"What the hell is that bastard thinking?" Zephyr roared in frustration, his eyes locked on the distant speck in the sky. His instincts were sharp, and he knew exactly what—or rather who—that speck was. It was the flying fortress of Shiki the Golden Lion, the last thing he wanted to see in the vicinity of the Sorbet Kingdom.
Zephyr, responsible for the security of the native hunting competition, had strategically kept his distance from the island, leaving Admiral Hazard and Admiral Agana to oversee the situation on the ground.
Meanwhile, he patrolled the nearby seas, trying to remain vigilant while keeping his focus on the hunt's progress. It was the third day of the competition, and even from his vantage point miles away, he could hear the distant wails and screams of the hunted. Shiki's presence only added to his concerns. The man was a wild card, and his inaction only heightened Zephyr's apprehension.
"Alert all the ships out on patrol," Zephyr commanded with a steely edge to his voice, addressing his Rear Admiral. "If Shiki is here, then Big Mom and Whitebeard are not far behind. We need to be prepared for a full-scale confrontation."
The Rear Admiral's face paled. He gulped audibly, clearly intimidated by the thought of facing not one, but all three of these formidable adversaries. "Admiral Zephyr, are we really going to face all three monsters at once?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly as he sought some semblance of reassurance.
Zephyr's expression hardened. His confidence in confronting Big Mom and Shiki was unwavering, but Whitebeard was a different story altogether. The sheer scale of his power and influence was daunting. Zephyr remained silent, choosing not to elaborate on the complexities of the situation. His thoughts, however, were a whirlwind of concern.
"I just hope Sengoku managed to convince Garp to intervene," Zephyr muttered to himself, his voice tinged with a hint of worry. He had yet to receive a concrete response from Sengoku regarding Garp's involvement. The thought of facing these three titans without the intervention of Garp filled him with dread.
Meanwhile, a dozen miles above the Sorbet Kingdom, Shiki the Golden Lion and his imposing first mate, Jack, surveyed the island below. The flying fortress, with its grandiose design and massive size, hovered high in the sky, casting an ominous shadow over the land.
Jack, towering and formidable, stood beside Shiki, his presence only slightly dimmed by the sheer aura of his captain. "What are we waiting for, Captain? Should we commence the attack?" Jack's voice was thick with impatience. His massive frame seemed almost eager for action, contrasting with the calm demeanor of Shiki.
Shiki let out a hearty laugh, his voice echoing with dark amusement. "Shihahahaha! You seem more eager to hunt than even me. Not yet, Jack, not yet. We still have a few players who need to make it to the venue. Once everyone is here, we'll start in earnest."
Jack's eyes narrowed as he understood his captain's strategy. Shiki was waiting for the right moment, for the arrival of all the key players in their grand plan. The delay was deliberate, a part of Shiki's larger scheme. Despite the time spent waiting, Shiki's enthusiasm was palpable, and his eyes gleamed with anticipation.
The fortress floated above the Sorbet Kingdom, an imposing monument to Shiki's power and ambition. Its massive engines hummed softly, a reminder of the destructive potential it harbored. Shiki and Jack watched from their vantage point, their patience unwavering as they prepared for the chaos that was to come.
Back on the ground, Zephyr's mind raced with strategic calculations, trying to anticipate the movements of the powerful adversaries converging on the Sorbet Kingdom. The situation was volatile, and the balance of power was precariously tipping towards a cataclysmic confrontation. With Shiki's fortress hovering like a dark cloud over the kingdom, the impending clash promised to be one of epic proportions.
***********
On the vast expanse of the South Blue seas, a massive pirate ship sailed with an air of authority, its Jolly Roger proudly displaying the mark of the Whitebeard Pirates. The ship, with its immense size and imposing figurehead, cut through the waters with a purpose, followed closely by three other vessels flying the same flag. They were headed straight for the Sorbet Kingdom, each crew member aware that they were on a collision course with destiny.
"Marines! Straight ahead!" The lookout in the crow's nest bellowed, his voice cutting through the salty air as he spotted a colossal Marine battleship approaching on an intercept course. The ship bore a distinctive dog figurehead, signaling its identity to those who knew to fear it. The Whitebeard Pirates quickly mobilized, their seasoned crew moving with the precision of a well-oiled machine, preparing for battle.
Amid the commotion, Whitebeard, the towering giant of a man who ruled these seas, sat on his massive throne at the center of the deck. His eyes, sharp and calculating, were fixed not on the approaching marine ship but on a distant island that had captured his attention. As the Marine vessel drew nearer, cutting through the waves with the confidence of its legendary commander, Whitebeard remained unperturbed.
"Let's sink those bastards!" one of the newer recruits, still brimming with the naïve bravado of inexperience, shouted as he prepared for a fight. However, before he could say another word, a metal hook slammed into the back of his head with a resounding thud, knocking him unconscious. The sudden attack left many of the younger crew members in stunned silence, their eyes widening as they realized it was Crocodile who had delivered the blow.
"You morons!" Crocodile snarled, his voice dripping with disdain. "Open your eyes and register that ship into your very skulls. That's the vessel of Vice Admiral Garp, the Marine Hero."
Marco, standing nearby, nodded in agreement, his gaze stern as he addressed the assembled crew. "Crocodile's right. That ship belongs to Garp the Fist, and if you don't know who that is, then you've got a lot to learn. Disrespecting a man like Garp is a death wish." Marco's tone was educational yet firm, ensuring that every pirate on deck understood the gravity of the situation.
The commanders of Whitebeard's various divisions exchanged glances, each aware that Garp was a man only their "Pops" could match. Even Whitebeard himself would never allow anyone in his crew to show disrespect toward someone of Garp's caliber. Garp's reputation was legendary, and not just among the Marines; he was a man who had faced down the strongest of pirates, and lived to tell the tale.
As the Marine ship drew closer, now within visual range, the crew could clearly see a lone man standing atop the dog-shaped figurehead. His stance was casual, yet there was an undeniable aura of power that radiated from him, commanding respect from all who gazed upon him.
Hushed whispers spread among the unexperienced crew as they started debating if the man on top of the figurehead was Garp himself, and if so, why did their pops leave in another direction?. If it had been any other Marine ship, they wouldn't have hesitated to attack, but Garp was different. He was the stuff of nightmares for pirates across the Grand Line and beyond.
Whitebeard, however, seemed uninterested in the approaching vessel. He picked up a massive vat of wine, emptied its contents in a single, powerful gulp, and tossed it aside. Then, with a mighty pull, he drew his naginata, the legendary weapon Murakumogiri, one of the supreme grade weapons, and rose to his full, imposing height. The very air seemed to tremble with his presence, causing everyone aboard the Moby Dick to flinch.
"Marco! Handle things here. I'm going to greet an old friend," Whitebeard ordered, his voice booming with authority. "Do not engage unless provoked. None of you are a match for that man." With those words, Whitebeard leapt from the ship's deck into the open sea.
But instead of plunging into the waters below, the air beneath his feet cracked like shattered glass, rippling outward with a force that defied nature itself. Using his Tremor-Tremor powers, Whitebeard propelled himself through the sky, each leap covering a mile of distance as he made his way toward the distant island.
Marco barely had time to process what was happening before Whitebeard had already vanished into the horizon. "Damn you, Pops!" Marco cursed under his breath. Determined not to let his captain face whatever awaited alone, Marco transformed into his phoenix form, his wings igniting with blue flames as he took to the sky in pursuit.
But just as Marco flew a few meters away from the Moby Dick, a massive flying slash tore through the sea, creating a deep ravine that stretched for over a mile. The force of the attack was so immense that the displaced water formed a towering wall, slamming into Marco and pushing him back towards the ship. The sheer power of the attack was enough to make even the most seasoned veterans on board unsheathe their weapons, readying themselves for battle.
Standing atop the dog-shaped figurehead, Bogard, Garp's right-hand man, casually sheathed his blade. His stance was relaxed, but his presence was anything but. There was a dangerous calm in his demeanor, a quiet confidence that spoke volumes about his skill. "I'm sure Whitebeard told you not to interfere," Bogard said, his voice steady and unyielding, leaving no room for argument.
Bogard stood at the bow of the Marine battleship, his eyes scanning the vast expanse of the ocean, his expression as calm and steady as ever. The sun hung high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the water, making it seem like any other peaceful day at sea. But beneath the surface of that calm exterior, tension simmered, the kind that only seasoned warriors could sense.
"It's a lovely day," Bogard remarked, his tone almost too casual for the gravity of the situation. His voice carried a calm confidence, betraying none of the underlying complexities of the moment.
"Let's anchor our ships here. I'm sure it's going to take them quite a few days to catch up with each other." The comment seemed offhand, but there was a weight to it, a recognition of the intense battle that was sure to come.
Bogard knew that the clash between Garp and Whitebeard would be nothing short of legendary, a confrontation that could easily stretch for days, if not longer. The surrounding seas around South Blue would tremble under the force of their collision.
But he also knew that Garp had no intention of setting foot on that cursed island. They had deliberately intercepted Whitebeard here, far, far away from Sorbet Kingdom, to keep the two titans engaged and to prevent Whitebeard from interfering with the horrors unfolding on the island.
Yet, even with this strategic maneuver, the gnawing sense of guilt was hard to ignore. The decision to keep Whitebeard occupied, far from the atrocities being committed by the Celestial Dragons, wasn't an easy one. It was a necessary evil, as the Fleet Admiral called it, a bitter pill that neither Bogard nor Garp wanted to swallow, but duty left them little choice.
The safety of the Celestial Dragons, as twisted as it seemed, had been deemed paramount by those at the top.
Bogard's thoughts drifted to Sengoku, the man who had orchestrated this delicate operation. Sengoku, with his sharp mind and unyielding sense of duty, knew exactly how to maneuver people, how to push the right buttons to achieve the desired outcome.
It was Sengoku who had managed to gain approval for the SWORD initiative, a secretive and controversial Marine unit designed to handle situations where conventional means fell short. The initiative had undergone several modifications to get the necessary backing, but its core purpose remained unchanged. It was a tool for the most difficult of tasks, and Sengoku had wielded it masterfully. And the final authority for the SWORD lay with Garp as initially intended, so Garp had to move because Sengoku had kept his word.
Garp had reluctantly agreed to the plan, understanding the necessity even as it went against his personal code of honor. Holding back Whitebeard from intervening in Sorbet Kingdom's affairs was a task only someone of Garp's caliber could manage, and Sengoku had known that. But the moral cost of that decision weighed heavily on them both.
As the Marine battleships dropped anchor, the Marines moved with the efficiency and precision that came from years of disciplined training. Orders were given, ropes were secured, and the ships settled into their positions. The men on board knew they were here to support Garp and to ensure that Whitebeard's attention remained firmly on them.
In response, Marco also understood that until their pops returned, there wasn't much they could do about the situation. " Anchor the ships; send the signal to the rest . Keep vigilant." The Whitebeard pirates moved in unison, and soon the four ships from the fleet were tethered to the seabed, opposing the three marine ships.
Bogard's gaze shifted back to the distant island, barely a speck on the horizon. He couldn't help but think forward to the clash that was undoubtedly going to take place there soon enough.
Garp's orders and his duty were clear. He was here to ensure that Whitebeard remained focused on them, far away from the Sorbet Kingdom. The moral implications of that duty were something he would have to reconcile with later.
"At least we're keeping Whitebeard away from it all," Bogard muttered to himself, though the words did little to ease the turmoil within him. He knew that Garp shared similar feelings, despite the legendary Marine's outward composure. This mission wasn't one that either of them relished, but it was necessary. They were soldiers, bound by their oaths and by the responsibilities that came with them.
The rest of the Whitebeard Pirates were still stunned by the ease with which Bogard had repelled Marco, but the message was clear. This man, who had served under Garp for years, was not to be trifled with. He was a living legend in his own right, known throughout the New World as a master swordsman whose speed and precision were unparalleled.
The mere mention of Bogard's name was enough to strike fear into the hearts of pirates and Marines alike. His reputation was built on countless battles, where he had single-handedly turned the tide, cutting through enemies with ruthless efficiency.
Marco, returning to the ship after relaying the orders to the other ships, locked eyes with Bogard. The memory of Whitebeard's warning echoed in his mind. It wasn't Garp they had been warned about—it was this man. Marco knew better than to underestimate Bogard, whose unassuming appearance belied the deadly skill that lay beneath. The tension in the air was palpable, as both sides recognized the delicate balance of power at play.
Bogard's calm gaze swept over the Whitebeard Pirates, his eyes sharp and observant. He didn't need to say more; his actions had spoken for him. With Whitebeard gone, the crew knew they had to tread carefully. This wasn't just a test of strength, but a test of their resolve, their ability to follow orders, and their respect for the unspoken rules of the seas.
*****
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