The syrup-sea lapped at the saccharine shores of Whole Cake Island, the waves sluggish and heavy. On the coastline, arranged before the grotesque capital, stood the full might of the Blackbeard Pirates. It was a carnival of nightmares.
At the center was Marshall D. Teach, a mountain of arrogance and dark power. To his right stood Shiryu of the Rain, his hand resting on the grip of his nodachi, a phantom of death awaiting release. To his left, Jesus Burgess flexed his massive arms, a grin of pure violence on his face. Behind them, the other Titanic Captains formed a terrifying tableau: Van Augur stood atop a gingerbread watchtower, rifle at the ready; Avalo Pizarro lounged insolently on a rock candy throne; Lafitte leaned on his cane, his smile unnervingly pleasant; Catarina Devon ran a tongue over her lips, her eyes scanning the approaching ships for prey. Vasco Shot and Doc Q swayed drunkenly and sickly, respectively, while in the shallow water, the immense silhouette of Sanjuan Wolf rose like a cursed mountain. And standing apart from them all, exuding an aura of cold indifference, was Kuzan.
Below them, a horde of cutthroats and killers, freed from the depths of Impel Down, roared and brandished their weapons. Interspersed among them were Big Mom's former homies, their joyful visages twisted into masks of mindless malice, their eyes glowing with Blackbeard's foul pink aura.
The Bloodline fleet cut the final distance, their magnificent ships casting long shadows over the defender's army. On the deck of the Moby Dick, Gunnar stepped to the figurehead, his red and white hair a blazing banner. His golden eyes locked onto the figure of Blackbeard, and the air itself seemed to crackle with pressure.
Blackbeard threw his head back and laughed, a sound that grated on the soul. "ZEHAHAHAHA! Look who it is! Little Gunnar! I heard you were playing captain with your daddy's old toys! Have you come to finish what your old man couldn't?"
The deck of the Moby Dick groaned under the sudden pressure. Gunnar's knuckles were white where he gripped the railing. A low growl rumbled in his chest, a volcano preparing to erupt. The memory of Marineford—the betrayal, the blood, the sheer, stinking cowardice of the man before him—flashed in his mind.
"TEACH!!!"
The name was not a word, but a weapon. It tore across the water, a raw, guttural roar of pure hatred that silenced the jeering horde and made the very air vibrate. Even Blackbeard's smile faltered for a fraction of a second.
"YOU RAN LIKE A COWARD AT MARINEFORD!" Gunnar bellowed, his voice amplified by sheer rage. "You saw Pops still had fight left in him, and you scurried away with your tail between your legs! You were a son of the Whitebeard Pirates! You ate at our table! You drank our sake! YOU CALLED HIM 'POPS'!"
Gunnar pointed a trembling, accusatory finger, his entire body shaking with fury. "AND YOU BETRAYED HIM! YOU BETRAYED US ALL! For power you didn't earn! I'm not here to finish what he started. I'm here to bury you for what you did!"
Blackbeard recovered, his grin returning, uglier than before. "Zehahaha! Betrayal? Ambition! A concept your retired old man never understood! But don't worry, I'll teach you all about it!"
That was the signal. There were no more words to be said.
"LET'S GO!" Ace roared from the deck of The Inferno, erupting into a column of fire.
With Gunnar's scream still echoing, the commanders jumped.
From The Phoenix Talon, Marco burst forth in a swirl of brilliant blue regenerative flame, soaring directly towards the enemy command. Jozu, a living diamond missile, shot from the deck, aiming for the center of the enemy horde. Vista followed, a blur of motion, his twin swords already drawn.
From The Inferno, Ace launched himself like a meteor, landing with an explosive Enkai: Hibashira that sent a pillar of fire erupting amidst the Impel Down prisoners. Beside him, Isshin Ashina landed silently, not a speck of dust disturbed. He drew his katana in one fluid motion, his eyes scanning for a worthy opponent.
And from the Queen Mama Chanter, Katakuri and Smoothie leaped. Katakuri's feet never touched the ground; he used his Mochi-Mochi abilities to flow through the air, his eyes already glowing red as he foresaw a dozen immediate threats.
The clash was instantaneous and apocalyptic.
"Wiiihahaha! Come on, show me your strength!" Burgess bellowed, charging forward.
He was met by a figure of utter calm. "Your form is sloppy," Isshin stated, sidestepping Burgess's lunge with impossible grace. "Your strength, a liability." He parried a powerful blow with a flick of his wrist, preparing a counter.
"Ara ra... so the fiery one comes for me," Kuzan said with a sigh as Ace landed before him, flames licking at the air. "What a drag."
"Guess I'll just have to melt you, Aokiji!" Ace grinned, fire coiling around his fists. "This time for real!"
The air between them instantly became a maelstrom of searing heat and biting frost.
"You won't cut down any more of my family, yoi," Marco declared, blocking Shiryu's lightning-fast draw with a flame-wreathed leg. The clash of Haki-infused blade against Haki-infused fire sent a shockwave outwards.
Shiryu's only response was a thin, bloodthirsty smile. "Let's see."
Catarina Devon tried to flank Katakuri, her claws extended. "Let me see your face, handsome..."
"I see your future," Katakuri's voice droned, as a massive, hardened mochi fist slammed into her path, which he'd predicted seconds before. "And it is short." He and Smoothie stood back-to-back, facing down Devon and the sneering Avalo Pizarro. "We'll wring you both dry," Smoothie hissed, her eyes glowing with vengeful light.
The battlefield erupted into a cacophony of explosions, clashing steel, and roaring Haki.
And then, Gunnar landed.
He didn't soar or glide. He simply leaped from the Moby Dick, a crimson and white comet that crashed onto the shore with the force of an artillery shell. The ground cracked for fifty feet in every direction, steam hissing from the soles of his boots where his lava and ice nature met the earth.
The shockwave of his landing, combined with the commanders' charge, carved a path directly to his target. The fodder pirates scrambled out of his way, their instincts screaming at them to flee from the predator who had just arrived.
A space cleared. On one side stood the Bloodline commanders, locked in combat with the Titanic Captains. On the other, the remaining forces of the Blackbeard pirates. And in the middle, in a circle of broken earth, stood two men.
Gunnar, his golden eyes burning with cold fire.
And Marshall D. Teach, his grin wide and triumphant.
"Zehahaha! That old hag's power feels good, Gunnar!" Blackbeard taunted, pink energy crackling around his fist while darkness swirled around the other. "It fills every part of you! Maybe I'll take your Titan fruit next!"
Gunnar didn't shout. He didn't scream. His rage had cooled, hardened into something far more dangerous: absolute certainty.
"You talk too much."
And the two Emperors faced each other, the world poised to shatter around them.
The roar of the pirate horde was a tidal wave of sound, a promise of a bloody, merciless death. The Impel Down escapees, faces contorted in manic glee, charged forward. The candy homies, their forms now warped and monstrous, shambled alongside them, a grotesque mockery of an army. And they all charged at the lone figure who had carved a crater in their shore.
Gunnar did not move.
His golden eyes remained locked on Blackbeard, a hundred yards away. The charging army was an irrelevance, a swarm of gnats buzzing around two titans preparing for war. He didn't flinch as the first wave of pirates closed in, their rusted swords and crude axes raised high. He didn't even breathe. His focus was absolute.
Just as the first blade was about to fall, shadows detached themselves from the chaos.
Shing. Shing. Shiiiing.
A dozen figures, clad in immaculate black and crimson samurai armor reminiscent of Ashina, materialized around Gunnar. They moved with a speed and precision that was utterly alien to the battlefield's brutish chaos. Their katanas, humming with Haki, became blurs of silver death.
One samurai appeared before a charging brute, his blade a whisper. The pirate's charge continued for three more steps before he fell apart in four clean pieces. Another samurai spun in a whirlwind of steel, severing limbs and heads from a group of homies, their candy innards splattering onto the ground. They formed a defensive circle around their captain, a silent, deadly wall of steel and resolve. They were the Ashina Guard, elite warriors handpicked and trained by Isshin himself. They uttered no war cries; their swords did the talking.
Not a single pirate got within ten feet of Gunnar.
He remained at the eye of the storm, his gaze a physical force pressing down on Blackbeard.
Teach's grin was strained. He had expected to see Gunnar flail, to be swarmed. This silent, effortless defense was an insult. A display. "Zehahaha... quite the loyal dogs you have," he spat, darkness coiling around his arms.
Gunnar's reply was a low growl. "They are my family. Something a traitor like you will never understand."
The air between them thickened, promising a cataclysm.
Elsewhere, amidst the swirling chaos of candy and steel, the battles of the commanders raged. Avalo Pizarro, the "Corrupt King," had fixed his sights on the tallest, most stoic of the invaders.
"So you're the famous Katakuri," Pizarro sneered. His corpulent body began to sink into the ground, merging with the gingerbread and rock candy foundation of the island. "Big Mom's perfect little boy. Let's see how perfect you are when you're fighting a king! I AM THIS ISLAND!"
With a tectonic groan, the ground beneath Katakuri's feet erupted. The half-eaten Whole Cake Chateau itself seemed to come alive. A massive face of stone and hardened caramel, with Pizarro's sneering features, rose from the chateau's side, staring down at him.
"You can't fight a whole island, mochi-man!" the stone face of Pizarro boomed.
Katakuri's expression was unreadable behind his scarf. His red eyes glowed. He saw it all before it happened. A fist of rock from the left. Spikes of candy-glass from below. The ground turning to quicksand.
As a house-sized fist made of gingerbread and stone swung at him, Katakuri simply took a step to the right. The fist smashed into the ground where he had been a moment before, shattering the earth. Sharp spires of hardened sugar erupted from the floor, but Katakuri was already airborne, using a tendril of mochi to propel himself away.
"Is that all?" Katakuri's voice was a low drone, carrying easily over the rumbling. "Your movements are large. Predictable."
"Predict this!" Pizarro roared in fury. The very landscape warped. The ground split open, forming a deep chasm lined with jagged rock candy teeth, attempting to swallow Katakuri whole. Simultaneously, dozens of smaller stone fists erupted from the walls and floor, a barrage from all directions.
There was nowhere to dodge.
But Katakuri had no intention of dodging. He had seen this future, too.
"Useless," he stated.
He slammed his palms together. "Awakening. Peerless Donuts!"
The air around him warped as his Mochi-Mochi fruit awakened. The ground didn't matter. He created his own. Dozens of thick, glutinous donuts materialized in the air around him, serving as platforms. But they were more than that. From the center of each donut, a massive, Haki-blackened mochi arm shot out, its fist clenched tight.
It was an onslaught of his own.
BOOM! CRACK! CRUNCH!
His hardened mochi fists met Pizarro's stone ones head-on, shattering them into rubble. He flowed from one donut to another, a master of his own three-dimensional battlefield, completely ignoring the shifting terrain below.
"The ground is just a shell, 'Corrupt King'," Katakuri declared, his voice cold and clear. He landed on a donut directly across from the giant stone face of Pizarro. He saw it—the flicker of annoyance, the next attack Pizarro was planning. He saw the core of Pizarro's consciousness, a faint pulse deep within the stone avatar.
"And I will crack it."
He thrust his trident, Mogura, forward. "Mochi Tsuki!"
The tip of the trident elongated, spinning like a drill, and shot forward with incredible speed. It wasn't aimed at the face, but lower, at a seemingly random spot on the chateau's stone chest—the exact spot where Katakuri foresaw Pizarro's true self to be.
While Katakuri reshaped the very landscape in his duel, a different kind of confrontation unfolded nearby. It was a clash of diametrically opposed aesthetics: the cold, regal queen versus the grotesque, cackling hunter.
Charlotte Smoothie, her towering frame a monument of composed fury, stood amidst the wreckage of candy soldiers. Her eyes, sharp and unforgiving, were fixed on Catarina Devon, who sauntered towards her with a predatory sway.
"My, my," Devon cooed, her voice dripping with a sick sweetness. She ran a clawed finger along her own chin. "Charlotte Smoothie. One of the Sweet Commanders. You have such a lovely, long neck. A face of stern beauty. You'll make a fine addition to my collection."
Smoothie's expression didn't change, but the temperature around her seemed to drop. "Filth," she stated, her voice as crisp and cold as ice. "You reek of the man who defiled my family. I will wring every drop of your tainted blood from your body and cleanse this island of your ugliness."
Devon let out a high-pitched cackle. "Ooh, so serious! Let's see if we can't get a different expression on that pretty face!"
In a swirl of motion that defied her size, Devon spun. When she stopped, she was no longer Catarina Devon. Standing before Smoothie was Gunnar, her husband, down to the last detail—the bicolored hair, the golden eyes, the confident, battle-ready smirk.
"Smoothie," the Gunnar-doppelgänger said, his voice a perfect imitation. "Stand down. This one's mine."
Any other combatant might have hesitated, a flicker of doubt costing them the fight. But Smoothie's Observation Haki was as sharp as her blade. She could see the perfect physical imitation, hear the perfect vocal copy, but she could not feel his spirit. The familiar, comforting warmth of her husband's presence was absent, replaced by a cold, malicious intent.
She didn't hesitate for a microsecond.
"You dare," she whispered, her voice lethally low, "to wear his face?"
With a single, fluid motion, she grabbed a large, struggling gingerbread man by the head. With a sickening squelch, she twisted, wringing the creature dry. A torrent of viscous, sugary liquid flowed from it, which she absorbed directly into her palm. The homie shriveled into a dry, brittle husk.
"You are not him."
She flicked her wrist, and the glutinous sludge she had extracted shot forward like a cannonball, aimed directly at the imposter's head.
The Gunnar-figure's smirk vanished, replaced by a snarl of annoyance. It dodged at the last second, the mochi-like projectile splattering against a wall behind it. As it landed, the illusion flickered and died, revealing the cackling Catarina Devon once more.
"Tsk. No fun at all," Devon complained, but her eyes held a new glint of respect. "Sharp senses."
"I am finished with your games," Smoothie declared. She planted the tip of her massive sword into the ground.
"Then let's play for real!" Devon shrieked, and her body began to contort. She grew larger, her form twisting into a monstrous hybrid state. Nine massive, ethereal tails, each tipped with a flickering blue fox-fire, erupted from her back, lashing through the air. Her teeth sharpened to fangs, and her claws elongated. She was now a terrifying fusion of woman and mythical beast. "Let's see you handle a true monster, your majesty!"
Smoothie watched the transformation with disdain. She reached down, grabbing the shriveled remains of two more homies, and wrung them without a second thought. She drank the extracted liquid, and her own body began to grow, her long legs extending even further, her frame swelling with raw power until she easily matched the height of Devon's hybrid form.
"Monster?" Smoothie's voice boomed, now deeper and more resonant. She hefted her sword, which now looked perfectly proportioned to her giant form. "I see only prey."
Devon lunged, a blur of motion propelled by her nine tails. She was a whirlwind of claws and fangs, aiming to tear Smoothie apart with raw, Mythical Zoan power.
Smoothie met her head-on. She parried a claw strike with the flat of her blade, the Haki-infused clash sending a shockwave through the air. She used her incredible leg strength to kick Devon back, then immediately went on the offensive. She began to absorb the liquid she had drunk into her massive sword, the blade glowing with a dangerous, pressurized energy.
"This ends," Smoothie announced.
Devon, recovering her footing, cackled as blue fox-fire gathered at the tips of her nine tails. "You wish!"
Smoothie swung her sword in a massive, horizontal arc. "Giga Refresher!"
A colossal, crescent-shaped wave of pressurized liquid, glowing with the internal energy she'd absorbed and hardened with Armament Haki, shot from her blade. It was a tsunami moving at the speed of a cannonball, capable of slicing a warship in half.
In response, Devon's nine tails whipped forward, unleashing nine searing blasts of ethereal blue fire that converged into a single, massive fireball.
The geyser of liquid and the ball of mythical flame met in the middle. The resulting explosion was apocalyptic. A storm of scalding steam and flickering blue embers erupted outwards, obscuring both combatants from view and shaking the very foundations of the battlefield.
In the heart of the chaotic battlefield, where the ground was a treacherous mix of broken candy, shattered rock, and fallen pirates, a contest of pure power versus refined skill was about to commence.
Jesus Burgess, his barrel chest bare and his muscles bulging grotesquely, grinned with manic energy. "Wiiiihahaha! Look what we have here! The old guard! Whitebeard's leftovers!"
Behind him, casting a shadow that blotted out the sky, the colossal form of Sanjuan Wolf straightened up. His movements were slow, ponderous, like a mountain deciding to walk. His simple, oversized face held a look of dull curiosity as he peered down at the comparatively tiny figures before him.
Facing them were two of the most stalwart commanders of the former Whitebeard Pirates. Jozu, his body already shimmering with the facets of diamond, stood with his arms crossed, a silent, unmovable object. Beside him, Vista of the Flower Sword rested his hands on the pommels of his twin sabers, his magnificent mustache twitching with a hint of amusement.
"It seems we've drawn the loudest and the largest," Vista remarked, his voice smooth and untroubled.
Jozu grunted in agreement, his eyes fixed on Burgess. He knew this type. All power, all ego.
"Let's see how shiny you are when you're a smear on the ground!" Burgess roared, activating his Devil Fruit. The muscles on his arms swelled to an impossible size, veins like thick ropes popping across his skin. He charged forward, aiming a haymaker infused with the full, ludicrous power of the Riki Riki no Mi at Jozu.
The punch connected with a sound like a cathedral bell being struck by a meteor. A shockwave erupted, pulverizing the ground around them. Dust and candy debris flew everywhere.
When it cleared, Jozu hadn't moved an inch. His arm, transformed into flawless diamond, had met the punch head-on. Not a single crack marred its surface.
Burgess's grin faltered, replaced by disbelief. "What?! You just... took that?"
"Hmph," was Jozu's only reply.
Before Burgess could process the failure, a shadow fell over them all. Sanjuan Wolf, on a simple command from his captain, had raised his colossal foot to simply stomp the commanders out of existence.
"Now, now, that's hardly sporting," Vista's voice called out from above.
Wolf let out a dim-witted yelp of pain. Vista, moving with a speed that seemed impossible for a man his size, had already run up the giant's leg, his two Haki-coated sabers leaving deep gashes in Wolf's shin. To a normal person, they would have been fatal wounds; to Wolf, they were like massive, excruciating papercuts.
"Owwwie! Captain, he poked me!" Wolf whined, his booming voice shaking the island. He stumbled back a step, his foot-stomp aborted.
"Hold still, you useless oaf!" Burgess bellowed in frustration. Seeing Vista perched on his giant crewmate, he tore a massive, multi-ton chunk of the collapsed chateau—a spire of rock candy and gingerbread—from the ground with his bare hands. "Then eat this! Wiiiihahaha!"
He hurled the makeshift projectile with incredible force, aiming to crush Vista against Wolf's body.
But he never got the chance to see it land.
"You're fighting me," Jozu stated, his voice a low growl.
With a surge of power, Jozu launched himself forward. Not a punch, but a full-body tackle, leading with his diamond shoulder. "Brilliant Punk!"
He slammed into the airborne spire, not just stopping it, but utterly disintegrating it into a cloud of sugary dust and rock fragments. He powered through the debris cloud, a shimmering diamond missile aimed directly at the still-recoiling Burgess.
Burgess, his eyes wide with alarm, was forced to abandon his attack on Vista and bring his super-powered arms up to defend himself. The resulting collision between unstoppable force and immovable object was deafening. Jozu and Burgess were locked in a stalemate of pure strength, the ground cracking and sinking beneath them from the sheer pressure.
This was the opening Vista needed. With Wolf momentarily distracted and Burgess occupied, the swordsman flowed like water across the giant's massive form.
"An opponent of your size has many weaknesses," Vista mused aloud, his swords becoming a blur. "Rose Rondo!"
He spun and danced, unleashing a flurry of slashes that left behind shimmering pink shockwaves in the shape of rose petals. Each petal was a razor-sharp cut infused with master-level Haki, slicing into Wolf's thick hide. The giant roared in pain and fury, swatting at Vista like a man trying to kill a fly, but the swordsman was always one step ahead, his footwork flawless even on the vertical terrain of a living mountain.
The scene froze in a perfect snapshot of the conflict. Burgess and Jozu were locked in a ground-shaking contest of brute strength, neither giving an inch. And high above, Vista gracefully danced across the roaring Sanjuan Wolf, methodically dissecting the giant with the artistry of a master swordsman.
"Brute force," Jozu grunted, pushing back against Burgess with the might of a tectonic plate, "is useless against a united front."