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The fall of the King was a soundless thunderclap that shook the world more profoundly than any of his quakes.
When Edward Newgate, the invincible Whitebeard, dropped to one knee, clutching a chest that was finally failing him, the entire battlefield froze. The chaotic symphony of cannon fire, clashing steel, and dying screams died in an instant, replaced by a silence so deep it was unnerving. For the pirates, it was a moment of pure, heart-stopping terror. Their pillar, the man who was more a force of nature than a human being, was crumbling before their eyes. For the Marines, it was a collective intake of breath, the first glimmer of hope that the monster who had terrorized the seas for decades could, in fact, be brought down.
"POPS!"
The scream was a harmony of two voices: Marco, who shot across the battlefield in a blur of blue fire, and Ace, who ignored the searing pain in his own exhausted body and propelled himself with his flames to his father's side. They arrived at the same moment, skidding to a halt on the blood-stained, fractured stone.
"Pops! What's wrong?!" Ace yelled, his hands hovering over the old man's massive, shaking shoulders, unsure of what to do.
Marco, his face a mask of grim professionalism that couldn't hide the panic in his eyes, immediately transformed his arms into wings of blue flame. He pressed them against Whitebeard's chest and back. "The wounds... the internal damage from Squard's attack... it's all catching up to him!" The blue flames of rebirth, which could heal almost any wound, enveloped the Emperor's torso. But it was like trying to fill the ocean with a cup. The flames soothed the surface, but they couldn't touch the deep, systemic failure within.
"It's not working!" Marco grunted, pouring more and more of his energy into the healing. "His body... it's just... giving out."
Whitebeard let out another wet, wracking cough, and more blood splattered onto the ground. He pushed Marco's hands away with surprising strength. "Stop it, Marco," he rasped, his voice a shadow of its former, booming glory. "Don't waste your strength on a dead man."
"Don't say that!" Ace roared, his own fear turning to anger. "You're not dead! You're Whitebeard!"
"I am... a relic," the old man said, a grim, bloody smile on his lips. He looked at Ace, his eyes filled with a profound, fatherly love. "You're free, Ace. My mission... is complete."
He planted his bisento firmly into the ground, using it as a crutch to slowly, agonizingly, force himself back to his feet. He swayed, a mountain on the verge of collapse, but he stood. He turned his back on his sons, facing the thousands of Marines who were watching with a mixture of awe and terror.
"Listen to me, my sons!" Whitebeard roared, his voice miraculously regaining its earth-shaking volume for one last command. "This is your Captain's final order! All of you... will retreat from this place and survive! Live! Return to the New World! I will remain here as the rear guard! Not a single one of you is to disobey me!"
The order was absolute. It was the command of a King sacrificing himself for his people. The pirates, tears streaming down their faces, understood. Their captain was giving his life to guarantee their escape. It was a glorious, heartbreaking, and legendary end.
And Ace was having none of it.
"NO!" he screamed, the word ripping from his throat. He ran around to face his father, planting his feet and staring up at the giant with eyes blazing with a defiant fire that had nothing to do with his Devil Fruit.
"I will not obey that order!" Ace declared.
Whitebeard's eyes widened. "Ace... do not be a fool."
"I'm the fool?!" Ace shot back, his voice cracking with emotion. "You're the one being a selfish old man! A glorious death? Dying on your feet to protect your family? Is that how you see this? Kenji's modern perspective tore through Ace's inherited reverence. "That's not a captain's final order, Pops! That's a suicide note! And I won't be a part of it!"
The commanders stared in shock. No one had ever spoken to Whitebeard that way.
"You think your death saves us?" Ace continued, jabbing a finger at the old man's chest. "It breaks us! It shatters the very family you built! The world won't remember the man who died for his sons; they'll remember the end of an era and the pirates who were too weak to save their own father! Your legend isn't dying here! It's living to see us into the new era you wanted to create! It's watching us carry your name forward! So stop trying to have a cool death and start trying to live for the people who love you!"
He was panting, tears mixing with the sweat and soot on his face. "I just got you back," he whispered, his voice finally breaking. "I just got my father back. You can't... You can't leave me again."
Whitebeard was silent. He stared down at the son he had crossed the world to save, the son who was now refusing to be saved if it meant leaving him behind. He saw not the fiery commander, but a desperate child, terrified of losing his parent. He saw Luffy, who had come up beside Ace, his own face a mess of tears, nodding furiously in agreement. He saw Marco, and Jozu, and Vista, and all the sons he had gathered. He saw their love, their terror, and their absolute refusal to abandon him.
His resolve, for the first time in decades, wavered. Was a glorious death truly worth more than one more day with his family?
It was in that moment of profound, soul-shaking hesitation that a new sound drifted across the broken plaza. It was a sound that did not belong in the symphony of war.
It was laughter.
"Zehahahahahaha! ZEHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
The laugh was deep, arrogant, and utterly vile. It echoed from the top of the frozen tsunami wall, drawing every eye. There, silhouetted against the sky, stood a group of figures. Their leader was a large, barrel-chested man with missing teeth and an aura of greasy, opportunistic evil.
Marshall D. Teach. Blackbeard.
"It's been a while, Pops!" Blackbeard bellowed, his voice dripping with mock sentimentality. "You're not looking so good! I came here to see you die, and it looks like I've arrived just in time for the main event! Zehahahahaha!"
Behind him stood his crew, a collection of the most infamous criminals in history, freed from the deepest level of Impel Down: Shiryu of the Rain, Sanjuan Wolf, Vasco Shot, Catarina Devon, and Avalo Pizarro. They were a gallery of nightmares, and they were staring down at the wounded Emperor with the hungry eyes of vultures circling a dying lion.
Ace turned, his exhaustion and sorrow instantly vaporizing, replaced by a surge of pure, murderous rage that was so potent it was almost a physical force. His flames erupted, no longer white-hot with control, but a burning, chaotic crimson of pure hatred.
"Teach..." he snarled, the name tasting like poison on his tongue.
The traitor who had started it all, the man responsible for this entire war, had arrived at their moment of greatest weakness. The Marines were in front of them. The walls were around them. And the devil himself was standing right behind them.