On a Hill in Wanokuni
Ace's expression darkened as he looked at Yamato, a faint, almost cynical smile playing on his lips. "Honestly, do you really think Wanokuni, under the rule of Kozuki Oden, the fool, would last long?"
Yamato's eyes flickered with uncertainty as she listened. Ace's words carried a weight that was difficult to ignore, even though they were spoken with a casual tone. "Even if Oden manages to become the Shogun of Wanokuni with Roger and Whitebeard's help, what then?" Ace continued, his voice calm but laced with an underlying tension. "Soon after, Roger will still ignite the Great Pirate Era with his death. The tides of fate can't be halted, not even by men like Roger and Whitebeard. They could only ride the wave, not stop it."
Ace's gaze turned steely as he continued, "And what about Oden? That idiot is nowhere near capable of protecting a nation as resource-rich as Wanokuni. The land has seastone resources that are coveted by the Marines and the World Government alike. Wanokuni is far more valuable than a place like Amazon Lily, yet the World Government has stayed their hand only because of Kaido. His presence as one of the Four Emperors is enough to make them think twice about invading. But Oden? What kind of joke is that? His strength is a pale shadow compared to the likes of Kaido or the Admirals. And as for his wisdom... well, calling him a clown might be too generous."
Ace paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle in. "Even if Oden somehow managed to establish Wanokuni as a kingdom, he'd only accelerate its downfall. The World Government wouldn't just sit by and watch. They've been eyeing Wanokuni for its resources, and without Kaido's deterrence, they'd swoop in like vultures. And don't forget, Oden's ties to Roger would be all the justification they'd need. He was part of the Pirate King's crew, able to read and interpret the Poneglyphs, guiding them to Raftel. That alone would be enough for the World Government to justify launching a full-scale assault on Wanokuni."
Yamato's brow furrowed, confusion and anger mingling in her expression. "But... why would the World Government want to destroy Wanokuni? Isn't that... evil?"
Ace nodded slowly, his expression hardening. "The World Government doesn't operate on principles of good and evil, Yamato. They operate on power, control, and eliminating threats to their rule. The truth is, they see anyone who challenges their authority as a danger. And Oden, with his connections to Roger and his knowledge of the Poneglyphs, represents a threat to their control over the world's history and future. They wouldn't hesitate to unleash a Buster Call or worse to erase that threat."
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a somber tone. "To be honest Orochi and Kaido are Just Mini-Bosses compared to the World Goverment, Yamato. My main goal is to overthrow the World Government, to tear down their corrupt rule and create a world where people like Oden—or anyone, really—don't have to live in fear of being annihilated just because they know too much or stand up for what's right."
Yamato listened intently, her eyes filled with a mixture of realization and resolve. The gravity of Ace's words weighed heavily on her. The reality of the world she was a part of, and the fragile future of Wanokuni under Oden's leadership, was beginning to sink in.
"We have to be the change," Ace concluded, his voice firm. "Not just for Wanokuni, but for the entire world. The World Government's reign of terror needs to end, and we're the ones who have to make sure that happens."
Before returning to their present world, Ace decided to make one final stop—one that would solidify Yamato's understanding of the true nature of the World Government. He turned to her, his expression serious, and said, "There's something you need to see before we go back. It's time you witnessed firsthand the darkness that fuels the World Government's power."
Yamato nodded, her resolve hardened by their conversation. Without another word, Ace extended his hand, focusing his energy. The air around them shimmered as the power of the Space-Space Fruit activated, warping the space around them. In an instant, they were no longer in Wanokuni but high above the world, standing on the cold, hard stone of the Red Line, at the heart of the World Government's power—Mariejois.
The sight before them was both awe-inspiring and deeply unsettling. Mariejois, with its towering structures and opulent palaces, was a stark contrast to the suffering that lay hidden beneath its gleaming surface. The grandeur of the Holy Land, with its pristine white buildings and well-manicured gardens, spoke of untold wealth and power. But Ace's expression remained grim as he gestured for Yamato to follow him.
The Holy Land, Mariejois—a city perched atop the towering Red Line, the largest landmass in the world, and the residence of the World Noble Celestial Dragons. It is a place of staggering opulence and unchallenged authority, where the whims of the elite shape the fates of nations.
Mariejois is divided into two distinct sections: the inner city and the outer city. The inner city, known as Pangaea Castle, is the true heart of this sanctified land, a realm where only the most exalted of the Celestial Dragons reside. This is where the Five Elders, the highest authority within the World Government, live in seclusion, governing the world from their lofty perch. Only a select few, like the enigmatic Saint Figarland Garling, commander of the Knights of God, have the privilege to enter and exit Pangaea Castle freely. The rest of the Knights, sworn to protect the sanctity of the inner city, patrol its periphery like vigilant sentinels.
The outer city, by contrast, is where the other twenty Celestial Dragon families dwell, in a section often referred to as the "Land of the Gods" by those who dare to speak its name. Here, luxury and decadence are the norm, the streets lined with mansions and palaces that speak of unimaginable wealth. But beneath this veneer of grandeur lies a chilling reality—a place where human lives are bought, sold, and discarded like mere commodities.
"Hurry up, you worthless creature! Stop dragging your feet, or I'll have you flayed alive!" A grotesque figure barked, his voice dripping with disdain. This Celestial Dragon, with greasy black hair, a corpulent frame, and a perpetually runny nose, was a repulsive sight. Encased in a space suit-like jacket and a glass dome that separated him from the "filthy" air of the common world, he looked every bit the caricature of corrupted power.
Beneath him, a hulking man, nearly three meters tall, crawled on his hands and knees, reduced to the status of a beast of burden. His body was a canvas of suffering, covered in fresh wounds and old scars. The scabs on his flesh had been torn open, seeping a yellowish pus that mixed with the blood, evidence of the torture he endured daily. Yet, even in this pitiful state, he remained silent, his eyes dull and lifeless, stripped of all humanity.
"Hahahaha! Brother, it looks like you've lost this time! Don't forget your bet!" A voice rang out beside the grotesque figure, light and mocking. It belonged to a female Celestial Dragon, her face hidden behind a silk scarf beneath her glass helmet. Whether it was a statement of her refined taste or a deeper contempt for the world around her, the scarf added an air of aloofness to her already haughty demeanor.
She watched the suffering of the enslaved man with detached amusement, her laughter a cold, hollow sound that echoed through the streets of Mariejois. To her and her kind, this was not just life—it was sport, a cruel game played out on the backs of those they deemed inferior.
In this city of gods, where the powerful reigned supreme, the true nature of the World Government was laid bare. Mariejois, with all its splendor, was nothing more than a gilded cage, where the cruelty and arrogance of the Celestial Dragons were on full display. And it was here, in the heart of their dominion, that Ace chose to bring Yamato, to show her the depths of the evil they sought to destroy.
The twisted spectacle of Mariejois played out in the shadowed streets, where the Celestial Dragons reveled in their perverse games. Among these games was a particularly cruel pastime—a riding competition between siblings, where the mounts were not animals but slaves, broken and beaten into submission.
The Female Celestial Dragon, who had recently acquired a new slave, decided to challenge her brother to a race. The track was the longest street in the entire outer city of Mariejois, a path often chosen by the Celestial Dragons for their leisure strolls. It was a grueling distance, designed to push the limits of those unfortunate enough to serve as mounts. The slaves, crawling on all fours, were forced to endure excruciating pain as their knees scraped against the unforgiving ground, every step a new agony.
The Celestial Dragons did not choose weaklings for their amusement. The slave beneath Saint Cervantes had once been a fearsome pirate, a man with a bounty of over 30 million berries, whose name had struck fear across the seas. But that was before he fell into the hands of the Celestial Dragons. Under the relentless torture of Saint Cervantes, this once-proud pirate had been reduced to nothing more than a beast of burden, his spirit crushed, his strength sapped.
As the race came to an end, Saint Cervantes found himself on the losing side. His slave, once formidable, had failed to keep up, and the loss of the bet stung his pride. With a sneer of disdain, Saint Cervantes drew a small, ornately decorated pistol from his side and fired multiple shots into the soles of the slave's feet. The first shot elicited a scream, raw and instinctive, but the slave quickly clamped his mouth shut, his bloodshot eyes wide with pain. He gritted his teeth, stifling any further cries, as blood pooled beneath him. Despite the unbearable agony, he forced his body to remain still, knowing that any tremor might provoke even harsher punishment from the sadistic noble on his back.
"Hmph, boring!" Saint Cervantes muttered, displeased that his slave did not provide the satisfaction of prolonged screams. He turned to his sister, who had won the race with her own slave, and asked, "Sister, can you lend me your slave for a few days?"
The Female Celestial Dragon, her face partially concealed by a delicate purple folding fan, responded with a cold smile. "That's not going to happen. I just bought this one. Maybe after I've had my fun."
Her brother scowled, lips curling in disdain, but he said nothing more. He knew well that his sister, despite her pretty appearance, was as cruel as any of them. Once she got tired of her toys, no slave survived her hands intact.
"Forget it. I'm not feeling well today. I'm going back," Saint Cervantes grumbled, sucking up the mucus dripping from his nose as he delivered a sharp whip crack across the back of his slave. The man flinched, but obediently began to crawl back toward the residence, each movement a struggle against the pain searing through his mutilated feet.
The scene was routine for Mariejois. Around them, other Celestial Dragons barely glanced at the suffering slaves, their indifference as cold as the stone streets. To them, these displays of power and cruelty were as normal as breathing. Even the high-ranking officials of the World Government, who sometimes visited Mariejois, turned a blind eye to the brutality. Instead of showing concern for the bleeding, broken slaves, they fell over themselves to flatter the Celestial Dragons, praising their "greatness" in the hope of currying favor.
This was the reality of the Holy Land, a place where the suffering of others was mere entertainment, and where the line between human and monster had long since blurred. Ace and Yamato, hidden from sight, watched with a growing sense of resolve. This was the evil they had vowed to destroy—a world where the powerful trampled the weak without consequence, and where the cries of the oppressed went unheard.
Far above the Red Line, in the frigid, thin air that would be lethal to ordinary men, Ace and Yamato stood atop one of the tallest buildings in Mariejois, cloaked in the silence of the night. The altitude was dizzying—nearly ten thousand meters from the sea below. The temperature hovered around a bone-chilling 20 to 30 degrees below zero, but neither of them seemed bothered. Ace, with his powerful physique, was unfazed by the cold, and Yamato, prepared for anything, handled the oxygen deprivation with ease.
From their vantage point, they could see the sprawling city of Mariejois, the heart of the World Government and the home of the Celestial Dragons. The holy city lay beneath them, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing above. Ace's eyes, sharp with determination, scanned the city's opulent buildings, taking in the grandiosity that symbolized so much suffering and oppression.
At the edge of the city, where the buildings were slightly taller, they observed the movements of the Celestial Dragons. The so-called "gods" of the world were nothing more than bloated, grotesque figures, oblivious to the real world's pain and hardship. Ace's lips curled into a cold smile as he considered his plan. His intention wasn't just to cause a spectacle by bombing the entire city—though it would be a satisfying display of power—but to strike at the very heart of the Celestial Dragons, to eliminate as many of these vile creatures as possible in a single, devastating blow.
Mariejois, for all its grandeur, was ironically vulnerable. The city's defense relied heavily on the Celestial Dragons' confidence in their untouchable status. Here, no one dared to use Haki or Devil Fruit abilities without explicit permission, under the threat of becoming a slave to these tyrants. This false sense of security meant that, despite its reputation as the safest place in the world, Mariejois was largely undefended, relying mostly on visual inspections by the CP agents rather than any advanced technological weapons.
Ace and Yamato stood openly atop the building, unchallenged and undetected. The Celestial Dragons, lost in their hedonistic indulgence, had no inkling that their world was about to be turned upside down. Even if someone happened to look up, they would see nothing—Ace's mastery over his presence was such that only an emperor-level expert, focusing their Observation Haki to the extreme, might catch a hint of something wrong. But even then, the chances were slim.
As they observed, Ace's Observation Haki picked up on a large gathering in a coliseum-like structure, reminiscent of Dressrosa's infamous arena. The cheers and laughter of the Celestial Dragons echoed in the distance, but their words were lost to the wind. It was obvious, though, what they were witnessing—a brutal slave fight, a blood sport for their twisted amusement.
"Found it," Ace murmured, his eyes narrowing as he locked onto the arena. The stands were packed with Celestial Dragons, shouting and reveling in the suffering below. This was it—the perfect target. The arena was crowded, making it an ideal spot for a single, overwhelming strike that would send shockwaves throughout the world.
He turned to Yamato, his expression serious but tinged with a dark excitement. "This is the place. You've seen how evil these people are. Are you ready to bomb them with me?"
Yamato, her eyes burning with the same resolve, nodded. The time for judgment had come. The Celestial Dragons, with all their arrogance and cruelty, were about to face a reckoning unlike any they had ever imagined. Ace's power, fueled by righteous fury, was about to rain down upon the so-called gods of this world, and nothing would ever be the same again.
"The fireworks of Mariejois must be very interesting," Ace chuckled, his voice carrying an eerie calm as he spoke. His smile grew wider, his expression brightening with a mix of anticipation and righteous fury. In the heart of the so-called Holy Land, Mariejois, the base of the World Government, Ace had no illusions about the so-called security of this place. The Celestial Dragons, in their arrogance, had left themselves vulnerable, relying on their status rather than strength to protect them.
"Zanka no Tachi, North."
With a single utterance, Ace unleashed the terrifying power of his flames, a technique born from the ultimate fusion of his Devil Fruit abilities and Conqueror's Haki. The air around him ignited in a blaze of crimson as the temperature skyrocketed. The very ground beneath Mariejois seemed to tremble in response to the overwhelming heat, as if the world itself was reacting to the impending devastation.
Yamato instinctively shrouded herself in Haki, her body bracing against the sudden surge in temperature. The atmosphere in Mariejois changed dramatically—what had been a serene night in the city of gods became a furnace. The temperature soared, the air crackling with energy, and yet, for a brief moment, there was silence.
10 seconds.
No response came from the city below. The inhabitants of Mariejois, so accustomed to their illusion of safety, remained blissfully unaware of the storm brewing above them. Only the small creatures—the mice that scurried through the streets—sensed the danger. They squeaked in terror and fled, abandoning their usual haunts.
8 seconds.
A migratory bird, perched on a tree within the city's borders, suddenly took flight, its instincts warning it of the imminent danger. The animals in the zoo, usually docile, began to stir restlessly, pacing and growling as if sensing the wrathful force that was about to be unleashed.
5 seconds.
In the depths of Pangu City, Imu, the enigmatic ruler hidden from the world's eyes, suddenly awakened. His eyes snapped open, his senses immediately attuned to the crisis that had come to his doorstep. His Observation Haki, sharp enough to peer into the future, revealed to him the threat looming above Mariejois.
"Wake up, attack incoming."
The warning spread like wildfire through the Holy Land, carried by a voice that echoed in every corner of the city. The tranquility of Mariejois shattered in an instant. Servants, guards, and even the nobles themselves were roused from their sleep, their peaceful night plunged into chaos.
"Ah," one of the Five Elders grunted in surprise, his usually calm demeanor shaken as he struggled to comprehend the situation.
"Aiyo, aiyo," another groaned, wincing as he felt a sharp pain in his back—perhaps the cost of their long years of complacency.
Saint Nusjuro, one of the Five Elders, grasped his sword, his eyes wide with shock. The voice that had given the warning was unmistakable—it belonged to Imu, the one who ruled from the shadows. But why? What could possibly have awakened him?
"Not good," another Elder muttered, his face paling as he too realized the gravity of the situation. His own Observation Haki flared to life, expanding across the city in an attempt to grasp the full extent of the danger.
"Set up the Shield quickly!" he shouted, the command breaking through the confusion and panic spreading through the Holy Land. But it was too late for questions—Mariejois was about to face an unprecedented attack.
The strongest shields of the World Government, the elite agents of CP0, and even Admiral Sengoku, stationed nearby, were suddenly on high alert. A creeping sense of dread washed over them as their Haki warned them of a catastrophe on the horizon.
"Go to rescue the nobles of the world, go to rescue the nobles of the world!" The desperate cries echoed throughout Mariejois, a frantic call to action as the realization of the impending disaster set in.
0 seconds.
The Commander of the Knights of God, Saint Figarland Garling, finally noticed Ace. From his position, he could see the pirate in his Zanka no Tachi form, a blazing figure of destruction poised to unleash a storm of red-hot solar energy upon Mariejois. The sheer magnitude of the power Ace was charging up was enough to bring even the most seasoned warriors to their knees.
This was not just an attack—it was a declaration. Ace, with Yamato at his side, was about to make the world's so-called gods pay for their sins in the most spectacular way possible.
"Art is an explosion!!" Ace bellowed, his voice filled with a mix of exhilaration and wrath.
"Drink!!"
"Boom~~!!!"
"Boom~~!!!"
A thunderous detonation reverberated across the Red Line, shaking the highest peak in the world to its core. The Holy Land, Mariejois—a sanctuary untouched for 800 years—was suddenly and violently besieged by an unparalleled force. The air itself seemed to scream as the ground quaked beneath the onslaught.
Flames, hotter than the sun, erupted like a tidal wave from the arena, the epicenter of this cataclysm. The laughter and arrogance of the Celestial Dragons, who moments before had mocked the suffering of their slaves, were silenced in an instant as they were vaporized, reduced to nothing more than ash that drifted back to the earth.
"Boom!!"
The impact of the solar explosion was felt far beyond Mariejois. A newborn sun seemed to rise within the heart of the Holy Land, its blinding light and searing heat consuming the Paradise of the Gods. The firestorm expanded rapidly, engulfing everything in its path.
A massive mushroom cloud blossomed into the sky, its dark form blotting out the sun. The very earth trembled under the force of the explosion, as if acknowledging the power unleashed by Ace—a power akin to that of an Ancient Weapon.
"What's happening?" Marine Marshal Kong, stationed at Marineford, turned sharply towards the Holy Land, his eyes widening in disbelief. The colossal roar, audible even from that distance, sent chills down his spine.
At the G1 base, Akainu, the base commander, looked up at the sky, where a huge red cloud of fire loomed ominously. The sight left him stunned, a rare moment of shock for the hardened Marine.
In Mariejois, the once-glorious and ornate buildings crumbled like paper under the intense heat and pressure. Structures that had stood for centuries were instantly reduced to molten rubble. The blast's shockwave carried debris and scorching winds across the city, flattening everything in its wake.
The Celestial Dragons, those self-proclaimed gods, were no match for the devastation. Many were caught in the blast, their bodies incinerated in the initial wave of fire. Those who were farther from the explosion site suffered gruesome injuries—severe burns, broken bones, and lethal impacts from debris. The once untouchable nobles were now nothing more than helpless victims, their screams and cries of agony filling the air.
A vast, flaming crater, over thirty kilometers in diameter, marked the center of the destruction. From above, the five immense pits that Ace's attack had carved into the land appeared like scars, intertwining across the landscape, a testament to the ferocity of the assault.
"It hurts, it hurts, damn it, who are you? Come and save me!!"
"Ah!! It hurts so much, wuwuwu~~, damn slaves, I will definitely kill you!!"
Under the ruins, countless Celestial Dragons lay trapped, their bodies broken but clinging to life. Their voices, once full of arrogance and disdain, now dripped with fear and desperation.
"My hand..."
"Save me quickly, I am a descendant of God!"
"Marine Admiral, where did you die? Hurry up and save people, hurry up!"
The night was filled with the grotesque symphony of the wounded and dying, the remnants of limbs and shattered lives scattered among the rubble. Some clung to life, bitterly cursing the slaves they once tormented, while others could only wail in despair.
It was a scene of irony so profound that it bordered on the absurd—these so-called gods, now reduced to pitiful, broken creatures, crying out for salvation in a world that had moved on without them.
Pangu City.
Five Elders Conference Room.
"Boom!!"
"What was that sound?" Saint Jaygarcia Saturn, one of the Five Elders, frowned, his crutch clutched tightly in his hand as he voiced his displeasure.
"What's happening!?" Marcus Mars, the white-haired and white-bearded Elder, stared out the window, his eyes widening in disbelief. His voice quivered as he exclaimed, "Look at that!"
A Red sun had appeared, suspended in mid-air, casting an ominous glow across the landscape. A massive blue and green protective shield, shimmering with waves of white light, strained under the force of the impact. The shockwaves continued for over a minute, the ripples on the shield slowly subsiding around Pangaea Castle.
When the chaos finally calmed, the extent of the devastation became horrifyingly clear. More than half of the outer city was annihilated, reduced to a flaming crater, while the remaining half lay in ruins, barely standing amidst the destruction.
The other four Elders, sensing the imminent danger, shot to their feet, their instincts as seasoned warriors telling them that something far worse was coming.
And then, it happened.
A crack split the sky above the Pangaea Castle, a fissure that seemed to tear through the very fabric of space. From this tear, a Flaming Beam, five meters in diameter, erupted, bathing the entire area in an intense and blinding light.
Boom!
Boom!
The explosion that followed was cataclysmic, the shockwave obliterating everything within a five-kilometer radius. When the dust settled and the flames began to die down, the Pangu City building—once the proud symbol of the Holy Land—was gone, reduced to rubble and ash.
But the destruction did not end there.
From the ruins of what was once Pangu City, a massive sandworm-like creature burst forth, its maw gaping as it spat out four battered figures—the Five Elders.
"Damn it! What the hell is going on?" Saint Jaygarcia Saturn roared, his face twisted with anger.
"This is the second time!" he continued, his voice shaking with fury. "Attacking those worthless Celestial Dragons is one thing, but destroying the Pangaea Castle...!"
He howled towards the heavens, the echo of his rage reverberating through the destroyed landscape. "Who is it? Who dares to do such a thing? I'll tear them to pieces!"
Saint Nusjuro, the Five Elders of Venus, drew his sword, his murderous intent palpable as he scanned the area, desperately searching for the perpetrators. But there was nothing—no trace, no clue, no sign of their enemy.
"Fuck! Who is even doing this!!?" Nusjuro muttered, his voice laced with frustration. "I cant Imagine anyone on the Sea Powerful and Daring enough to do this..."
Saint Peter, the Five Elders of Jupiter, having reverted to his human form, spoke in a cold, detached tone, "We may have no choice but to seek the guidance of Lord Imu."
In the Ruins of Mariejois
Amid the smoldering wreckage of what was once Mariejois, a sea of CP agents clad in black suits raced from the distant city walls, their faces etched with grim determination. Their mission: to rescue the few remaining Celestial Dragons, buried beneath the rubble in the aftermath of the devastating explosion.
"Ah!! Be gentle, my legs hurt so much, damn it!!" a shrill voice cried out from beneath a collapsed structure.
Several CP agents, straining under the weight, struggled to lift a massive boulder that trapped the bloated form of a Celestial Dragon. But whether it was due to their trembling hands or the sheer frailty of the noble, the rescued Celestial Dragon wailed with tears streaming down his face, his curses directed at the very people trying to save him.
Yet, the agents, having long been indoctrinated with the belief that the Celestial Dragons were divine beings, remained unfazed by the insults. They continued their work, their faces set in resolute focus, as they sought to fulfill their duty.
"Hurry up! There's a slave I just bought underneath! Don't let him die—I haven't had enough fun yet!" the Celestial Dragon bellowed, his voice shrill as he was hoisted onto a stretcher.
The CP agents, hearing the command, immediately resumed their frantic digging, not daring to pause for even a moment.
Boom!!
Suddenly, another explosion rang out, though much smaller than the one that had ravaged the city moments earlier. The shockwave, far weaker due to the distance, merely stirred up dust and debris, causing a fine layer of dirt to settle on the face of the injured noble.
"Ah-choo!!" the Celestial Dragon sneezed, his face now a grotesque mix of snot, blood, and dirt. The sneeze, coupled with the throbbing pain from his wounds, caused him to scream in agony—a pathetic sound that echoed through the ruins. Despite the severity of the situation, his grotesque appearance, with snot mixing into his bloodied face, made the scene almost comically absurd.
"What are you doing? Hurry up and—" his orders were cut short, his voice silenced as a beam of ice shot through the air, freezing him and the agents nearby into lifeless ice sculptures.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The sounds of muffled thuds echoed as more beams of ice fired from the distance, each one freezing another Celestial Dragon in place, encasing them in icy tombs. Yamato, now in her full Mythical Zoan form, had unleashed her power, her icy breath turning the remnants of the once-mighty noble class into a wintery graveyard.
As the last echoes of the battle faded, the reality of the massacre settled in. About 90% of the Celestial Dragons, the self-proclaimed gods of this world, lay dead or frozen, their cries silenced forever. Those few who had the misfortune of surviving Ace's Explosive onslaught were spared only to be encased in a cold, eternal prison.
Satisfied with the destruction they had wrought, Ace and Yamato surveyed the devastation one last time. The city that had stood for centuries as a symbol of the World Government's power now lay in ruins, its inhabitants reduced to little more than memories.
With their mission complete, the two warriors turned away from the frozen wasteland. In an instant, they vanished, teleporting away from the scene of their vengeance, leaving behind only the silence of the dead and the chill of the ice.
The blast that Ace unleashed on the Holy Land of Mariejois was nothing short of apocalyptic. The Celestial Dragons, the self-proclaimed gods of the world, were almost entirely obliterated in the fiery explosion. Only those who were fortunate enough to be traveling outside of Mariejois at the time were spared the gruesome fate that befell their kin.
For the few Celestial Dragons who survived the initial inferno, their reprieve was brief. Yamato's second attack, a chilling wave of ice, swiftly followed, sealing their doom. The bodies of these so-called divine beings, already frail, could not withstand the dual onslaught of fire and ice. Their internal organs were cooked by the intense heat and then shattered by the freezing cold—a catastrophe within a catastrophe.
From this moment on, Ace and Yamato would be known throughout the world as the Catastrophes of God. The devastation they wrought on the Holy Land would be etched into the annals of history, a brutal reminder of the power they wielded against the supposed untouchable elite.
In the smoldering aftermath, the Five Elders, the highest authority of the World Government, emerged from the ruins of Mariejois. Their faces, normally composed and impassive, were twisted into masks of fury and dread. An emergency supreme meeting was swiftly convened, and every leader within the World Government's vast network was summoned, from the Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces to the Marine Fleet Admiral, and even the kings of every affiliated nation. This gathering dwarfed any previous assembly in scale and urgency—the largest and most crucial meeting in the history of the World Government.
The mere presence of the Five Elders was enough to instill fear. Their expressions were so demonic, so filled with wrath, that not even the Marine Admirals, the most powerful warriors of the seas, dared to meet their gaze for too long. The tension was palpable, and the air was thick with the promise of retribution that would never come.
Meanwhile, the names and images of Ace and Yamato spread like wildfire across the seas. The World Government wasted no time in issuing unprecedented wanted posters for the pair, their bounties reaching astronomical sums that shook the underworld and the law-abiding alike. The Marine headquarters dispatched warships to every corner of the globe, tasked with transporting the kings and leaders to the supreme meeting—a logistical nightmare that would take nearly a month to fully execute, even with the Marines' vast resources. The road to Mariejois, once a symbol of untouchable power, had become a perilous journey.
But none of this concerned Ace and Yamato. Their mission in the Past was complete, they calmly teleported back to their original timeline, leaving behind the smoldering ruins and the chaos that would soon engulf the Parallel world. The mess they left was not their problem—it was a problem for those who dared to think themselves gods, now forced to reckon with the true power of mortals.