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The clash between the two figures lasted only moments—but that was enough. Stone tiles cracked beneath their feet, marble walls split like brittle parchment, and dust cascaded from above as the entire ceiling groaned under the pressure, threatening to collapse in on itself.
BOOM!!!
The heavy doors burst apart as a titanic presence stormed in—Edward Newgate, Whitebeard, gripped Cong Yun Kurazake in his massive hand, his gaze sweeping across the devastated chamber with a quiet fury.
"So it really has come to this…"
His voice, low and gravelly, cut through the debris-filled air as his eyes, sharp and cold as glacial blades, locked onto the Five Elders standing amid the collapsing hall. He had waited outside for some time, hoping for any sign that Ayr's meeting with the Elders had ended in peace. Perhaps a deal. A compromise. But the tremors told another story. The rising pressure, the unmistakable sound of battle—it all pointed to a conclusion written in steel and blood.
Now, standing before him, was the scene he feared yet expected: Ayr trading blows with the scar-faced Elder—the very one whispered to have lived since the Void Century.
"Is it worth it, Ayr?" The Elder's voice was calm, but heavy with implication. "You'd abandon a future with the World Government—for him?"
His gaze flicked to Whitebeard with narrowed disdain before continuing coldly, "Kill Edward Newgate, and you'll be made a pillar of the new world we're building. Instead, you gamble everything—for a dying man."
Beside him, the blond Elder, known for his ruthlessness during the Buster Calls, exhaled in disappointment. "A man once guided by profit and vision now wastes it all? You've chosen a foolish road, Ayr."
The bald Elder with the mustache sneered as his fingers tightened around his blade. "You've betrayed your own ascent. From this moment on, you stand against us—and no enemy of ours lives long."
Whitebeard needed no further explanation. Their words exposed everything: Ayr had rejected their offer, not for power, not for fame—but for loyalty. A rare emotion stirred within the old pirate, breaking past the shell of a warrior long accustomed to betrayal.
This man… my first brother on the seas...
And then Ayr, eyes steady and voice razor-sharp, replied with a smirk that cut cleaner than any blade.
"Worth it? That's not yours to decide. I chase gain—but I don't sell my soul."
Whitebeard roared, a deep, bone-rattling laugh that shook the broken chamber.
"Gurararara… I knew it! That's why I came in. Let's tear this place apart, Ayr!!"
With no more words, he charged forward, bisento humming with the raw might of the Gura Gura no Mi. The Elders were powerful beyond belief—but Whitebeard feared no man. Not now. Not ever.
BOOOM!!!
Before he reached them, Ayr clashed once more with the sword-wielding Elder, the explosive impact thundering through the Holy Land like a god's fury. The ceiling gave way in a rain of marble and glass, choking the hall in a storm of stone, dust, and shattered crystal as the combatants vanished within the swirling chaos.
And far across the plaza, where training had just concluded, a different gathering stiffened. Garp, Sengoku, Zephyr, and Tsuru, still dressed for the formal return dinner, snapped toward the source of the eruption.
Smoke surged from the highest sanctum of Mariejois like a volcanic plume.
Garp's expression darkened, voice gruff with disbelief. "…The hell's going on now?"
The others reacted instantly, combat instincts sharpening. All of them recognized the direction—it came from the central summit, from the sacred Council Hall of the Five Elders.
Sengoku's eyes narrowed. "That's where they meet…"
Zephyr's brow furrowed as he muttered, "Could it be an internal conflict?"
"No," Tsuru cut in sharply. "They're the highest echelon, yes—but they still answer to someone higher."
Her eyes turned toward the palace beyond—where Im-sama resided in silent dominion.
The longer they remained in Mariejois, the clearer it became: The Five Elders wielded power, but they bowed to a greater force. They never named Im casually—only in reverence. 'The Great One.' 'The Lord Above All.' Whatever disagreements they had, they would never raise arms under Im's shadow.
"So if it's not a power struggle between them…" Zephyr murmured, "…then it's someone from the outside?"
Sengoku scoffed. "Impossible. This is Mariejois—sacred ground. Who would dare?"
This place was better protected than Enies Lobby or Impel Down. It was the center of the world's authority—guarded by Admirals, CP0, warships of the old world, and battle-hardened intelligence arms. And at its heart stood the Five Elders—monsters in human skin.
Sengoku knew their power firsthand. He had sparred with them. Lost to them. He understood the chasm between them and even the strongest of Marines.
But then Tsuru spoke again, her voice low.
"There was someone who dared before."
Her words froze the others mid-thought. Garp's hand stopped at his side. Zephyr's jaw clenched. Sengoku's breath caught.
The Valley of the Gods.
That infamous day when Ayr, Whitebeard, Golden Lion, Charlotte Linlin, and Kaido stormed Mariejois—not to fight, but to steal the Eternal Pose to the Valley. Their goal had been Uranus, the weapon whispered of in ancient terror.
"…Could it be them again?" Garp asked, his voice a growl beneath the sudden tension.
That island no longer existed—sunk beneath the sea like a forgotten scar. If they'd returned… what could they possibly want?
"No damn way…" Sengoku's fists tightened. "They already escaped once—how dare they set foot here again?!"
"If it really is them," Zephyr muttered darkly, "then this time, they leave in pieces."
Back then, the Marines were caught off-guard. Ayr and his crew vanished without explanation. But this time… this time, everything had changed. The Five Elders were already engaged. The Holy Land was armed and alert. Every route of retreat had been sealed.
Zephyr's eyes gleamed cold.
"Let's move," he said. "If it's them again… they die tonight."
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