This scene left everyone present utterly shocked.
The thunderclap of Whitebeard's disappearance still echoed in the air, but the man himself was gone.
No one could have anticipated such a sudden turn of events—especially not Sengoku.
Though he was accustomed to the chaos of battle, this abrupt, physics-defying vanishing act caught him completely off guard.
The air grew thick with an eerie, oppressive stillness, as if time itself had frozen in anticipation.
Instantly, Sengoku unleashed his Observation Haki.
An invisible wave of sensory energy expanded rapidly from him, scanning every shadow, every molecule of air for Whitebeard's location.
His senses sharpened to an extraordinary degree, and the world around him seemed to slow to a crawl.
Every faint tremor in the air, every disturbed dust mote, resonated clearly in his mind.
Just as his Haki predicted—there he was!
Whitebeard materialized directly in front of him, his Murakumogiri already swinging in a wide, devastating arc, slicing towards him with overwhelming force.
Sengoku's heart tightened.
There was no time to dodge.
He roared, raising his massive golden arm in defense, coating his palm with a dense, shimmering layer of Armament Haki.
The air before his palm compressed to its absolute limit, forming an invisible, impenetrable barrier as he struck out to meet the incoming blade.
"Ultimate Impact Wave!" Sengoku growled, pouring his power into the defensive blast.
BOOM!
The collision erupted in a deafening, concussive explosion that shook the very foundations of Marineford.
The sheer, raw force of Whitebeard's swing instantly bent Sengoku's golden arm back at an unnatural angle, and his expression darkened.
This old monster… he's gotten even stronger, he thought grimly, the shock of the impact rattling his bones.
But before he could even think to counter—a blinding flash of lightning streaked from beneath Whitebeard's blocking arm.
Instinctively, Sengoku shut his eyes, yet even then, he saw it.
A sight that made his heart seize and his scalp crawl with a dread he hadn't felt in decades.
A blade had just slashed across his waist.
The icy sting of steel biting into his flesh sent his mind reeling, but the sharp, searing pain that followed snapped him back to a horrifying reality.
Whitebeard had cut him—a deep, vicious gash right across his abdomen.
Blood gushed from the wound, staining his golden form and the pristine plaza crimson.
In that moment of agony, Sengoku realized the situation was far more dire than he had ever imagined.
Whitebeard's strength hadn't just returned; it had grown.
Shock and utter confusion flooded Sengoku's mind as his eyes focused on the impossible.
Beneath Whitebeard's right arm—the one still locked in a power struggle with his own—a new hand had sprouted.
This newly formed limb, wreathed in the same crackling lightning that had regenerated Whitebeard's head, gripped a razor-sharp, unfamiliar sword.
It was this blade that had just sliced through his torso, sending waves of agony radiating through him.
This was no illusion.
It wasn't a trick of the light or a Logia-type phantom.
It was real.
Solid.
A third arm that had just inflicted a very genuine, very painful wound.
Faced with such a phenomenon—one that defied all known logic of Devil Fruits and the natural world—even the battle-hardened, widely experienced Fleet Admiral Sengoku felt an unprecedented mix of awe and utter bewilderment.
"What... what in the world is that?" Sengoku silently wondered, his strategic mind racing to find a reasonable explanation and coming up completely empty.
"Could it be that Whitebeard really has three Devil Fruits?"
What puzzled him even more was the origin of the longsword.
It was common knowledge that Whitebeard's only weapon was his Supreme Grade blade, the Murakumogiri.
Yet this new weapon had materialized from thin air, and it seemed equally strong, or it wouldn't have so easily sliced through his Haki-infused defenses.
Countless questions flooded Sengoku's mind, nearly overwhelming him.
Everything had happened too suddenly, too bizarrely.
But hesitation on this battlefield was a death sentence.
Sengoku swiftly gathered another shimmering shockwave in his palm and hurled it at Whitebeard.
His movements were lightning-fast, meant not to kill, but to create space.
Immediately after, he shot backward, putting distance between himself and the monstrous Emperor.
This old man is too damn strange! Sengoku thought, his mind racing.
He had never encountered such an unpredictable opponent.
Meanwhile, after tanking the second, weaker shockwave, Whitebeard hastily pulled out another large barrel.
As Sengoku's blood sprayed through the air, he deftly collected every precious drop.
Compared to the blow he'd just taken, this blood was far more valuable.
As he gathered it, a smug grin spread across his face, and he began to chant in a low, mocking tone.
"One Sengoku, two Sengoku, three Sengoku..."
The corners of his lips curled higher.
Clearly, he was in extremely high spirits.
At the same time, Sengoku's expression grew more grave.
Though he didn't understand the impossible appearance of Whitebeard's third arm, the fact that the man was collecting his blood—and counting it like some kind of sick tally—was an unbearable humiliation.
He knew, with a sickening certainty, that it wouldn't be long before the seas were flooded with new Buddha Devil Fruit users.
His own power, turned into a weapon against the very Justice he fought for.
Damn it! he raged internally.
He had come here with a mission to collect Whitebeard's blood, only to be completely outmaneuvered and have his own harvested!
This operation had succeeded in luring Whitebeard out, but at what cost?
The Navy's dignity was being trampled into the dirt.
Watching Whitebeard finish his collection, Sengoku decided to cut to the chase.
"Newgate! What is your real objective? I refuse to believe you'd come to Marineford just to cause trouble for no reason!"
Whitebeard stashed the barrel behind him, discreetly making it vanish into his spatial ring where no one could see.
Then, he shot Sengoku a displeased look, his tone laced with mockery.
"You're too stingy, Sengoku. Not even a tenth of what Kizaru contributed."
A flicker of embarrassment crossed Sengoku's face, but he quickly schooled his expression.
"Answer the damn question!"
"My purpose..." Whitebeard's eyes narrowed slightly, gleaming with a cold light that seemed to bore right through Sengoku's soul.
"It's simple. I'm here to fulfill my son's wish. Hand over Akainu. Let me drain ten pounds of his blood, and I'll leave peacefully."
Sengoku's brow furrowed.
The demand wasn't just troublesome; it was outright absurd.
What?
The moment the words were spoken, a stunned silence fell over the battlefield.
So the man hadn't come to start a war or topple the World Government.
He was here… to collect Akainu's blood?
All this apocalyptic destruction, this grand spectacle... was just to fulfill his son's wish?
Could anything in the world be more ridiculous?
Sengoku's expression darkened further, a new layer of frustration added to his fury.
The other party had come for Akainu, not him, and yet he had been wounded and bled in the process!
This…
He knew what Whitebeard wanted the blood for.
If they succeeded, the Whitebeard Pirates would possess the Devil Fruit abilities of all three Marine Admirals.
The very thought of it was a nightmare for him.
The Navy's reputation would suffer irreparable damage.
But what was done was done.
No matter how he tried to salvage the situation, he could only deal with the here and now.
He spoke in a heavy, weary voice.
"Akainu isn't here. There's no reason for me to lie to you about that."
Whitebeard fell silent for a long moment, his piercing gaze fixed on Sengoku, searching for any trace of deception.
He knew, with a deep certainty, that his old rival wasn't lying.
Akainu truly wasn't here.
But his heart refused to accept the truth.
If he chose to believe it, what reason did he have left to continue this fight?
What reason did he have for invading the heart of his enemy's power?
The blood of two of his targets was secured, but the main prize, the one his son truly wanted, was not here.
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