As I said before at every 10 membership I will drop bonus chapter. It does not matter if it is free or not.
Once again thankyou all and those who are supporting me on patreon.
(BTW how the hell did you guys pushed me in top 10 ranking.....hellll yeahhhhhhh)
Want to read 10+ chapters ahead? Support me on Patreon! And here by donating powerstone
for every 50 power stone I will drop a bonus chapter.
(A/n: After 120 of you take membership of this I will published it for free, Completly)
ahhh my greed may be I was Davy D. kapa in my previous life.
Btw currently 13:)
https://www.patreon.com/c/kapa69
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"POPS!"
Ace's scream was the only sound in a world rendered silent by the horrifying image of the wounded king. Across the chasm, Whitebeard stood, a monument of defiance, his left arm a cauterized ruin.
Akainu, panting on the other side, was shaking with a fanatic's rage. "Whitebeard..." he snarled, preparing to launch a volley of magma across the gap. "Just die already!"
Before he could act, a figure landed silently between him and the chasm's edge.
"That's enough."
It was Shanks. His face, usually a mask of easy-going friendliness, was now cold and hard as sea stone. His crew assembled behind him, a silent, living wall.
"Get out of my way, Red-Hair!" Akainu bellowed. "Justice must be—"
"You've had your war," Shanks cut him off, his voice dangerously calm. He rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. "The boy is free. The objective is met. Any more bloodshed is just a waste of life." His eyes swept over the battlefield, finally locking with Sengoku's. "But if anyone is still thirsty for a fight..." He drew his sword, the steel singing in the quiet air. "...then we will be your opponents."
The challenge was absolute. The standoff, unbreakable. Sengoku looked at his exhausted forces,If it was only whitebeard than there would be no problem but now with so many variables and at that two Emperors standing against him, at the ruin of his fortress. He had lost.
With a heavy, weary sigh that seemed to age him a decade, Sengoku raised his hand. "The war... is over," he declared, his voice a gravelly tone of defeat. "Treat the wounded."
The words were a physical release. The tension snapped. Marines slumped to their knees. Pirates cried out in sheer.
Garp who was previously angry, now sigh in relief.
On the other side of the chasm, Whitebeard finally swayed. "Pops!" Marco cried, rushing with Jozu to support him.
"I'm not going anywhere, you brat," Whitebeard coughed. "Get... me to the ship."
The retreat was a somber, desperate affair. On the deck of the Moby Dick, the crew gathered around their fallen captain. The sight was a nightmare.
Ace pushed through the crowd, his face a mess of tears and grime. He collapsed to his knees beside his father. "Pops..." he choked out, his voice thick with a guilt that was physically crushing him. "This... this is my fault. If I hadn't been captured... If I wasn't so weak..."
Whitebeard's one good eye opened. He slowly raised his massive right hand and placed it on Ace's head, ruffling his hair just as he had when Ace was a young, angry rookie.
"Foolish son," Whitebeard's voice was a weak, airy rasp, but it was filled with an unshakable warmth. "Tell me... Was I a good father?"
The simple, profound question shattered the last of Ace's composure. "Of course you were!" he sobbed, pressing his face against his father's chest like a small child. "You were the only one I ever had!"
A great, genuine smile spread across Whitebeard's face. "Gurarara... Then my life... had meaning."
His hand fell. His eyes closed. He was....
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"alive!" one of the nurses shrieked, her voice a mixture of panic and disbelief. "His heartbeat is weak, but it's there! He's just unconscious!"
A wave of hysterical relief washed over the crew. Their father had not fallen.
Ace stared, his tears of grief turning into tears of sheer, incredulous joy. He looked up at the sky, a wild, broken laugh escaping his lips. They had won. They had actually, impossibly, won.
It was in this exact moment of collective, emotional vulnerability, as Ace knelt with his back to the battlefield, that a new, terrifying sound hissed through the air.
Akainu, unable to accept Sengoku's order, had seen his chance. He had launched a single, condensed magma fist across the chasm—not a grand, explosive attack, but a silent, targeted spear of molten rock aimed directly at the back of the kneeling, distracted Ace.
"The son of the Devil must be purged!" the Admiral roared from the far cliff.
Ace's head snapped up. His Observation Haki screamed a warning, a primal shriek of danger in his mind. He didn't have time to turn. He didn't have time to ignite.
He simply reacted.
In a single, fluid motion that was impossibly fast, he spun on his heel, his body low to the ground. He didn't use his hands. He swung his right leg up, his boot coated in a blue flames and shimmering layer of black Armament Haki so dense it seemed to drink the light.
His kick met the magma fist head-on.
There was no explosion. Just a sickening, violent hiss, like a forge being quenched in the sea. The magma, which had melted a man's arm to slag, sizzled and solidified against the absolute defense of Ace's will. His Haki-infused kick didn't just block the attack; it shattered it. The magma fist disintegrated into a harmless shower of hot rock and steam.
On the other side of the chasm, Akainu stumbled back, his eyes wide with disbelief.
Ace slowly rose to his full height. The grief on his face was gone, replaced by a cold, terrifying calm. He looked across the chasm at the fuming Admiral, his eyes burning with a controlled fire.
Then he spoke, his voice quiet, yet carrying across the battlefield with utter clarity.
"Still trying to burn things you can't comprehend, magma pussy?" he asked, his tone laced with a contempt and pity. "A bitch should learn when to stay on its leash."
The insult, struck the Admiral with more force than any physical blow. Shanks, who had been watching the entire exchange, let a slow, impressed grin spread across his face.