And so, the battle between the marines and pirates began. It was a clash of inevitability, a desperate struggle for those seeking freedom and the right to live on their own terms.
If they survived.
That single word lingered, ominous and uncertain.
Imai watched the pirates charge forward, their numbers dwindling with every clash. She didn't pity them—death was a constant in their world. Yet, she felt a flicker of pride. They fought like true pirates, risking everything to defy the chains that sought to bind them.
Her sword cut down another wave of marines with brutal efficiency. By her side, Uta and Rei formed an unstoppable trio, cutting through the opposition like a storm. Together, they were untouchable.
Despite the marine's overwhelming numbers, the tide was turning. The three apostles—figures of almost mythical strength—shattered the morale of their enemies. Without the presence of an admiral or vice-admiral, the marines' chances of victory seemed slim.
Then, the realization dawned on them.
They were bait.
The marines weren't here to win but to slow Imai down, to tire her before reinforcements arrived. One marine, grasping the futility of it all, dropped his weapon. His gaze sank to the ground as he questioned everything—his purpose, his choices.
He had joined the marines to seek justice for his slaughtered family, to find meaning in their deaths. Now, as the chaos around him became deafening, he realized the truth:
It wasn't worth it.
The flash of a blade ended his reflection. As his head fell, the memories of his life flickered—his wife, his children, his home. A faint smile touched his lips in death, knowing he would finally join them, even as regret followed him into the void.
Imai glanced at the fallen marine, noting the despair etched into his final moments. She had seen that look countless times—the face of someone who had given up. She pitied him.
In this world, to live without a will was to be a corpse already.
For the marines, the battle was grim. Their weapons felt heavier with every swing, their steps slower with every charge. The fight seemed all but lost.
Suddenly, a blinding golden light tore through the battlefield, halting everyone in their tracks.
Imai pushed a marine aside, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the source. There were few people capable of such a display, and one name came to mind. It couldn't be him.
"Everyone! Raise your swords! The battle isn't over!" a voice thundered, feminine yet commanding.
The voice struck Imai as familiar, though she couldn't place it immediately. Weaving through the reinvigorated marines, she reached the source of the light—and froze.
Standing there was Heiwa.
The blonde girl with emerald eyes was unmistakable. Imai remembered her from the battle on Centaurea, where she had spared her during the infamous "Loss of a Million."
Heiwa's gaze locked onto Imai, her expression shifting from shock to fury in an instant. Her sword was drawn before Imai could speak, and their blades met with a deafening clash.
The force of the strike forced Imai back slightly, but she grinned. The once-weak girl she had spared had transformed into a warrior—a monster.
"Well, well," Imai said, lightning sparking along her blade. "Heiwa. You've grown. Same appearance, but it seems we're finally the same height."
"It's Diane now," the woman hissed, her tone venomous. "I've been waiting for this moment. I swore I'd return the humiliation you dealt me that day. You will die here."
The hatred in Diane's emerald eyes sent a chill through Imai. For the first time in years, she felt a sliver of fear.
She barely dodged Diane's next strike, the blade slicing through the air where she'd been standing. Blocking it would've been a mistake—a fatal one.
"So, you've learned," Diane said coldly, lowering her sword slightly. "Most would've tried to block that. But you always were sharp, weren't you?"
"Future Sight has its perks," Imai replied casually, her grin returning. "I'm impressed, Diane. I'm glad I didn't kill you back then. Look at what you've become—a monster of the marines."
"Don't flatter yourself!" Diane spat, her voice brimming with contempt. "You didn't create me. I did this. I ate a devil fruit, killed the weak version of myself, and dedicated my life to this moment."
Imai laughed, charging forward. Their swords clashed in a flurry of sparks and steel, their movements too fast for most to follow.
The marines and pirates alike watched in awe. None dared to intervene—getting caught between these two would be a death sentence.
Diane's strikes were fueled by hatred and vengeance, her blade a manifestation of years of pain. Imai's, however, carried something else. There was a longing in her attacks—a strange contrast that Diane couldn't understand.
"What kind of killer longs for something?" Diane thought bitterly, her grip tightening. The confusion only deepened her anger, and she quickened the pace of her attacks.
The battlefield seemed to freeze around them as the two warriors dueled, their power shaking the earth.
If Imai was the Empress of the Seas, Diane thought, then she would rise as the Conqueress.