"BOOM—!"
Thunder roared above Impel Down, a deep, guttural sound that seemed to shake the very foundations of the prison.
Dark clouds, heavy and oppressive, gathered in an instant, and a light drizzle began to fall, quickly intensifying into a torrential downpour, as if the heavens themselves had burst open to weep—or to wash away what was to come.
"Execution… List!"
Hannyabal's voice was a low, awestruck whisper as he stared at the document in his hands, his knuckles white.
Now it all made sense.
The contract had mentioned his new duties would include the rehabilitation and education of criminals.
He'd been baffled.
The inmates here were the dregs of humanity, the most vicious of the vicious.
Rehabilitate them? How?
Now he understood.
The criminals who needed rehabilitation were the ones of the future.
The ones currently imprisoned in Impel Down? They didn't need rehabilitation.
They were here for execution.
He slowly closed the thick document, his gaze lifting to meet the three admirals.
Akainu, Kizaru, Kuzan.
Their eyes were cold, resolute, and utterly devoid of hesitation.
The New Marine wasn't just taking over Impel Down.
They were using this deep-sea fortress to mark the brutal, bloody end of an entire era.
They would use the blood of these criminals to herald the dawn of a new age.
"What about the overly powerful Devil Fruit abilities?" Magellan, now the Deputy Warden, took the list from Hannyabal, his own face grim.
He was a pragmatist.
"If these criminals are all executed, their abilities will resurface elsewhere. Shouldn't we be concerned about that?"
"No need to worry. The consolidation will be completed soon," Akainu's voice rumbled, cutting through the sound of the rain.
"After the grand parade, the full-scale purge of the Four Seas and Paradise will begin. By then, there will be no more pirates left to find them. All discovered Devil Fruits will be uniformly stored and allocated by the New Marine." He paused, as a cold, merciless smirk curling his lips.
"The prisoners in Levels 1 through 5 will be executed immediately. No exceptions. As for the… legends… in Level 6…"
His smirk widened.
"They will be publicly executed during the grand parade, two weeks from now. Let any pirate who still clings to hope, any fool who still dares to stir trouble, see for themselves what fate awaits those who defy the New Marine's rule!"
"..."
"Yes, sir!" Hannyabal and Magellan responded as one, their voices resounding with a newfound, terrifying purpose.
They finally understood.
The admirals weren't just here to sign papers.
They were here to escort the living legends of Level 6, the "Infinite Hell," to Marineford for their final, public judgment.
Every name on that list was a dark chapter of history, a monster who had once dominated the seas.
Ensuring they all made it to the execution stand was a task of monumental importance, one that required meticulous planning and, more importantly, overwhelming, absolute force.
If even one of those demons were to escape, the calamity they would unleash upon the world would be unimaginable.
...
Soon, Hannyabal and Magellan sprang into action, the massive, rusty machinery of Impel Down beginning to turn at full speed under their new, unified command.
Before long, Ace, Ivankov, Inazuma, and the other prisoners on Mike's list were brought up from the sunless abyss, blinking in the sudden, stormy light.
Preparations for the internal executions began, the air growing thick with a solemn, oppressive tension.
Hannyabal, observing Akainu's stern, impatient expression, cautiously asked.
"Sir… will you be the one carrying out the executions?"
"..."
Akainu's expression darkened.
Of course, he yearned to.
He wanted nothing more than to personally purge these cancers from the seas with his own magma, to uphold the "Absolute Justice" he believed in, to slaughter them all without restraint.
But…
"No," he growled.
There were others.
Men who were, perhaps, even more qualified for this task than him.
Men who had dedicated their entire lives to Justice, only to be betrayed by the very system they served.
Now that their hearts of Justice had been reignited, their radiance, their fury, would be blinding.
It was time for the old-timers to shine once more.
"PUHAHAHAHA—!"
A bold, thunderous laugh, a laugh that hadn't been heard on a battlefield in years, echoed through the rain-swept air.
"Open all the prisoner cells!" a voice boomed, deafening and full of vigor.
"And then—GET THE HELL OUT OF OUR WAY!"
Everyone's head whipped toward the source of the voice.
There, striding side-by-side from another newly arrived battleship, were the three living legends of the old Marine: Sengoku, Zephyr, and Garp.
Their steps were firm, their presence overwhelming, a long-lost fighting spirit emanating from them in palpable waves.
"That kid Mike said…" Sengoku began, his voice a commanding roar as the three of them came to a halt, forming a line that no army could ever hope to pass.
In perfect, synchronized unison, they swung their arms, their white Justice cloaks snapping open behind them.
"Swish—!"
Three cloaks, each emblazoned with the bright, crimson characters for "Justice," snapped sharply in the wind.
Illuminated by the flashes of lightning, the kanji seemed imbued with new life, flickering like flames, as deep and vivid as fresh blood.
This was not the hollow, compromised "Justice" of the World Government.
This was the true, pure, and resolute Justice of the New Marine.
Sengoku, the "Resourceful General," Garp, the "Hero," and Zephyr, the "Black Fist," stood as one.
"These are the remnants of an old, failed era," Sengoku declared, his voice merciless.
"Kill them all!" Garp bellowed, cracking his knuckles.
"NO MERCY!" Zephyr roared, his mechanical arm whirring to life.
"BOOM—!" Thunder cracked overhead as if the heavens themselves were trembling in fury.
Rain poured relentlessly.
Tonight, Impel Down would be washed clean with blood.
.....
New Marine Headquarters, Mike's Office.
"Clatter—clatter—"
The crisp, rhythmic sound of rolling dice echoed through the spacious, opulent room.
At the massive redwood desk, Mike and Issho sat facing each other, a fierce, high-stakes battle underway.
"Big! Big! Big!" Mike chanted, his eyes gleaming, gripping his dice cup tightly.
"Small! Small! Small!" Issho, though blind, was no less focused, his own cup held steady.
"Open!" Mike slammed his cup down.
Three sixes.
"Eighteen! Triple sixes! I win this round, old pal!"
"Hahaha! Twenty to twenty!" Issho grinned broadly, a hearty laugh shaking his large frame.
"It has been ages since I've had such a thrilling game! Again!"
"Bring it on!"
"..." Kuro stood silently to the side, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses.
As Mike's personal secretary, he knew his boss's... talents.
To put it kindly, his gambling skills were "disastrous."
Normally, Kuro had to employ his own superhuman intellect, subtly calculating the odds and "guiding" the dice, just to help his boss save face.
But today… he glanced at Issho.
The two of them were perfectly, almost impossibly, evenly matched.
Forty rounds in, and the score was a dead even 20-20.
It seemed Mike had finally found his true gambling rival.
Another twenty rounds later, the score stood at thirty to thirty.
Though both men were clearly reluctant to stop, the hour had grown late.
"I have thoroughly enjoyed today. We must play again sometime, Mike-kun," Issho said, slowly rising to his feet and leaning on his cane sword.
The exhilarating match had warmed him to the young man.
"Absolutely!" Mike agreed, stretching with a loud, satisfied crack of his joints.
"Mike-kun, though I have only just joined, I wish to contribute. Is there… anything I can do?"
"Actually," Mike's lips curled into a knowing smile. "There is something that could use your… formidable Observation Haki."
He beckoned, and Kuro immediately handed a document to the blind swordsman.
"Regarding the remnants of the old era—aside from those who have wisely surrendered…"
"The New Marine's policy is…"
"Leave none alive."
Issho took the file and slowly opened it.
His fingers, which could read the world, traced the image on the top page.
It was a photograph.
The man in the photo had wild, golden hair like a lion's mane, a cigar perpetually clenched between his teeth, and a manic, terrifying grin.
"This is…" Issho's voice was a low whisper.
"'Golden Lion' Shiki!!!"