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Time Passes, Day by Day
As the Marines and the Whitebeard Pirates continued to mobilize their forces, the shadow of war loomed heavily over the New World. Even those who typically ignored external affairs couldn't help but feel the suffocating tension that hung in the air. It was as if dark clouds were pressing down, heralding an imminent and torrential storm.
The countdown continued—just one day remained until the public execution.
Far away in the New World, thousands of kilometers from Marineford, lay the G-17 Marine Branch. A product of the post-draft era, this branch had seen its fair share of battles in the volatile seas of the New World.
As dawn broke, the eastern horizon glowed with light, and the first rays of the morning sun shimmered across the sea. As the sun rose higher, the island hosting the G-17 branch and its bustling port became fully visible.
Two massive Marine warships were docked at the harbor, their imposing forms surrounded by the flurry of activity. Elite Marines, gathered from various branches, boarded the ships, preparing to sail for Marineford—the Holy Land of the Marines.
Vice Admiral Dota Roland, overseeing the branch, stood observing the preparations. Turning to his adjutant, he spoke gravely:
"I'll leave things in your hands. While I should be heading to the Summit War as a Rear Admiral would, holding the line here in the New World is just as critical."
The adjutant, saluting sharply, responded with resolve. "Understood, sir. I won't let you down."
The Vice Admiral nodded. The world conscription had strengthened Marine forces, yet the oppressive atmosphere of the brewing conflict was impossible to ignore.
Just then, an unnatural gust swept through the port. The wind howled violently, making the Marine flag atop the mast whip and snap, threatening to tear away from its post. Alarmed, a lookout climbed to the observation gazebo, peering through his binoculars toward the horizon.
Through the dense white mist, faint outlines of massive ships began to materialize. The onlooker's breath caught as the unmistakable silhouette of a whale-shaped prow came into view.
"It's… the Moby Dick!"
And the nightmare didn't end there. Emerging from the mist like phantoms, dozens of enormous pirate ships followed. From a distance, they formed a continuous, monstrous fleet, as if a primordial beast had risen from the depths of the sea. The sight carried a palpable aura of terror and oppression.
The young Marine ensign manning the lookout froze, his hands trembling around the binoculars. Stumbling back a half step, he shouted in panic:
"It's the Whitebeard Pirates!"
"What?!" Vice Admiral Roland's face went pale at the words. Snatching the binoculars from his adjutant, he gazed at the approaching fleet. His hand shook as dread crept over him. The full gravity of the situation hit like a tidal wave.
Whitebeard had brought his forces here.
The Vice Admiral knew their branch, the furthest Marine post in the New World from headquarters, stood no chance. With so many of their offices deployed for the impending war at Marineford, reinforcements were out of reach.
"Everyone, evacuate!" Vice Admiral Roland roared, his voice cutting through the rising panic.
The pirate fleet alone was an overwhelming threat. But atop the Moby Dick stood Whitebeard himself—an undeniable harbinger of destruction.
As his order rang out, chaos erupted among the Marines.
- Boom!
Whitebeard clenched his massive fists, then slammed them outward with immense force.
The action resonated like a hammer against the hearts of all the Marines who witnessed it, their very pulses faltering. And what followed made their breath catch entirely.
Crack! Crack!
As Whitebeard's fists struck, fine, web-like cracks appeared in the air itself, radiating outward like shattered glass. The atmosphere seemed to fracture under his raw power.
The sea reacted violently. The surface churned as enormous ripples gave way to massive, overlapping waves.
Clatter.
The water level rose rapidly, a terrifying sight visible to the naked eye. In moments, colossal waves towered over the horizon, their monstrous forms building to a height of over 1,000 meters.
Two titanic tsunamis surged forward, blocking out the sun and plunging the Marine branch into shadow.
With a deafening roar, the walls of water crashed down. The island, along with the fleeing Marine warships, was consumed, dragged into the turbulent depths of the sea.
Marine Headquarters, Marineford
Half a day later, the tension at Marineford was palpable. The surrounding sea was a forest of white sails, as a hundred Marine warships assembled in an enormous formation, their ranks spread like wings. The sight was both grand and imposing.
In the Fleet Admiral's office, Sengoku stood seething with rage, his fist smashing down onto his desk. His angry tirade echoed through the room as he cursed Whitebeard's audacity.
Meanwhile, in the conference room designated for the Seven Warlords of the Sea, the Shichibukai sat gathered. Those present had already picked up on the general situation from the Marines stationed nearby.
Jinbei was notably absent, having refused to take part in the war and been imprisoned in Impel Down as a result. The remaining six Shichibukai had arrived separately:
Blackbeard Teach, Donquixote Doflamingo, Bartholomew Kuma Gekko Moria, Baddrink Bardock, Edward Weevil
"It seems Whitebeard is furious. Fuffuffuffu... I can't wait for the Summit War to begin," Doflamingo chuckled, lounging cross-legged at the round table. His gaze wandered over the other Warlords, lingering particularly on Teach and Weevil—the two with the deepest ties to Whitebeard.
"Zehahahaha, when 'Dad' gets angry, it's terrifying," Blackbeard laughed, biting into a slice of pizza with exaggerated ease.
"You're the real culprit here. It's a wonder you have the gall to show up," Moria grumbled, casting a disdainful look at Teach, who continued eating unfazed.
"The most dangerous place," Teach replied with a smirk, "is often the safest."
"Hmph!"
From the corner, Weevil, munching on a massive plate of food, spoke up with childlike simplicity: "What 'father'? I'm Whitebeard's real son! When those fakes show up, I'll kill them all!"
"Zehahaha, I'm looking forward to it," Blackbeard replied, his sharp eyes locking onto Weevil. Though he had spent two decades under Whitebeard, Teach had never once heard of this so-called "son."
Still, he couldn't deny the boy's monstrous strength. After all, Weevil had famously crippled Black Arm Zephyr, a legend in his own right. If nothing else, Weevil bore the raw power Whitebeard had wielded in his youth.
But strength alone didn't intimidate Teach now. No, what truly intrigued him was Weevil's simplicity. The boy's lack of wit might make him easy to manipulate. If Teach could bring him into his fold, it would solidify his path to ultimate power.