The once-calm seas trembled as the massive Marine fleet held formation, their sails taut against the sharp winds that whispered ominous warnings. In front of them loomed a colossal wall of fog, an unholy barrier that divided the placid waters from the apocalyptic storm raging within.
It was no ordinary fog—it pulsated with a malevolent energy, thick and black, as if darkness itself had taken physical form. Beyond the barrier, the sea churned violently, the faint echoes of destruction carrying through the air.
This fleet, originally tasked with escorting an Elder of the World Government from Mariejois to Dressrosa, had received urgent orders from Fleet Admiral Sengoku. They were to intervene in an unprecedented confrontation between two Yonko—Whitebeard and Kaido.
As the vanguard scout ship approached the boundary of the unnatural fog, all seemed routine. That is, until Vice Admiral Monkey D. Garp shot up from his usual lounging position on the deck of his flagship.
His eyes, sharp and unyielding, locked onto the fog, and for the first time in years, the jovial marine legend was deadly serious. Every muscle in his body tensed, his aura shifting to that of a warrior ready to unleash hell at a moment's notice.
"Halt all the ships… NOW!" Garp's voice thundered over the seas, a roar so commanding it stopped every Marine in their tracks. Officers and soldiers alike froze, stunned by the uncharacteristic outburst.
Before anyone could process his order, Garp launched himself from his flagship, his body moving with a speed and force that defied logic. In an instant, he landed on the deck of the lead scout ship just as its bow began to pierce the fog.
The moment the ship's hull touched the black barrier, a chilling groan echoed across the water. The ship itself began to disintegrate—its wood and steel unraveling into dust as though consumed by some abyssal force.
Gasps erupted from the Marines on board, panic spreading as the ship continued to deteriorate. Garp, however, was already in motion. With a resounding thud, he slammed both fists onto the deck, infusing the entire ship with his Armament Haki. The blackened energy coated every inch of the vessel, halting the decay and holding the ship together by sheer force of will.
"Those of you who cannot maintain Armament Haki, abandon ship now!" Garp barked, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.
"Get rescued by the ships behind us and tell them: under no circumstances are they to enter the fog!"
A wave of frantic movement followed as Marines, frozen in terror moments earlier, now leapt overboard, trusting in their comrades on the fleet to retrieve them. Only a handful of Marines remained, those confident enough in their Haki to stand their ground.
Moments later, three figures joined Garp on the scout ship: Admiral Raylene, Vice Admiral Vergo, and Vice Admiral Aokiji. Their presence brought a sliver of reassurance, though the tension in the air was palpable.
"Garp-san…" Admiral Raylene approached cautiously, her voice calm but laced with unease. The sight of Garp—normally carefree and grinning—so visibly tense was unnerving. His eyes were fixed ahead, his sharp gaze cutting through the fog as if he could see what lay beyond. "What is it? What's got you so—"
"Quiet," Garp cut her off, his voice low and gruff. His gaze didn't waver. "Keep your focus, Raylene. This isn't just some freak weather or simple Devil Fruit ability. What's waiting for us on the other side… is something else entirely."
The silence that followed was heavier than the fog itself. Even Raylene, who had faced countless battles as an Admiral, couldn't shake the foreboding feeling that gnawed at her.
The ship drifted forward, the oppressive black fog clinging to them like a living thing. Every step forward felt like entering the maw of a beast. The sound of the sea vanished, replaced by a low, droning hum that vibrated through their very bones. And then, as abruptly as it had started, the fog parted, revealing the chaos beyond.
What they saw stole the breath from every Marine who remained.
The sea had been utterly transformed. The once-flat expanse of water was shattered beyond recognition. Massive chunks of the seabed jutted into the sky, some tilted at impossible angles, others floating as if gravity itself had been defied.
Entire sections of the ocean boiled, great whirlpools spiraling downward into the abyss. Black cracks, like fractures in reality itself, spread across the sky, pulsing with a strange, ominous energy. It was as if the world had been torn apart and crudely stitched back together by forces beyond comprehension.
One section of the sea appeared to hover mid-air, massive waves frozen in place as though held aloft by an invisible hand. Another section burned with ghostly black flames, the heat so intense it distorted the air. Everywhere they looked, destruction reigned. Floating debris—entire landmasses, forests, and even fragments of ancient reefs from the seabed—drifted aimlessly through the chaos.
And then there was the land. Or what remained of it.
Half-submerged islands dotted the apocalyptic seascape, their surfaces marred by deep fissures and jagged peaks. Entire stretches of rock and sand disintegrated into black particles as though consumed by some unseen force, vanishing into the swirling void. The disintegration was eerily methodical, spreading across the landmass like a living thing. It was a scene that defied logic, a battlefield reshaped by powers too overwhelming to be natural.
Vice Admiral Aokiji's usually impassive face was etched with something rarely seen: dread. His voice, unsteady and laced with disbelief, broke the tense silence.
"What in the name of hell is this...?" The words escaped involuntarily as his gaze swept across the apocalyptic seascape. His hand, almost instinctively, moved toward the jagged scar carved across his chest—a grim souvenir from the man who had once come close to killing him.
For a fleeting moment, it was as though the chaotic energy around him had reawakened that phantom pain, stirring a deep-seated unease in his very bones.
"This…" Garp's voice cut through the air like a sharp blade, drawing Aokiji's attention.
"This is something far beyond your current level, Kuzan." The words were neither a reprimand nor an insult, but a stark acknowledgment of the gap between their understanding and the calamity before them. Garp's tone hardened further.
"And I'm afraid even Raylene might find herself overwhelmed here."
Raylene, standing beside Garp with her eyes scanning the surreal battlefield, couldn't hold back her thoughts any longer.
"Garp-san," she said, her voice wavering slightly, "is a human being truly capable of this? To reshape the very seas themselves… what kind of power could achieve such a thing?"
Her words hung in the air like a challenge to reality itself. Garp's expression darkened as he continued to peer into the horizon, his fists tightening at his sides.
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, breaking the silence, he asked in a tone heavy with meaning, "Have you ever heard of the Edd War, Raylene?"
Raylene blinked, caught off guard by the question. "The Edd War? The legendary clash between Gol D. Roger and Shiki the Golden Lion?" she asked, piecing together the connection. "What does that have to—"
Garp interrupted her, his deep voice carrying the weight of memory and regret. "That was the only other time I've seen the seas twisted like this. When two wills strong enough to bend the very fabric of the world collided.
To reshape the sea, to tear apart the land as if the planet itself were a mere pawn… one needs more than a powerful Devil Fruit. They need the will to challenge the very order of the world. The last person I saw capable of such a feat was Roger himself."
His words were met with stunned silence. Aokiji, despite his usual nonchalance, felt a chill run down his spine. "You're saying this is on par with what Roger did? That… whoever caused this could rival the Pirate King?"
"No," Garp said firmly, shaking his head. "This isn't just on par. This is worse." His eyes remained fixed on the distance, scanning the shattered seascape, as if searching for something—or someone.
"I can sense Whitebeard's influence here. And Shiki's. Their Devil Fruits have awakened, no doubt about it. That much is obvious from the way the very sea and sky have been torn apart."
Raylene frowned. "Then what's the third presence I keep feeling, Garp-san? What's worse than two Yonko clashing with powers strong enough to reshape the world?"
Garp's jaw tightened, and for a moment, it seemed like he wouldn't answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and filled with a gravity that chilled everyone around him.
"There's a third presence here, yes. Something… darker. Something that doesn't just destroy. It erases. It devours. The lingering energy in this place… it's like nothing I've felt in decades."
Aokiji tilted his head, his scar throbbing faintly once more. "You're not talking about Whitebeard or Shiki anymore, are you? Sensei."
"No," Garp admitted grimly. "This is something else entirely. Something I'd hoped never to face again."
Raylene took a cautious step closer. "What do you mean, Garp-san? What is it?"
Garp exhaled sharply, his breath like a gust of wind before a storm. "There was someone—someone who could bend reality itself. Someone whose very presence turned the world into chaos. If… if that man is alive, then what you're seeing here is just a taste of what's coming."
Raylene and Aokiji exchanged uneasy glances. The idea that someone could rival or even surpass the likes of Whitebeard and Shiki in sheer destructive power was unthinkable. Yet Garp's demeanor left no room for doubt. His gaze was unwavering, his every movement radiating tension.
Finally, Aokiji broke the silence. "You don't mean…"
"I'm saying nothing for certain," Garp interrupted, his tone a warning. "But if I'm right, then the world is closer to chaos than it's ever been. This fog, this destruction… it's not just a battlefield. It's a graveyard waiting to be filled."
Raylene clenched her fists, her Haki flaring subtly as she prepared herself for the worst. "So what do we do, Garp-san?"
Garp's lips curled into a grimace—a rare sight for a man known for his carefree demeanor. "We push forward. But you stay alert. If you don't have the resolve to face what's beyond this, turn back now. Because if we're walking into what I think we are…"
He paused, the weight of his words sinking into his companions like stones. "...then even the strongest of us might not make it out alive."
However, among the group, one man stood unshaken by the apocalyptic scene before them—Vergo. While the others grappled with the enormity of what they were witnessing, Vergo's mind was already racing, calculating the implications. His thoughts weren't consumed by fear or awe but by the urgency of relaying this information back to the family.
For someone like Garp to show unease—a man whose resolve had withstood countless battles and legends—meant only one thing: the figure responsible for this devastation must have truly walked out of the grave after two decades, defying what the entire world believed.
If the rumors were true, if that man had indeed survived the events of God Valley, then the balance of power in the world was about to shift in unimaginable ways.
*****
Doflamingo leaned back in his chair, his fingers interlocked beneath his chin, his sharp eyes gleaming with calculation. The silence in the chamber was heavy, his decision carrying a weight that even the strongest of men could feel pressing down on their shoulders.
All eyes were on him, and he was fully aware of the gravity of the situation. His smirk was faint, almost imperceptible, but his presence dominated the room.
"Are you absolutely certain about this?" His voice was calm yet commanding, each word cutting through the tension like a blade. It was rare for Doffy to ask for confirmation, rarer still for him to allow a subordinate to willingly walk toward certain death. But this wasn't just a gamble—it was a message to the world, and he needed absolute assurance.
The room was filled only with his most trusted lieutenants, the core family. Each one bore a mixture of unease and respect as they awaited the middle-aged man's response. Issho, who sat at the corner with his hands resting on his sword, broke the silence, his face marked with a frown deeper than usual.
"Doffy, this… this is madness. There are countless ways to achieve our goal. Sacrificing one of our own just to prove a point is unnecessary!" Issho's voice was calm but firm. He was never afraid to speak his mind, even when his thoughts clashed with the man he followed.
Doflamingo's expression didn't change. He glanced at Issho out of the corner of his eye, his smirk growing colder.
"Fufufufu… Issho, do you truly think this is about proving a point? You underestimate the world we live in if you think survival doesn't require sacrifices. This isn't recklessness—it's necessity."
Issho wasn't convinced. "This man might have a family, Doffy. A life he's built. And you'd wager it all on a trap laid by the Celestial Dragons?" He gestured toward the middle-aged man standing behind Christina. His tone softened, but the conviction remained. "I cannot stand by and watch one of us die without purpose."
The man in question, the former vice captain of the Cross Pirates, stepped forward, cutting off any further argument. Despite the tension, his steps were steady, his back straight. His voice was calm, almost serene, as he addressed Issho.
"Issho sama, with all due respect, this is my choice. The Donquixote family gave me and my crew a purpose when we were lost. They gave us a second chance, a life worth living. If laying down my life ensures the family's survival and success, I will do so gladly."
Issho looked at him, his brow furrowed, but before he could respond, Christina exhaled a plume of smoke from her pipe, her voice cutting in sharply. "Issho-san, are you questioning the loyalty of my vice-captain? Do you think he's incapable of making this decision for himself?" Her tone was cold, biting, a clear challenge.
"I'm questioning the necessity of this sacrifice, not his loyalty," Issho replied, his voice still steady, though his irritation was evident.
The former captain looked to Christina and nodded, his gratitude evident in the small, solemn smile he gave her before turning back to Doflamingo. The two locked eyes, and for a moment, it was as if no one else was in the room. The man didn't flinch under Doffy's piercing gaze. Instead, he stood taller, his reverence and conviction shining through.
Doflamingo rose from his seat, his towering figure casting a shadow over the man. His trademark grin softened, replaced by something rare: genuine respect. He placed a firm hand on the man's shoulder, his grip solid and grounding.
"If you want to back out of this, now's your chance," Doflamingo said, his voice lower than usual, almost intimate. "Because once you step into this role, there's no turning back. You'll be remembered as the man who gave everything for the family—or as another casualty of this ruthless world. Are you absolutely certain this is what you want?"
The man nodded without hesitation. "There's no greater honor than to serve the family, Master Doflamingo. My life is yours."
Doflamingo's smirk returned, though it carried a hint of solemnity. He patted the man's shoulder and took a step back. "Very well. Your name will not be forgotten. I promise you that."
Diamante and Senor Pink exchanged a glance, a flicker of jealousy passing between them. For someone to be entrusted with such a monumental task, to be granted the honor of laying down their life for the family's cause—it was a position of ultimate reverence.
Doflamingo turned back to the man, his grin widening once more. "Is there anything you'd like before we send you off? A last request?"
The man hesitated for the first time. Before he could answer, Christina spoke up, her voice calm but carrying a faint edge of sadness.
"He has a family in the West Blue. A wife and two daughters. He hasn't seen them in over a decade, not since he first became a pirate."
Doflamingo's smile faded slightly. He studied the man before him, noting the flicker of pain in his otherwise resolute eyes. "I see," Doflamingo said softly. "Very well. Before you depart on this mission, I'll ensure you have the chance to visit them."
"Senor," he commanded, his tone like steel, "make sure his family is brought back to Dressrosa. Help them establish a business, something sustainable. Support them in every way possible. They shall never want for anything in this lifetime. That is the least we can do for a man willing to give his life for the family."
The middle-aged man before him—once a captain of his own crew—gave a deep, grateful nod, but it wasn't gratitude for his family's future that shone in his eyes. It was a fire of unshakable conviction, of loyalty so deep it bordered on reverence.
Doflamingo turned his piercing gaze toward Wolf, the family's eccentric scientific genius, who sat at a cluttered desk, engrossed in a sea of charts and calculations. Wolf's glasses slid down the bridge of his nose as he mumbled formulas under his breath, utterly lost in his own world.
"Wolf," Doffy's voice broke through the room like a whip crack, "do you have everything ready?"
Wolf didn't respond. Senor Pink sighed, walking over to the distracted scientist and giving him a sharp nudge. Wolf blinked, startled, then sheepishly looked around the room, suddenly aware of the tension.
"Ahem... my apologies, everyone," Wolf stammered, scratching his head. "I was just double-checking the numbers. It's all ready as per your request, Doffy." He pushed up his glasses and gestured to a small chest Senor Pink had placed on the table.
"The prototype is stable, but let me be clear: if deployed, it could take out half of Dressrosa… and everyone in it. I'll need to run a few more simulations to ensure maximum efficiency, but—"
"Enough," Doflamingo cut him off, waving a dismissive hand. "You've done well, Wolf. Leave the testing to the battlefield. This is no ordinary operation—we aren't here to play it safe. We're here to make a statement."
Wolf nodded, mumbling something about algorithms as he returned to his notes, though the faintest hint of pride flickered in his eyes.
Doflamingo's gaze shifted to the small chest resting on the table. Unlike the chaos of Wolf's workstation, the chest was pristine, its gold-trimmed edges glinting under the room's dim light. Inside it lay something far more valuable than mere treasure—a devil fruit obtained through months of careful maneuvering in the black market.
The air grew heavier as Doflamingo gestured to the middle-aged man. "Go on," he encouraged, his voice quieter but no less commanding.
The man stepped forward, his movements deliberate, almost reverent. He reached out and unlatched the chest, the faint creak of the hinges echoing through the silent room. Inside rested a fruit unlike any other they'd seen.
Its pale blue skin shimmered faintly, as if reflecting an unseen light. Swirling patterns adorned its surface, curling like waves frozen in time. Thin, jagged veins of silver ran along its ridges, giving the fruit an almost ethereal quality. It radiated an air of mystery and power, a tangible presence that seemed to hum in the silence.
The man hesitated for a moment, taking in the sight before him. He knew this was no ordinary devil fruit. Whatever power it contained would forever alter his life—and his very being.
"Eat it," Doflamingo urged, his tone firm but not unkind. "The power within that fruit is crucial for what's to come. If you hesitate now, there's no point in continuing."
The man inhaled deeply, steadying himself. With both hands, he lifted the fruit, its surface smooth yet cold to the touch. Without another moment's hesitation, he bit into it.
The taste was as revolting as the legends claimed—a bitter, metallic tang that seemed to burn as it slid down his throat. He grimaced, his body stiffening as the fruit's power surged through him like fire coursing through his veins. He dropped to one knee, his breath coming in ragged gasps, as an overwhelming energy began to pulse within him.
The room watched in tense silence, the family's core members leaning forward in their seats. Even Doflamingo's grin had faded as he studied the man, his calculating mind observing every detail.
The man's body flickered faintly for a moment, a pale, pulsating flicker enveloping him before fading as quickly as it had appeared. He rose to his feet slowly, his expression unreadable. Whatever power the fruit had granted him remained a mystery, but the spatial force radiating from him was undeniable.
Doflamingo's grin returned, wider than before. "Fufufufu… perfect." He turned his gaze to the rest of the room, his voice rising with a commanding authority.
"The world government has grown complacent. They've forgotten who we are, what we're capable of. When I set foot in the Holy Land, I won't just play by their rules. I'll rewrite them."