to his humanoid shape and leaving Elvira trapped in a stretchy, independent bundle.
Elvira's muscles bulged, and with a terrifying shredding sound, she began to tear through the net. "You cannot contain me with children's toys!" she roared, one arm bursting free.
"Wasn't trying to," Galit said, a smirk on his face. He was already in motion, his Vipera Whips not aimed at her, but at the frozen ground beneath her feet. "Just buying time to change the terrain." The whip-tips cracked, not to strike, but to etch. He carved a wide, smooth, perfectly flat sheet of ice right where Elvira was struggling to her feet.
Dripping with sticky residue and blinded by fury, Elvira took one triumphant step forward—only for her massive, clawed foot to find no purchase. Her legs shot out from under her with a comical lack of grace. The mighty dinosaur-woman landed flat on her back with a crash that made the ice crack, the wind knocked from her lungs in a pained whoosh.
Seeing his chance, Jelly bounced into the air. "Bouncy Defense... delivery!" he giggled, morphing his lower body into a giant, springy coil. He came down directly on Elvira's scaled stomach. There was another loud, squishy boing! as all the air Jelly had absorbed during her charge was released in a single, concussive thump. Elvira's eyes went wide, then fluttered shut, her head lolling to the side. The fight was finally, absurdly, over.
Jelly reformed and began a joyous, full-body celebration. He jiggled and wobbled on the spot, his form rippling in a happy, rhythmic dance, a cheerful "Bloop-bloop-bloop!" escaping with each bounce.
Galit retracted his whips, a weary but genuine smile touching his lips. "You realize you just defeated one of the World Government's most feared enforcers by sitting on her," he remarked, his tone dry.
Jelly just wiggled harder, his glee infectious. "It was a tactical sit!" he declared proudly.
Before Galit could retort, a deep, ominous tremor ran through the earth, a vibration that had nothing to do with their little skirmish. It was heavier, more threatening. The very air shuddered with the distant, chaotic energy of the main battle. The smile vanished from Galit's face, his sharp eyes darting toward the epicenter of the conflict.
"Fun's over," he said, his voice all business again. "The others need us."
"Bloop! Let's do this!" Jelly agreed, his wobbling ceasing as he focused. Together, the strategic helmsman and the cheerful jellyfish turned from their defeated foe and sped toward the real storm, leaving the unconscious relic of a forgotten world lying on the ice.
___
The low growl building in Leander's chest was a promise of pain, a sound that spoke of bones breaking in the dark. He circled with the liquid grace of spilled ink, his golden eyes fixed on Atlas, who stood panting, his blue Electro flickering like a dying star.
"All that sound and fury," Leander purred, his voice a silken trap. "The great Lynx Mink, a sovereign of Zou… and yet you struggle so against a true predator. Your inherited power is a quaint parlor trick. My power was taken, mastered, and perfected. There is no comparison."
A slow, fierce smirk spread across Atlas's muzzle, cutting through his fatigue. "You certainly talk a lot for a predator," he growled, his voice rough. "There is only one problem—"
He launched himself forward, not with a roar, but with a silent, explosive burst of speed that cracked the air.
"—I'm done listening!"
They met in the center of the ruined field in a cataclysm of opposing forces. Atlas became a storm given flesh, Stormclaw and Thunderfang carving arcs of sizzling, silvery electricity through the air. Leander was a living shadow, his movements a blur, his own obsidian claws and feet sheathed in a deep, devouring black Haki that swallowed the light around them.
They became twin streaks of light and dark, pinging across the shattered landscape. They ricocheted off the frozen pillars Aokiji had left behind, using them as springboards. They kicked off the crumpled hulls of ruined Marine battleships, the metal groaning under the impact. Their weapons met again and again, the clang of seastone on Haki-hardened claw ringing out like a deranged bell. When a mace swing was deflected, the force would send Atlas spinning through the air, only for him to correct his trajectory off a half-standing wall. When a shadowy lunge was dodged, Leander would seamlessly flow into a rebounding kick off the very air itself, his awakened control defying physics.
They were a whirlwind of destruction, a dance of fang and fury where every deflected blow scarred the earth of Ohara further.
As they spun away from a particularly vicious exchange, Atlas landed in a crouch, his chest heaving. He finished his sentence, his voice a low, proud thunder that cut through the din. "—I didn't have to steel my powers," he declared, his sapphire eyes locking onto Leander's. "I was born with them. They're my blood. My soul. Not a stolen skin you wear."
With that, he made his final move. He didn't charge. He simply pointed a single claw-tipped finger at the advancing panther. A thin, concentrated beam of Electro, so intense it burned white, shot forth. It was too fast, too focused to dodge. Leander crossed his arms, his darkest Haki flaring to meet it.
But this was different. This was not a wild blast; it was a spear. And as it connected, Atlas funneled every last ounce of his will, his Sulong energy, and his inherited right into it.
The world turned white and silent for a split second.
Leander's golden eyes bulged, his jaw falling slack in pure, uncomprehending shock. The thin beam was just the delivery system. The moment it made contact, a torrent of raw, overwhelming power flooded into him. It was the fury of the storm, the pride of the Mink Tribe, the very essence of Electro amplified a thousandfold. A violent, shuddering quake took hold of his body, his muscles seizing, his dark fur standing on end as silvery currents wreathed him like a vengeful halo.
The ground beneath their feet could not contain the energy. It split apart with a sound like the sky tearing, spiderwebs of fractures racing outwards in every direction. A small crater erupted around Leander's feet, and from the epicenter, a colossal pillar of Haki-infused lightning shot into the heavens, lighting up the gloom of Ohara with a brief, terrifying false dawn, the energy arcing out in all directions like the limbs of a great tree.
When the light faded, Leander Cole stood swaying, a marionette with its strings cut. His magnificent awakened form melted away, leaving him in his human shape, his fine clothes torn and smoking, the scent of singed hair and defeat hanging heavy in the air. He took one stumbling, involuntary step forward, and then collapsed face-down into the dirt, a heap of unconscious arrogance.
From across the field, Galit came running, his long neck coiled with urgency, a bouncing, wobbly Jelly at his heels.
They skidded to a halt at the crater's edge. Galit looked from the smoldering form of Leander to Atlas, who was buckled over, hands on his knees, sucking in great, ragged gulps of air.
"Took you long enough," Galit commented, his voice dry as dust.
Jelly bounced in place, his gelatinous body jiggling with excitement. "Bloop! Cooked kitty!"
Atlas pushed himself upright, a fresh wave of irritation giving him a second wind. "Shut up, noodle-neck," he snapped, gesturing vaguely in the direction where Elvira had been. "What took you so long with that overgrown chicken? You even had help and you still…"
Their conversation was instantly severed by a new sound that cut through the post-battle silence—a disturbing, echoing cackle layered with the unmistakable, deafening clash of blades that could only mean Marya was still fighting.
Galit's face went grim. "We better get going."
Without another word, the three of them—the panting lynx, the coiled helmsman, and the wobbly jellyfish—turned as one and sprinted towards the heart of the storm.
___
The air between them was thick with the residue of broken illusions and spent energy. Alisa Copperfield, her chest rising and falling in unsteady rhythms, kept her wide grin fixed in place like a cracked porcelain mask. "Tiring, isn't it?" she whispered, her voice slithering from the rustling leaves of a petrified tree. "Trying to hold onto what's real? It's so much easier to just let go."
Jannali stood her ground, Anhur's Whisper a solid, comforting weight in her hands. The world still wavered at the edges of her vision, phantom laughter echoing in her mind. But the core of it, the frozen earth of Ohara and the weight of her spear, was solid. She was a hunter, and she had her quarry cornered.
Suddenly, the psychic assault intensified. The ground fell away into a bottomless pit of staring eyes. The ghosts of the Oharan scholars rose around her, their mouths open in silent, accusing screams. The pressure was immense, a tidal wave meant to crush her spirit. For a terrifying moment, Jannali felt her knees buckle, the sheer weight of the fabricated horror threatening to drown her.
But then, she dug deeper. She pushed past the lies and listened, not with her ears, but with her soul. And there, faint as a whisper on a continental wind, she heard it. The song of her people, a low, resilient hum of survival. And further still, a distant, rhythmic beat—a drum, calling for a dawn she was determined to see.
She gritted her teeth, her knuckles white on her spear. "No," she growled, her voice gaining strength with every word. "I'm not gonna miss it. I'm not gonna miss the new dawn. This is my time... it's time for my people to walk free again!"
Alisa's cooing voice came from right beside her ear, a chilling intimacy. "What a lovely dream. Such a shame it will die here with—"
Jannali's hand moved faster than thought. She reached up and, with a single, deliberate motion, ripped the stylish headscarf from her head. Her vibrant afro settled around her shoulders, and there, in the center of her forehead, her third eye was unveiled.
Alisa materialized several feet away, her own eyes widening slightly. "Ooooo…," she cooed, a flicker of genuine curiosity cutting through her madness. "The prize is finally revealed."
But Jannali wasn't listening. She gripped her spear, and her third eye began to glow with a soft, ancient light. It was not a blinding beam, but a deep, focused luminescence that seemed to steady the very air around her. The screaming illusions of the scholars flickered and faded, their silent mouths closing. The staring eyes in the pit winked out. Reality, hard and unyielding, snapped back into place.
Alisa's grin finally slipped. "Playtime is over, is it?" she murmured, her voice losing its singsong quality. For the first time, there was a sharp edge of alarm.
She resorted to physicality. Throwing needles tipped with neurotoxins appeared in her hands, hurled with deadly accuracy. Jannali's spear became a blur, the sea-stone tip deflecting each one with sharp pings, the needles skittering harmlessly across the ice.
Frustration twisted Alisa's face. She enveloped her hands in a shroud of dark Armament Haki and charged, a scream of rage tearing from her throat. But Jannali was no longer just reacting; she was listening to the story Alisa's own body was telling—the shift of muscle, the whisper of intent on the wind. She sidestepped the charge with effortless grace, and as Alisa stumbled past, Jannali leaned close.
She didn't shout. She whispered, her voice carrying on a wind only she could command, weaving the secrets the stones and the air had told her. She whispered of the Copperfield name, of the specific, hidden shame that came with being a God's Knight reject, the particular humiliation her family had endured that festered beneath the madness.
Alisa froze. Her hands flew to her ears, her eyes wide with a horror that was entirely, gut-wrenchingly real. "Stop it!" she shrieked, her voice cracking. "Lies! They're all lies!"
Mad with fury, she turned and charged again, a wild, unthinking lunge with her Vorpal Blade garotte extended.
It was the move of a cornered animal, not a master illusionist. Jannali didn't need her third eye for this. With a single, simple, and brutally efficient motion, she swung Anhur's Whisper. The dark sea-stone edge sliced cleanly through Alisa's side, parting fabric, skin, and muscle.
Alisa stumbled to a halt, her momentum stolen. She looked down, her hands slowly moving to grip her side. Crimson welled up, spilling over her fingers and staining her dark pinafore dress a deeper, wetter black. She looked back at Jannali, her face a blank canvas of shock. Then, slowly, that disturbing, wide grin returned, stretching her features into a rictus of madness and acceptance. Without a sound, she collapsed face-first onto the frozen ground.
Jannali exhaled a long, deep breath, the glow in her third eye fading. She carefully, deliberately, rewound the headscarf around her forehead, tucking her heritage and her power back into its safe concealment.
The crunch of boots and a soft "Bloop!" announced the arrival of others. Atlas and Galit skidded to a halt, taking in the scene: the unconscious form of Alisa Copperfield and Jannali standing over her, re-tying her headscarf with tired, sure hands.
Atlas and Galit exchanged a single, silent blink of respect at the display.
Before any of them could speak, a new sound rolled across the battlefield—the echoing, metallic clang of swords meeting with world-shattering force, followed by a deep, groaning crack of earth.
Jannali finished tying the knot and hefted her spear. "Right then," she said, her twang firm and focused. "We better keep moving."
The four of them—the hunter, the lynx, the helmsman, and the jellyfish—turned as one, their momentary victories forgotten, and ran toward the epicenter of the storm.
___
The frozen earth of Ohara crunched underfoot as Jannali, Galit, Atlas, and a wobbling Jelly crested a rise, their own battles concluded. Before them, the landscape was a testament to clashing titans—a jagged forest of ice pillars stood against areas scoured to bare rock by howling winds. In the center of this shattered arena, the former Admiral Kuzan moved with a tired, almost reluctant grace.
Esen Sturm, a vengeful wind god given form, dove from the sky. His four massive wings beat, sending scythes of compressed air screaming down. Aokiji didn't so much as dodge; he simply raised a hand, and a wall of ice, thick as a fortress rampart, crystallized from the moisture in the air. The wind blades shattered against it, scattering harmless shards.
"You cling to this frozen justice, Kuzan, but it is a dying ideal!" Esen's voice boomed, layered with the sound of a gathering storm. He swooped, claws extended, only for Aokiji to dissolve the upper half of his body into a chilling mist, the attack passing through him harmlessly. The ice reformed instantly. "The Covenant offers rebirth! A world purified by a divine wind, not stagnated by ice!"
Aokiji said nothing. His dark eyes, half-lidded with a look of profound boredom, tracked Esen's every move. He was playing a deeper game. To the watching quartet, it seemed he was on the defensive, a glacier weathering a hurricane. But his defense was too perfect, too effortless. He wasn't just blocking; he was herding. Each defensive wall, each chilling mist, subtly guided Esen's flight path, corralling his fury into a predictable pattern.
"He's lettin' the galah flap his gums," Jannali murmured, her sharp eyes missing nothing. "Baiting the hook."
Esen, emboldened by what he perceived as his opponent's passive stance, grew more reckless. "You were a pillar of order, Kuzan! And you threw it away! You lost to Sakazuki and now you wander without purpose, a frozen ghost!"
It was then that Aokiji found the thread he'd been looking for. The rage wasn't just zealotry; it was the fury of a privileged soul who could not comprehend choosing a path away from power. Aokiji finally spoke, his voice a low rumble that cut through the wind. "You talk about purpose... but you just miss having a master to tell you what to do. The Celestial Dragons, and the World Government. Can't you make a decision for yourself?"
The taunt struck with the force of a physical blow. Esen's preaching ceased. A raw, guttural scream of pure hatred ripped from his throat. The calculated wind patterns broke into a chaotic, furious gale. "I CHOOSE THIS! I CHOOSE TO END YOU!" he shrieked, his demonic form coiling for one final, unrestrained dive. He was a falling star of rage, all his power focused into a single, devastating point aimed at Aokiji's heart.
Aokiji stood his ground, a solitary figure against the plunging demon.
At the last possible second, as Esen committed fully to the strike, Aokiji simply flicked his wrist.
There was no grand wave of ice, no cataclysmic blast. With a series of sharp cracks, the delicate, leathery membranes of Esen's four wings were instantly sheathed in a layer of solid, heavy ice. The wind that sustained him vanished. His triumphant shriek became a cry of shock as the weight dragged him from the sky. He crashed to the frozen ground in a tangle of frozen limbs and shattered pride, the impact jarring the earth.
Esen roared, a dark aura of Armament Haki flaring around his body, trying to shatter the icy prison. But as he struggled, a shadow fell over him. Aokiji stood above, the dark ice of his newly formed blade pointed directly down at Esen's chest. The former Admiral's face was unreadable, his gaze cool and assessing. He considered the fallen zealot for a long, heavy moment, the fate of a life hanging in the balance.
"To think... the great Aokiji hesitates..." Esen spat, blood trickling from his lip. "Your 'Lazy Justice' is just weakness!"
Aokiji's boot flashed forward, connecting with Esen's jaw with a sickening thwack. The demon's head snapped back, his eyes rolling up into his skull as he slumped into unconsciousness, the tension evaporating from his form.
From the ridge, Jannali let out a low, impressed whistle. "Stone the crows," she muttered. "That's cold, mate."
Aokiji looked up at them, his expression as weary as ever. "It was the only way to get him to stop talking," he replied, his voice flat.
A snort of laughter escaped Atlas. "Can't argue with that logic."
Their brief moment of respite was severed by the distant, yet unmistakable, sound that rolled across the battlefield—the frantic, deafening clang of swords locked in a desperate struggle. It was the heart of the conflict, and it was calling.
Without another word, the five of them—the stoic ex-Admiral, the keen huntress, the strategic helmsman, the fierce Mink, and the wobbling jellyfish—turned as one and ran toward the final, unresolved storm.