The commanders on the ground could only stare, their own brutal battles forgotten. Jozu, pushing himself up on one arm, his diamond form shattered, looked to the sky in stunned silence. Marco, holding Shiryu's cursed blade, froze mid-stride, his jaw slack. Even the unconscious forms of Vista and Katakuri seemed to lie in a world that had suddenly gone still.
They watched the titan god ascend. They saw him swallow the laughing Emperor whole. And then they witnessed the impossible, gruesome conclusion.
A sound that defied description—a wet, final CRUNCH—rolled across the island, a sound of finality that was more profound than any explosion. It was followed by a sight that would be seared into their memories forever: a gruesome waterfall of crimson, a torrent of blood and viscera, raining down from the heavens.
The invincible, monstrous, world-shaking Emperor, Marshall D. Teach, was dead. Eaten.
For a single, solitary second, the entire war held its breath. Every pirate, friend and foe alike, was united in a moment of shared, stupefied horror and disbelief.
High on the shattered spires of the ruined chateau, the hunter had become the hunted. Van Augur, "The Supersonic," was no longer perched calmly. He was moving, leaping from one precarious foothold to another, the grace of his movements belying his desperation.
Below him, a river of calm death flowed upwards. Isshin Ashina did not rush. He did not charge. He simply moved, his path a perfect, fluid line through the chaos, closing the distance with a relentless, terrifying certainty.
CLANG!
A hypersonic bullet, fired without even looking, ricocheted off a steel support beam an inch from where Isshin's head would have been. The swordsman had already shifted his weight, using the shot as a stepping stone to propel himself higher.
"Fate dictates your end is here, swordsman!" Van Augur called down, his voice as flat and emotionless as ever, though he was now breathing heavily.
"Fate is a word for those who have already lost," Isshin replied, his voice calm, carrying easily over the wind.
He was close now. Only fifty feet separated them. Augur raised his rifle, Senriku, for the final, point-blank, inescapable shot. This was the moment he had calculated, the fated conclusion.
And then it happened.
The sound. The rain of blood. The collective, psychic gasp of the entire battlefield.
Van Augur, the man of "destiny," faltered. For a single, fatal instant, his professional detachment broke. He had to see. He lowered his rifle a fraction of an inch, his eyes drifting towards the sky to witness the impossible, fate-altering end of an Emperor. It was a moment of pure, unprofessional curiosity.
It was hesitation.
And hesitation is defeat.
Isshin did not look up. He did not care about the sky, the blood, or the fallen Emperor. His world had narrowed to one thing: the fifty feet between him and his target. The opponent's distraction was not a spectacle; it was an opening. The only one he would need.
He didn't rush. He didn't even use a named technique. He took two silent, flowing steps, closing the final distance in the time it took Van Augur's brain to process the horror in the sky.
The sniper's head snapped back towards him, his eyes widening in the sudden, cold realization of his mistake. He tried to bring the rifle up, but it was like moving through molasses.
Isshin was already there.
His katana, Kusanagi, was a whisper of steel, drawn from its sheath in a single, fluid, upward arc. There was no flash, no grand display of Haki. Just a perfect, clean line of death. The blade passed through Van Augur's neck with no resistance, as if slicing through mist.
The hiss of steel was the only sound.
For a moment, nothing changed. Van Augur stood there, his rifle half-raised, an expression of profound surprise frozen on his face.
Then, with a soft, wet sound, a thin red line appeared on his neck. His head, cleanly severed, slid sideways off his shoulders and tumbled down the side of the chateau, his monocle glinting in the pale light. The body stood for a second longer before collapsing in a heap.
Isshin stood over the fallen marksman, his blade held perfectly still. He gave it a single, sharp flick, sending a spray of blood arcing through the air. With a soft, final click, he sheathed Kusanagi.
He finally allowed himself to look up at the colossal, blood-drenched titan in the sky.
"The battlefield does not pause for shock," he murmured to himself, his voice as calm as ever. "It offers only openings."
The titan's jaws, a maelstrom of grinding rock and molten lava, strained against the impossible strength of the man inside. From the ground, it was a horrifying spectacle: Gunnar's colossal head, wracked with tremors, a muffled, furious roaring echoing from within. The scene was so monstrous, so primal, that it seemed to bend reality around it.
Then, the glint of steel. A flash of impossible speed. A queen's retribution.
Smoothie's blade, a streak of vengeful light, sliced through Blackbeard's arms. The commanders on the ground watched, their minds struggling to comprehend the scale of the battle. They saw the resistance vanish. They saw the titan's jaws, now unopposed, slam shut.
The sound was not a simple crunch. It was a deep, sickening, final GRIND, the sound of a mountain crushing a fortress, of bone and Haki and ambition being turned to pulp between teeth the size of houses.
For a moment, the titan, Gunnar, simply hung there in the sky, his jaws clenched tight. Then, with a series of grotesque, powerful contractions of his throat, he swallowed.
The Emperor of Darkness, Marshall D. Teach, was gone. Devoured.
A gruesome rain of blood and viscera, the remnants of the bite, began to fall. And in that moment, the war stopped.
The silence that followed the gruesome act was a heavy, suffocating blanket over the battlefield. Then, slowly, the world started moving again, not with the clash of battle, but with the hushed, stunned murmurs of those left behind.
Marco & Jozu:
Marco landed softly beside Jozu, who was still on one knee, staring at the sky where the blood-rain had fallen. The massive 3rd Division commander was trembling slightly, a sight Marco had never witnessed.
"Did you... see that?" Jozu's voice was a low, gravelly rumble, devoid of its usual confidence. It sounded small.
Marco placed a hand on his friend's massive shoulder. "I saw it, yoi." He swallowed, his own throat dry. "I saw him win."
"Win?" Jozu looked at Marco, his eyes wide with a confusion that went deeper than any battle strategy. "Pops would have... he would have shattered the island, maybe. But that... Marco, that was..." He couldn't find the word.
"That wasn't Pops," Marco finished for him, his voice quiet and grim. He looked up at the titan, which had begun a slow, shuddering descent. "And that's the point. We knew he was different. We just didn't know how different."
Jozu looked down at his own trembling hands. "What have we followed into this new age?"
Marco's grip tightened on his shoulder. "Our captain. We'll figure out the rest later."
Ace & Vista:
Ace, running on fumes, staggered over to where Vista was leaning against a rock, clutching his frozen arm. The swordsman's usually impeccable composure was gone, replaced by a pale, wide-eyed stare.
"He... he did it," Ace panted, a wild, half-hysterical grin on his face. "That bastard Teach is gone! He's really gone!"
Vista didn't share his enthusiasm. He slowly turned his head, his gaze meeting Ace's. "Yes," he said, his voice flat and hollow. "He is gone. Did you see how he went, Ace-kun?"
Ace's grin faltered. "He did what he had to do! Teach was a monster!"
"Indeed, he was," Vista agreed, his voice dangerously soft. He looked up at the descending titan. "And a monster was what was required to defeat him." He paused, his magnificent mustache twitching. "The question we must now ask ourselves is... what happens when the monster looks at us?"
The chilling question hung in the air, and Ace had no answer. The elation of victory was suddenly tainted by a cold, unsettling unease.
Isshin & Smoothie:
Isshin Ashina appeared as a silent shadow beside Smoothie, who stood unmoving, her gaze fixed on her husband's titanic form. Isshin's face was, as always, an unreadable mask of calm.
"A decisive conclusion," Isshin stated, his voice even.
Smoothie didn't look at him. A faint, proud smile touched her lips. "He did what was necessary. The beast is slain."
"The method was... absolute," Isshin conceded, his eyes analytical. "It is a path from which there is little deviation. To consume one's enemy is to risk being consumed by the act itself."
"My husband is stronger than any act," Smoothie retorted, a sharp, defensive edge to her tone. She finally turned to look at the young swordsman, her eyes burning with an unshakeable, queenly fire. "He carries the will of his family. That is his anchor. Do not mistake a king's necessary fury for a beast's mindless hunger."
Isshin simply nodded, accepting her words. "As you say, Smoothie-dono." But his gaze lingered on the titan, a silent, professional assessment of a sword that had just proven itself to be sharper, and perhaps more dangerous, than anyone had anticipated.