"Huff… Huff… Huff…" The heavy, labored breathing of Linlin echoed like distant thunder across the scarred battlefield. Her once indomitable form was battered, her massive frame leaning heavily against the shaft of Napoleon, the halberd she used both as a weapon and a crutch.
Her left arm was charred and useless, hanging limp at her side. The flames and lightning that had once cloaked her were gone, leaving behind a battered, raw shell of the terror known as Big Mom.
Her figure had undergone a startling transformation. The sheer bulk that once defined her as a monstrous presence had slimmed, her form now exuding a lithe and deadly beauty—an echo of her youth, of the days when even her enemies whispered of her striking allure.
But to Linlin, this newfound perfection was meaningless. Her body's attempt to preserve itself, to adapt, was of no comfort. She was being hunted. She was fighting not for dominance, but for survival. And she knew—deep down—that her chances were slim.
Her sharp eyes drifted to the side where her once-proud son, Katakuri, lay crumpled in the dirt. His battered form was barely recognizable, his iconic scarf torn and stained with blood. His chest rose and fell faintly, though Linlin could not tell if it was life or the echoes of his final breaths.
He had been a fool. A brave fool, but a fool nonetheless. He had charged headlong into the abyss, thinking he could tilt the scales of this titanic clash, only to be mercilessly struck down by the demon stalking her.
Her conqueror's will faltered, just for a moment, as she considered the scene. For three days, the battle had raged without respite. Totto Land, the once vibrant archipelago that had been the jewel of her empire, was now a desolate wasteland.
Half the islands had sunk beneath the sea, swallowed by the cataclysmic fury of their clash. Forests were reduced to ash, mountains shattered, and seas boiled into steam under the relentless assault of their haki-infused strikes. It was a calamity, a battle that would be spoken of for generations.
Gripping her halberd tighter, Linlin forced herself up, dragging her body inch by inch out of the massive crater where she had fallen. Each step was agony. Her body screamed at her to stop, to rest, but she would not yield. She couldn't.
The moment she faltered, the moment doubt crept into her heart, she would die. That much was clear. Rosinante wasn't just fighting to defeat her—he was hunting her like prey, and her instincts, honed over decades of survival, told her he would not stop until she was silenced forever.
She cast one last glance at Katakuri. She felt a pang of something—regret, perhaps?—but her disdain for his weakness drowned it out. He had chosen to stand beside her, chosen to enter this battle beyond his limits.
That foolishness had cost him dearly. Perhaps, in another decade, he could have stood at her side as an equal. But now? Now, he was nothing but another casualty.
With a grunt, she reached the lip of the crater and planted Napoleon firmly into the ground for support. Her battered frame straightened as she inhaled deeply, her Observation Haki stretching out like a web to locate Rosinante.
Her breath hitched as she found him. He was moving—calmly, deliberately—toward her. The air itself seemed to shiver in his wake, as though the world was bracing for his arrival.
A sudden crash split the silence, echoing across the wasteland like the tolling of a funeral bell. Linlin's eyes snapped to the source, her grip tightening instinctively on her halberd. Through the haze of dust and crumbling debris, a figure emerged—one cloaked entirely in black lightning.
Rosinante.
Each of his steps was deliberate, unhurried, but each one made the very heavens tremble. The ground beneath his feet cracked and buckled, sending jagged fractures snaking outward. The air around him warped, bending to his will as if nature itself sought to bow before his overwhelming presence.
Lightning coiled and crackled around him like living snakes, its black tendrils licking at the ground and leaving scorched, smoking trails in his wake.
To Linlin, it was more than just power. It was a force, an entity unto itself. As someone who commanded lightning herself, she could feel the difference. This wasn't ordinary lightning, nor even the product of haki-infused attacks.
It was alive. It carried a will, a soul, much like the mythical Zoan devil fruits that bore a life of their own. Rosinante wasn't merely wielding lightning—he had become it.
Her grip on Napoleon tightened, and her teeth clenched as the weight of his presence bore down on her. It was suffocating, like standing in the shadow of a god. Her instincts screamed at her to run, to retreat, but she silenced them with a feral growl.
She was Big Mom, an Emperor of the Sea. No matter how dire the situation, she could not falter. She had staked everything on this battle, and she would not let fear dictate her end.
As Rosinante drew closer, Linlin's mind raced. She had faced countless adversaries in her life—giants, admirals, even Rocks himself. But never had she felt this—this raw, unrelenting pressure, as though the world itself was collapsing under the weight of his haki. And the worst part?
This wasn't the full extent of his powers, though battered and bloodied, his haki only grew sharper with each passing moment.
Linlin's lips curled into a snarl, her bloodied body trembling with rage and desperation. "Come then, Rosinante!" she roared, her voice shaking the very air. "Show me what makes you think you can end an Emperor of the Sea!"
But even as she shouted, even as she prepared herself for the next clash, a single thought gnawed at the edges of her mind. Was this truly the end?
Raw, unfiltered power coursed through my veins, my haki surging like a torrential storm into the very cores of my blades. They hummed with anticipation, especially Akatsuki, the cursed blade. It felt alive, rearing to devour everything that Linlin embodied.
This battle had pushed me further than even my clash with Redfield, and the toll it had taken was etched into my body—fractured ribs struggling to mend, trembling arms barely holding onto the hilts of my swords. Yet, amidst the pain and exhaustion, my haki burned brighter, an unleashed beast finally unshackled.
For the first time, I felt an absolute answer. The doubts that had lingered when I challenged Garp, the questions about whether I could ever reach his prime, had vanished. Today, amidst the chaos, I had found my resolve. I could stand against him—and I had a chance to win.
My thoughts refocused on the opponent before me. Linlin, the indomitable Big Mom, stood battered and bloodied. Her once-mighty armament haki flickered with instability, a clear sign of her dwindling reserves after three relentless days of life-or-death combat. Despite it all, her will hadn't faltered for even a moment. That sheer tenacity demanded my respect.
"I won't go down so easily, Rosinante!" she bellowed, her voice a thunderclap that rolled across the shattered remnants of Totto Land. "I will take you with me to the underworld!"
Her conqueror's haki exploded outward, waves of fiery pressure colliding against my own. She summoned the last dregs of her strength, flames bursting to life around her as her body began to transform. She devoured the remnants of her homies, even consuming the soul fragments of the beings she had once ruled over with Soul Pocus. Totto Land was no more—it was now a graveyard.
The flames intensified, her hulking form swelling as she roared her defiance. A massive, flaming colossus rose where Linlin had stood moments before. Wreathed in molten armor and pulsating with pink lightning, she towered above me, a burning titan armed with Napoleon, her halberd crackling with untamed energy.
I felt her resolve, her desperation—a final gamble to destroy me, even if it cost her everything. And I responded in kind.
My haki surged as I poured everything into my own transformation. Black lightning erupted from my body, forming a colossal giant of pure electricity. My figure matched Linlin's in size, towering at over thirty meters tall. Two titanic lightning blades—one a blazing crimson, the other an abyssal black—manifested in my hands.
My conqueror's haki flared to life, clashing against Linlin's fiery aura, pushing back her blazing giant as if forcing the sun itself to retreat.
Yet, Linlin would not yield. She dug her flaming heels into the shattered earth, and the temperature around us spiked, the air turning molten as her flames burned with an intensity that threatened to ignite the very sea. Her form blazed like a newborn star, her presence a fiery declaration of her might.
But mine was a darkness that devoured even the brightest light. My lightning entered a state beyond plasma, an unfathomable black energy that pulsed and roiled with an otherworldly hunger. If Linlin was the sun, I was the black hole—an abyss that consumed everything in its path, leaving nothing behind.
Her roar shattered the heavens. "Come, you little bastard!" Linlin charged, her halberd raised high, flames trailing behind like the tail of a comet.
I surged forward, matching her stride for stride, my blades crackling with the fury of the storm. Our titanic forms collided with a force that shook the very seas.
Lightning and fire clashed, tearing through the sky as if the world itself were being ripped apart. The ground beneath us disintegrated, entire sections of the sea vaporized into steam as the sheer heat and energy of our strikes unleashed apocalyptic destruction.
The heavens split apart as our conqueror's haki collided, creating shockwaves that rippled across the ocean. Islands in the distance crumbled, their shores consumed by the relentless waves of our battle.
The energy of our final clash reached a crescendo, growing brighter and brighter until it was blinding—a single, searing light that could be seen from thousands of miles away. The sea, the sky, and the very fabric of reality seemed to hold its breath.
And then… silence.
For a moment, the entire world was still. The blinding light lingered, a pulsating beacon that illuminated the destruction we had wrought. The air was heavy with anticipation, with the suffocating weight of suspense. Had Linlin fallen? Or had she finally succeeded in bringing down the infamous Sword Demon, the man who was hailed as the 'Heavens Equall'?
The answer was veiled, hidden behind the curtain of that radiant light, leaving only questions and unease for those who bore witness from afar. The battlefield was silent, save for the crackling remnants of flame and lightning, as the fate of the two titans remained shrouded in uncertainty.
*****
Red Port, Red Line
On the New World side of the Red Line, a colossal port buzzed with activity as one of the most significant convoys in recent memory prepared to set sail. Towering above the sea, the flagship of the World Government loomed—a massive battleship, its hull adorned with the government's unmistakable symbol, a stark reminder of its iron-fisted authority.
Surrounding it in an almost impenetrable formation were four fortress-like escort ships, their cannons bristling with readiness, and a dozen additional Marine great battleships arrayed in perfect synchronization like dutiful knights flanking their monarch.
Yet among this formidable marine armada, two vessels drew the most attention.
The first was unmistakable—the battleship of Admiral Raylene, codenamed White Tiger. Its figurehead was a majestic, roaring tiger, its golden eyes fixed forward as if daring the seas themselves to resist.
The ship exuded an air of controlled ferocity, much like its commanding officer, whose reputation as one of the fiercest and most daring Admirals had struck terror into pirates across the New World.
The second ship, however, carried a weight of presence that rivaled and even overshadowed the Admiral's. The ship's crow's nests were shaped like a doghouse, and the figurehead was shaped like a dog head, which has a bone in its mouth, its mischievous smile seeming to mock everything it stood for—a fitting metaphor for its master.
This was the legendary vessel of Monkey D. Garp, the Hero of the Marines. The ship itself seemed to defy convention, a paradox in the midst of rigid military precision. Its weathered hull, bearing countless scars of battles won, stood as a testament to the chaos and legacy of the man it carried.
Seated at the bow of his ship, Garp lounged without a care in the world. He sat cross-legged, picking his nose lazily with one hand while flipping through the latest edition of the World Times with the other.
He chuckled every now and then, seemingly unbothered by the gravity of the occasion or the chaos his mere presence had sparked among the higher-ups.
From the deck of Garp's ship, Vice Admiral Kuzan, codename Aokiji, let out a long sigh. He leaned against the ship's railing, his habitual slouch betraying the headache brewing behind his calm demeanor. Of all people to be put in charge of keeping an eye on Garp, it had to be him.
"This old man is going to drive me to retirement faster than Sakazuki will," Kuzan muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. His breath fogged slightly in the cool morning air, though the real chill came from the knowledge of what Garp's unpredictability could mean for this mission.
The protocol was clear: all Rear Admiral-level officers and above were to assemble on the port to formally receive Elder Saturn, the World Government dignitary personally leading the delegation to Dressrosa. It was a significant event, one that demanded the utmost decorum and discipline.
Yet there sat Garp, ignoring every rule and basking in his unshakable nonchalance.
On Kuzan's ship, whispers circulated among the younger officers.
"Does he even care who's coming?" one ensign asked nervously, his gaze darting between the distant figure of Garp and the gathering officials on the port.
"Care?" a grizzled lieutenant scoffed. "That man doesn't care about anything—except maybe his snacks. He's Garp. He gets away with what the rest of us can't even dream of."
Meanwhile, atop the massive flagship, Elder Saturn observed the unfolding scene through narrowed eyes, his observation streching far as where Garp's ship was anchored. His aged features betrayed no emotion, but those closest to him could sense the tension in his posture.
When Vice Admiral Tsuru had suggested that Garp join the escort, the proposal had nearly ignited a full-blown confrontation in the chambers of authority. The fiery Elder Mars had raged at the very idea, declaring it an insult to their dignity.
But Saturn, being the one who was making this trip to Dressrosa, had finally made the call.
Garp was, without question, a double-edged sword. His presence was a deterrent to both parties involved in the upcoming event: the Donquixote pirates and the World Government itself. He was a force of nature, unpredictable and uncontainable.
Yet Saturn, in his infinite calculus, had decided to take the risk. If Garp's connection to Rosinante, the rogue figure now at the heart of the chaos in Dressrosa, could be turned into an advantage, then it was a gamble worth making.
As Garp flipped a page of his newspaper, he caught sight of Saturn's stoic form observing him from the flagship. Without missing a beat, the Marine hero raised his free hand and gave a jaunty wave, grinning like a mischievous child who'd just been caught red-handed.
Kuzan groaned audibly. "Old man, do you have to antagonize them before we've even left the port?"
Garp looked over his shoulder, giving Kuzan a toothy grin. "What? Can't a man enjoy the morning without a stick up his—"
"Enough!" Kuzan waved him off, shaking his head. "If you get us all court-martialed, I'm blaming you."
Garp barked out a laugh, slapping his thigh as if Kuzan had just told the best joke of the century.
"Let 'em try! Those geezers couldn't court-martial me even if they wanted to! Besides, I am part of the SWORD now." he added with a mischievous glint in his eye, "I'm just here for the ride. Who knows, maybe I'll throw a wrench in their plans if I feel like it."
Saturn's gaze lingered on Garp for a moment longer before he turned away, stepping back into the shadows of his flagship. Whether this gamble would pay off or backfire spectacularly was a question only the seas ahead could answer.
As Elder Saturn stepped into the dimly lit cabin of the flagship, the flickering lantern cast long shadows across the room. A voice, sharp and laced with venom, echoed from the corner.
"Bold of you to gamble on someone like him, Elder Saturn," came the icy tone, drawing his attention.
From the shadows emerged Admiral Agana, or more accurately, the former Admiral Agana, her figure tall and imposing despite the clear weight of betrayal etched into her features.
The CP0 agents stationed nearby instinctively moved to intervene, but a single glare from her froze them mid-step. Saturn, ever composed, raised a hand to dismiss them. This was a conversation not meant for the ears of underlings.
Saturn regarded her with a measured gaze, his half-burnt face illuminated faintly by the lantern. Normally, such insolence would not have been tolerated, even from someone of her stature as a Celestial Dragon, but Agana was no ordinary case.
Unlike many of her kind, she was a warrior—a rarity among the pampered elite of Mary Geoise. And unlike most, she had shown no resistance when she was informed of her fate.
It was a move that had surprised even Saturn.
"Did you think," Agana began, her voice trembling slightly with suppressed fury, "that I would run away after knowing I had been made a sacrificial pawn, Elder Saturn?"
Her tone was mocking, but behind it lay something deeper—a bitter pain, a wound inflicted not by enemies but by her own blood and kin. Her once unshakeable pride as a Celestial Dragon had been shattered, leaving only jagged remnants of betrayal and anger.
Saturn studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Would you believe me," he said finally, his voice measured and calm, "if I told you that more than anyone, it was your own father who orchestrated your fate?"
The words were a scalpel, cutting deep into a truth Agana had suspected but dreaded to hear. For a moment, she said nothing, her jaw tightening.
"You dare invoke my father as an excuse?" she spat, venom dripping from every syllable. "If he drove the stake, Elder Saturn, then it was you who swung the hammer. Spare me your platitudes."
Saturn's gaze didn't waver, though he allowed a small sigh to escape. Of all the Celestial Dragons, FigarlandAgana had been a prodigy, a rare talent who surpassed even her father, Figarland Garling, in sheer ability. And yet, here she stood, reduced to nothing more than a pawn in their endless game of power.
When the proposal to offer her as a hostage had been raised, none of the other Elders had expected Garling to endorse it. Yet he had, without hesitation or sentiment, ruthlessly discarding his daughter for his own ambition. Even Saturn, as ruthless as he was, had been impressed by Garling's sheer resolve.
"Agana," Saturn said, his tone softening almost imperceptibly, "no one would have blamed you if you had refused. Even we—nor Garling—can truly compel someone of your talents to comply."
Agana cut him off, her voice sharp and unwavering. "And be branded a coward? No, Elder Saturn. I am a Dragon. I was born as one, and if fate demands it, I will die as one. But I will never—never—turn my back and run from a challenge, no matter how impossible."
Her fists clenched so tightly that her nails drew blood, crimson droplets staining the floorboards. Her breathing was steady, but her eyes burned with a fire that even Saturn found admirable. She wasn't like the other pampered nobles who had never known pain or sacrifice.
"In that case," Saturn said, his gaze sharpening, his tone turning cold and calculating, "if you haven't come to me seeking a second chance or pleading for mercy, why are you here, Agana? Speak plainly."
The shadows seemed to thicken around them as Saturn's aura shifted. His half-burnt face glowed faintly in the dim light, an ominous reminder of his terrifying presence. But Agana didn't flinch. Instead, she stepped closer, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper.
"I came here to deliver a message," she said, her tone like a blade against steel. "To you—and to my father."
Saturn's brows furrowed slightly, intrigued. "And what message would that be?"
Agana's lips curled into a bitter smile. "If I ever walk out of this alive, Elder Saturn, you and my father had better be prepared. Because when I return, there will be no mercy. Not for him. Not for you. Not for any of you. Bringing this entire rotten system to its knees will be my life's work."
For a moment, silence reigned in the cabin. The air grew heavy with tension as Saturn's aura flared, oppressive and suffocating.
"Is that supposed to be a threat?" he said, his voice low and deadly. "Do you think your status as a Celestial Dragon shields you? You'd do well to choose your next words carefully, Agana. I'll let your youthful folly go for now."
Agana's defiance didn't waver. If anything, her determination seemed to harden, the fire in her eyes blazing brighter. "And what if it is a threat, Elder Saturn? What will you do to me? I'm already a hostage, a pawn sacrificed for your ambitions. If you kill me now, who will you offer as a replacement?"
Her challenge hung in the air like a drawn blade, daring Saturn to act. He stared at her for a long moment, weighing the situation. Killing her was an option, but even he knew it was a risk that could unravel the delicate threads of their plan.
Finally, Saturn let out a low, grudging chuckle. "You're a dangerous one, Agana. Perhaps even more dangerous than I anticipated. But mark my words," he said, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife, "should you survive, you'll find that vengeance is a blade that cuts both ways."
Agana turned on her heel, her resolve unshaken, and left the cabin without another word. As the door closed behind her, Saturn remained still, his thoughts racing. Perhaps, he mused, sacrificing her hadn't been the wisest move after all.