Marco kept his eyes on Gallo's body.
The ship on the horizon slowly grew, breaking the waterline, but he didn't look again.
His focus was straight ahead. The enemy wasn't finished. He was still breathing. Still pulsing with hatred.
Gallo lifted his head with effort.
His face was smeared with blood, hands pressing against the cracked ground.
"You bastard…!"
The voice came out low but sharp.
"You're going to kill me now, aren't you? Screw you, this island, and the name you carry."
Marco didn't respond. His movement was direct, precise.
His wings rose with a dry sound. The burning feathers spread in an arc. Heat radiated in a steady circle. The ground cracked beneath his feet.
His right hand rose. Flames concentrated like liquid blades at the base of his fingers. Energy coursed through his arm up to the shoulder, tracing the air in golden streaks.
The words came firm, between clenched teeth, for the world to hear:
"Incandescent Phoenix."
The strike was unleashed.
A flaming wave engulfed the center of the square. The air bent. Sound vanished.
Gallo's body took the full hit.
The skin didn't burn — it evaporated.
Flesh cracked in three directions at once. The bones in his legs shattered in seconds. The cracked drum melted over his own body, fusing with exposed muscle.
Gallo tried to scream, but air entered before his voice could. His throat wouldn't respond. The cymbals on his boot turned to molten metal, dripping over the hot stone.
His head slumped to the side, veins bulging, his face splitting with blackened marks. The drum burst in silence, like an instrument robbed of its sound.
The body fell backward. The impact made no echo. The flesh could no longer hold its structure. Flames devoured everything — scarves, leather, rope, fabric, and voice. Even the name he carried.
The heat retreated slowly.
Smoke rose in a spiral, carrying the scent of an ending.
Marco stood still. His chest rose slowly. Wings still spread.
Gallo no longer moved.
The square, once filled with screams and flames, now sank into suffocating silence. Debris still smoldered. The air burned in the lungs. And the village center seemed smaller without him.
The drum, the sound, the mockery, the threat — all gone. Only ash, cracked stone, and a residue of heat clinging to the skin of those still breathing nearby.
Gallo's body, now unrecognizable, still gave off small flickers of flame from the torso. A final dry crack came from what was left of his leg. There was no joint anymore. Only charcoal. The drum's wood caved in at the center, reduced to soot and circular marks on the ground.
The embers burned in silence, and even the metal couldn't resist any longer. The cymbals bent, broke, and merged with the dark stain on the floor. The smell of burned flesh and melted leather hung in the air for long seconds.
*************/**************\******************
From the deck of the ship cutting through the sea, the scene was visible. The glow of death in Spearhead was anything but discreet. The flare tore through the sky for a few moments before disappearing. The flames reached the tops of the houses. Smoke rose in a firm line, like a finger pointing at the end.
Riser watched for two seconds.
Hands resting on the railing, coat swaying in the wind. His face expressionless. The wings of fire fading on the horizon. Heat visible even from a distance. The symbol of an era trying to rise again… and failing.
He stepped back.
Turned his body slowly, like closing a book after the last page. Smoke stayed behind. So did the broken village.
The girls approached.
The deck was steady. The sails stirred. The crest of the new Phoenix flew on the central mast, trembling like an announcement. The Kuja in formation. The vampires side by side. The salty sea air mixing with the scent of war and movement.
Riser raised his voice without raising the tone.
"I'll take care of Marco."
The words fell like forged steel. No surprise. Only acceptance.
The vampires fixed their eyes on him, already expecting the rest. None questioned.
Riser turned his gaze toward the coast.
"The other fronts are yours. The remaining commanders of the White Fleet must be eliminated. But don't involve civilians."
The final sentence cut like a direct order. Kalifa nodded almost automatically. Alvida spun her club in one hand. Mikita and Zala exchanged a silent glance. Nojiko adjusted the strap of her cloak. Kaya readied her arrows. Hancock kept her eyes locked on Riser, unblinking.
The deck creaked beneath the firm boots of the warriors. The sea breeze already carried the scent of burned earth from Spearhead. The heat wasn't just from the fire anymore — it was from the shift in power. From the replacement of an old name with a new force.
Boa Hancock stepped toward the center. Her pace unhurried. Chin high, expression calm, as if she already knew her place in the new world. Her eyes met Riser's, and the air seemed to adjust to the presence of the two.
Behind her, the Kuja remained in perfect line.
Alvida crossed her arms, eyes fixed on the distant smoke still rising from the island. She didn't blink. Her face serious, without hesitation. When she spotted the top of the ruins, her fist clenched tightly. There was the enemy not the civilians. Those didn't interest her.
Merlin approached the ship's side. The wind swept over her loose hair. Her hand rose lightly, fingers snapping once.
In the next instant, arcane light spread over an invisible area around the island. A circular beam expanded from the ship's base, creating a ring that crossed the waves until it touched Spearhead's borders.
The civilians vanished.
There was no scream, no alarm. Only a silent glow, fragmenting bodies into particles of light. One by one. Entire families, wounded elders, children hiding among rubble. Each was removed from the battlefield before the next offensive.
Nojiko watched closely.
Hands clasped in front of her body. Eyes fixed on the energy sweeping through alleys, houses, and ports. The process was clean, precise. No blood. No impact.
She let out a phrase with a half-smile.
"I envy your power."
Merlin replied with a light nod, never breaking focus.
"Thank you."
In the center of the deck, Riser took a step forward.
Boa didn't move.
His body distanced from the line of women like a prelude. His posture straight, his stride measured. When he stopped near the bow, his coat swayed with the stronger wind from the island.
The wings of fire opened with a dry sound.
FFWWOOOOOMMM.
Heat spread in a silent wave.
The incandescent feathers glowed orange and red, each detail outlined like heated metal. The edges vibrated in harmony, as if the energy pulsed with the heartbeat of the world itself.
The sails above trembled again. The ropes swayed. The Kuja and vampires stood firm, even as the heat changed the density of the air.
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