The atmosphere grew heavy and tense.
Every gaze turned to Marco, the respected first division commander. Though his crew still held hope in their hearts, disappointment in their own weakness weighed on them.
Sensing their unease, Marco rose to his feet. His eyes were firm, his voice unwavering.
"Believe in me. I am Marco the Phoenix—how could I fall in a battle like this?"
Joz slammed a hand against his thigh and stood as well, his voice booming.
"Marco, let me fight at your side! My life was given to me by our father. If the time has come, then I'll return it to him with no regrets!"
With Joz taking the lead, the others followed. One after another, the division commanders stood, voices ringing with defiance.
"If Joz fights, so will I!"
"We'll stand with Marco! We'll fight Marine to the end!"
Their resolve burned hot.
BOOM!
BOOM!
Before their shouts could fade, a rain of Marine cannon fire crashed down, pounding the fleet like a storm.
One shell exploded on the main ship itself—mere meters from where Whitebeard lay unconscious.
The danger was clear: if this continued, not just the division commanders, but even Whitebeard's very life would be at risk.
Realizing this, Marco and the others steeled their hearts. No matter the cost, even if it meant their own deaths, they would protect their father and buy time for the crew to escape.
With death in their eyes and courage in their chests, the Whitebeard captains surged to the front, holding the line against the relentless Marine assault.
"Damn that Marco!"
One Vice Admiral scowled, his expression twisted in frustration, though tinged with fear.
The other Vice Admirals wore the same grim looks. They hated Marco, but there was nothing they could do—he was, after all, the Phoenix, one of the great powers of the seas.
If Marco hadn't possessed such strength, he would have been crushed long ago.
Then, a deep voice rolled across the battlefield, carried by a wave of oppressive heat.
"Marco…"
"You chose not to flee with the others, but to turn and fight us? Brave… or foolish?"
"Or perhaps…" the voice growled, "you simply don't take me seriously at all."
The oppressive aura grew stronger with each word.
Akainu stepped forward slowly, peeling off his gloves. With every measured stride, waves of molten heat poured from his body, the very air warping around him.
The heat was suffocating, a force that seemed capable of reducing everything to ash.
"It's you… Akainu!"
The moment the Whitebeard Pirates saw him, fury erupted in their hearts. Hatred blazed in their eyes like fire.
For them, Akainu was no ordinary enemy—he was their mortal foe.
The scars of Marineford would never fade. The memory of how Akainu treated Ace… how he struck him down… was burned into their souls forever.
If not for him, perhaps the outcome of that war would not have been so tragic.
Marco's voice thundered across the battlefield, raw with rage.
"Akainu! You bastard—today, whether it's me or the old man, neither of us will fall to you!"
Akainu's eyes narrowed, his voice cold as lava dripped from his fists.
"Marco… Whitebeard… both of you are relics of a bygone age."
"You are nothing more than men destined for eradication."
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