[On Whitebeard side]
"GURARARARA!"
The roar was not just a sound; it was a physical force, a triumphant peel of thunder that declared a king had returned to his throne. It echoed across Elbaf, silencing the lesser screams of battle.
Whitebeard stood on the deck of the Moby Dick, his one good arm crackling with the pure, white, shimmering light of the Gura Gura no Mi. He had just swatted Edward Weevil—a monster who was his physical equal—like a common housefly.
The Burning Crown Pirates erupted in a deafening, unified cheer.
On the deck, Marco's hands trembled as he caught the frail, suddenly elderly form of Jewelry Bonney, her power utterly spent. He stumbled, his gaze fixed on the colossal figure at the railing.
"Pops..." Marco whispered, his voice cracking, the tears streaming down his face not just joy, but pure, unadulterated shock. "You're... you're really..."
Whitebeard looked down at his own powerful, unscarred hand, feeling the strength of an era he thought was lost to memory. He grinned at his First Son, a grin that crinkled his eyes. "It's been a while, hasn't it, Marco? Now..." He turned, his gaze sweeping over the chaotic battlefield, "Let's clean up this mess."
He took one step towards the railing, ready to rejoin the war he was born to lead.
"WAIT!"
A shriek, shrill and dripping with avarice, cut through the joyous atmosphere. From the Blackbeard fleet, a small, fast boat was racing towards the spot where Weevil had crashed into the sea. At its helm was Miss Bakkin, her face a mask of furious desperation.
"My son! My inheritance! You won't take him from me, Newgate!"
She reached the unconscious Weevil, whose massive form was floating limply in the icy water. "You fool! You were too weak! You need more!" She pulled out a massive, reinforced syringe filled with a glowing, bubbling purple liquid.
"This is a little something I've been... 'perfecting'!" she cackled. "A modified steroid, mixed with a few... personal touches. It will give you the power you were always meant to have, my 'son'!"
She jammed the thick needle into Weevil's neck with a wet thunk and slammed the plunger down.
Weevil's body didn't just convulse; it erupted. He rocketed from the water, landing on the ice field with a crash that shattered the ground for a mile. His muscles swelled to grotesque, unnatural proportions, tearing his own skin. Glowing purple veins pulsed across his body like living worms, and steam poured from him as if he were boiling from the inside out.
His Haki exploded—no longer just raw power, but a wild, uncontrolled, and monstrous storm of pure, agonizing rage.
"MOOOMMMYYYYY! IT HUUUURTS!" Weevil roared, his eyes rolling back in his head. "I'LL KILL HIM! KILL! KILL!"
"Good, my son!" Bakkin shrieked, her boat already speeding away. "Kill him! Kill Whitebeard and take his power! It's all your inheritance!"
Weevil, now a mindless giant of pure, chemically-fueled rage, charged the Moby Dick.
"So," Whitebeard rumbled, his expression grim. "The bitch still plays with her broken toys." He grabbed his bisento from the deck, a weapon that now looked perfectly proportioned in his prime-sized hand. "Gurarara."
He met Weevil's charge on the ice. The real fight began.
It was a clash of titans that dwarfed the other battles. Whitebeard was a master, a god of war. He moved with a grace that belied his size, his bisento flowing like water, parrying, dodging, and landing devastating quake-infused blows that cracked the air itself.
Weevil was a berserker. He felt no pain, only the screaming rage of the chemicals. He shrugged off hits that would have leveled a giant, his own bisento swinging with raw, island-splitting force. The shockwaves from their Haki-infused clashes blasted the sea into the sky and shook the foundations of Elbaf. Whitebeard was the superior warrior, his skill unmatched, but Weevil's artificial, relentless durability was impossible. He was a monster who simply would not stay down.
Whitebeard, seeing an opening, shattered Weevil's guard with a quake-infused punch to the chest. He spun, his bisento raised, ready to deliver the final, decapitating blow.
And then he faltered.
A faint, pink light flickered and vanished from his skin. The power didn't fade; it crashed. His muscles spasmed, seizing up. The wrinkles returned like cracks in a dam, the old wounds and scars reappearing. His massive, prime form began to shrink, to wither.
"Pops!" Marco roared, a sound of pure terror, and leaped from the deck. Bonney's miracle—the "one minute"—was fading.
Weevil, sensing the shift, grinned a bloody, vacant grin. "You're... old..." he gurgled. "WEAK!"
He raised his own bisento for a final, killing blow on the reverting, suddenly vulnerable Whitebeard.
"NO! POPS!"
A figure leaped from the Moby Dick's deck, landing between the monster and his king. He was a simple crewman, a man with a skull tattoo on his face, one of the original Spade Pirates who had followed Ace across the sea. His name was "Skull." He had no Haki to stop this, no Devil Fruit, no legendary strength. He just had his cutlass and a loyalty that defied all reason. He stood, arms wide, a pathetic shield of flesh and bone.
"Get... out of the way... you fool..." Whitebeard choked out, his body now almost fully reverted to its old, one-armed, dying state.
Weevil didn't even slow down. "IN MY WAY!"
He swatted Skull's cutlass aside and grabbed the pirate's outstretched arms, one in each of his massive, purple-veined hands.
Skull's eyes went wide. He looked back at Whitebeard, a final, bloody smile on his face. "Live... Pops..."
"No..." Whitebeard whispered, helpless, on his knees.
"DIE!" Weevil roared. And with a sound of wet, tearing thunder, he pulled.
Skull's body was ripped in two.
The world went silent. The battlefield noise, the screams, the clashing Haki... it all faded, replaced by the quiet, wet thud of two halves of a man falling onto the ice.
Whitebeard, reverted, old, one-armed, and dying, stared. He saw Skull's smiling face. He remembered Thatch. He remembered Oars. He remembered his "failure" at Marineford, a failure he had been given a chance to erase. And now, he had failed again. He had been given the power of his prime, and he still wasn't strong enough to protect his family.
The grief. The rage. The absolute, crushing failure. It was too much.
"No..." he whispered, his voice a dead rattle. "No... more..."
The ground beneath him didn't crack. It softened.
The ice, the stone, the very earth... the entire island breathed with him. The concept of "ground" became malleable, fluid, an extension of his own will. His Haki didn't just explode; it merged with the pulse of the planet itself, becoming one with the gravity and stillness beneath all life.
Whitebeard's form began to swell, not with chaotic rage, but with a terrible, divine equilibrium. He grew, his body elongating, his shoulders broadening, until he was double his normal height, a colossal figure that towered over the Moby Dick.
His grey hair and mustache didn't ignite; they flowed, turning a brilliant, pure white, moving with the slow, impossible grace of stone dust in a gale. His eyes snapped open, blazing with a vibrant, emerald green—the color of pure, condensed life-force.
Where his left arm had been, a new limb coalesced from the very pulse of the world. It wasn't flesh; it was a massive, golem-like hand of indestructible living stone, restoring what the world had taken. A "sash" of steam, not of clouds, but of the Earth's hidden fire—the breath of magma—flowed around his shoulders, connecting to his new arm.
He was no longer "prime Whitebeard reborn." He was the will of the planet, wearing a man's form.
His new, colossal form didn't look angry. It looked... terrifyingly serene.
He started to laugh.
It wasn't "Gurarara." It was a new sound. It wasn't the sound of mirth or freedom. It was the deep, subterranean rumble of tectonic plates shifting, of thunder echoing in deep caverns. It was the laugh of a mountain that had just woken up—a sound of joy born from absolute, unyielding purpose.
"GORAH-HA-HA-HA-HA!"
On the central battlefield, Ace, Sabo, and Teach all whipped their heads around. They felt it. Ace saw it. The immense, doubled height. The blazing white hair. The steam-sash. The terrifying... calm.
No... No way! From Kenji's memories he knew. The awakening... the divine properties... This is...like Gear 5!
He realized the impossible, earth-shattering truth.
The Gura Gura no Mi... it was never a Paramecia!
Hito Hito no Mi, Model: Terra.
The Earth God.
Awakened Whitebeard, his body now a fusion of his old self and this new, divine form, smiled. It was the calm, unmoving smile of a guardian statue. He looked down at the stunned, terrified Weevil, who now seemed like a mere doll before him. His emerald eyes didn't burn with malice, but with the ancient, unfeeling judgment of nature itself.
The ground around Whitebeard became a gravity well. Weevil's chemically-fueled rage faltered as his own body felt a crushing, impossible weight—the weight of the Earth itself, dragging his strength down like roots under crushing stone.
"That was a good rest," his new voice boomed, not with mirth, but with the resonance of stone. "Now... the Earth awakens."
He stomped his foot.
It wasn't a playful stomp. It wasn't even an attack. It was a declaration.
The entire island of Elbaf did not shatter. It obeyed.
The ground shifted. The World Tree groaned as the very earth realigned itself, its roots settling into a new, firmer foundation. A biblical earthquake erupted, but it was not one of chaos. It was one of order.
Mountains rose to block the path of the Blackbeard fleet. Valleys sank. The very battlefield was remade, the ground under Marco and the Burning Crown Pirates solidifying like granite, while the ice under Kaido, Big Mom, and Weevil's allies fractured and rejected them, flinging them into the air not by force, but by the will of the planet itself.
The Earth God had not come to destroy the world. He had come to remind it who was in control.
[The Earth God had awakened.]
=======================================
100 Power Stone = 1 Bonus Chapter
Send me some powerstone.
https://www.patreon.com/c/kapa69
10+chapters ahead on patreon