The western plaza was a tempest of pulverized ice and screeching steel. The addition of Vice Admiral Momonga to the fray had instantly stabilized the crumbling Marine defensive perimeter, transforming what was a frantic, desperate holding action into a masterclass of calculated military efficiency.
Momonga stood at the apex of the triangle formation, his standard-issue katana flashing in brilliant, ink-black arcs as he effortlessly parried a crushing downward strike from Blenheim's massive cutlass. The collision generated a localized shockwave, but Momonga didn't give the commander an inch of leverage. Without breaking his stoic expression, he utilized the kinetic feedback of the clash to twist his torso, his voice cutting through the roar of the battlefield with absolute clarity.
"Tenjin! Flank right! Use your pressurized compression to compromise the Fish-Man's footing!" Momonga commanded smoothly, his spatial awareness covering every micro-movement on the ice. "Grus! Construct a hardened barrier five meters behind me to intercept the flail's rebound! Do not let the momentum reset!"
"Understood!" both trainees barked in unison.
Tenjin didn't hesitate for a fraction of a millisecond. Moving strictly on the ground, the Dead Wood fibers wrapped around his legs hissed violently, releasing thick jets of emerald steam from his heels as he erupted into a high-velocity dash. He slid beneath a horizontal swipe from "Water Buffalo" Atmos's giant broadsword, his body practically scraping the frost before he snapped his torso upward. His right arm expanded exponentially, transforming into a dense, multi-layered log that he drove directly into Namur's ribs with the force of a battering ram.
Namur, the 8th Division Commander, gasped as the impact caught him mid-stride, his webbed feet skidding across the slippery ice for several meters. Before the Fish-Man could launch a counter-offensive, a massive wall of densely reinforced, gray clay erupted directly behind him, cutting off his line of retreat.
"I've locked his angle!" Prince Grus announced coldly, his hands glowing with a thick clay substance as he maintained his focus. "Plant-boy, drop the hammer now!"
"Don't tell me what to do, mud-man!" Tenjin yelled back, a wild, competitive grin breaking through his exhaustion as he used his compressed leg springs to launch a brutal straight punch directly into the trapped commander's path.
The coordination was flawless. Under Momonga's veteran leadership, the individual talents of the two elite trainees were no longer clashing; they were interlocking perfectly. Momonga acted as the immovable anchor, his supreme swordsmanship and Armament Haki absorbing the brunt of the heavy kinetic output from Blenheim and Blamenco, while issuing precise, rapid-fire tactical orders that allowed Tenjin's explosive speed and Grus's structural manipulation to isolate and chip away at the commanders' defenses.
CLANG! SMASH! BANG!
The seven fighters bounced apart, landing in a wide, tense circle across the fractured ice plaza. Steam rose from their shoulders in thick plumes under the pale Marineford sun. Atmos, Namur, Blenheim, and Blamenco all had visible scuffs and dents on their armor, their expressions hardening into a state of deep, professional respect.
"The old timer knows his stuff," Atmos grunted, adjusting his grip on his twin broadswords as his eyes locked onto Momonga. "He's reading our entry angles before we can even complete our swings."
"That's a veteran Vice Admiral for you," Blenheim replied coldly, his cutlass entering a low, defensive stance. "But their endurance won't last forever. Let's break the anchor."
Momonga didn't speak. He simply raised his katana, his breath steady, his face a picture of absolute, unyielding Marine discipline. Beside him, Tenjin's green hair bristled with hyperactive energy, the wood fibers along his arms pulsing with renewed vigor, while Grus quietly reformed a massive clay golem from the surrounding debris. The tension in the air was so dense it felt as if a single spark would detonate the entire plaza.
Then, the entire world stopped.
A sudden, chilling silence washed over the bay of Marineford, cascading outward from the center of the battlefield like an invisible, suffocating wave. It didn't start with a cannon blast or a roar of spiritual pressure. It started with a collective, horrified gasp from tens of thousands of soldiers simultaneously.
Tenjin's instincts flared with a sudden, sickening drop in the atmosphere. His emerald eyes widened, his head snapping automatically toward the bow of the Moby Dick. Beside him, Momonga and Prince Grus froze mid-stance, their weapons lowering slightly as their gazes tracked the exact same trajectory.
High up on the main deck of the flagship, the colossal figure of Edward Newgate stood completely motionless. Standing directly in front of him was Squard, the captain of the Maelstrom Spider Pirates.
And buried deep within Whitebeard's massive, scarred chest was the long, blood-stained steel blade of Squard's giant katana.
The tip of the weapon protruded cleanly through the Emperor's back, a slow, crimson stream of blood staining the white fabric of his coat.
"P-Pops...?" Haruta whispered from the distance, his sniper rifle slipping from his fingers and clattering onto the ice.
The four commanders standing in the western plaza completely abandoned their offensive postures. Atmos's giant broadswords fell to his sides, his face turning an ash-gray color as absolute, unadulterated shock distorted his features. Namur's jaws remained wide open, his webbed fingers trembling violently against the frost.
"Squard... you bastard!" Rakuya roared from the flank, his voice cracking with a terrifying, wild fury as tears instantly welled in his eyes. "What the hell have you done?!"
"Why?! Why would Squard do that to Pops?!" Blamenco shrieked, clutching his massive wooden mallet so hard the handle began to splinter under his grip.
The entire pirate vanguard erupted into a chaotic, screaming frenzy of grief and rage, their coordination completely shattering in a single fraction of a second. They weren't looking at the Marines anymore; their entire reality had been broken by the betrayal of one of their own brothers.
On the Marine side, the reaction was a mixture of profound shock and deep, unsettling confusion.
Tenjin stared up at the blood dripping from the Emperor's chest, his hands slowly reverting from dense timber back into human flesh. The volatile anger that had driven him for the past hour was completely swallowed by a hollow sense of bewilderment. He had just faced that old man barehanded; he had felt the monstrous, untouchable gravity of the world's strongest man. To see him brought to his knees not by an Admiral, not by a Buster Call, but by a cheap, point-blank stab from one of his own allies... it felt completely wrong.
"A betrayal... from within his own fleet?" Prince Grus murmured, his tilted cap casting a dark shadow over his narrow eyes as he looked at the ship. "The tactical implications of this are catastrophic for their morale. But why would an allied captain turn his blade on Whitebeard?"
Momonga slowly lowered his katana, his sharp eyes fixed entirely on the main deck. Unlike the trainees, his expression wasn't just shocked; it was deeply solemn. "The World Government's strategic division has been working in the shadows. This carries the distinct scent of a psychological operation orchestrated by the Admiral. They didn't just pierce his flesh... they pierced the very foundation of the Whitebeard Pirates' unity."
High above, Squard was screaming, his voice carrying across the entire bay via the distant audio transponder snails as he ranted about a secret deal between Whitebeard and the Marines to sacrifice the allied crews just to save Portgas D. Ace.
Tenjin's teeth clenched as he listened to the frantic, paranoid declarations. "Is that guy crazy? Whitebeard would never make a deal like that. He literally just beat me into the deck for disrespecting the concept of a family. There's no way he's selling out his own people."
Before the chaos could devolve into a full-scale civil war amongst the pirate fleets, the colossal figure of Whitebeard moved. He didn't raise his bisento to strike Squard down. He didn't call upon the cataclysmic vibrations of the Tremor-Tremor Fruit to obliterate the traitor into dust.
Instead, Whitebeard slowly dropped to both knees, bringing himself down to Squard's eye level. He extended his massive, muscular arms, his giant hands wrapping gently around the trembling captain's shoulders, drawing him into a silent, fatherly embrace.
"Even if you are a fool... I still love you, my son," Whitebeard's deep, weathered voice rumbled across the deck, carrying a profound, heartbreaking warmth that completely silenced the screaming plaza.
Squard's eyes went wide, the giant katana slipping from his fingers as he collapsed into a state of absolute, weeping despair against the Emperor's chest, realized the horrific gravity of the lie he had been fed by the Marines.
Down on the ice, Tenjin stared at the scene, his jaw slightly slack as a look of profound, utter incomprehension settled over his face. He rubbed the back of his neck, his hyperactive energy completely stalling out.
"I... I really cannot understand that old man," Tenjin muttered softly, his voice dropping into a rare, solemn cadence. "He was just stabbed through the heart by someone he trusted. Anyone else would have torn that ship apart. But he just... he just forgives him? What kind of a person does that?"
Momonga let out a low, disciplined breath, his grip tightening back onto the hilt of his sword as his stoic demeanor returned. "That is precisely why he is called an Emperor, Tenjin. He doesn't just rule through the power of his fists; he rules through the absolute, unyielding devotion of his followers. A devotion that he earns by carrying their burdens... even when those burdens pierce his own flesh."
Beside them, Atmos, Namur, Blenheim, and Blamenco wiped the tears from their faces, the initial shock and grief in their eyes instantly hardening into a terrifying, synchronized wave of absolute resolution. Whitebeard had just shattered the Marine's psychological trap by declaring that all of them—even the allied crews—were his children.
"Pops gave us our answer," Atmos spoke, his voice dropping into a deep, guttural growl as he raised his twin giant broadswords once more. The steel coated itself in a layer of Haki so dense it began to hum with kinetic energy. "We don't have time to falter. The old man is putting his life on the line to give us a path."
"Don't let your guards down, men!" Blenheim roared, his massive cutlass pointed the tip straight at Momonga's chest. "We have to stop these people right here! For the New World! For Pops! For Ace!"
"Ohooo!" the surrounding pirate hordes bellowed in a terrifying, unified chorus, their morale completely restored and multiplied a hundredfold by the Emperor's grace.
Prince Grus quickly raised his hands, the gray clay beneath his boots expanding into a massive, heavily fortified phalanx structure to meet the incoming surge. "Their pressure has doubled. The psychological operation has backfired completely. Plant-boy, get your roots ready. This next wave is going to carry the weight of the entire ocean."
"Bring it on!" Tenjin roared, his emerald aura exploding back into maximum capacity as the Dead Wood fibers around his limbs coiled with high-velocity green steam. He planted his boots firmly onto the ground, ready to clash with the vanguard once more. "I don't care how much they love their dad. I'm still splitting them into kindling!"
Momonga stepped forward, his blade flashing in the pale light as the two forces prepared to collide in a spectacular, cinematic explosion of high-tier warfare.
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