The sea was restless. The waves came and went in rhythmic strikes, hammering against the ship's hull as though they were marking an invisible tempo—deep, heavy, relentless. The air carried the sharp tang of salt mingled with the faint, metallic taste of iron. The vessel itself was a floating fortress, vast and imposing, rivaling the grandeur of a warship. Its sails were billowed to their fullest, groaning against the wind, while the taut ropes thrummed faintly, like the strings of an ancient instrument echoing a forgotten song.
High atop the mast—where the wind cut like a blade—a man stood utterly still, as if he were part of the ship's very structure. His balance was instinctive, unshakable, every muscle and motion harmonizing perfectly with the sway of the vessel. A long, uneven scar curved along the left side of his face and neck, twisted in such a way that it resembled a smile—a cruel one that never reached his eyes.
It was a striking face: short, light-brown hair tousled by the sea breeze; gray eyes that, depending on the light, could be as overcast as a stormy sky or as fathomless as the ocean's depths. To some, he would have been just another man in the crowd. To others, he was impossible to forget.
「…」
No words came—only a gaze fixed on the horizon. On the surface, it was calm, almost indifferent, but beneath it smoldered a hidden intensity, like embers quietly burning under a layer of ash.
From below, the muffled thud of hurried footsteps and raised voices drifted up to him, pulling his attention downward.
「Rachel! Give those papers back!」
The voice belonged to a man wearing a black gas mask, his short, graying hair sticking out in disorder. Over a white lab coat thrown atop a printed T-shirt, he moved with an awkward, lopsided run across the deck, already breathless from the effort.
Rachel ran ahead of him—short in stature, pale-skinned, her face flushed and lit by a smile so bright it seemed too large for her features. Her long, blonde hair, tied into twin ponytails, bounced with each stride, the ribbons binding them the same deep blue as the pleated skirt she wore. A long-sleeved white blouse clung neatly to her frame, the navy blue necktie beneath her collar completing the school-like ensemble. Her amber eyes sparkled with mischief and exhilaration.
「Hahaha! Come on, Vector! You need to see a little sunlight once in a while!」
She called over her shoulder, laughing as she put even more distance between them.
Vector muttered something unintelligible behind the mask and quickened his pace, though his breathing was already faltering.
Far above them, the scarred man let the scene fade from his interest and returned his gaze to the sea. That was when he saw it.
On the horizon, an island loomed. But it was no ordinary mass of land—it was shaped with impossible precision into the curve of a crescent moon. Its surface was not earth and stone, but an intricate expanse of brick and steel, gleaming under the pale light of dawn. Along its outer rim, rows of cannons stood in perfect alignment—silent sentinels that never slept.
The majority of the island was taken up by Marineford Town, a sprawling settlement so large it made other cities seem like fishing hamlets by comparison. It was home to the families of the Marines stationed there, a place of bustling markets and disciplined order. Yet behind it all rose the true colossus: the Marine Headquarters. Its massive ramparts, forged from a mysterious, impossibly dense steel, emerged straight from the depths of the ocean, encircling the island like a shield against all intruders.
There was no warning. The instant the Marine base entered full view, the dry, thunderous boom of cannon fire tore through the air. Explosions followed in rolling succession, and plumes of white smoke spiraled skyward from the fortress walls. The incoming cannonballs whistled like predatory beasts diving for the kill.
The scarred man didn't move more than a finger. Raising his right hand, he made a single, almost lazy gesture—and from nothing bloomed a dense, inky darkness that intercepted the projectiles midair. They erupted into clouds of smoke and shards, vanishing before they could even touch the ship.
「Stop fooling around. We've arrived at our target.」
His voice was steady, cutting clean through the crash of waves and the snap of canvas overhead.
With precise steps, he descended the mast, landing on the deck without so much as a whisper of sound. Passing Rachel, he plucked the stolen papers from her hands and returned them to Vector without breaking stride.
「Engen!」
Rachel greeted him with a cheerful wave, entirely unbothered by losing her prize. Vector, in contrast, clutched the papers protectively, carefully straightening their edges before speaking.
「John!」
The word had barely left his mouth when heavy footsteps resonated across the deck. A towering man appeared, his thick eyebrows shadowing a stern gaze. A vertical stitch-like scar ran from the crown of his head all the way down to his chin. His dark gray eyes, with irises that gleamed like polished silver, seemed almost metallic in their focus. A peculiar chin strap, fastened behind his ears, added to his severe appearance. His dark gray overcoat, streaked subtly with brown, swayed with deliberate weight at every step.
John said nothing. He simply stood there, awaiting orders—though the look in his eyes suggested he already knew what they would be.
「Today… the world will learn that the Nameless has returned.」
Engen's voice sliced through the air like a cold blade.
「And we… will bring forth a new Era.」
These were not just words—they carried the immovable weight of an oath. With his hands buried deep in his pockets, Engen walked slowly toward the ship's prow. Each step seemed to reverberate faintly, as if the very deck understood that something irreversible was about to unfold.
Facing the colossal Marine Headquarters, Engen raised his gaze. His presence expanded outward, swelling like a silent wildfire, pressing against the very air. Then came the invisible shockwave—the crushing will of the Conqueror's Haki.
The sea responded first. Titanic waves surged upward, sculpting themselves into towering tsunamis that roared like freed beasts. The water became a battlefield—restless, feral, as if a cataclysm had been loosed upon the world. Even the sky could not remain whole; it split apart, a violent tear between sea and heavens, between light and darkness.
Black lightning, as deep and merciless as the abyss, coiled around him, tearing through the air with crackling snaps. And then—the day itself died. The dawn was devoured by a living darkness, not the mere absence of light, but a night conjured by Engen's own will.
Above, an artificial moon took shape, pale and silent, forged from his absolute shadow. It blotted out the sun, smothering the world around him in a choking twilight.