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"Did you use the power of a Devil Fruit again? But how long can you even hold this form?" The blade-wielding Five Elder's eyes twitched, a cold sweat forming on his brow as he assessed the monstrous aura radiating from Ayr. Ayr's strength had surged beyond the old man's expectations, the oppressive Haki emanating from his figure overwhelming in weight and pressure—but the Five Elder understood one thing clearly: this power couldn't last forever.
"Hmph, it'll last long enough to put you down," Ayr replied calmly, his sharp eyes unshaken. Contrary to the elder's assumption, this wasn't a Devil Fruit awakening or a hybrid transformation—it was the effect of an experience card, a rare one-time power-up tool that dramatically boosted Ayr's combat power. And while it did come with a time limit, that limit was a full hour—more than enough, in Ayr's mind, to defeat a single Five Elder. He was confident. Supremely so.
"Then let's see you try it!!!" the elder barked, slashing the air in front of him with a strike so powerful it seemed to rip through reality itself. Though Ayr now nearly overwhelmed him in strength and presence, the elder had survived centuries of brutal battlefields. His instincts were honed to perfection. He would not fall easily.
The clash between the two titans escalated instantly. Each time their weapons met, shockwaves blasted outward, shattering everything around them. Within seconds, hundreds of meters of pristine Mariejois structures were obliterated, reduced to ruin. But Ayr's weapon wasn't just any sword—it was a Supreme Grade blade, among the strongest in the world. More than that, it was a Cursed Sword, a Demon Blade of ancient origin, and most importantly... it was a Black Blade.
Black Blades were rare, even among the most elite swordsmen. They weren't born—they were forged through endless combat and mastery, by permanently infusing Haki into the blade until the metal itself was altered, darkened, and made to retain that power eternally. Only a handful of such weapons existed in the world, wielded by the greatest of warriors—names like Dracule Mihawk and Ryuma echoed through history as their masters. The sword Ayr now held carried its own legend. It was called Zhanshen—the God-Slayer Blade.
True to its name, Zhanshen had been forged to slay gods, namely, the Celestial Dragons. Ayr believed Rocks D. Xebec had specifically sought out this blade to lead his genocidal crusade against the World Government. It had been a symbol of revolt, an oath of defiance etched into steel. And now, it had passed into Ayr's hands. Along with it came Rocks' legacy, a fire that refused to die. So long as Zhanshen was drawn, the gods would bleed.
"Cut God!!" Ayr roared as his arms bulged with power, veins coiling across his skin like lightning. Haki burst from every pore, surging into his blade, and in the next instant his aura erupted like a tower of raw destruction. In that moment, he was no longer a man—he was judgment incarnate, execution walking. Even the Five Elders felt it: a killing intent so dense it clawed at their souls.
Ayr stomped, launching himself forward with a speed that cracked the sound barrier. In the blink of an eye, he was upon the blade-wielding Five Elder, and his strike descended with the fury of divine wrath. "Bring it on, Ayr!!!" the elder bellowed, his own Conqueror's Haki exploding outward as he met the attack with full force.
When their swords collided, it was as if a bomb had detonated in the heart of the Holy Land. Mariejois quaked under the force. The resulting shockwave expanded for thousands of meters, fracturing the ground, trembling the sky, and reducing the surrounding buildings to dust and smoke. The very platform beneath their feet split open, debris launching skyward as if from a volcanic eruption.
Dust and rubble spun into a vortex of chaos, swallowing both combatants in a maelstrom of destruction. Yet within that hellstorm, the two titans continued their duel—relentless, unstoppable.
And then, just as the battle intensified, a new force stepped onto the battlefield. Garp, Sengoku, Zephyr, and Tsuru arrived with battalions of elite CP0 agents and high-ranking World Government enforcers close behind. "There he is—Edward Newgate!!" someone shouted, panic and recognition in their voice.
"That monster's power has exploded ever since the Valley of the Gods," another muttered. "He's built the Whitebeard Pirates into a crew second only to Roger's!"
"Looks like he came alone though. Where's the rest of his division commanders?"
"Must've come here to die," a CP0 agent said grimly.
Garp's eyes sharpened, locking on the massive figure exchanging blows with one of the Five Elders. "Edward!!" he roared.
"I didn't think you'd be the one to raid Mariejois," Sengoku muttered, stunned.
"Have you lost your mind, Whitebeard? You think you can barge into the sacred seat of the World Government and walk away?" Zephyr scoffed, his voice laced with disbelief.
Whitebeard, wielding Murakumogiri, parried another monstrous swing from his opponent before glancing over, his expression hardening as he recognized the familiar faces approaching. The four legends of the Navy stood before him. Though he was holding his own for now against one Five Elder, he knew the situation was rapidly deteriorating. The other three Elders were watching from a distance, biding their time. Just one more joining the battle would tip the balance against him.
Now, with Garp, Sengoku, Zephyr, Tsuru, and an army of CP0 elites arriving, the odds were crushing.
"You've been hiding in the New World, building your little empire," Sengoku said coldly. "But instead of growing stronger quietly, you came here to die?"
The Whitebeard Pirates had become infamous across the seas—a threat the World Government could no longer ignore. But this was not their turf.
"Gu la la la… Since when did pirates need permission to act?" Whitebeard laughed, his booming voice echoing through the chaos.
"A suicidal move," Zephyr snorted. "You're strong, but you're no match for this place."
Whitebeard's brow furrowed. As much as he loathed admitting it, they weren't entirely wrong. His strength had surged since the Valley of the Gods, but he was not yet in his prime. At best, he was in his early thirties. Most powerhouses like him didn't reach their peak until their forties or even fifties—though, of course, exceptions existed. Freaks like Monkey D. Luffy shattered every mold.
Still, he stood tall. "Don't be so sure of my death," Whitebeard replied with a chilling grin. "I've survived Hive Island, the Valley of the Gods, and now… Mariejois." His words weren't bravado—they were belief, conviction forged in fire and blood.
He believed he would survive again.
Not because he was reckless.
But because Ayr was here.
That man—who even now fought like a living catastrophe against one of the Five Elders—was more than just muscle or a blade. He was a symbol. A spark for a new age.
Suddenly, Garp pointed toward the chaos unfolding across the battlefield. His eyes narrowed, disbelief plain on his face. "Wait a minute—who the hell is that guy fighting one of the Five Elders!?"
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