One Piece : Brotherhood

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*****

Two titanic worlds of power collided: one forged from Whitebeard's legendary tremor abilities, capable of shattering the very air, and the other from Scarlett's immense magnetic might, each field pushing, pulling, and exploding in opposing forces.

It was a standoff of cosmic proportions, two realms of energy violently repelling each other as though reality itself sought to contain them.

The very ground fractured under the tension, the horizon rippling as shockwaves tore through it. Scarlett, despite the growing fatigue gnawing at her, had held Whitebeard at bay for more than two days now, each second raising the fury in Whitebeard's attacks.

Yet Scarlett remained unyielding, backed by the steadfast presence of Izumi and Dorian, fully prepared to face down one of the most feared men on the seas.

With a mighty roar, Whitebeard raised his naginata high, the weapon practically humming with tremor energy as he focused his wrath on Dorian.

"World Cleaver!" he bellowed, the blade hurtling down with a force that promised to split anything in its path.

Dorian's eyes widened, and he dove back just in time. But before the attack could connect, Izumi's massive, mythically transformed figure intercepted it.

A creature out of legend, her Mythical Zoan Devil Fruit had granted her the form of the fabled Fire Qilin, a beast whose scales glowed with intense heat, casting shadows that seemed to burn the air itself.

Her immense, flame-wreathed claws thrust out to catch the blow, and for a moment, her claws trembled under the sheer weight of Whitebeard's power.

But with a final push, Izumi deflected the naginata's edge just enough to send the deadly arc of tremor energy past Dorian, narrowly saving him from being cleaved in two.

Whitebeard, unbothered by the interference, turned his fierce gaze to Izumi. His observation haki tingled—Scarlett was above him, her fists coated with advanced armament and conqueror's haki, a dark-purple halo of raw willpower surrounding her fists.

She descended like a meteor, fists aimed directly for him. Whitebeard, however, was ready. With a snarl, he thrust his left arm up in a counterstrike.

"BOOM!"

The clash was deafening, a shockwave that blew through the battlefield like a storm. Izumi herself was thrown back by the sheer pressure, and Dorian shielded his face as debris flew in all directions.

The ground beneath them, solid steel reinforced by the immense power of Scarlett's devil fruit, buckled and cracked open, forming a crater hundreds of meters wide that spread out from the force of the impact. It was as if a deity's fist had smashed into the island.

But Scarlett was relentless. As they clashed midair, she adjusted her metallic arm, which had morphed into a railgun, fully charged and primed for a direct hit.

With a powerful surge of magnetic force, she fired the railgun at point-blank range, the projectile screaming through the air straight at Whitebeard's face.

Yet Whitebeard didn't so much as blink. He dropped his naginata, freeing his hand to meet the incoming projectile, his massive fingers closing around the muzzle of her weapon.

His grip, unyielding as steel, crushed the barrel, and he caught the projectile just as it fired, the energy crackling wildly in his grip. His gaze burned through Scarlett, his eyes brimming with an intensity that few could withstand.

"Not bad, that tickled," he growled, his grin menacing. "But if that's all you've got, you'll need a lot more than that to take me down."

Scarlett narrowed her eyes, undeterred. "We're just getting started. Edward."

Jozu paced at the edge of the battlefield, his massive diamond-covered arms clenched tightly as he watched the ongoing clash with rising frustration.

"Marco, we gotta do something! Pops is getting pushed back!" The tension was palpable, and Jozu's voice was laced with an unusual mix of anger and worry.

Though he knew they were outmatched individually by Scarlett's team, watching Whitebeard take on three powerful opponents alone and be forced onto the defensive was agonizing.

But Marco's sharp gaze didn't waver as he assessed the battlefield. He could see every movement, every exchange of power.

Despite the overwhelming force Whitebeard wielded, Scarlett's tactical precision, bolstered by the interference of Izumi and Dorian, was proving troublesome.

Whitebeard could have pushed Scarlett back, but each time he did, Izumi or Dorian would seize the moment, forcing him back to defense. It was a stalemate, a grueling deadlock that, in any other situation, might have been a triumph.

But not here—not when Wano and Oden's fate hung in the balance. They couldn't afford to be held back.

"Marco…" Vista's tone was calm but edged with urgency, as he joined the others at Marco's side, his swords drawn and poised for action. Though Vista had initially agreed with Marco's cautious stance, even he was running out of patience.

They were pirates, fighters who lived to protect and serve Whitebeard's will. And right now, that will demanded they find a way forward.

Marco finally took a deep breath, his brows knitting with resolve. "Alright," he said, turning to face his crewmates, "we go after Dorian. If we can box him in, isolate him from the others, Pops can turn his full power on Scarlett and that beast. It'll tip the scales enough for him to break through."

Jozu let out a fierce grin, his earlier hesitation replaced with the thrill of action. "Then let's get it done."

Marco nodded, already formulating a strategy as his devilish blue flames began to flicker, casting an ethereal glow across the battlefield. "Vista, Jozu, you're with me. We're going to pin down Dorian and keep him out of Pops' way. No holding back."

The rest of the crew gathered around, listening intently as Marco called out names. Six of them, all veterans, now stood ready to launch themselves at Dorian with a coordinated assault. Each crewmember knew what this meant; they were throwing caution to the wind, but in Marco's eyes, there was no alternative.

The moment they entered, Dorian sensed the shift. His observation haki flared as he caught Marco and Jozu hurtling toward him with a speed that had previously been reserved.

Dorian barely had time to raise his cutlass before Jozu's massive diamond-armored fist crashed down on him, forcing him to pivot to the side.

But Marco was right behind Jozu, bursting toward Dorian in his full phoenix form, his talons glowing as they slashed forward with blinding speed.

Dorian grunted, forced back by the relentless assault. Marco's flames seared the air, while Jozu's diamond punches rattled the ground with each impact. Vista darted in as well, his twin swords flashing as he aimed for Dorian's exposed side. Each slash was precise and unrelenting, pushing Dorian further from Whitebeard and forcing him to focus solely on defense.

But Dorian was no easy target. His haki and reflexes were sharp, and his defense was as tenacious as ever. He countered with brutal efficiency, his strikes aimed to break Marco's formation.

Yet every time he thought he'd created an opening, another of Whitebeard's dision commander would strike from the side, forcing him back into the defensive.

"Stay on him!" Marco shouted, his voice carrying through the chaos as the crew kept Dorian on his heels.

And behind them, the intensity of Whitebeard's clash with Scarlett escalated even further. Without the interference from Dorian, Whitebeard could now fully unleash his strength, his naginata sweeping through the air with explosive power as he roared, the force of his tremor ability amplifying his strikes.

The ground quaked and splintered beneath his feet, and Scarlett, despite her formidable magnetic control, found herself strained to match his raw power without Dorian's support.

As Izumi's massive Qilin form prepared to redirect her attention toward Whitebeard's crew to relieve the relentless assault on Dorian, a rumble of power interrupted her momentum.

Whitebeard, witnessing her shift in focus, retreated a step, planting his massive feet into the ground as he raised both arms high above his head.

There was a palpable shift in the air, a raw, terrifying energy that even the hardened warriors on the battlefield felt deep in their bones.

With a roar that seemed to tear through the heavens, Whitebeard thrust his fists downward, and it was as if he reached into the very heart of reality itself and split it open.

He wasn't simply breaking ground—he was shattering the very fabric of existence, sending a powerful tremor rippling through the island. The sheer force of his quake exploded outward, a thunderous rupture that made the metallic island groan under the assault.

Scarlett, her will deeply infused within the island's metallic structure, struggled to hold it together. Her magnetic powers pulsed violently through the ground, trying to weld every shifting piece back together as it tore apart under Whitebeard's unparalleled strength.

Yet, even her formidable willpower and mastery over magnetism were helpless against the legendary force Whitebeard unleashed.

Her hands shook, her eyes narrowed with strain as her magnetic field stretched to the breaking point, desperately trying to hold the island's two halves as they separated. But Whitebeard's sheer, unstoppable power was proving to be the greater force.

The ground trembled and cracked open beneath them, and in one final, cataclysmic rumble, the island split into two massive, distinct chunks, tearing away from each other as though by the hands of an ancient god.

The island tilted dangerously, massive slabs of metal grinding and wrenching apart with an ear-splitting groan. Scarlett staggered but held her stance, her eyes filled with steely resolve. She focused every ounce of her magnetic control on stabilizing the divide, but the divide had already become a chasm.

Izumi, in her towering Qilin form, lost her footing as the island tipped beneath her. Massive as she was, the uneven terrain disrupted her balance, and with a snarl, she shifted into her hybrid form just as the ground beneath her gave way.

She landed hard, claws digging into the metal in an attempt to steady herself, but the island's relentless tilt sent her sprawling toward the edge of her own half.

Scarlett's gaze narrowed, watching as Whitebeard remained planted like an immovable mountain, his focus sharper than any blade.

Whitebeard's crew, though now separated by the tearing chasm, looked toward him with awe and renewed purpose. Marco's face showed a flicker of pride—his father was unstoppable, and this was why Whitebeard was the man he chose to follow to the ends of the earth.

Whitebeard's strength was nothing short of legendary, a power so absolute it felt as if he had the world itself in his grip. And with Oden's life hanging in the balance, Whitebeard would not let anything hold him back.

Whitebeard's booming voice resonated as he declared, "This ends now! No more waiting. I'll tear apart anything in my way!"

Scarlett tried one last time, sweat pouring down her brow, to draw the island back together, gritting her teeth as she fought to counter Whitebeard's relentless power. But it was clear—this was a battle of wills as much as of strength, and she was facing a force she could not bend.

Whitebeard was not just fighting for his pride or power; he was fighting for his family, his children. With each passing second, his will only intensified, a tidal wave of fury and resolve that no amount of magnetism could bind.

With a final, titanic rumble, the island's two halves drifted further apart, the distance between them growing wider and wider as Whitebeard's quake broke through Scarlett's final defense. She staggered, barely holding onto her footing as the world beneath her seemed to crumble, split, and break against Whitebeard's raw might.

Though a flicker of worry crossed his mind for the safety of his crew, Whitebeard's trust in them ran deep. He knew they were strong, that they could endure whatever came their way.

This was their journey as much as it was his, and he would not rob them of the chance to prove themselves. His focus remained locked on the task ahead—bringing this battle to an end and securing the path to Wano.

Whitebeard clenched his fist, watching as Scarlett, Izumi, and Dorian struggled on their fragmented half of the island, separated, destabilized, and unable to regroup as they once had. His eyes burned with determination, his figure towering and unstoppable.

The island beneath him fractured and broken, Whitebeard stood triumphant, a testament to his power and will that shook the very seas.

Scarlett chuckled, her lips curling as a thrill of excitement surged through her. "Sure enough, he didn't tell me to be careful when facing Newgate," she muttered, her tone both amused and fiercely resolute.

Her own Conqueror's Haki flared in response to Whitebeard's immense power, a visceral acknowledgment of the strength before her. Only a battle at this level could ignite her spirit this way, pushing her closer to the limits of her destiny. She carried the fabled Will of D. in her veins; no matter who stood before her, she would fulfill her destiny.

With a roar, Scarlett launched herself at Whitebeard, unleashing a renewed ferocity. For the past two days, she had fought with careful restraint, stalling Whitebeard. But now, the pure thrill of the fight drowned out all other thoughts.

She wanted nothing more than to clash with him, to feel every blow resonate in her bones. Titles, consequences, and plans all fell away. In that moment, she was Scarlett D. Lachlan, the woman destined to rule this world, and she would not be denied this battle.

Unbeknownst to her, another figure watched the titanic struggle unfold from the shadowed deck of the Moby Dick, hidden from sight yet with a clear vantage point. In the shadowy corner of Whitebeard's flagship, Teach's eyes narrowed, absorbing every detail of the battlefield, calculating the dangers, the strengths, and the weaknesses he observed.

"Sure enough," he murmured to himself, "only by being under Whitebeard do I have the best chance of finding that Devil Fruit." His gaze never left Scarlett and Whitebeard as their powers clashed, each shockwave reverberating even to his hidden position.

Teach had once harbored doubt, the notion that Whitebeard's might might be waning. After all, the seas had begun to change, and he had never seen anyone face Whitebeard head-on and endure.

But then came Garp, who fought the world's strongest man to a standstill, and now Scarlett, with her defiance and sheer tenacity. Teach was no fool; he knew that the world held unimaginable strength beyond his own, but he had never realized the full depth of it until now.

Observing Whitebeard at his peak, clashing with yet another monstrous opponent, refueled his ambitions.

Scarlett was a force of nature, her every strike filled with purpose, but Whitebeard was relentless, unyielding, the very embodiment of power. Even the so-called "Blood Steel," a woman infamous for her potential to become the Pirate Empress, was being humbled before him.

Teach's fingers clenched, a sense of urgency gripping his chest. Though Scarlett might be on the defensive, Whitebeard wasn't winning against her, at least not without sacrificing something in return. He felt a chill: how many more beings like her were out there in the world? If monsters like Scarlett and Garp were possible, how many others could stand in his way?

A sense of purpose settled into his mind, hardening his resolve. No matter what, he had to get his hands on the Yami Yami no Mi, the Dark-Dark Fruit. That fruit was his key, the only thing that could tilt the scales in his favor.

If he didn't claim it soon, everything he'd worked for might be swept away by the might of these titans. The Yami Yami no Mi, with its legendary destructive power, would give him the edge he needed—the chance to create his own destiny.

"Once I have that fruit," he whispered to himself, his eyes gleaming, "I won't have to stand in anyone's shadow. Not Whitebeard's, not anyone's." He felt the rush of his ambition, the insatiable desire to rise above, to bend fate to his own will.

For now, he remained hidden, biding his time, carefully crafting his future. But someday, someday soon, he would stand against anyone who dared cross him, wielding the power of darkness itself.

Watching Whitebeard wield his strength like a god, Teach felt both the dread of facing such power and the thrill of knowing he would someday surpass it. And with that thought, a shadow of a grin played on his lips.

****

Somewhere in New World

"It seems like loyalty is a difficult thing for you, Ochoku," the mocking tone rang out, carrying a venomous edge as the cloaked figure lifted the broken form of Ochoku, known as 'Ironjaw,' one of the World Government's own Seven Warlords.

"Or perhaps I should show you respect, call you by that title—Shichibukai…" The figure's chuckle was low and mocking, the grip around Ochoku's throat tightening as he dangled, helpless.

Ochoku's body was battered and brutalized, an arm and leg torn from his frame, his remaining eye swollen, the other gouged out completely. Blood stained his torn clothes, and his face twisted in agony and terror.

He had clearly endured hours of ruthless torture, yet the cloaked figure seemed far from satisfied.

"Please… please… let me live," Ochoku rasped, voice cracked and raw, blood trickling from his lips. "I'll serve you. I-I know things. Secrets… about the World Government…"

The figure's grip didn't waver, only tightened as a dark smile formed beneath the hood. "How loyal of you," he sneered, amusement twisting his words. "So quick to offer betrayal. But then, that's not new to you, is it, Ochoku?"

For the first time, Ochoku managed to raise his one good eye and catch a sliver of the face beneath the hood. His entire body froze with recognition, his mind drowning in sheer terror. His voice died in his throat, a flicker of hopelessness glazing his eye.

He had fought many battles, triumphed over fierce enemies, but this... this was no fight. He was utterly, devastatingly outmatched. His assailant had kept him alive merely to prolong the suffering, to savor his fear.

The figure leaned in closer, voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "I understand you've been secretly hunting someone for the World Government... Nico Olivia and her daughter, isn't it? Care to tell me what you know of them?" He paused, his tone sharpening with a chilling edge. "Any leads on where they might be?"

But Ochoku's mouth went dry. His mind spiraled as he stared at the figure before him, horrified and speechless. The figure's patience snapped, his hand closing around Ochoku's finger. Without hesitation, he twisted, snapping the finger with a brutal precision.

Ochoku's scream filled the air, a bloodcurdling wail of pain that echoed across the blood-soaked deck. Limbs and torn bodies littered the area—a massacre left by this single figure, a man cloaked in darkness and power, entirely unperturbed by the carnage he had wrought.

The figure tilted his head, voice quiet and filled with disdain. "I detest when people scream." He traced a finger along Ochoku's trembling hand. "Do it again, and I'll continue with your remaining fingers."

Ochoku whimpered, trembling as tears mingled with the blood on his face, eyes darting frantically as he tried to summon any piece of useful information. Anything that might keep him alive a moment longer.

"Don't make me ask again…" The figure's voice was soft, a lethal edge lurking beneath.

"Nico Olivia… she's dead," Ochoku stammered finally, his voice barely a whisper. "The World Government… they haven't disclosed it, but she's dead."

He took a shuddering breath, his entire body quivering in fear. "As for… for her daughter… there's no trace of her. No one knows where she vanished."

The cloaked figure's face remained hidden in the shadows, unreadable, yet a flicker of something like satisfaction seemed to settle over him. His grip relaxed just slightly, but his aura radiated a chill that permeated the very air. Slowly, he released Ochoku, letting him fall to the bloodstained deck like a discarded rag, broken and shivering.

The figure straightened, his form casting an imposing shadow over Ochoku, who dared not move. The silence that followed was even more dreadful than the torture.

The figure let the weight of his presence linger, his purpose obscured, his motivations shrouded in darkness. He turned, leaving Ochoku battered and barely breathing among the corpses of his crew.

The cloaked figure paused as Ochoku slumped to the bloodied deck, whimpering and broken. For a moment, a glint of amusement flashed in the figure's eyes beneath the hood, yet it held no warmth—only a cruel, calculating malice.

"You really thought begging would save you?" The figure laughed softly, a sound that cut through the silence like a knife. He crouched down, drawing a jagged blade from his cloak, its edge gleaming in the dim light. "Ochoku, you should know better by now… the seas have no mercy for traitors."

Ochoku's remaining eye widened in horror, every fiber of his being screaming to flee, but his body wouldn't respond. Blood pooled around him, his shattered body too far gone to escape the inevitable. He began to babble incoherently, words tumbling from his lips in a desperate attempt to buy just a few more breaths, but the cloaked figure only shook his head with a wicked grin.

"It's been a while since I've had to send a message," the figure mused, his voice calm, as if speaking of mundane tasks. With a swift, powerful grip, he seized Ochoku's jaw, forcing him to look directly into his eyes.

"Consider yourself lucky, Ochoku. Today, you'll make sure the World Government remembers who I am."

With a swift, vicious stroke, the cloaked figure plunged the blade through Ochoku's shoulder, pinning him to the main mast. Ochoku screamed, a broken sound that echoed across the deck and out to the open sea, but his tormentor showed no mercy.

He grabbed another blade from his cloak, driving it into Ochoku's remaining hand, nailing him in place like a grisly display.

The figure's smile twisted, relishing the terror in Ochoku's gaze. "Pirates like you," he murmured, leaning in close so that only Ochoku could hear his final words, "serve one purpose—to remind the world that some tides can never be controlled."

With that, he drew a long, curved dagger, its edge wickedly serrated. Slowly, deliberately, he brought it down upon Ochoku's throat, carving with a brutality reserved only for those who would betray everything for a moment of survival.

Ochoku's screams died to a gurgle as the cloaked figure stepped back, his cloak now spattered with blood, his work finished.

He turned, leaving Ochoku's lifeless, brutalized form pinned to the ship as a warning, a silent testament to those who dared cross the darkness that lurked beneath the waves.