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Chapter 3 - Before the Storm

The Warlords gathered at Marineford in clusters, each one a disaster waiting to happen. Sengoku eyed them like chess pieces.

Dracule Mihawk, cold and poised. A sword unmatched. A loner, but a professional.

Boa Hancock, arrogant and capricious. But her power was absolute. He would make use of her vanity.

Donquixote Doflamingo, volatile and cruel. But a genius manipulator, Sengoku already saw him watching every move with amusement.

Bartholomew Kuma stood silent. Even knowing what he had become, Sengoku kept it hidden. That asset needed secrecy to remain valuable.

Gecko Moria lurked at the edges, his shadow stretching unnaturally across the marble floor. A once-great pirate reduced to a government dog. Pathetic but potentially useful.

Jinbe had pointedly refused to participate... as expected. His loyalty to Fishman Island superseded his Warlord status, and his personal connection to Ace all but guaranteed his defection.

"Understand this," Sengoku said as they convened, voice low but forceful. "Your titles protect you because the system benefits from your cooperation. Betray that trust during the war, and I will personally tear you apart. Titles or not."

Doflamingo grinned, eyes glinting. "Ooh scary, old man."

"You have no idea," Sengoku replied. "And don't try me."

He turned to Kuma, who stood motionless, his eyes vacant behind dark glasses. "You have special orders. When Straw Hat Luffy appears, and he will, you are to observe only. Do not engage unless I give the direct command."

Mihawk raised an eyebrow. "You expect the rookie to show up at a war between legends? That seems... optimistic."

"I don't expect it," Sengoku replied coolly. "I know it. Just as I know each of you has your own agenda for this battle."

He swept his gaze across them, letting his Haki flare just enough to remind them of his station.

"Your agendas are irrelevant. You will follow orders, or you will face consequences beyond the mere revocation of your titles."

Hancock tossed her hair defiantly. "This Empress follows no.."

"Enough!" Sengoku cut her off. "Save your posturing for the cameras, Hancock. I need your powers focused on Whitebeard's commanders when they breach the wall. Your abilities can turn the tide if properly applied."

He turned to Doflamingo next. "Your strings will be particularly useful for crowd control when the allies start pouring in. I want you stationed on the eastern wall."

"And if I prefer a better view of the bloodshed?" the Heavenly Demon asked with a mocking smile.

Sengoku stepped closer, lowering his voice so only Doflamingo could hear. "Then I'll personally ensure you have front-row seats when I explain to the Five Elders exactly what you've been doing in Dressrosa."

The smile froze on Doflamingo's face. "My, my. The Buddha has teeth."

"More than you know," Sengoku replied. "Now get to your positions. The world is watching."

**************************************

He moved quickly in the last twenty-four hours.

A Cipher Pol net was cast across the Sabaody region and near key island choke points to intercept reinforcements or monitor Shanks' movements.

Pacifista reserves were repositioned to fall in on flanks, but remain hidden from initial observation.

CP agents were embedded into the pirate coalition to destabilize morale once the battle began.

Commanders from G-5 and G-2 were secretly moved to cover a potential breakout if the war escalated beyond containment.

And finally, a contingency plan was drawn.

Blackbeard.

He was a wild card. Not because Sengoku didn't know what he'd do, but because he knew exactly what Teach was planning.

He'd let Blackbeard make his move for Impel Down. He'd even leak subtle intel to make it easier. But when he emerged, bloated with new powers, Sengoku would spring the trap.

"You want the Quake Quake fruit?" he muttered, watching a CP0 dossier on Marshall D. Teach. "You can try... but you won't leave this island alive."

A knock at the door interrupted his musings.

"Enter."

Garp stepped in, his massive frame filling the doorway. His face was set in grim lines, aging years in days since Ace's capture.

"Garp." Sengoku acknowledged, setting aside the files.

Garp didn't sit. "You've changed the battle plan."

Not a question. A statement.

"Yes."

"Without consulting me."

Sengoku met his gaze steadily. "Would you have been objective, Garp? With your grandson on the execution platform?"

The Hero of the Marines said nothing for a long moment. Then: "What are you really planning, Sengoku? This isn't just about executing a pirate anymore."

Clever. Always more perceptive than people gave him credit for beneath that boisterous exterior.

"It's about ending an era," Sengoku replied carefully. "The Age of Pirates has brought nothing but chaos, Garp. How many more children will throw their lives away chasing Roger's ghost? How many islands will suffer under pirate raids? How many families torn apart?"

"Pretty words," Garp growled. "But I know you. Something's different."

Sengoku stood, facing his oldest friend. "Yes. I've finally accepted what must be done. No more half measures. No more compromises."

"And Ace?"

The question hung in the air between them.

"Justice must be served," Sengoku said firmly. "But I promise you this—his death will have meaning. It will be the foundation of a more peaceful world."

Garp's massive hands clenched into fists, then relaxed. "I'll hold you to that promise."

As the door closed behind him, Sengoku felt a moment of genuine regret. The real Sengoku had valued Garp's friendship above almost all else. Now, that bond would be tested to breaking point.

Just another casualty in the war to come.

**************************************

The execution stage was nearly complete. Marines had rotated to alert status. Warships formed a blockade. Communication lines were secured.

Sengoku stood alone beneath the stars, the ocean murmuring behind him. He flexed his fingers once, felt the divine pulse of his Devil Fruit flare at his command. The tremor rolled through him like thunder beneath his skin.

His old world was gone. He accepted that now.

And in this new one, he would not simply survive it.

He would shape it. Refine it.

He looked toward the sleeping sea. Tomorrow, it would boil.

"Let the Age of Pirates end," he whispered. "And let the Age of Order begin."

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