Chapter 2: A King on a Ship of Fools
The commandeered Marine warship sliced through the calm waters of the Grand Line, a vessel of stolen hope on a sea of uncertainty. Its deck was a theater of chaos. Hundreds of newly freed prisoners, men who had not seen the sun in years, reveled in their liberty with wild shouts and crazed laughter. At the center of it all, the self-proclaimed Captain Buggy delivered a bombastic, and entirely false, account of his masterminding the entire breakout, his voice shrill against the backdrop of the cheering mob.
Elsewhere, Straw Hat Luffy, having consumed a feast's worth of stolen rations, was now locked in a spirited argument with the revolutionaries over the direction of the wind. The scene was a microcosm of the world as he knew it: a tempest of selfish desires, fleeting alliances, and directionless passion.
Apart from it all, in a sphere of inviolable solitude at the ship's prow, stood Madara.
The sea breeze, a sensation he hadn't felt in fourteen years, did little to stir him. It was a novelty that had worn off in minutes. He stood as still as the figurehead below him, a silent observer looking out not at the sea, but through the veil of the present into the possibilities of the future. The other escapees, even the hulking brutes from Level Six, instinctively kept their distance. A palpable aura of pressure surrounded him, a silent declaration that he was not to be disturbed.
To his refined senses, this ship was a collection of flawed powers. These "Devil Fruits" they consumed were a source of incredible, almost absurd abilities. A man made of sand, a woman who could snip the very ground like paper, a boy of rubber. Potent, yes, but flawed. Each power came with a crippling, fundamental weakness to the sea itself—an ironic curse in a world composed almost entirely of it. It was an impure, unbalanced form of strength. A crutch.
His own power came from within. It was born of his spirit, his blood, and a lifetime of discipline that bordered on inhuman. It had no such weaknesses.
He watched them celebrate their "freedom." What was this freedom they cherished? The freedom to be loud? The freedom to follow their base instincts? It was merely a different kind of cage, one constructed from their own lack of vision. They fought against the World Government's "Absolute Justice," another hollow concept, a rigid and brittle order that inevitably bred rebellion. Two sides of a worthless coin, forever flipping, forever landing on the edge of conflict. This world was trapped in an endless, pathetic cycle of chaos and tyranny. It lacked a true guiding hand. It lacked his vision.
But vision required information. The war at Marineford was the perfect crucible to gather it. To see the strongest this world had to offer—the Admirals, the Shichibukai, and the legendary Whitebeard—unleash their full might. And perhaps, another, more personal target.
His decision made, Madara turned. His movement was fluid and silent, yet it caused an immediate ripple effect across the deck. The boisterous noise dipped. Buggy's speech faltered. All eyes, whether in fear, curiosity, or calculation, turned to the silent figure as he began to walk.
He ignored the lesser pirates who scrambled out of his path. He ignored Crocodile, whose gaze was fixed on him with a burning, analytical intensity. His destination was the ship's helm, where the Fish-Man, Jinbe, stood with a quiet dignity, his hands firmly on the wheel, guiding the motley fleet.
Jinbe felt the approach before he saw it. It was a pressure drop, a sudden weight in the air. He turned his head slightly as Madara came to a stop beside him.
"Fish-Man," Madara's voice was not loud, but it cut through the sea air, devoid of any preamble.
Jinbe, ever courteous even in the face of such an unnerving presence, gave a slight bow of his head. "I am Jinbe. Is there something you require?"
Madara did not look at him, his gaze remaining fixed on the horizon. "This war your captain, Whitebeard, is waging against the World Government. It is a spectacle that will shake the foundations of the era." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "Tell me. What is the likelihood that the 'Beast of the World,' Kaido, will make his move?"
The question hung in the air, sharp and unexpected. Jinbe's eyes widened slightly. Of all the questions this mysterious man could ask—about strategy, about the path ahead, about Ace—he asked about another Emperor. A deeply personal and specific question. Jinbe, a man privy to the highest echelons of global politics, felt a piece of a forgotten puzzle click into place. The legends of the ghost from Wano...
"Kaido is an opportunist of the highest order," Jinbe answered, his voice low and serious. "He and Whitebeard have been rivals for decades. It is considered a strong possibility that he will use this war as a chance to attack Whitebeard while his back is turned. The Marines are on high alert, attempting to monitor his movements as we speak. So to answer your question... the possibility is very real."
A flicker of something—not quite a smile, but a shadow of satisfaction—touched Madara's lips. "I see."
That was all he said. The exchange was over. Having gotten what he needed, he turned to walk back to the prow. The purpose of his journey was now solidified. The stage was not just grand; it might well be perfect.
As if summoned by the tension, a cry came from the crow's nest. "Marine ships! A dozen of them! Dead astern and closing fast!"
Chaos erupted once more. Cannon fire echoed across the water, and massive iron balls began to rain down upon their small fleet. Luffy, Crocodile, and Ivankov leapt into action. A rubber limb stretched to deflect a cannonball, a storm of sand rose to create a defensive wall, a massive face winked and sent a blast of energy from their own ship's cannons.
Madara stood at the prow, unmoving, as the battle raged behind him. He watched a cannonball arc through the air, perfectly aimed, not at the hull or the mast, but directly at him. It whistled as it cut through the air, a sphere of black iron intent on his annihilation.
Luffy saw it. "Hey, you! Look out!"
Madara did not even glance at it. As the cannonball was mere feet from his face, he performed a simple, almost dismissive gesture. He raised his right hand, palm open. He did not brace for impact. He did not coat his hand in the dark sheen of Armament Haki that the others used.
He simply met it.
There was no deafening explosion. There was only a dull, resonant thump. A wave of pure, colorless force erupted from his palm. The cannonball, its momentum instantly and utterly negated, stopped dead in the air. For a fraction of a second, it hung there, suspended before him. Then, with that same unseen force, it was hurled back along its original path at more than double its initial speed.
It flew like a streak of black lightning, a perfect, silent projectile that crossed the distance in the blink of an eye and slammed into the lead Marine vessel. The cannonball didn't just strike the ship; it tore through it, from bow to stern, shattering its keel. The warship folded in on itself with a horrific groan of splintering wood and screaming metal before sinking beneath the waves.
Silence fell on the deck of the escapee ship. The pirates and revolutionaries stared, their jaws agape. They had seen Devil Fruit powers. They had seen Haki. They had never seen anything like that. An act of defense and devastating offense, performed with no visible effort.
Crocodile's eyes were wide, a thin cigarillo falling from his lips. All doubt was erased. That was not the power of a common man. It was the power of a legend he thought was dead.
Jinbe gripped the helm, his knuckles white. The sheer, condensed control... it was terrifying.
Madara lowered his hand, his expression unchanged, as if he had done nothing more than brush away a fly. He returned his gaze to the horizon, where a new, impossible structure was beginning to resolve out of the mist. Two colossal steel doors, reaching into the very clouds, emblazoned with the World Government's insignia.
The Gates of Justice. The doorway to his war.
Let them come, he thought, a cold fire burning in his ancient soul. Let Whitebeard have his final blaze of glory. Let the Marines display their hollow justice. Let the beast Kaido crawl from his den. Let this era show me its greatest strength, so I may show it what it means to despair before a true, singular power.