Meanwhile, nearly a thousand nautical miles from the battlefield where the two mythical beasts were locked in combat, the battered remnants of the Marine fleet sailed in tight formation through churning seas, their hulls scorched and scarred from the earlier assault. The fleet was headed toward the G-1 Base, its sails strained under the roaring wind, the sky above still darkened by smoke and ash drifting across the ocean.
Aboard the flagship, within the stern-lit gloom of the captain's quarters, Vice Admiral Momonga sat with his arms folded tightly, his brow furrowed in grim concentration. Before him, a large Den Den Mushi sat on the desk, its eyes narrowed and focused—connected directly to the office of Fleet Admiral Sengoku.
Static crackled through the line as Sengoku's voice came through, heavy with tension and the weight of mounting losses. He had just finished absorbing Momonga's field report—dozens of warships lost, tens of thousands of marines dead or missing. Entire battalions crushed beneath a single, monstrous assault.
Sengoku exhaled sharply, his voice laced with restrained fury.
"…If not for Garp's instincts to dispatch Vergo to the rear line, this would've been far worse. We could've lost everything."
But even as he said it, Sengoku's mind wasn't consumed by the casualties or the ships lost. It was the attacker—the identity—that haunted him.
One outpost, torched beyond recognition, had clearly fallen to Donquixote forces. But the second... according to Momonga's report, it had been leveled by what appeared to be a mythical Eastern dragon. The same type of creature long associated with Kaido of the Beasts.
But that was impossible. Kaido had been engaged on the frontlines by Moria, that was the last solid intel they had—his movements were accounted for.
Unless… it wasn't Kaido. Unless the dragon that tore through the Marines' rear flank was a different creature altogether.
A second mythical dragon Zoan…?
If what Momonga reported was true, then this entire operation had been a carefully orchestrated deception. Sengoku's fists clenched. Only one man came to mind—Donquixote Doflamingo.
That damn smirk. He could almost see it, playing behind the shadows. But where in the hell would he find a second mythical Dragon Fruit user, one identical to Kaido's own? The idea alone sent a chill creeping down Sengoku's spine.
If true, the World Government elders would flip the holy tables. One Azure Dragon was already a nightmare to manage. If Doflamingo had acquired—or worse, created—a second Mythical Zoan on par with Kaido's own… The implications were terrifying.
"Have you received any updates from Vergo?" Sengoku finally asked, his voice crackling through the transponder snail. "Has he confirmed the attacker's identity?"
Momonga sighed, the weight of command pressing on his shoulders. He glanced out the cabin window—just smoke, sea, and silhouettes of exhausted sailors.
"No… nothing yet. One of our scout ships is still operating in the vicinity. As of the last report, Vice Admiral Vergo remains engaged in direct combat… with the 'dragon.'" His voice caught slightly. "Whoever it is… they're strong, Sengoku-san. Inhumanly strong."
A silence lingered on the line, thick with unspoken tension.
"Fleet Admiral," Momonga continued hesitantly, "if I'm wrong, and it is Kaido—then even Vergo might not be able to stop him. Perhaps I should—"
"No," Sengoku interrupted, his tone absolute. "Your instincts may be right, Momonga. This isn't Kaido. I suspect the attacker is affiliated with the Donquixote Family."
There was a pause. Even Momonga—who had suspected as much—felt the weight of confirmation settle in his gut like lead.
"I fear Doflamingo has done the unthinkable," Sengoku continued. "He's somehow replicated Kaido's devil fruit… or found something terrifyingly similar. And if that's true, we're dealing with more than just an enemy army—we're dealing with a shadow Kaido, trained and weaponized under Doflamingo's command."
Momonga inhaled sharply.
"…Then where's the real Kaido?"
Sengoku leaned back on his end of the call, eyes narrowed.
"I suspect Kaido is still tangled with Moria in the northwest. And this—this dragon that struck our rear—was Doflamingo's distraction. A ploy to make us believe Kaido had turned against us, to sow chaos among our already fragile alliance. It was bait. And we took it."
Momonga clenched his jaw. Everything made sense now. The sudden withdrawal, the rerouting of fleets, the collapse of their defensive line.
"And by the time we realized it," Sengoku said bitterly, "our backline was left exposed… and Doflamingo slipped his real force into Kaido's territory. We've been outmaneuvered. Perfectly."
He gave a bitter laugh.
"That little bastard… it was an ingenious move, I'll admit. He neutralized our support for Kaido, destabilized our flanks, and made us chase shadows. All with a single imposter cloaked in dragon's fire."
Momonga said nothing, his knuckles white. This war had just changed. And Doflamingo had made the first move on a far grander board than they had imagined.
"So what are our orders, Fleet Admiral?" Vice Admiral Momonga asked, his voice low but steady as the wind howled just beyond the hull. "If you're certain the one Vergo is fighting isn't Kaido himself… then allow me to rally a strike force. I can mobilize a few vice and rear admirals. We strike now—before this threat becomes a second Kaido."
His gaze burned with resolve, hands clenched tight as the Den Den Mushi crackled with static, Sengoku's silence weighing heavy across the line.
Momonga had seen enough. The precision of the attack, the unnatural stamina of the dragon, the terrifying scale of destruction—it all pointed to something new. Something dangerous. If that wasn't Kaido, then it was something worse in a different way: an unknown of the same caliber. And unknowns in war were the sharpest blades.
On the other end, Fleet Admiral Sengoku finally spoke. His voice was calm, but beneath the surface, it carried the unmistakable strain of a man walking a tightrope over a wildfire.
"No," Sengoku said. "Your current mission stands. Regroup with the main fleet at G-1. I've just received intel—new movements from the Bloodsteel Pirates. They're mobilizing. We can't afford to split our forces again, not after the losses we've taken."
Momonga's eyes narrowed. Bloodsteel. Another ticking time bomb on the horizon.
"The rest of the fleet is already en route to G-1," Sengoku continued. "You'll meet them there and reinforce the eastern perimeter that borders the Bloodsteel pirates' territory. I want that region sealed off and locked down. If this situation escalates further, we'll need to secure our strongholds before the next storm hits."
A beat passed. Then Sengoku's voice lowered, grim and resolute. "As for Vergo…"
Momonga leaned forward, breath held. "…If he can defeat the enemy and confirm their identity, we gain a crucial piece of this puzzle. But if not…" Sengoku's tone hardened. "He is authorized to retreat. I've given him full discretion."
Static buzzed briefly before Sengoku added:
"But I trust Vergo. He knows what's at stake. If he survives this—and I believe he will—then we'll know exactly what kind of weapon Doflamingo has unleashed."
Momonga exhaled slowly, nodding to himself. "Understood, Fleet Admiral. We'll make best speed to G-1. I'll have the other fleets dispatch reconnaissance squadrons to monitor the Bloodsteel fleet's movements in the meantime."
"Good," Sengoku replied. "And Momonga—"
"Yes, sir?"
"…If what we suspect is true, then Doflamingo didn't just copy a monster. He may have created a new one. And if that's the case, then this war has only just begun."
The Den Den Mushi's eyes slowly closed as the connection ended, silence settling over the cabin like a storm cloud waiting to burst.
Within the heart of Marineford, in the highest chamber of command, Fleet Admiral Sengoku leaned back in his chair, eyes heavy with exhaustion. His fingers pressed firmly against his temple, massaging the dull, persistent ache that had taken root there—one born not of age, but of frustration. Once again, he had been outmaneuvered by Donquixote Doflamingo.
That damn puppet master.
The man was a ghost in the system, a former Celestial Dragon turned underworld broker, and now, apparently, the possessor of a second mythical dragon. Sengoku's mind raced. Should he bring this information to the Five Elders immediately? Or wait—wait until he had proof, something concrete to present? Because if he was wrong… if it wasn't another dragon, or if it wasn't tied to Doflamingo…
No. His instincts were rarely wrong. But the risk of accusation without evidence was steep. The Elders did not tolerate speculation.
Just as Sengoku was lost in thought, a sudden, shrill ring shattered the silence.
"Peri peri peri… peri peri…"
His eyes snapped toward the desk. Of all the transponder snails nestled in the drawer to his right—each marked with different emblems—one was glowing softly, its shell etched with the unmistakable seal of the World Government. The one he dreaded most.
The direct line to the Elders.
Sengoku let out a long sigh, the kind born from years of wars, betrayals, and impossible decisions. He reached for the snail, knowing full well what the call would be about.
He opened the drawer, gently brushed past the other dormant snails, and picked up the one that continued to chirp, its pale, squinting eyes staring blankly as it mirrored the call's originator.
"Gatcha…"
The line connected. And then came the voice.
"Sengoku…"
The voice was calm, but it carried the chill of death. A voice that could silence a battlefield without a single shout. It belonged to none other than Saint Jaygarcia Saturn—one of the Five Elders.
His tone didn't rise. It didn't need to. Sengoku sat up straighter despite himself, the gravity of the moment coiling like a noose around his throat.
"Yes, Elder Saturn," Sengoku responded, carefully neutral, concealing the weight pressing down on his shoulders. There was a pause—long, deliberate.
"We have received reports… incomplete, but disturbing. Something about a second azure dragon." Saturn's words slithered from the snail's mouth like ice across steel. "You didn't think to inform us?"
Sengoku closed his eyes for a breath, then answered, "The information only just came to light. I was evaluating its credibility. I wasn't going to act on speculation alone—"
"Speculation?" Saturn cut in, not with rage, but with cold disappointment. "You forget what's at stake. If there truly is a second mythical dragon… then this threatens the balance we've spent centuries maintaining."
****
Room of Authority, Mary Geoise
"Click…"
The sharp sound echoed like a gunshot in the silent chamber as Elder Saturn disconnected the call with Sengoku. He let out a slow, measured sigh, but the weight on his features was unmistakable. The steely composure of one of the Five Elders had cracked—just slightly—but enough for the others in the room to notice.
The room itself was draped in subdued light, surrounded by towering marble pillars and ancient tapestries bearing the emblems of the World Government—each symbol a reminder of the iron grip they held over the world. And yet now, that grip felt looser than it had in centuries.
Even Saint Figarland Garling, the supreme commander of the Holy Knights, had taken the unusual step of requesting an audience with them. He had heard the rumors—a second mythical zoan, a dragon no less—and had demanded confirmation. His offer to investigate personally, despite his known disdain for the Five Elders, had spoken volumes about the severity of the situation.
"So…" Elder Warcury broke the silence, his tone clipped and impatient. His eyes, hard like frozen obsidian, fixed on Saturn. The weight of this revelation was too great to tolerate silence.
Yes, they had been aware of Kaido and Caesar Clown's success in replicating standard Zoan fruits through artificial means, but this? This was not SMILE. This was not the grotesque half-success that littered Punk Hazard and now Wano.
This was something else entirely.
"Tell me it was Kaido," Elder Mars muttered, his voice low but urgent. "Tell me it was him going berserk. That he turned on the Marines. That he—"
Because if it was Kaido, that scenario, for all its horror, was at least predictable. Dangerous, yes—but manageable. A betrayal, they could mitigate. A war, they could still control. But this?
If someone out there had not only replicated Kaido's devil fruit, but done so perfectly, it would change everything.
They all knew the truth—mythical Zoan fruits were not just rare. They were sacred. Each one bore a divine narrative. Power, yes, but also history, woven into the very foundation of the world's secrets. If someone had cracked the code to such power…
The Elders exchanged uneasy glances before all eyes turned once more to Saturn. He sat still, hands clasped in contemplation, before finally exhaling and speaking in a grave voice.
"I'm afraid it's what we feared." His voice was like thunder wrapped in velvet. "Sengoku claims he doesn't have definitive proof, but from his words... and his hesitation... we can safely conclude: there is a second mythical dragon out there. And it's not Kaido."
The room froze. No one spoke.
Not even a breath was wasted as the truth settled like ash after a firestorm. If Sengoku, of all people, believed it, then it was no longer speculation. It was reality. And a threat unlike any they had faced before.
"But... but Vegapunk failed to replicate Kaido's fruit," Elder Nusjuro protested, his hand unconsciously gripping the hilt of his sheathed katana. The tip gently tapped against the marble floor in rhythmic, anxious thuds. "He had Kaido's DNA. Access to samples. His brilliance. Even with all that, he said it was impossible. So how…? How could anyone else succeed?"
That was the terrifying part. Even the greatest mind in the world had admitted defeat in replicating Kaido's fruit. That meant whoever had done this had either surpassed Vegapunk—or cheated reality itself.
"Perhaps it wasn't replicated," Elder Warcury suggested, though even his voice lacked conviction. "Maybe... maybe it's just another dragon fruit. Similar, but different."
Saturn's gaze turned toward him, expression sharp.
"We know better than that." His voice was low and deadly. "There cannot be two identical Devil Fruits in existence at the same time. Not unless the original user is dead. The rebirth cycle is absolute."
He paused, then added:
"This isn't chance. It isn't a coincidence. It's a deliberate creation—or replication—of a mythical fruit we deemed impossible to duplicate."
The words hung in the air like poison. And Saturn, having lived through the Void Century, through the rise and fall of empires, through the founding of the very Government they now sat atop, knew things few others did. He narrowed his eyes.
"There was a reason we dismantled MADS. A reason we took all research on lineage factors under our sole control. Because they were too close. They were treading upon knowledge that should never be rediscovered."
The others listened in silence. Every one of them remembered the chaos of those years. The whispers of heresy. The experiments on forbidden truths. And MADS had gotten too close.
"The last group that dared to uncover the truth about Devil Fruits... was MADS," Saturn finished grimly.
Another pause.
Then Elder Ju Peter, quiet until now, spoke slowly.
"...Do you believe Vegapunk is involved in this?"
The question rang out like a bell of doom. For a moment, not even Saturn responded. The thought was absurd... or so it should have been. Vegapunk had been under their surveillance for years, and they had spared him solely because of his value. He was no revolutionary. No idealist.
He was a scientist. A man who bowed to no one but science itself.
"He wouldn't betray us," Mars said, but without conviction.
"He doesn't need to," Saturn murmured. "Vegapunk serves science. That's always been his only loyalty. If he discovered a way to replicate a mythical Zoan, and someone else got to it before we did... then the implications are worse than betrayal. It means the knowledge is loose."
"But given the current situation..." Elder Nusjuro's voice broke the tension, low and resolute, his fingers still resting on the hilt of his sheathed blade. "We must suspect everyone."
His tone carried the cold finality of a man who had seen centuries of betrayals.
"Even if Vegapunk had no direct hand in this," he continued, "I refuse to believe that someone pulled this off without access to his work. Someone must have uncovered, stolen—or perhaps been given—his research. And if they've managed to improvise on it…"
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
"We should immediately contact the CP agents stationed on Egghead," he added, his voice sharper now. "Deploy Aegis to backtrace every movement Vegapunk has made in the last year. Interrogate his subordinates even the marines stationed, cross-check every outgoing transmission, no matter how minor."
The others nodded in grim agreement.
"And," Nusjuro pressed, "we must all accept one truth—whether he is complicit or not, Vegapunk can no longer be allowed the freedom he has enjoyed until now. He is too valuable... and far too dangerous to be left unchecked."
A long silence followed, broken only by the subtle shifting of robes and the low hum of the ancient chamber's air circulation system.
"Enough about Vegapunk," Elder Mars interjected, his tone biting. "He's under our watch. What we should be discussing is who exactly is behind this replication. Because if there's someone out there who can recreate a mythical Zoan, someone who can control or mimic Kaido... then every move we've made, every piece on the board, just became vulnerable."
He leaned forward, fire in his eyes.
"And honestly, I don't need to hear theories. I'll bet my right arm this reeks of that insolent brat—Doflamingo."
The name hung in the room like a dagger, sharp and unavoidable.
"This chaos?" Mars continued. "This... precision? It has his fingerprints all over it. The timing alone—it's too convenient. The Marines attacked to the rear, all our defense lines broken, Kaido potentially framed, and us caught completely off-guard? He's laughing at us right now."
Elder Ju Peter raised a skeptical brow. "Are you seriously suggesting that Doflamingo—that exile—turned emperor and underworld kingpin—somehow acquired and perfected a method even Vegapunk deemed impossible?"
The idea was outrageous. Dangerous. And yet... plausible.
"Mars may not be wrong, and we can no longer underestimate Doflamingo with how many times we have lost to him… We can't put this past him," Nusjuro said carefully.
"We all know that he currently has complete control over Punk Hazard. Once the very heart of MADS and our own scientific division. It once housed Vegapunk's own laboratory. Yes, we secured the most sensitive materials before the island fell, but do any of you truly believe everything was removed?"
His voice dropped lower. "If Doflamingo got his hands on the early iterations... the failed models... the raw data... Then what we're witnessing might not be his work entirely. But it could be the continuation of what was left behind."
The implications hit like a sledgehammer.
"If it is him," Saturn muttered darkly, "then the situation has escalated beyond a breach of mere secrets. It's a threat to the balance of the world."
His hand closed into a fist atop the table, trembling slightly.
"And if this man now holds the secret to mythical Zoan replication, even Whitebeard's threat might pale in comparison to what's coming next."
Elder Warcury leaned forward, expression grim. "Then we have only one path forward. We must end this, immediately. Even if it means negotiating with that maniac himself."
The others turned toward him.
"If Doflamingo is the key," he went on, "then we cannot afford to let him operate unchecked. But we also cannot afford to reveal all our cards—not yet. If we push too hard, he could bury this secret, or worse… unleash it."
"So, a compromise?" Ju Peter asked with clear distaste.
Warcury nodded. "A temporary one. Until we learn everything. Who the user is. How the replication was achieved. And how far this infection has already spread."
Saturn's golden eyes glinted beneath the dim light of the Elder Chamber, narrowing like a predator's as his voice cut through the silence.
"There is no world in which that man would come to the negotiating table," he said coldly. "Not after everything that's happened. Or have you all conveniently forgotten what occurred the last time we invited Doflamingo to the Holy Land?"
A memory passed through the room like a shadow—blood and ash on the marbled floors of Pangaea Castle, seething rage behind mocking laughter, and the entirety of the Holy Land lying broken, humiliated, and burned to the ground.
"And don't, for even a second, believe he would allow one of us to walk alive if we stepped into his territory under the guise of diplomacy," Saturn continued, voice dropping into a venomous growl.
"We're long past the point of compromise. Even speculating that he's responsible is the same as wrapping our leash around his hand and begging him to pull."
The weight of his words settled like stone. Every Elder could feel it.
"In a case like this," Saturn said, his voice now even, measured, deadly, "even if Doflamingo wasn't involved… he would make sure the world believed he was. And then he'd leverage that fear to chip away at us from the shadows."
A heavy silence followed.,Because they all knew—
If Doflamingo truly possessed the means to replicate mythical Zoans... the world they had built was on the verge of collapse.
And with their personal history—There could be no peace, not even a temporary one.
"So you're telling us to do nothing?" Elder Warcury snapped, fury rising in his tone. "Leave the man most likely behind this unchecked? After all he's done?"
"Not entirely," Saturn replied smoothly, unfazed by Warcury's outburst. "We need to monitor him—but not from a distance. I mean closely. I mean... someone at his side. Watching his every move, hearing every plan, every breath."
Warcury scoffed. "You say that like it's possible. We've tried. Over and over. And we've failed—every time. Doflamingo's inner circle is iron-clad. Unshakable. Even the best CP0 agents we've sent in have disappeared without a trace or been exposed within days. No one new can earn his trust."
But Elder Nusjuro, who had been quietly studying Saturn, suddenly sat forward, realization dawning in his sharp gaze.
"We don't need someone new."
His voice was low, conspiratorial.
"And we certainly don't need to break one of his loyal dogs. What we need... is to reaffirm the loyalty of someone who's already there. Someone who has survived by his side for years."
A grin—small, sharp, dangerous—spread across Nusjuro's face. The other Elders followed his gaze. It clicked.
"Agana…" Elder Mars whispered, the name like a match against dry parchment.
They all remembered. The girl once deemed the Holy Land's 'Golden Genius'—a Celestial Dragon offered in chains as a compromise in one of Doflamingo's schemes when he had agreed to visit the Holy Land. Once a captive. Now... his shadow.
"She's still alive," Saturn confirmed. "Hidden behind that smirking bastard like a ghost. Not a word from her in years. But she breathes. And where there is breath, there is leverage."
"It's too risky," Elder Ju Peter interjected, frowning. "We've left her in the cold for years now. We never made an attempt to retrieve her, never even opened negotiations. You think she'll suddenly remember her loyalty to the World Government?"
"It doesn't matter," Saturn said, his voice like the chime of a death knell.
"Because at the end of the day... she is still a Celestial Dragon."
His words echoed like iron on stone.
"Her bloodline binds her to us, whether she likes it or not, and unlike Doflamingo she still holds her title." Elder Mars added. "And Doflamingo knows that. That's why he's kept her alive. She's a message to mock us. A warning. But maybe—just maybe—she's also our way in."
"If we can reawaken her loyalty…" Nusjuro said quietly, "Or her pride and remind her who her true enemies are… Then we'll finally have someone next to him who can feed us everything… Maybe she might be the answer to bringing down Doflamingo's empire."
*****
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