Marya, Law, Jannali, Atlas, Bō-Zak, and Kaburo race through the snowy tundra, their boots pounding against the frozen ground. The wind howls around them, whipping snow into their faces, but they push forward, driven by instinct and desperation.
Bō-Zak's voice cuts through the gale, his teeth chattering around his pipe. "Anyone know where we're going?"
Marya yells back over her shoulder, "Have no idea! I'm just following this path!"
Law's voice is sharp with frustration. "You mean you don't know?"
Kaburo's reply is flat and dry. "It's a path. It has to lead somewhere."
Jannali curses, her drawl thick with exasperation. "Bloody hell! You mean we're running in circles?"
Atlas's ears swivel, his nose twitching. "This whole place smells the same no matter where we go."
Law glances at him, his brow furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Marya's voice carries back, calm and certain. "It means we're on a treadmill. If we stop, the treadmill stops. As long as we're moving, it moves."
Law nods slowly, understanding dawning. "Which means it doesn't matter where we go."
"Right."
Bō-Zak's voice is curious. "How did you come to learn this?"
Marya glances over her shoulder, about to reply—
Kaburo's voice cuts through. "I think we're here."
They slide to a stop, snow spraying from their heels. Their eyes move upward, following the massive wall of ice that rises before them.
Jannali curses, "Bloody hell."
Frozen inside the ice wall, fifty figures stand motionless. Each one towers at seventy meters tall—horned ogres with muscles like mountains, their faces frozen in expressions of eternal rage. Their skin is the color of storm clouds, their eyes closed but somehow still threatening. Horns curl from their foreheads like twisted crowns, and their hands grip weapons of stone and bone.
Atlas swallows hard. "Well, this could be a challenge."
Law's voice drips with sarcasm. "You think?"
A crack spiderwebs up the wall of ice. Then another. Then another. The sound of splintering frost echoes across the tundra.
Marya reaches over her shoulder, her hand finding Nisshoku's hilt. She pulls the blade free, the obsidian edge gleaming with crimson runes. "Ready yourselves."
Bō-Zak spins his sickles, their edges glinting. "I don't know how we're supposed to do that!"
The ice continues to crack, fissures spreading like veins across the frozen prison.
Law glances at Marya, his voice low. "Marya."
She glances back at him, her golden-ringed eyes meeting his.
"Don't overdo it," Law says, his jaw tight.
Marya's lips curl into a smirk. "I make no promises." She pauses, then adds, "Besides, if I lose, you're here to fix me."
Law's jaw flexes, his teeth grinding. He opens his mouth to snap a retort—
The ice shatters.
Shards of frozen crystal spray outward like shrapnel. Bō-Zak calls out, "If you two are done—" but the rest of his words are lost as ice fragments sail past them.
One by one, the ogres step free of their prison. Their eyes snap open, burning with ancient fury. They look down at the tiny figures below them—these insects who dare to disturb their slumber.
They roar.
The sound is deafening, a wall of noise that shakes the very ground beneath their feet. One of the ogres picks up a club, lifting it over its head. The weapon is the size of a ship's mast, its surface studded with jagged stone.
Marya moves first.
She launches into the air, her body arcing upward with the grace of a hawk. Haki flows through her muscles, flaring as she ascends to the ogre's neck level. Nisshoku sings as she swings, sending a devastating arc of Haki toward the creature's throat.
The ogre's eyes widen—but it's too slow.
The blade's edge finds its mark. Blood sprays across the ice, black and thick, steaming in the freezing air. The ogre's roar turns into a gurgle, its massive hands clawing at its throat, trying to stem the flow that cannot be stopped. Its eyes go lifeless, and it collapses to its knees with a thunderous crash that shakes the entire valley.
Law yells, "Move!"
The group scatters.
Law races up another ogre's arm, his blade finding purchase in the creature's flesh. He moves like a surgeon—each cut deliberate, each strike finding a vital point. The ogre swats at him like an insect, but Law is too fast, too nimble. He dances between the creature's fingers, his blade carving a path up its arm, across its shoulder, toward its throat.
The ogre stumbles, its balance thrown by the tiny figure attacking it. Law reaches the base of its skull and drives his blade home. The creature's eyes roll back, and it falls forward, its massive body shaking the ground as it crashes into the ice.
Jannali, Atlas, Bō-Zak, and Kaburo work together as a unit.
Jannali's spear finds the gap between an ogre's ribs, slicing deep, leaving a trail of crimson. The spear's blade slices into the ogre's shoulder, drawing a roar of pain. Atlas moves beneath the distraction, his claws ripping through tendons, bringing the ogre to its knees.
Bō-Zak's sickles flash as he slides between the ogre's legs, his blades carving deep grooves into its ankles. The creature bellows, trying to stomp him, but Bō-Zak is already gone, his laughter echoing across the valley.
Kaburo stands like a monument, Kalamaru a dark blur of inevitable death. He meets the ogre's club with his blade, the impact sending shockwaves rippling across the ice. He holds his ground, his Haki flaring, and then he moves—a single, perfect stroke that severs the ogre's wrist. The club falls, and Kaburo drives his blade into the creature's chest.
The ogre falls.
They've taken down ten.
Marya lands in their midst, her chest heaving, her breath misting in the cold. Law, Jannali, Atlas, Bō-Zak, and Kaburo fall in around her, their backs together, their eyes fixed on the remaining forty ogres.
Atlas pants, his Sulong form flickering. "How many was that?"
Bō-Zak's voice is strained. "I count ten."
Jannali's curse carries genuine exhaustion. "Bloody hell! I don't know how long I can keep going. I'm flat out like a lizard drinking, and I can't back it up anymore."
Law's eyes shift between the group and the forty ogres still standing. "Well, you're going to have to!"
Marya falls to one knee, coughing up blood that stains the snow crimson.
Atlas yells, "Boss!" rushing to her side.
Law's body tenses, his jaw flexing. "We have to finish this."
Atlas helps Marya stand, her legs wobbling beneath her. She wipes the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand. "I can do it."
Law snaps, "No you can't!"
Marya's glare stops him cold. "We finish this, we get our powers back."
"You don't know that!" Law's voice is sharp with frustration.
Marya's eyes bore into his. "I know what happens if we don't finish this."
Bō-Zak's voice cuts through, calmer than the moment warrants. "What's the plan?"
Marya glances at him, a strange smile curling her lips. "Celestial Omen."
Kaburo's voice is flat, questioning. "Will that work?"
Marya shakes her head. "It's not a Devil Fruit power. It's a blood trait."
Law's eyes widen. "What are you talking about?"
The ground begins to quake. The ogres charge forward, their massive feet shaking the ice, their roars filling the air.
Jannali yells, "Bloody hell, mate! You better get on with it if you're going to do it!"
Law's voice is sharp. "Get on with—"
But Marya is already gone.
She hovers in the air above them, her body wreathed in silver light. Her raven hair dissolves into a a spinning cyclone of shifting silver and iridescent rainbow strands, and her robes shift, transforming into shimmering silver feathers that ripple in the wind. The eyes glow with a piercing, blinding silver light. A tripartite halo blazes around her head—gold, silver, obsidian.
The horns blare.
The sound echoes across the valley, a declaration of war against death itself. The ogres stop in their tracks, their eyes locking onto her floating form.
Marya's voice echoes, carrying the weight of celestial power. "Return from where you came or end."
The ogres charge with a war cry.
Marya swings Nisshoku.
The obsidian blade blazes with silver fire as she sends out a devastating arc of Haki. The wave cuts through the air like a blade through silk, and the first ogre it touches dissolves—not into pieces, but into molecules, its body unraveling into a trail of silver dust.
The next ogre follows. Then another.
Marya moves through them like a storm given form. Each swing of Nisshoku carves a path of dissolution, the ogres disappearing one by one in trails of molecular silver. Their roars turn to silence as they dissolve into nothing, their bodies unmade by the Celestial Omen's power.
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