Sorbet Kingdom, South Blue
"Lion's Thousand Slice Valley!!!"
Shiki roared as he swung his dual blades, Oto and Kogarashi, both infused with Haki. The slash ripped through the island, a force of nature made manifest, cutting through the air with such intensity that the very atmosphere seemed to scream in protest.
The attack collided with a massive claw attack from the monstrous beast that the God's Knight had transformed into. The impact of the clash sent shockwaves across the sea, causing tsunamis to rise in the distance and splitting the island's surface in a jagged line that stretched for miles.
The force of Shiki's attack was undeniable; it sent his opponent crashing into the ground below, creating a massive crater that splintered the earth and caused parts of the island to crumble into the ocean. Debris and dust filled the air as the island shuddered under the sheer power of the collision.
"Hahaha! Not bad, Golden Lion Shiki!" The God's Knight, reverting to his hybrid form, stood up amidst the rubble, his voice booming with twisted amusement. His form, a terrifying blend of man and beast, was battered and bruised, but his spirit remained unbroken. "It was surely not an exaggeration when they said you could fight on equal terms with the likes of Roger," he taunted, wiping blood from his lips.
Despite the God's Knight's bravado, it was clear who had the upper hand. Shiki's overwhelming strength and experience were gradually tipping the scales in his favor. The God's Knight, despite the advantage of his mythical Zoan fruit, was faltering under the relentless assault.
But Shiki did not respond to the taunt. His sharp eyes scanned his opponent, calculating, cold. Without a word, he launched another devastating barrage of attacks. The air around him shimmered with power as he used his Fuwa Fuwa no Mi to levitate a massive chunk of the island below.
"Lion's Threat!!!"
With a mighty roar, Shiki hurled the colossal landmass at the God's Knight, the intention clear: to bury his opponent alive under the weight of the island itself. The massive chunks of rock and earth flew through the air with terrifying speed, blotting out the sun as they descended upon the battlefield.
The God's Knight, seeing the incoming devastation, braced himself, but Shiki's power was relentless, the force of the attack shaking the very core of the island. Yet, despite the overwhelming advantage, Shiki's mind was not entirely focused on the battle before him.
His instincts, honed from decades on the seas, were screaming at him—a gnawing sense of dread that he couldn't shake. Something was wrong—terribly wrong.
Shiki's eyes narrowed as he used his Observation Haki to scan the island again, reaching out with his senses to understand the source of his unease. He felt Jack, still locked in fierce combat with the lava-wielding Marine on one of the shores.
The heat from their battle could be felt even from where he stood. On the opposite shore, he sensed Charlotte Linlin engaged in a brutal struggle with Zephyr. The clash of titans reverberated across the island, but something else caught his attention.
More and more presences—pirates, bounty hunters, and many more ambitious men and women—were converging on Sorbet Kingdom, breaking through the blockade with alarming ease. Shiki's unease deepened. This wasn't just about the Ope Ope no Mi or the other devil fruits; something bigger was at play. He could feel it in his bones.
The subtle, almost imperceptible vanishing of the Celestial Dragons from the island sent another wave of suspicion through him. Where were they going? Why were they disappearing? And why was the blockade so easily breached? It was as if the entire situation had been orchestrated to draw in as many powerful forces as possible into one place. But for what purpose?
Shiki's thoughts were interrupted as the God's Knight, refusing to be buried, emerged from the wreckage, bloodied but still fighting. His eyes glowed with a savage light, and he charged at Shiki with renewed fury. But Shiki, still distracted by his growing suspicions, met the attack with a brutal counter, their weapons clashing with earth-shattering force.
"Damn it," Shiki muttered under his breath, his gaze flicking around the battlefield. The God's Knight was relentless, forcing Shiki to stay focused on the fight at hand, but he couldn't shake the feeling that time was running out. The World Government was planning something—something catastrophic—and he needed to figure out what it was before it was too late.
The island continued to tremble under the weight of their battle, but in the back of Shiki's mind, the unease grew, a dark cloud overshadowing his every thought. His instincts screamed at him to retreat, to abandon this fight, and to uncover the true nature of the threat looming over the Sorbet Kingdom. But his pride, his drive to stand above all others, kept him rooted in the fight.
"Lion's Roar!!!"
As Shiki launched another devastating attack, his mind raced. What was the World Government hiding? Why had so many pirates been drawn here? And what was the ominous feeling that made even the legendary Golden Lion consider fleeing?
The answers eluded him, but one thing was clear: whatever was coming, it was going to be far worse than the battle he was currently fighting. And if he didn't figure it out soon, not even his legendary power might be enough to save him from what was to come.
***
Donquixote Mjosgard had never felt the weight of sorrow. Kneeling on the cold, blood-soaked ground, his trembling hands reached out, hovering just above the remnants of what was once his father.
The metallic scent of blood filled the air, mingling with the salt of his tears that flowed unchecked down his face. The world around him blurred as his vision became clouded by the sheer grief that tore through his chest.
He had always been taught that tears were beneath someone of his status. Celestial Dragons did not cry, did not feel the petty emotions of the lesser beings they ruled over. Yet here he was, a Celestial Dragon, reduced to nothing more than a broken, weeping child, kneeling before a puddle of flesh and blood that had once been his father.
His mind struggled to comprehend what lay before him. Chunks of meat, torn apart by savage beasts, blood splattered across the ground like the remnants of a grotesque feast. The sight was horrific, and yet Mjosgard could not tear his eyes away. It was as if his body refused to let him look away from the consequences of a life he had never truly understood until now.
His father, Donquixote Harling, had never been a man of great cruelty. In a world where their kind were known for their callousness, Harling had been different. He had been a kind father, a gentle man, even if he was complicit in the horrors their family name was synonymous with.
To Mjosgard, Harling had been a beacon of warmth in the cold, oppressive world of the Celestial Dragons. But now, that beacon was snuffed out, reduced to nothing more than lifeless flesh.
The pain was unbearable, a raw, searing agony that Mjosgard had never imagined possible. In the past, he had watched with cold detachment as others were tortured, their screams nothing more than background noise in his luxurious life.
He had believed it was his birthright to inflict suffering, to play with lives as if they were mere toys for his amusement. The suffering of others had been a distant, abstract concept—something that happened to them, not to him, never to him.
But now, with the blood of his father staining his hands, the reality of it all came crashing down upon him. This was pain. This was loss. And it was nothing like he had imagined. It was suffocating, consuming, a darkness that wrapped around his heart and squeezed until he could barely breathe.
Mjosgard's tears fell into the blood, mixing with it, becoming one with the horror that lay before him. He wiped his tears away with a shaky hand, only to find them replaced by more, endless and uncontrollable. He felt sick to his core, repulsed by the very sight of himself reflected in the crimson puddle.
For the first time in his life, he saw the truth. The mask of superiority that he had worn all his life crumbled away, revealing the ugliness beneath. He was not a god, not a being above others—he was just a man, as vulnerable and fragile as anyone else.
The title of Celestial Dragon meant nothing in the face of death, nothing in the face of the pain that now tore through his heart.
His thoughts turned dark, spiraling into an abyss of self-loathing and rage. How had he lived like this for so long? How had he never questioned the cruelty, the barbarity of their existence? The very idea that he had once believed himself above others now filled him with disgust. He hated it, hated what he was, what he had become.
The anger within him grew, burning away the grief for a moment as it took hold. His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms as he thought of those responsible. The points table had made it clear who had done this—someone from the Saturn family. But what did that matter now? What difference did it make who had killed his father? In this world, where power was everything, where bloodlines determined your worth, he was nothing more than a pawn in a game far larger than himself.
And yet, the rage persisted. It demanded a target, demanded someone to blame, someone to lash out at. The Saturn family—those arrogant, bloodthirsty monsters who had killed his father for sport.
The Marines, who served these monsters without question, enforcing their will on the world. The very system that had created this nightmare, that had allowed men like him to believe they were untouchable, until they weren't.
But most of all, he hated himself. He hated the boy who had laughed as others suffered, the boy who had taken pleasure in the pain of those he saw as beneath him. He hated the man who had turned a blind eye to the horrors his family perpetuated, who had believed that his father's kindness absolved them of their sins.
Mjosgard's heart ached with the weight of his realization. He was just as guilty as any of them. His father had been a good man, but that goodness had been tainted by the blood of innocents, by the system they upheld. A system that had now turned on them, devouring them with the same mercilessness they had shown to others.
The tears continued to flow, but now they were tears of fury, of shame. He had been a fool, a blind, selfish fool. And now, with his father gone, there was no one left to guide him, no one left to show him the way. He was lost, adrift in a sea of pain and regret, with no idea how to make it stop.
The thought of revenge flickered through his mind, a dark, seductive whisper that promised to ease his pain. But what could he do? He was not strong, not like the man who had killed his father. He was nothing—a weak, pampered fool who had never known true hardship until now.
And yet, the desire for vengeance persisted, gnawing at him, refusing to be silenced. He wanted to make them pay—all of them. The Saturn family, the World Government, the entire rotten system that had led to this moment. But how? How could he, a Celestial Dragon, strike back against the very world that had created him?
He didn't know. All he knew was that he could not continue as he had before. The world he had known was gone, shattered along with his father's body. In its place was a void, a gaping emptiness that he didn't know how to fill.
Mjosgard slowly tried to rise to his feet, his legs trembling beneath him. He looked down at the remains of his father, his vision blurred by tears. There was nothing left to say, nothing left to feel but the cold, hard truth that now stared him in the face.
He was a Celestial Dragon—a title that once made him proud, now felt like a curse. It was a title that had cost him his father, that had cost him his humanity. And he hated it. He hated everything it stood for, everything it had made him.
The rage inside him simmered, quiet but not forgotten. It would be his fuel, his guide as he stepped into the unknown. He didn't know what the future held, but he knew one thing: he would never again be the man he was before. The boy who had once believed himself a god was dead, just like his father.
In his place stood a man who had seen the truth, who had felt the pain of loss and the sting of regret. And that man would do whatever it took to make sure that the monsters who had taken his father from him paid for what they had done.
Even if it meant destroying the very world he had once believed himself to rule.
The air was thick with tension as Donquixote Mjosgard remained on his knees, his eyes fixed on the remains of his father. The grotesque sight before him was enough to send chills down the spines of even the most hardened warriors, and yet, no one dared to approach.
His security detail and servants stood at a distance, paralyzed by fear and uncertainty. The violent death of a former Celestial Dragon had shaken them to their core. If a World Noble could be subjected to such a fate, what hope did they have if they crossed the powers that be?
In the midst of this uneasy silence, Mjosgard's voice, raw and trembling, broke through, "Have you come to finish me off too...?"
The question hung in the air, confusing those around him. To them, it sounded like the grief-stricken ramblings of a man who had just lost everything. None of them realized that Mjosgard's senses had sharpened in the wake of his father's death.
Unbeknownst to them, Mjosgard had unlocked the ability to sense the presence of others—a rudimentary form of Observation Haki. And he was certain there was someone hidden nearby, watching.
The CP0 agent hidden in the shadows tensed. He hadn't expected Mjosgard to detect him. This particular Celestial Dragon was thought to be weak, a man who had lost the favor of the World Government and his own family due to his father's actions.
The agent had been sent on a delicate mission: to offer Mjosgard a chance to redeem himself, a chance put forth by the highest echelons of power. But if Mjosgard proved to be a liability, he had orders to eliminate him.
The agent stepped out of the shadows, his movements smooth and deliberate. He was dressed in the standard white robes and mask of CP0, the World Government's most elite and secretive organization. The expression behind the mask was unreadable, but his eyes were cold, calculating.
"Mjosgard-sama," the agent began, his voice flat and emotionless, "I did not expect you to be able to sense my presence. It seems the events of today have unlocked a new potential within you."
Mjosgard slowly rose to his feet, his expression carefully controlled. The tears had stopped, replaced by a mask of cold indifference. He knew he was being watched, evaluated, and the stakes were life and death. He had to play this perfectly.
"What do you want?" Mjosgard asked, his voice devoid of the grief that had consumed him moments before. "If you're here to finish what those bastards started, then get on with it. I have no time for games."
The agent's eyes narrowed behind his mask, trying to gauge Mjosgard's true emotions. Was this defiance? Resignation? Or something else entirely? He had been briefed on Mjosgard's recent fall from grace, how his father's actions had placed him in a precarious position within the World Government. But now, faced with the man himself, the agent was uncertain.
"You misunderstand me, Mjosgard-sama," the agent said, his tone measured. "I am not here to harm you. Quite the opposite, in fact. I've come to offer you an opportunity—a chance to regain the favor of the World Government. The elders have not forgotten about you."
Mjosgard scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Regain their favor? After what they did to my father? Why should I care about what those decrepit old men think?"
The agent watched him carefully, searching for any sign of insubordination or genuine resentment. His orders were clear: if Mjosgard harbored any thoughts of revenge, any lingering loyalty to his disgraced father, he was to be dealt with immediately. The World Government could not afford to let a loose end like Mjosgard become a problem.
"You must understand," the agent continued, choosing his words carefully, "Your father's fate was… unfortunate, but necessary. He acted against the interests of the World Government, and such actions cannot go unpunished. However, you are not your father. You still have a place within the World noble ranks, should you choose to accept it."
Mjosgard's eyes flickered with something—was it anger? Pain? The agent couldn't be sure. But when Mjosgard spoke, his voice was calm, almost dismissive.
"My father was a fool," Mjosgard said, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. "He allowed his emotions to cloud his judgment, and he paid the price. I won't make the same mistake. I know what's expected of me as a Celestial Dragon. If the World Government wants to make use of me, then so be it."
The agent's suspicion deepened. The words were right, but something about the way Mjosgard said them didn't sit well with him. It was too clean, too rehearsed. Still, there was no outright defiance, no signs of rebellion. But he needed to be sure.
"You speak wisely, Mjosgard-sama," the agent said slowly, "But understand this: the World Government does not tolerate disloyalty. If there is even a hint that you might follow in your father's footsteps, the consequences will be severe."
Mjosgard gave the agent a cold, appraising look. "Is that a threat? Do you think I'm so dumb that I would challenge the authority of the World Government? My father was foolish enough to believe he could change things and collude with traitorous scum, but I know better. I've seen what happens to those who defy the elders, and I have no intention of ending up like him."
The agent fell silent for a moment, weighing Mjosgard's words. The man before him appeared to be every bit the vain, selfish Celestial Dragon he had always been—unconcerned with anything beyond his own survival and comfort. But the agent's instincts told him there was something more beneath the surface, something dangerous.
"You understand your place, then," the agent said finally, his voice firm. "As long as you remain loyal, you will be protected. The World Government will continue to ensure your status and privileges. But stray from the path, and you will be dealt with accordingly."
Mjosgard inclined his head slightly, a gesture that could have been mistaken for agreement. "I have no intention of becoming a martyr, if that's what you're worried about. My father may have lost sight of what it means to be a Celestial Dragon, but I haven't. I'm not interested in playing the hero. I'll do what's necessary to survive."
The agent relaxed slightly, though he remained vigilant. Mjosgard's words had the ring of truth, but the agent was trained to be cautious, to trust his instincts above all else. And something about this whole situation still didn't feel right. But there was no evidence, no clear sign of betrayal. For now, it seemed Mjosgard was still the same vain, self-serving noble he had always been. And it was not truly his place to judge Mjosgard, and he would relay to the elders to let them make the decision.
"Very well, Mjosgard-sama," the agent said, inclining his head slightly, a gesture meant to convey both respect and superiority. His tone was smooth, almost too smooth, like oil on water. "In that case, I suggest it's time to leave. You wouldn't want to be buried here along with the rest of these... scum, now would you?" His words dripped with disdain, and a smirk curled beneath his mask, barely hidden from Mjosgard's view.
Before Mjosgard could fully process the insult, the agent moved with the swiftness that characterized CP0. In an instant, his hand clamped down on Mjosgard's shoulder. There was no time to react, no time to question. The world around Mjosgard blurred as the agent activated his devil fruit powers, and in the next instant, both vanished from the island.
*****
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