-Broadcast-
Future events would prove Doflamingo's instincts correct. His decision tonight to fund the Giant God Soldier Plan would yield no personal benefit whatsoever. When Monkey D. Luffy and his crew eventually brought the Heavenly Demon's empire crashing down, Caesar Clown's bioweapons would already be in someone else's hands. The force Doflamingo least wanted empowered—the very Marine he'd spent years undermining—would inherit everything he'd paid for. His investment would become their arsenal.
Caesar Clown launched immediately into his sales pitch, his words tumbling out in an enthusiastic torrent of scientific terminology and grandiose projections. Technical jargon flowed like a river—genetic sequencing, bio-regenerative matrices, controlled mutation protocols, energy conversion efficiency ratios. He painted a future where armies of controllable titans crushed all opposition beneath massive feet.
His true goal was transparent: empty Doflamingo's coffers completely. If the Heavenly Demon had even a single Beli remaining in his accounts, Caesar fully intended to extract it for his research. No expense would be spared, no cost would be unreasonable, no budget would be adequate.
Despite recognizing the manipulation for what it was, Doflamingo found himself swayed by Caesar's silver tongue and the undeniable footage of Godzilla's rampage. The beautiful future the scientist described—biological weapons that could rival or exceed the Yonko themselves—proved too tempting to ignore. Against his better judgment, against every business instinct screaming warnings, the Shichibukai approved the Giant God Soldier Plan.
"Caesar Clown." Doflamingo's voice dropped to a deadly whisper that somehow carried more menace than his earlier shouting. "I'm choosing to trust you one final time. Do you understand what that means? Final."
The Den Den Mushi's expression twisted into something cruel.
"Five years. That's your timeline. I want to see working prototypes—plural—within five years maximum. If you fail to deliver..." The pause stretched uncomfortably. "...I will personally twist your head off your shoulders. Slowly. And I'll make sure you're conscious for every rotation."
Caesar's throat bobbed as he swallowed.
"Vergo will remain on-site as my eyes and ears," Doflamingo continued. "He'll monitor every aspect of your research. Every test, every breakthrough, every setback—I'll know about it. And Caesar? If I discover you've been skimming funds or deceiving me again, we won't even wait for the five-year deadline. Am I absolutely clear?"
"C-Crystal clear, Joker! Shurororo, you won't be disappointed! The Giant God Soldiers will exceed every—"
The Den Den Mushi's eyes snapped shut as Doflamingo unilaterally terminated the connection.
Silence filled the underground chamber. Vergo calmly retrieved the specialized Den Den Mushi, securing it in an inner pocket of his coat. Unlike Doflamingo's seemingly unconditional faith in Caesar's abilities, the Vice Admiral harbored significant reservations.
Vergo had personally met Dr. Vegapunk during his deep-cover assignment. The Marine's chief scientist operated on an entirely different level from Caesar Clown—the gap between them resembled the distance between a child's crayon drawing and a master's oil painting. Vegapunk's innovations had revolutionized Devil Fruit research, created functional artificial life, and unlocked secrets of matter itself. His work actually functioned as intended.
Caesar, by contrast, excelled primarily at creating elaborate presentations and making grandiose promises. After six months of close collaboration on Punk Hazard, Vergo had identified a clear pattern: nobody in the scientific world could match Caesar's talent for designing impressive proposals and drawing beautiful diagrams. Actually delivering on those proposals? That was another matter entirely.
Caesar noticed his colleague's scrutinizing gaze and fidgeted uncomfortably. "Why are you looking at me like that? You don't believe me either?" His voice carried a defensive edge. "I've researched the Giant God Soldier concept extensively! If you doubt me, you're doubting the project itself!"
Vergo's expression remained impassive behind his sunglasses, but he studied Caesar's face carefully. The scientist's forehead glistened with nervous sweat. His fingers twitched. His breathing had quickened slightly.
Exactly as I suspected, Vergo thought with dark amusement. The Giant God Soldier Plan is maybe half real, at best. The rest is smoke and mirrors.
"I'm not questioning the concept," Vergo said flatly. "I'm questioning you, Caesar Clown. There's a difference."
With that pronouncement, the Vice Admiral turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the chamber. He looked forward to watching this entire situation unfold. When the project inevitably hit obstacles—and it would—Vergo would be there to ensure the young master recouped every last Beli that had been wasted. He'd squeeze Caesar dry if necessary, extracting the funds back drop by drop, with interest.
Caesar stared at Vergo's retreating back, veins bulging visibly on his temples. His hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. The sheer indignity of being doubted, dismissed, looked down upon—again—ignited a familiar rage in his chest.
"Just wait," he hissed through gritted teeth. "I'll complete the Giant God Soldier Plan. I'll make this entire world crawl at my feet. Every single one of you who looked down on me will see. You'll all see!"
This wasn't mere bravado anymore. The dismissal, the skepticism, the barely concealed contempt—it crystallized into pure determination. He would prove them wrong. Doflamingo, Vergo, the Marine, Vegapunk, every scientist who'd ever called him reckless or unethical or inferior.
Caesar Clown would create bioweapons that would reshape civilization itself. He would become a scientist whose name echoed through history. And when the Giant God Soldiers trampled his critics beneath their massive feet, he'd be there to watch.
Let them doubt. Their doubt will make my triumph even sweeter.
-Real World-
The Sky Screen's viewers settled in, expecting perhaps another glimpse of Caesar's bombastic personality or Doflamingo's fury. Instead, the broadcast suddenly jumped forward in time, offering fragments of future events yet to unfold.
The first image appeared: Caesar Clown stood triumphantly atop an enormous creature's head, his arms spread wide in megalomaniacal glee. The monster beneath him resembled Godzilla but had grown exponentially—easily fifty meters tall, its scales gleaming like dark metal in the sunlight.
"Shurororo! Witness the pinnacle of science! The ultimate weapon!"
The creature's mouth opened. Purple energy gathered in its throat, condensing into a sphere of devastating radiation. Then it released—a brilliant cross-shaped beam of atomic fire that screamed across the ocean. The ray struck a distant island, and for a moment, the landmass simply... vanished. Where tropical forests and mountains had existed, only a massive crater of glowing, molten rock remained. The shockwave rippled outward, creating tsunamis that radiated in all directions.
The Sky Screen flickered to another scene. An entire fleet of pirate ships—dozens of vessels flying various Jolly Rogers—sailed in formation across a calm sea. They never saw the attack coming. From beneath the waves, massive shapes erupted. Giant God Soldiers, at least twenty of them, surged upward with water cascading off their hides.
The pirates barely had time to scream.
Atomic breath carved through wooden hulls like they were paper. Massive claws tore ships in half with casual swipes. One creature simply opened its mouth and swallowed an entire brigantine whole, crew and all. The ocean turned red with blood and burning with scattered fires. Within minutes, the proud pirate fleet had been reduced to floating debris and corpses.
The camera panned closer to one of the Giant God Soldiers, and viewers finally saw the detail that changed everything: painted prominently on its chest, unmistakable despite the creature's scales, was the Marine's seagull insignia.
These weren't Caesar's weapons. They weren't Doflamingo's investment bearing fruit.
They belonged to the New Marine.
Another flash showed a different scene entirely. A massive facility—clearly a Marine research base—housed dozens more Giant God Soldiers in various stages of development. Technicians in white coats scurried between the titans like ants, performing maintenance and feeding procedures. At the center of it all, directing operations with confident authority, stood a figure viewers were beginning to recognize: a blonde woman in an Admiral's coat, her bearing unmistakably military.
The future acting Fleet Admiral, the Sky Screen's narrative seemed to whisper. Artoria Pendragon.
The irony was almost poetic. Doflamingo had planted the tree; the Marine would harvest its shade. His early investment in Caesar's research, his millions of Beli poured into Punk Hazard's facilities, his willingness to fund dangerous science—all of it would eventually benefit his enemies. When the Marine finally seized control of the project, the groundwork would already be complete. The prototypes would be functional. The production methods would be established.
The Heavenly Demon wouldn't receive a single Beli's worth of compensation for his contribution.
One detail in the broadcast caught sharper eyes: Trafalgar Law appeared nowhere in these future scenes. Despite his presence during Godzilla's initial capture, the Surgeon of Death had been deliberately excluded from all subsequent Giant God Soldier development. Caesar had learned his lesson about trusting Shichibukai with his secrets. The project proceeded in complete secrecy, hidden even from other researchers on Punk Hazard.
Caesar threw himself into the work with manic devotion. The footage showed him working through days and nights without rest, subsisting on stimulants and pure obsessive determination. His dream consumed him entirely—creating bioweapons that would force the world to acknowledge his genius.
And in the future, he would succeed. At least partially.
The question remained: was that success a blessing or a curse?
-Real World - Marine Headquarters, Marineford-
Admiral Kizaru sat with his legs crossed in his characteristic lounging posture, though his eyes remained fixed on the Sky Screen with unusual intensity. When the silence in the meeting room grew too heavy, he broke it with his trademark drawl.
"Ohhh, how terrifying... biological weapons of that magnitude..." His tone remained lazy, almost bored, but those who knew Borsalino recognized genuine interest beneath the affectation. "Caesar Clown-kun really is quite the dangerous scientist, isn't he?"
Despite his casual demeanor, the Admiral's mind was already calculating. His expedition to Punk Hazard—originally just a mission to investigate Doflamingo's operations—had suddenly become far more valuable. Capturing Caesar alive and bringing him back into Marine custody would be essential. This kind of scientific talent couldn't be allowed to remain with criminals and black market dealers. The Marine needed minds like his, ethics aside.
"Giant God Soldiers..." Admiral Akainu's voice rumbled like distant thunder, his eyes never leaving the images of destruction on the Sky Screen. His scarred face reflected the purple glow of atomic breath. "How many more surprises does Caesar Clown have hidden away? That wicked bastard needs to be brought to heel. Immediately."
When the first full image of a Giant God Soldier had appeared—that massive titan with the Marine symbol blazing on its chest, atomic fire pouring from its mouth as it obliterated an island—something had stirred in Sakazuki's chest. This was it. This was exactly the kind of overwhelming force the Marine had been lacking.
Pirates didn't respond to reason or mercy. They understood only power. And power like this—absolute, devastating, undeniable—could finally bring Absolute Justice to every corner of the world. No more negotiations. No more compromises. Just righteous fury made manifest in biological form.
"Compared to the Pacifistas..." Akainu's fist clenched on the armrest of his chair, hot enough that the wood began to smoke. "There's no comparison at all. Vegapunk's robots are expensive toys. These creatures are true weapons of war. This is what we should have been developing all along."
Vice Admiral Tsuru, however, did not share the Admirals' enthusiasm. While her colleagues fantasized about deploying bioweapons, she focused on a different element of the broadcast: the ancient creature that had started everything.
"Godzilla itself concerns me more than Caesar's ambitions," she said quietly, her aged voice cutting through the excited murmurs around the meeting table. "A monster that evolves infinitely? That adapts to any threat? That's not a weapon—it's a apocalypse waiting to happen."
Her fingers steepled thoughtfully as she replayed the footage in her mind. That close-up shot of Godzilla's severed limbs tumbling into the ocean hadn't been shown by accident. The Sky Screen wanted them to notice. Wanted them to wonder.
"Those pieces that fell into the sea during the dismemberment... I'd wager they're still viable. Still alive in some form." Tsuru's eyes narrowed. "Right now, somewhere in the depths, young Godzilla specimens might be growing. Evolving. Developing in complete secrecy."
The room fell silent as the implications sank in.
"The real question is: where did Caesar acquire such a creature in the first place?" Tsuru continued. "Godzilla appears in no historical records. No maritime logs mention anything matching its description. Yet somehow, Caesar obtained biological samples intact enough for cloning. Someone gave him access to that ancient bloodline. But who? And why?"
The mystery deepened the more she considered it. Extinct species didn't simply appear in laboratory freezers. Someone had found Godzilla—or perhaps never lost it in the first place—and had delivered it into the hands of a mad scientist with delusions of grandeur.
"Unfortunately, the Sky Screen provided no information about Godzilla's origin point," Tsuru sighed. "If we knew where Caesar sourced the original samples, we could mount a recovery expedition. Secure any remaining genetic material before it falls into the wrong hands—more wrong hands, I should say."
She paused, then added grimly: "We need to split the samples three ways. One portion for Caesar to continue his work under strict Marine supervision. One portion for Vegapunk to study independently. And the remainder secured in World Government vaults as insurance. We cannot allow a monopoly on something this dangerous."
Fleet Admiral Sengoku sat at the head of the table, his expression troubled. The massive seagull coat draped across his shoulders seemed to weigh more heavily than usual. While others debated the tactical applications of Giant God Soldiers, his thoughts wandered to broader strategic concerns.
If the New Marine truly possesses bioweapons of this magnitude in the future...
It wasn't a question of military advantage. Obviously, having such creatures would make the Marine nearly invincible in conventional warfare. No pirate crew, no matter how powerful, could stand against dozens of atomic-breath-wielding titans. Even the Yonko would think twice before directly confronting such a force.
But warfare at that scale would fundamentally change everything. The collateral damage would be catastrophic. Entire islands could be rendered uninhabitable. Civilian casualties would skyrocket. And the moral implications...
Sengoku's gaze drifted to the image of Artoria Pendragon directing the Giant God Soldier operations. So young, yet bearing the weight of acting Fleet Admiral. Leading the Marine through what appeared to be an even more devastating conflict than the current era's struggles.
Can she handle it? he wondered. The responsibility of deploying weapons that can erase islands? The burden of ordering attacks that will inevitably kill thousands? Can anyone handle that weight without losing themselves?
He'd made difficult decisions throughout his career. Ordered operations that resulted in casualties. Approved strategies that sacrificed the few for the many. But he'd never commanded anything like the apocalyptic force shown in the Sky Screen.
"Fleet Admiral?" Someone's voice broke through his thoughts. "Your orders, sir?"
Sengoku straightened in his chair, forcing his concerns aside. Personal doubts had no place in command decisions.
"Begin preliminary research immediately," he ordered. "I want a task force assembled to investigate Caesar Clown's current operations and capabilities. When Admiral Kizaru's mission to Punk Hazard concludes, we'll evaluate whether to accelerate any Giant God Soldier initiatives."
He paused, then added more grimly: "But proceed carefully. The Sky Screen shows us victory, but it doesn't show us the cost. We need to understand exactly what we're creating before we unleash it on the world."
Around the table, reactions varied. The hardliners—led by Akainu—clearly favored immediate action. Start the Giant God Soldier Project now, not in some theoretical future. Every day of delay meant more pirates escaping justice, more chaos spreading across the seas, more innocent lives lost to lawless scum.
Why wait? The technology would exist eventually. Better to develop it sooner, establish protocols and safeguards, and end the Great Pirate Era through overwhelming physical superiority.
The moderates and pragmatists, however, shared Sengoku's caution. Bioweapons of this magnitude represented a Pandora's box. Once opened, there would be no closing it again. If the Marine deployed Giant God Soldiers, how long before someone else—pirates, revolutionaries, rogue nations—developed their own? How long before the seas became a nightmare of competing titans, each one capable of destroying civilizations?
The debate would continue long after the Sky Screen's broadcast ended. The footage of those massive creatures, bearing the Marine symbol, breathing atomic fire as they reduced islands to craters, had planted a seed in every mind present.
For some, it was a seed of hope—the promise of finally ending chaos through unquestionable might.
For others, it was a seed of dread—the certainty that such power would corrupt absolutely, no matter how noble the intentions.
And in the future shown by the Sky Screen, that seed would grow into something that would reshape the world's balance of power completely.
Whether for better or worse remained to be seen.