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----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The battlefield had fallen into a state of shocked paralysis. The unholy intervention of Sir Crocodile was a strategic wrench thrown into the gears of a world war, a move so counter-intuitive and bizarre that no one knew how to react. Pirates stared at the former Warlord with suspicion, Marines with fury, and Whitebeard himself with a look of profound, grudging confusion.
Only one man was truly enjoying himself.
"Fufufufufu! Oh, this is magnificent!" Donquixote Doflamingo cackled from his vantage point, his body shaking with unrestrained glee. "Crocodile, you magnificent bastard! I knew you wouldn't disappoint! The board is overturned! The pieces are scattered! This is the chaos I live for!"
On the execution platform, the atmosphere was thick with killing intent. Sengoku's face was a thundercloud of absolute rage, his knuckles white where he gripped the edge of his dais. The carefully orchestrated public execution, the cornerstone of his entire strategy to crush the age of pirates, had been turned into a circus.
"You have no idea what you have done, Crocodile," Sengoku said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. He began to swell, his body growing in size and his skin taking on a golden, metallic sheen. He was preparing to transform, to end this farce with his own hands.
Crocodile simply scoffed, raising his hook. "I've simply spiced things up. You should be thanking me."
He was a master of provocation, and Sengoku, the master strategist, was taking the bait. It was this moment of diverted attention, this clash of titanic egos, that created the opening for the truly unexpected.
The Desert Spada had not just severed the chains holding Ace to the scaffold; it had critically weakened the platform's structural integrity. When Whitebeard's quake had been blocked, the residual shockwave had further fractured the wood and stone beneath their feet. Now, as Sengoku took a single, heavy step forward in his growing Buddha form, a loud, groaning crack echoed across the platform.
The entire scaffold lurched violently to one side.
Ace, still kneeling and bound, was thrown off balance. With his hands cuffed behind him, he had no way to steady himself. He tumbled sideways, his body crashing against the splintered railing of the platform. For a terrifying second, he teetered on the edge, the entire war unfolding hundreds of feet below him.
It was in that moment of pure, physical helplessness, with the world literally tipping under him, that his will ignited. The unified soul of Ace and Kenji, forged in the crucible of his brother's charge and the finality of the executioner's blade, roared to life. It was a desperate, primal scream for freedom, for the power to fight, to protect, to live. He was the son of the Whitebeard. He was a Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates. He would not die here, not like this, not as a helpless pawn in someone else's game.
His Haki, the power that had been boiling beneath the surface, didn't just leak out. It detonated.
It was not a wave of pressure meant to intimidate or incapacitate. It was a focused, violent, physical rejection of his confinement. The Conqueror's Haki surged from his very core and slammed directly into the Sea-Prism Stone cuffs that bound him.
There was a sound like a high-pitched scream of tearing metal. The cuffs, a material said to be harder than diamond, a substance that could nullify the gods themselves, began to glow with a faint, internal red light. Microscopic fractures, like veins of lightning, spread across their dark surface. The Marines on the platform stared in disbelief. Was he... trying to break the sea stone?
The platform gave another violent shudder, and Ace began to fall over the edge.
"NO!" he roared, a sound of pure, absolute defiance.
With a final, explosive surge of will, the cracks on the Sea-Prism Stone cuffs erupted. They shattered. Not into pieces, but into dust, disintegrating into nothingness as if they had never existed.
For the first time in months, Ace was free.
The first sensation was the return of his strength, a tidal wave of warmth and power flooding his veins. The second was fire. The Mera Mera no Mi, suppressed for so long, answered the call of its master's will. It did not just ignite; it exploded.
A pillar of flame erupted from the execution platform, roaring into the sky like a second sun. It was a signal flare of defiance, a tower of incandescent rage that was visible from every corner of the island. The sheer heat caused the air to shimmer, and the Marines closest to the platform recoiled, shielding their faces from the sudden, scorching heat.
Down on the battlefield, every single combatant stopped. All eyes turned upwards to the source of the impossible inferno. They saw a figure, wreathed in fire, standing tall where a condemned prisoner had been kneeling moments before.
Then, the Haki washed over them.
It was a wave of pure, undisputed authority. The thousands of fodder-level Marines in the plaza didn't even have time to scream. Their eyes rolled back in their heads, and they collapsed in droves, an entire army felled by a single, silent command. The Vice-Admirals on the front lines grunted, their knees buckling as a cold sweat broke out on their brows. This pressure... it was on a completely different level from the boy in the straw hat. It was heavier, older. It was the presence of a true King.
On the Moby Dick, Marco's jaw dropped. "He... He broke them?"
Whitebeard's grim expression cracked into a wide, fearsome grin. "GURARARARA! That's my son! That is the man I chose to make the next King!"
Sengoku, now fully transformed into his giant golden Buddha form, stared in horror. This should not possible for him. The cuffs were near absolute. The situation had gone from a circus to a catastrophe.
"It matters not!" he bellowed, his voice booming like a temple bell. He pulled his massive golden hand back, preparing to unleash a devastating shockwave. "I will strike you down myself, son of the Devil!"
He thrust his palm forward. A wave of pure, golden force, capable of leveling a city block, shot towards Ace.
Ace didn't move. His eyes, burning like embers, followed the attack's trajectory. Kenji's knowledge and Ace's instincts near one. It's a shockwave. Don't block it with a solid surface. Disperse it.
He raised a single hand. Not in defiance, but with a calm, practiced ease.
"Hiken."
A fist of fire, the size of a boulder, launched from his hand. But this was no ordinary Fire Fist. It was coated in a shimmering, invisible layer of Armament Haki, so dense it looked like black lightning was crackling around the flames.
The Fire Fist met Sengoku's shockwave.
There was no grand explosion. In a display of masterful control that left the top-tiers of the world breathless, Ace's Haki-infused fist opened up, the flames parting like a curtain to swallow the golden shockwave whole. The fire absorbed and dispersed the attack's kinetic energy in a fraction of a second, the flames swirling violently before Ace closed his fist again, extinguishing them into a harmless cloud of steam.
Silence.
Ace stood on the crumbling edge of the execution platform, his body wreathed in a calm, controlled aura of fire. He had not only freed himself from unbreakable shackles, but he had just effortlessly neutralized an attack from the Fleet Admiral of the Marines.
He lowered his hand, his eyes locking with Sengoku's. The fear and desperation were gone, replaced by a cold, burning calm. He was no longer the prize. He was no longer the timer.
He was a player in the game. And he had just made his first move