"Gihahaha…! He truly is a monster—more so than the rest of us. Look at him… cutting down those giants like weeds in a field."
Knight Sommers' laughter rang sharp and jagged against the roar of battle. Below them, the floor and pillars of Aurust Castle trembled with every thunderous step of the warring titans. The sky itself seemed split by the clash of steel and Haki as Harald—the newly ascended God Knight—moved through the battlefield like a calamity given flesh.
The Giant King did not hesitate. Kinship meant nothing. Blood meant nothing. With each swing of his colossal blade, ancient warriors—giants whose names had echoed through Elbaf's sagas for decades—fell like saplings before a storm.
"And forget not," Knight Killingham added, his voice quieter but edged with reluctant respect, "he wields Haoshoku. Harald may well be the strongest among the God Knights now."
The words hung heavily in the air. None of them liked admitting it. Pride, after all, was the marrow of a God Knight's being.
Sommers' grin faltered for the briefest instant before he scoffed. Maffey looked away entirely. To acknowledge Harald's superiority would be to acknowledge their own limits—an intolerable thought. Yet the truth was plain before them. The shockwaves of Conqueror's Haki rolled across the battlefield in violent pulses, shattering weapons, splintering shields, and forcing even veteran giants to their knees.
Even Sommers, for all his arrogance, knew better than to cross Harald directly. He would never say it aloud—but Haoshoku that potent could wound even them.
"Bah…" Sommers exhaled sharply, forcing a careless tone back into his voice. "I'm bored. I'll stroll through Elbaf and see what this so-called 'mightiest nation' truly amounts to. From what I've seen thus far, it's hardly impressive."
His disdainful laughter followed, though his eyes flicked sideways—watching for a reaction. Gunko stood a short distance away, motionless.
She had not laughed. Had not commented. Her gaze remained fixed upon Harald's rampage, her expression unreadable as giants attempted to regroup. The elder warrior who had charged them recklessly earlier had now retreated, joining others in a desperate ring around Harald, as though numbers alone might restrain him.
A foolish hope. They were not encircling a giant king. They were encircling a catastrophe.
"Capture some of the giant children while you're at it," Gunko said at last. Her voice was calm—cold, precise. Her eyes never left the battlefield. "Knight Killingham, accompany Knight Sommers. Your objective is to secure young giants. Those with potential can be… molded." The faintest curl of disdain touched her lips. "Into weapons for the World Government."
Killingham inclined his head. "Understood."
Though it was but a secondary objective—an opportunistic cruelty amidst their larger campaign—the opportunity was too valuable to ignore. With Harald spearheading the assault, Elbaf's defenses were fractured, its strongest warriors preoccupied or dying.
And in their arrogance, the God Knights believed a simple truth: there was no one left on Elbaf capable of stopping them. Behind them, another burst of black lightning split the heavens as Harald's blade descended once more, and the mightiest nation in the world trembled beneath the shadow of its own king.
"BOOM—!" Another colossal pillar of the throne hall sheared clean in half as a giant guard's body was hurled through it like a rag doll. Stone exploded outward in a storm of debris, raining across the vast chamber of Elbaf's royal seat. The vaulted ceiling trembled; ancient murals cracked; dust rolled in suffocating waves.
At the center of it all stood Harald. The Giant King moved with merciless precision. His massive hand shot forward, seizing the fallen guard by the skull and slamming him into the fractured marble. The impact cratered the floor. Without hesitation, Harald lifted his fist high—muscles coiling like siege cables—and brought it down in a killing strike meant to crush bone and brain into paste.
"Harald—!" Elder Jarul intercepted. The elder giant surged between them, shield raised. The impact came like a falling mountain. Steel shrieked.
Even infused with Haki, Jarul's shield buckled beneath the monstrous force. Black lightning crackled across its surface as Conqueror's Haki bled from Harald's strike, splitting the air with violent arcs. Jarul's knees slammed into the stone floor, shattering it beneath him in a spiderweb of cracks that raced across the hall. The throne room groaned as though it too felt pain.
"Harald!" Jarul roared again, straining upward, every vein standing out along his arms. "Fight it! Whatever sorcery has hold of you—remember who you are!"
For a fleeting moment, dust parted between them. Harald's face came into view. His eyes were empty. No fury. No recognition. No brotherhood nor kinship. Only a cold, vacant abyss. Jarul's heart sank.
The king lifted his weapon—its colossal edge darkened with Haki—drawing it back for a brutal, final arc. The blade hummed with killing intent. The air grew heavy, suffocating, as if the world itself braced for impact.
Jarul could not move. The weight of that Haki pressed upon him like chains. The blade began to fall. And then—the atmosphere shifted. A sharp crack tore through the hall—not the crack of steel or stone—but the shriek of splitting sky. Before anyone could comprehend what was happening, a bolt of pale blue lightning crashed downward from nowhere, striking Harald square in the chest.
The impact detonated like divine judgment.
For a split second, the lightning did not behave like lightning. It twisted. It coiled. It took form. The blinding column of energy elongated, sculpting itself into the towering silhouette of a giantess forged from living electricity. Hair of crackling arcs streamed behind her like a storm-tossed banner; her eyes burned white-hot; her limbs flickered between flesh and thunder.
Dora. The ancient giantess with the power of the lightning Logia had arrived. She did not slow. The moment her body fully materialized from the bolt, she drove forward with a roar, her arm transforming into a concentrated spear of blinding voltage. The crackling lance pierced through Harald's Haki-armored chest in an eruption of sparks and blackened smoke.
The shockwave blasted outward, blowing Jarul clear as Dora carried the Giant King backward in a streak of blinding blue. Harald's massive frame slammed into the ancient stone throne. The impact was catastrophic.
The throne—symbol of Elbaf's sovereignty for centuries—exploded into shards. Marble and gold leaf disintegrated under the force as Dora's lightning spear pinned Harald through the rubble and into the stone wall behind it. The wall fractured instantly, fissures racing outward in every direction as the electrical surge discharged in a thunderous detonation.
CRAAAACK—!
Lightning crawled across the chamber, illuminating the destruction in stuttering flashes. Harald's body hung embedded in the shattered remains of his throne, smoke rising from his chest where Dora's spear crackled and burned. Stone dripped from the wall in molten fragments, the air thick with ozone and pulverized rock.
For a heartbeat, the throne room was filled only with the hiss of dissipating lightning and the groan of settling stone. Then— Harald moved. The Giant King's massive hand rose from the rubble, fingers flexing. With a single, almost casual motion, he pushed aside the shattered remains of his throne as though brushing crumbs from a table. Blocks of marble the size of warships tumbled away from him.
He stood. Calm. Unhurried. Stone fragments slid from his shoulders and crashed to the floor. The blackened puncture wound in his chest—where Dora's lightning spear had pierced him—smoldered faintly.
And then it began to close. Flesh knit together before the eye could fully process it. Burned tissue smoothed over; cracked skin reformed. Within seconds, not even a scar remained. Harald rolled one shoulder slightly, as if testing stiffness after a mild inconvenience.
No rage. No roar. Just that same hollow stare. Dora did not move. She watched him in silence, blue lightning crawling across her skin like restless serpents. Her form flickered between solid and energy, the air around her distorting with static. The scent of ozone thickened.
Minutes ago, she had been kneeling beside Ida's still body, grief weighing heavier than any blade. Elder Jarul had left her side to investigate the catastrophic tremors coming from Aurust Castle. Dora had remained. At first. She had no desire to fight. No desire to move. But through the haze of mourning, her Observation Haki had stretched outward—instinctively, reflexively.
And she had seen it. Not with her eyes. With her will. A discordant thread wrapped around Harald's presence. A foreign pulse intertwined with his own Conqueror's Haki. Subtle. Insidious. Like a puppeteer's strings buried deep beneath flesh and bone. That was when the truth struck her harder than grief ever could.
Harald had not abandoned Ida. He had been taken. Controlled. Used. Everything made sense—his absence, his sudden cruelty, the void in his eyes. Now, standing amidst the ruins of Elbaf's shattered throne, Dora's storm-blue gaze shifted.
Beyond Harald. Near the broken remnants of the dais stood four figures—absurdly small in comparison to the giants around them. Insignificant in stature. But not in presence. The air around them felt wrong.
"So it was you…" Dora's voice trembled—not with fear, but fury barely restrained. Lightning flared brighter along her arms, illuminating the chamber in pulses of blue-white radiance. "It was you bastards who orchestrated all of this…?"
The storm answered her rage. Thunder rumbled though no clouds existed above. Near the fractured throne, one of the small figures tilted his head slightly.
"The Lightning Logia…?" Saint Killingham murmured, genuine surprise threading his voice. Even amid chaos, recognition came instantly. That power was unmistakable.
Among the countless Devil Fruits cataloged, hunted, and seized by the World Government, this one had long remained beyond their grasp. A force of nature incarnate. A weapon of incalculable strategic value. Blue arcs reflected in Killingham's eyes.
"How troublesome…" he added quietly. "One of the fruits we have always sought to bring under proper authority."
"Wait… isn't the Lightning Logia user a member of the Donquixote family?" Maffey's voice cut through the crackling tension, sharp with disbelief. "Why is this giantess here on Elbaf?"
Her eyes narrowed at Dora, recognition settling into something far uglier—resentment. The last time Maffey had crossed paths with the Donquixote family had been at Water 7. Steel had screamed against steel beneath torrential rain as she clashed with Agana—the traitor. That battle still festered like an unhealed wound in her pride. Despite her so-called immortality, despite her centuries of experience, she had failed to break Agana.
Failed. The word echoed bitterly in her mind. And now here stood another Donquixote monster. Not just any subordinate—but a top cadre. A woman with a bounty exceeding a billion. A giantess carrying both the Lightning Logia and the blood of ancient giants in her veins.
Maffey's fingers twitched at her side. Gunko, however, did not react immediately. Her expression remained composed, almost detached, as if the storm crackling across Dora's body were nothing more than distant weather. Slowly, deliberately, she extended her Observation Haki outward—spreading it like an invisible net across Aurust Castle, across the fractured throne room, beyond the broken pillars and shattered walls.
She searched for hidden presences. For ambush. For reinforcements. Nothing. No additional signatures lurking in the shadows. No Donquixote fleet approaching the shores. No second monster waiting to descend. Dora was alone. Gunko's eyes sharpened ever so slightly.
For centuries, the World Government had coveted that fruit. The Lightning Logia—raw, untamed devastation incarnate. A power capable of leveling cities in heartbeats. Yet it had always slipped through their fingers, even the current user until now was protected within the ironclad territories of the Donquixote family.
Untouchable until today. But here? On Elbaf? So far from home?
"It seems," Gunko murmured at last, "that fortune has chosen to favor us." Sommers' grin widened, feral and eager. "A Donquixote cadre… stranded far from her nest. And not just any cadre—the Lightning Logia user with ancient giant blood." His gaze devoured Dora like a predator sizing prey. "Gunko-chan… tell me we're not letting this opportunity pass."
Even as he spoke, a faint distortion shimmered around him—his Devil Fruit power stirring, reality itself bending subtly in anticipation as the vines seeped into the stone floor. Killingham adjusted his stance, one hand resting near his weapon. Maffey's earlier irritation had sharpened into cold intent.
And Harald—Harald stood unmoving, colossal, and silent. Awaiting command. His blank eyes stared forward, but those closest to him could sense it: beneath that emptiness, something vast coiled like a restrained catastrophe. The Great One's control wrapped tightly around his will. He would not act until ordered.
Gunko understood the magnitude of this moment. With Harald under their dominion, Elbaf was already teetering. Even if the entirety of the giant nation rose in defiance, she was confident they could crush it. The king himself was their spearhead, their battering ram. All that remained were loose ends.
Insects. Those who had seen too much within the castle walls. Even now, beyond Aurust Castle, most of Elbaf remained ignorant. They still believed their king fought for them. They did not yet know the truth—that their sovereign had become a weapon in another's hand.
Gunko's gaze settled fully upon Dora. Lightning illuminated the giantess in jagged flashes, her fury palpable, the air trembling around her with gathering voltage. The blue arcs reflected in Gunko's eyes like captured stars.
"Capture her alive if possible; let's bring her back to the Holy Land…!" Gunko said softly. One command. Calm. Decisive. And that was enough. Sommers' laughter echoed once more through the ruined throne room.
"Good…Good, I was itching for a decent fight. Nobody intervene; she is mine…" Across from them, Dora's lightning surged higher, sensing the shift—the intent. Behind her, shattered marble still smoldered where Harald had been pinned moments before. Before her stood four figures no taller than her palm.
"Dora… you must leave—now!" Elder Jarul forced himself upright, breath ragged, shield splintered and trembling in his grip. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he stared at Harald's unmoving, hollow figure. "There is something terribly wrong with him… This strength—this emptiness—this is not our king!"
He coughed, steadying himself against fractured marble. "Go! Find Loki—tell him what has happened!"
But Dora did not move. She did not even glance his way. Her storm-blue eyes remained locked on Harald alone. The other God's Knights—those scheming openly about capturing her—did not exist in her focus. To her, there was only the towering figure of her king… and the foreign will strangling his own.
Slowly, deliberately, she reached behind her shoulder. Her fingers wrapped around the haft of a massive war axe. Stormbreaker.
The weapon was colossal even by giant standards—its blade etched with ancient runes that now glowed faintly beneath the reflection of crackling lightning. When she drew it free, the air howled, static spiraling outward in violent gusts. Blue arcs coiled along the edge of the axe, dancing hungrily.
She raised it. And pointed it directly at Harald.
"Gihahaha…!" Sommers barked, though his eye twitched faintly. "She's bold. Disregarding me entirely." His laughter carried irritation beneath it. Pride wounded far easier than flesh.
He took a step forward, energy coiling around him as he prepared to launch himself at Dora—
Gunko's eyes widened.
"Don't—!" In a blur of warped space, she seized Sommers by the collar and yanked him backward with her Devil Fruit ability— Just as the air split open.
"FUTENRAKU—!"
The name tore through the throne room like divine judgment. A horizontal arc of black and gold cleaved through the palace. There was no warning flash. No buildup. Just a sudden, absolute line of annihilation.
The slash ripped across the entire hall, bisecting pillars, walls, throne fragments—everything in its path—cleanly in two. The ceiling groaned as a perfect seam carved through it. For a suspended heartbeat, the upper half of the chamber remained intact—then it slid.
Stone thundered as half the hall sheared away and collapsed outward, exposing the sky in a roar of cascading debris. Had Gunko hesitated even a fraction, Sommers would have been split in half. Even so, the trailing edge of the slash caught him across the chest. His body twisted midair as the attack—infused with monstrously dense Conqueror's Haki—bit deep.
Blood sprayed. A jagged gash tore across his torso, flesh parting under the pressure of a will powerful enough to wound gods. Sommers hit the ground hard, clutching his chest as smoke rose faintly from the wound where black lightning still crackled.
"RRRRAAAAGH—!!" His roar shook the broken remains of the castle. "You miserable coward—! Who dares—?!" he snarled, blood dripping between his fingers. His immortality would mend the damage—but pain was pain. Real. Burning. Humiliating.
His gaze snapped toward the shadowed end of the ruined hall. Heavy footsteps echoed. Measured. Unhurried. From the drifting dust and fractured darkness, a broad silhouette emerged. Twin axes rested upon powerful shoulders.
With each step forward, Conqueror's Haki surged outward like a rising tide. The very air thickened. Loose stones trembled and lifted before shattering into powder under the pressure of his will alone. Scars crisscrossed a body carved by decades of war. His presence was not loud—but it was overwhelming.
Scopper Gaban. The left hand of the Pirate King. The Mountain Eater. His axes gleamed with Conqueror's Haki as he lowered them into his hands, black lightning beginning to coil around their edges in violent spirals. Sommers' face twisted—not with confusion. Recognition.
"You…" His voice dripped with venom. "You bastard… what are you doing here on Elbaf?"
They had crossed blades many times in another era—when Gol D. Roger still sailed the seas, and the World Government had thrown everything it possessed to prevent the Roger Pirates from reaching the Final Island.
There were very few in the world capable of truly harming a God's Knight. Fewer still who could do so consistently. Gaban was one of them. A master of Haoshoku so refined it could bypass their unnatural resilience and carve pain directly into their immortal flesh. Gunko stepped forward slightly, eyes narrowed.
"Mountain Eater…" she said evenly, though her Devil Fruit power had already begun to warp the air subtly around her. She had not sensed him. Not even a whisper of his presence. For someone of her caliber to fail in detecting an enemy— That alone was alarming.
"Why," she asked coldly, "are you interfering with a mission of the World Government?"
Gaban stopped walking. The rubble behind him continued to crumble in delayed collapse from his earlier strike. Wind rushed through the bisected palace, carrying dust and the scent of ozone.
He rolled one shoulder, adjusting his grip on the twin axes. A slow grin spread across his face.
"Interfering?" he repeated, voice low and steady. Black lightning erupted more violently around him, splitting the air with thunderous cracks as his Conqueror's Haki surged higher—meeting Harald's in a distant, silent clash that caused the heavens themselves to rumble.
"You lot picked the wrong island." His axes lowered into a battle stance.
"Scopper Gaban…," Gunko's voice rang cold and measured through the ruined throne hall, "do you intend to break the agreement your captain made with the World Government in his final days?"
The wind howled through the cleaved palace, whipping dust and ash between the two sides.
Both parties understood the weight of those words. An unspoken pact.
When Gol D. Roger surrendered himself to fate, the World Government had calculated carefully. The Roger Pirates had reached the final island. They had learned the truth of Raftel. Knowledge capable of toppling the world order in a single breath still rested in the minds of that crew.
Eradicating them outright had risked desperation.
Desperation invited revelation. So instead, the Government chose strategy. The pursuit lessened. The pressure eased. Quietly, unofficially, the Roger Pirates were allowed to fade—on one condition: Retire. Disappear. Never sail again. Gaban's grip tightened around his twin axes.
"Spare me your false modesty," he replied, voice low but carrying effortlessly across the fractured chamber. Black lightning crawled along his shoulders as his Conqueror's Haki pulsed outward in controlled waves.
"You think we're unaware of your 'secret' clean-up operations?" His eyes sharpened. "If you had any intention of honoring that deal, our bounties would've been erased. The hounds would've been called off. Assassins wouldn't crawl out of the dark every time one of us surfaces."
A humorless smirk tugged at his lips. "Last I checked… my bounty is still very much active."
The words hit like steel. Gunko did not deny it. She didn't need to. Sommers rose slowly behind her, the gash across his chest already knitting closed, though rage still twisted his expression. Killingham watched silently, calculating. Gaban shifted his stance slightly, axes lowering into a ready guard.
"And to be fair…" His gaze flicked briefly to the shattered throne, to Harald's towering, unmoving silhouette. "You're the ones who invaded my home." His voice hardened. "It's only natural that I defend it. Don't you think?"
The tension snapped tighter. Behind him, Dora's lightning flared brighter in response, Stormbreaker humming in her grip. But inwardly— Gaban frowned. His initial strike had been precise, devastating. He had intended to remove at least one of the God's Knights from the board before the true battle began.
He had missed by inches. That irritated him. Worse—he didn't need anyone to explain what was wrong with Harald. He had seen something eerily similar back on God's valley, a power that he still understood little about.
Those eyes. Empty. Not enraged. Not conflicted. Just hollow. Like a weapon awaiting instruction. Harald stood there, massive and silent, staring at them not as comrades, not even as enemies—
But as prey. Gaban exhaled slowly through his nose.
"So that's how it is…"