Although Doflamingo had shattered into pieces before his eyes, Law felt no joy in what should have been a moment of long-awaited vengeance.
Because the instant his blade struck, he realized—what he had cut down was merely a puppet made of threads.
Following the unique sensation traveling through the silk, Law spotted a flamboyant figure clad in a pink feathered coat flash briefly from the shadows of a nearby wall.
Moments later, several of the Donquixote Family officers slipped away from the battlefield unnoticed.
Doflamingo had fled in the middle of the fight!
Law clenched his fists in silent fury. But unlike Doflamingo, he had too much pride to act so shamelessly. Gritting his teeth, he charged into the Pacifista ranks, joining Squard and McGuy in eliminating these relentless, fearsome machines.
By now, the entire battlefield was ablaze with combat—drawing the attention of the spectators, the elite Marines, and the pirate forces alike.
No one noticed a special unit that had quietly maneuvered around to the stern of the Moby Dick.
A few ropes were thrown up and hooked precisely onto the ship's rails.
The team ascended quickly and efficiently, scaling the makeshift path up to the deck one by one.
On a nearby vessel, Crocodile slapped Buggy on the shoulder and grinned.
"Captain Buggy, we've got a situation."
Buggy looked in the direction Crocodile pointed—and sure enough, a mysterious unit was now boarding the Moby Dick under the cover of the chaos.
The small squad wore Marine uniforms, but strangely, without any insignia.
Even odder—their movements seemed sluggish and unnatural.
Buggy squinted, then suddenly lit up. Pointing to Gecko Moria, still lounging lazily atop the mast soaking in the sun, he blurted:
"Wait a second! Aren't these Moria's zombie troops?! They must be here to rescue their master!"
Crocodile chuckled and nodded.
"Wouldn't be surprised at all."
"You keep an eye on things here. I'll take care of them."
With that, he leapt from the captured Marine warship, heading straight for the Moby Dick.
Buggy let out a massive sigh of relief. Not having to do the fighting himself was always good news. He happily watched Crocodile's figure disappear into action.
When Crocodile was still thirty or forty meters away from the ship, he threw out a hand and unleashed a sandstorm.
As soon as it touched down, it began sweeping up shattered remnants of warships and battlefield debris—grinding everything into fine grains of sand and growing even larger.
In mere moments, it became a towering sand tornado—as tall as the Moby Dick's deck.
Just as the tornado reached full height, Crocodile dove into it headfirst.
He emerged moments later at the top of the vortex, stepped out cleanly—and landed squarely on the deck.
He swung his right arm backward and swept the entire sandstorm onto his arm like a giant glove.
Then, with a mighty punch, he launched it forward!
The tornado burst into dozens of miniature sandstorms, each homing in on a member of the zombie squad.
Before they even realized what was happening, they were all swept up and ground into dust—becoming part of the storm itself.
The mini-sandstorms then reassembled into one massive tornado, now over a hundred meters tall.
With a flick of Crocodile's hand, the sandstorm shifted direction and surged toward the outer wall.
Everything in its path—wreckage, Marines, even frozen ice—was swept into the swirling vortex, adding to its destructive power.
By the time it reached the wall, it had become a full-blown natural disaster.
As it tore along the wall, it destroyed cannon emplacements en masse. Half the personnel were killed or maimed, and not a single piece of artillery survived—the entire defense line reduced to rubble and sand.
The terrifying storm caught the attention of everyone on and off the battlefield.
And just like that, the ferocious fighting across the battlefield paused—for ten full seconds.
Only then did people suddenly realize—
Roya had advanced to within ten meters of the execution platform.
"He must not get any closer! Vice Admirals—stop him!"
A shrill, piercing voice shattered the temporary silence.
All eyes turned toward the speaker—it was Vice Admiral Onigumo, one of the most formidable among the Navy's upper ranks.
His rallying cry was answered instantly. Several Vice Admirals moved in unison, surrounding Onigumo to form a multi-directional interception formation.
"Roya!!"
Vice Admiral Momonga was the first to strike.
With a thunderous roar, he warned Roya of the incoming attack even as his feet tapped the ground a dozen times in rapid succession—launching him forward like a bullet, blade aimed at Roya's back.
Onigumo moved simultaneously.
He darted to the side, and suddenly, the braided hair on the back of his head grew several feet in an instant, whipping down to the ground.
The braids slammed down with force, supporting his leap like eight legs—sending him careening toward Roya's flank at a speed even faster than Momonga's!
Vice Admiral Doberman, meanwhile, practically hugged the ground as he surged forward.
In a blink, he overtook Roya, who was walking calmly through midair.
His right foot slammed into the ground, stopping his momentum cold.
His body coiled tightly—like a spring—absorbing the momentum from his charge in a bizarre, physics-defying pose.
Just as Onigumo burst up from the ground, Doberman unleashed.
His body uncoiled with terrifying force, sword thrust forward—a deadly projectile unleashed like a snapping crossbow.
And mid-air, he twisted his torso, adding a fearsome spin to his launch.
The result: a spiraling, electric-drill-like thrust aimed directly at Roya's chest!
In an instant, three Marine Vice Admirals had launched a fearless, full-power assault on Roya.
The memory of how the three Admirals had been instantly countered and defeated by Roya was still fresh in everyone's minds.
To many onlookers—both Marines and civilians—this bold charge by Onigumo and the others looked like a suicidal last stand.
But even so, their defiant stand ignited the Navy's fighting spirit!
In particular, Vice Admirals Bastille and Dalmatian, who had previously been crushed by Roya's overwhelming might, felt their blood surge once more.
Bastille's muscles bulged as he let out a deafening roar.
He dropped into a deep squat and launched himself like a cannonball—his horned helmet aimed straight at Roya like a living battering ram, following right behind Momonga.
Dalmatian, fists clenched at his waist, sprang into the air as well.
Though he hadn't yet unleashed an attack, those who knew him recognized the signs—he was preparing his deadliest technique.
Once in range, he would unleash his multi-strike Finger Gun (Shigan) combo, a deadly storm capable of shredding any opponent!
The number of Vice Admirals in this death charge had risen from three to five.
And even more—seven or eight others—were struggling to break free of their opponents to rush toward Roya as well!
The tide of battle shifted again.
Roya had once more become the primary target of the Navy's strongest forces.
And in the very next instant—
The Vice Admirals all felt a cold chill.
Because the target they had charged toward… had changed.
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