BOOOOOOOOOM!
The ocean split. Not figuratively—but literally. Whitebeard's fist, wrapped in the shimmering destruction of the Gura Gura no Mi, slammed forward, and the world responded with a sound like the cracking of a divine shell. Shockwaves tore through the sea in concentric rings, each one powerful enough to warp the water into ripping spirals.
A continent-sized Emperor Sea King—the kind of monster sung of in forgotten legends—was blown backward, its colossal body tumbling helplessly through the depths. Scales thicker than steel plating shattered like glass. Teeth the size of towers scattered into the abyss. The sheer force of the blow reshaped the currents, carving trenches into the seabed as though a giant blade had been dragged across it.
Entire mountain ridges of coral crumbled. Deep-sea geothermal vents burst, sending plumes of fire into the darkness. Creatures that had lived for centuries fled in a blind panic. And the sea trembled as if struck by a god. Whitebeard grabbed his bisento, spinning it once as another titan lunged. His bubble strained, shimmering violently, but held.
"Gurararara… persistent bastards!"
He struck again—another quake, another rupture in the vast ocean. The Sea King's skull dented inward, blood bursting out like clouds of ink. Even injured, even dazed, the ancient monsters snarled silently in the crushing pressure and charged again.
Whitebeard's eyes narrowed. Something was wrong. These titans, rulers of the black abyss, should have retreated by now. Even beasts guided purely by instinct would hesitate after witnessing such overwhelming dominance.
But these beings were not hesitating nor thinking, and they were not choosing. They were being forced.
Whitebeard gritted his teeth as three Emperor Sea Kings lunged at him simultaneously, jaws yawning wide enough to swallow islands whole. He had to divert both arms to strike, sending another quake through the depths that turned the water into a churning world of pressure and violence.
Even weakened underwater… Even bound by the sea's curse… Even with a fragile bubble standing between him and helplessness… Whitebeard was still Whitebeard.
But then—
His Observation Haki flared. And everything stopped. The Sea Kings slowed in his perception.
The ocean's roar fell to a whisper. The quakes around him drifted away like distant memories.
Because he sensed something—
Something he had prayed he would never feel again. That presence. Cold. Ancient. Sinister. A darkness that devoured light and hope, leaving only dread.
"…No…" Whitebeard whispered.
A chill that had nothing to do with the deep sea crept across his spine. That thing. That will. That shadow. It echoed faintly from the distant Sea Forest, far beyond the barrier, from the direction where the ritual circle had just activated. His pupils contracted with a single thought.
God Valley.
His mind was dragged back across decades, to the blood-soaked island where legends had clashed—Roger, Garp, Rocks, Whitebeard himself—and yet still…
Still…
None of them had been able to fully confront the abyssal presence that manifested through one of the Elders that day. A presence so suffocating that even Rocks—mad, ambitious, and unstoppable—had faltered. Whitebeard's grip tightened around his bisento until the handle cracked.
"No… not here… not now…"
He had thought he'd buried that memory. He forced himself to forget that suffocating dread. Buried it in the deepest pits of his heart, where even nightmares dared not tread. But the presence in the Sea Forest— It was the same.
The very same presence that the world deemed it better to be forgotten than remembered. The same monstrous will. The same existence. The being who should not exist. The being who commanded calamity itself.
Whitebeard's heart pounded like a war drum. His sons were in there. Marco, Jozu, and Thatch. The entire Ryugu Kingdom. Neptune… Otohime. Shirahoshi. The Fishmen who trusted him.
A kingdom under his protection.
None of them—none of them—could stand against that presence if it truly descended upon Fishman Island. Not even all of them together could buy ten seconds. Whitebeard wheeled around, trying to rush back toward the barrier, muscles screaming as he forced his bubble-encased body against the drag of the sea.
"I need to go—!"
But the abyss itself moved to stop him. Another Emperor Sea King cut him off, tentacles thicker than castle walls coiling around him. A second slammed into his side, forcing him back. A third rose from the depths, maw yawning wide, eyes burning with that unnatural crimson haze.
They weren't hunting him—
They were holding him. Restraining him from going back into the island. Keeping him here, away from the Sea Forest, where he detected thousands of presences making their way in the direction of Fishman Island with ill intent. Keeping him away from the real fight. Whitebeard understood instantly as he turned back to the ancient sea kings who were throwing themselves madly despite the severity of their conditions.
"They're… being controlled."
The realization cut him deeper than any wound could. These primordial guardians weren't attacking Fishman Island of their own will. Something had seized their instincts, hijacked their minds, and turned them into puppets.
And that something… was the same shadow he'd faced long ago or at least was part of it. Whitebeard roared in fury, haki blasting outward in a violent surge that sent the nearest Sea King sprawling. But even as his conqueror's will clashed with the abyss—even as the sea itself churned under his wrath—the ancient titans returned again and again, forming a living wall between him and the island.
"Damn you…" he growled, voice trembling with fury and dread.
****
Dark lightning coiled around the summoning circle as the last wisps of abyssal fog faded, revealing Elder Warcury and Elder Mars stepping out onto the Sea Forest's ancient ground. The air warped around them—pressure crushing, oppressive—as their Observation Haki swept across Fishman Island like a tidal wave.
But then—they paused. Through their senses, they felt the outer seas convulsing, the massive movements of titanic bodies, and the violent shockwaves echoing from outside the barrier. The island was already under siege.
Hundreds of Ancient Sea Kings—beasts older than most civilizations—raged in a frenzy around the protective dome, locking Whitebeard in the abyss. Warcury's brows twitched upward. Mars exhaled slowly. A silent realization passed between them.
"So that's why Elder Saturn was so calm…" Mars murmured.
Warcury nodded, expression grim yet relieved—not that he'd ever admit such weakness aloud. Facing Whitebeard directly within the cramped terrain of Fishman Island would've been a nightmare even for the Elders themselves. Even they respected his monstrous strength.
But now?
Whitebeard was bound by the sea, forced tens of thousands of meters down, besieged by leviathans controlled by… something. Something they had an ominous suspicion about but dared not question aloud. Imu-sama's will. A direct intervention. Mars folded his arms, coat rustling. Warcury cracked his massive knuckles, black lightning sparking at the joints.
"Whitebeard is contained…" Warcury muttered, relief hidden beneath his gravelly voice. "Good. Then we can proceed without… distractions." Mars gave a quiet smirk.
"Time to finish the job. It's been decades since we've acted personally." Warcury grunted.
"Shall we?" With each step he took, his Conqueror's Haki rolled out like an earthquake, the ground trembling beneath his feet. The Aegis Division knelt instantly as the Elders approached. Even their elite bodies shook under the combined presence.
"You have your orders," Mars said coldly, eyes glinting like burning steel. "The example we make of Fishman Island today will be remembered for the next millennium. Imu-sama wills it."
"Yes, Elder-sama." The Aegis leader bowed so deeply his forehead scraped stone. But hesitation flickered in his voice. "What of the Whitebeard Pirates? Should we capture them? If any survive, Whitebeard—"
He didn't finish. Because the air split. A pressure so violent it nearly liquefied the Aegis division.
Warcury and Mars turned their heads in perfect unison. For once, there was no cautious calculation. No political restraint. No fear of retaliation. Imu sama's command had been absolute.
No survivors. No compromise. Eradication. The ground buckled. Their auras surged.
And then— it happened.
A thunderclap of black lightning and ripping winds shattered the Sea Forest as both Elders unleashed their fully awakened Zoan transformations—forms so vast and terrible the island itself shook.
Elder Warcury – Mythical Zoan: Fengxi His body expanded, bones cracking, muscles bulging, until a towering horned beast stood before them—its form halfway between god and monster. Blood-red fur bristled. A mane like wildfire whipped behind him. His fanged maw steamed with heat. The Fengxi, devourer of nations. A creature so feared that its rampage throughout history had destroyed countless nations. Hunger burning in its eyes. The ground split under its weight.
Elder Mars – Mythical Zoan: Itsumade Mars's form elongated, wings bursting outward in a cascade of feathery blades. His face morphed into a long-beaked visage, eyes glowing like twin suns. His wings stretched so far they eclipsed the faint light filtering through the ocean above. A colossal carrion bird demon, said to feed on the souls of the forgotten dead.
Itsumade screamed—a deafening shriek that rattled bones and made the water itself shudder. The sky and land were now dominated by two life-ending monstrosities—one charging along the ground like a living disaster, the other blotting out the heavens like a dark omen. Fishman Island trembled. Panic exploded across its streets as citizens looked up in horror.
"The beast…hat monster… it's returned!"
"That monster—it's real!"
"What are those things?!"
Warcury lifted his massive head. His voice came out as a guttural, earth-shaking roar.
"KILL THEM…KILL THEM ALL!"
And the Fengxi charged. Each footstep was an earthquake. Each breath, a hurricane. Fishman homes of coral and pearl shattered beneath the shockwaves as Warcury sprinted toward the heart of the island.
Above, Mars spread his monstrous wings, gathering energy into his beak—pure destructive force condensing into a sphere that rippled with crimson power. The air surged. Water retreated. A vacuum formed.
Then—BWOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!
A massive energy beam erupted downward, tearing through the city, carving a molten trench across the island. Coral towers vaporized. Entire neighborhoods evaporated under the blast.
Screams drowned beneath the thunderous roar. This wasn't aggression. This wasn't intimidation. This was genocide.
Warcury's maw curled into a savage grin as he plowed through the ruins, crushing everything in his path. Mars ascended, circling like a storm of death preparing its next strike. This time, unlike all the centuries of political maneuvering, hidden directives, and careful manipulations—
The Elders were not here to negotiate. Not to bargain. Not to test the waters. They had come with Imu-sama's absolute will—erase Fishman Island from the world. Leave only a warning behind. And not a single soul would be spared.
****
The tremor did not come from the Sea Kings outside the barrier. It came from inside it, from the skyless ocean ceiling that domed over Fishman Island like the last fragile shell around a dying world. A deep, shuddering vibration rolled through the coral streets, rattling lantern-shells and sending streams of frightened fish scattering.
And then the screams began. Not the panicked cries that had already filled the island after the barrier cracked. No—these were different. These were the screams of a merfolk and fishman realizing too late that what hunted them was not nature, not beasts, not fate…but the World Government itself.
Just outside the Sea Forest on the path connecting to the heart of Fishman Island, the gargantuan silhouette of Fengxi tore through every structure and natural barrier like a living storm front. Every stomp of its feet pushed catastrophic shockwaves across the island, snapping coral spires and overturning entire districts in a single breath.
The great beast landed near the boundary between the upper residential district and the open plaza—its hooves crushing the ground with enough force to send fissures spiraling across the entire square. The shockwave threw merfolk and fishmen alike off their feet. Warriors staggered, children clung to weeping parents, and lanterns burst into clouds of sparks.
The Fengxi lowered its massive, fanged snout. Its eyes—once human and cold—were now monstrous abysses emptied of compassion. There was no malice in them. Worse. There was purpose. With a thunderous roar, the beast unleashed a wave of raw force that blasted through the district like a hurricane. Homes of coral shattered. Markets imploded. Warriors who had rushed to defend their families were flung aside as if the very ocean had turned against them.
Warcury's colossal form lumbered forward, sending quakes rippling across the carefully terraced noble district. Coral mansions cracked apart as his claws tore trenches through the roads. One swipe of his tail flattened an entire row of homes.
A group of mermaid nobles were fleeing toward the palace, guided by their household guards. The Fengxi's shadow consumed them. Without a moment's hesitation, Warcury exhaled a wave of compressed wind that exploded outward in a concussive blast.
Guards were thrown like driftwood. The nobles were obliterated. And with another step, Warcury moved on—no triumph, no cruelty, just the methodical demolition of anything living that stood before him. The monster did not roar again. It didn't need to. Its silence was far worse.
Every second was destruction—but none of it was personal. It was simply the efficient execution of a decree. A mandate. A genocide.
From the opposite side of the island, the sky itself darkened—not from debris or dust, but from the arrival of Elder Mars's Itsumade form. A colossal winged silhouette coasted over the rooftops, its long, serpentine neck winding like an omen across the air. It barely flapped its wings; it simply drifted, gliding with predatory calm.
When it opened its beak, a low whine filled the air, rising pitch by pitch until it vibrated the coral walls and made the merfolk clutch their ears.
And then—the beam.
A searing column of energy lanced downward, carving a clean path through the central avenue. Coral towers toppled like toys. Shockwaves rippled through the seawater, sending currents spiraling in every direction. The island's bioluminescent light flickered erratically, as though even the sea itself recoiled from the attack. Wherever the Itsumade drifted, ruin followed.
Houses fell like petals. Shops dissolved into rubble. Entire streets became trenches. Not through gore. Not through carnage. Through obliteration—swift, cold, and absolute. And all the while, Elder Mars's detached voice echoed across the devastated city, "Advance. Complete the directive. Leave no resistance standing."
Mars's Itsumade form sank low, soaring between buildings with predatory precision. Its massive wings stirred whirlpools in the water as it hunted clusters of survivors moving through alleyways.
A group of palace scribes, scholars, and healers ran for the emergency tunnels that led toward the Sea Forest. They had been ordered to evacuate the newborn princess if they could—but hope was slipping through their fingers as the Itsumade's glow swept overhead. Mars's voice echoed, flat and emotionless:
"Non-combatants fall under the directive. Do not allow escape."
The next pulse of energy wasn't even aimed directly at them—it simply struck the street beside them. The resulting shockwave hurled them like dolls. Stone arches collapsed. Coral trees snapped. Books and scrolls scattered into the water, drifting like dying petals. And the Itsumade glided on, indifferent to the ruin left behind.
****
Where the Elders were calamities, the Cipher Pol were the surgeons of devastation. They moved through the lower districts with soulless coordination—each squad encircling pockets of civilians with perfect formation, tightening like nets around their prey.
A group of fishman youths—barely adolescents—stood before their families, tridents shaking but held firm despite their fear. They had grown up dreaming of joining the royal guard.
They didn't even see the CP0 agent who disabled them all in a single movement. The parents' screams reverberated through the shattered district.
Nearby, an aged mer-father hovered over his injured daughter, shielding her with his own body despite the futility. Cipher Pol didn't even slow. They simply moved past him, their shadows sweeping over him like a passing tide. The father's pleas echoed long after the agents disappeared.
"Please…she's only a child…! Anybody…help…!" But no help came. Not in this part of the island. Not tonight.
At the main thoroughfare leading to the palace, the Ryugu Kingdom's elite guard formed a defensive line—shields up, spears braced, standing shoulder to shoulder under the flickering glow of emergency coral lamps. They outnumbered the invaders twentyfold. They had trained for years.
And they believed—desperately—that they could buy their people time. But against the advancing Cipher Pol, their numbers meant nothing. The first CP0 unit moved like a single blade—silent, fluid, impossibly fast. With every gesture, fishman warriors were sent crashing into the coral walls, shields shattered, weapons clattering uselessly to the ground.
Another squad flanked them, weaving through the defensive columns with inhuman precision. Their movements were too clean, too efficient, and utterly devoid of hesitation. Not a moment wasted. Not a motion spared.
One fishman officer—a seasoned veteran with scars that testified to decades of protecting the kingdom—shouted for his men to hold the line. He planted his trident into the ground, rallied his squad, and charged. He never reached the front.
The Cipher Pol agents cut through the formation like wind sweeping through falling leaves. Shields crumbled. Ranks collapsed. The veterans fell, not for lack of courage, but because their enemy was simply outside anything they had been trained to face. In seconds, the street leading towards the palace corridor was no longer a battleground.
It was a burial ground. The Ryugu flag snapped violently in the collapsing currents, torn nearly in half by the shockwaves.
Panic spread faster than the destruction. Families who had taken shelter in coral homes spilled into the streets, clutching children and elderly relatives as tremors shook the ground beneath their feet. Lantern-lit tunnels became bottlenecks of terrified crowds. Tails and fins slapped against the ground as they tried to outrun the coming doom.
The sounds were suffocating: The wail of a mother calling for a missing son. The frantic splashing of an elderly merman stumbling and falling. The shrill cry of children begging their fathers to run faster. Everywhere, voices overlapped into a rising tide of despair.
"Help us!"
"This way—no, wait—!"
"The palace is under attack!"
"Where are the soldiers?!"
"What did we do to deserve this?!"
The question hung in the water like poison. None of them knew why. None knew who had betrayed them. All they knew was that the World Government—an entity half a world away—had chosen today to extinguish their future.
****
The Ryugu Palace—once the radiant heart of Fishman Island, gleaming with pearlescent spires and soft coral lanterns—had become a fortress crumbling under the weight of calamity. Cracks webbed across its elegant archways; shards of shattered coral mosaics littered the hall where kings had once walked in peace. The banners that depicted the Royal Family's lineage burned in drifting ribbons, their embers spiraling upward like dying prayers swallowed by the roaring darkness outside.
Every few seconds, the ground lurched. A quake from Warcury's Fengxi form—each footfall like a meteor crashing into the seabed. Then another blast, a distorted rumble shivering through the palace walls—the aftermath of Mars's Itsumade unleashing destruction somewhere in the civilian district. Inside, the chaos was no less suffocating.
"Move! Move quickly!"
King Neptune's thunderous voice, normally commanding and dignified, broke from strain. He lifted fallen beams with his massive arms, guiding terrified civilians deeper into the palace's inner tunnels. Mermaids clutched crying infants. Elderly fishfolk dragged injured relatives. Palace servants ran between them, trying to maintain order in a place where order had ceased to exist.
"Direct them to the lower caverns and take them away from the palace using the secret tunnels!" Neptune roared. "Healers—any who still can stand—attend to the wounded immediately! Soldiers, secure the inner halls!"
But even the king's voice was crumbling under the weight of terror. A palace soldier burst into the hall, gasping, face drained of color.
"Your Majesty—the noble district has fallen!"
Another ran in moments later, his armor cracked, helmet missing.
"The royal army… they didn't last five minutes—!"
Then a third collapsed onto one knee, trembling violently.
"The elite guards… they won't hold much longer. Your Majesty, you must evacuate—before it's too late!"
Neptune's trident shook in his grasp. He stared forward, eyes burning with disbelief and agony.
A king's courage never dies. But hope… hope can shatter.
Beside him, Jozu clenched his diamond-coated fists, his jaw grinding as he extended his observation Haki outward—across the palace grounds, across the terrified crowds, toward the two monstrous presences terrorizing the island. Monsters in the shape of gods.
Even Jozu—who had once stopped a legendary warship with his bare hands—felt a rare seed of dread. He didn't like admitting it, but he knew the truth. Even he couldn't defeat those creatures. Not here. Not underwater. Not while the island collapsed around them.
"King Neptune," Jozu said, his voice low, urgent, and grim. "We can't stay. We'll all die if we try to hold the palace. Pops ordered us to secure the royal family, and that's exactly what I'm going to do." He pointed toward the rear halls, where more civilians were being herded.
"Our ships are coated and ready. Every vessel we have is being prepped at the port, mobilise any creature or ship that can ferry the merfolk and fishman. We need to evacuate as many as possible and get them outside the barrier. Once they're out of reach, Pops will handle the rest—Sea Kings or Elders, it doesn't matter. Above the water is his domain."
Neptune swallowed hard. He knew Jozu wasn't wrong. The World Government would sacrifice ten thousand of their own if it meant completing their mission. But the fishman people? They had no such expendable numbers. Every life lost here was a future erased—another blow to a species already fighting extinction.
And then—
"It's my fault…"
The whisper pierced through the chaos like a needle of grief. Neptune, Jozu, and the surrounding soldiers turned. There, standing by the shattered coral window overlooking the ruin of her kingdom, was Queen Otohime.
Her delicate hands covered her trembling lips. Her golden tail shimmered faintly, reflecting the fires spreading across the island outside. Her wide, tear-filled eyes captured the reflection of the nightmare unfolding in Fishman District, where buildings crumbled and screams echoed ceaselessly.
"It's… all my fault…"
She stared down at the devastation—her people running, falling, reaching out for help that could not come. The light that once radiated from her like a beacon of hope flickered, dimmer than it had ever been.
"If not for me…" Her voice cracked. "If not for my dream… if not for my belief that the World Government could be reasoned with—this would never have happened."
The room froze. Even amidst chaos, the weight of her despair washed over them like a cold tide. Otohime pressed a hand to the glass, her nails trembling against it.
"I severed our ties with the Donquixote Family. I believed diplomacy would protect us. I wanted peace so desperately that I refused to see the danger. I… I thought humans could be better. That they could see us… as equals."
Tears spilled freely down her cheeks, drifting like glimmering pearls in the water.
"But instead… instead I've led our people into a nightmare." She clenched the window frame, her voice breaking with guilt. "If we still had the Donquixote Family's protection—even if they were cruel, even if they were ruthless—they never betrayed their allies. They would never have allowed the World Government to touch us. All those years… they defended us without fail. And I… I abandoned that for a dream I couldn't prove…"
Her shoulders shook violently. "I did this. I destroyed Fishman Island."