Mars, the long haired Elder, stared at Brook as if he were looking at Death itself.
In this state, Brook carried no heat, no desire, no human turbulence at all. There was only cold silence, and the feeling that everything living was temporary.
Mars clenched his jaw.
If he could not trigger Brook's jealousy, then he could only endure. Hold the line with Haki, wait for Brook to release the Realm of the Dead on his own, and survive.
Brook's voice was calm, almost courteous.
"Thanks for the information. Now I'm curious, what's Imu's ability?" He tilted his head slightly. "Tell me."
His tone made it sound like a simple question over tea, but Mars heard the blade hidden inside it.
Brook had already brushed the heart of the world's secrets. After this, he intended to drag those answers back to Vegapunk and tear them open.
And in the process, he remembered the cost.
Imu's trick.
Eight stolen years.
The moon.
Mars snorted. "If you stay trapped in here, aren't you worried Figarland will butcher all your commanders outside?"
He steadied his breathing. He was calm now, too.
Not only did he want to leave this space, Brook also had to leave it. Mars did not believe Brook could kill him quickly.
His Haki reserves were his foundation. Even if he maintained constant output, he could last days. If he went all out with Conqueror's Haki, he could still hold for hours.
That was what it meant to be an Elder.
If he had not met Brook, a freak who could ignore his ability, he could have carved down even Redfield and Newgate.
Once a Devil Fruit user lost their power, their combat strength dropped. Then it became a long war of Haki, experience, and stamina.
In that kind of war, a pirate could not outlast a monster who had trained for centuries.
Brook gave a small nod, as if Mars had done him a favor.
"Good reminder." His smile returned, thin and sharp. "Then I'll finish this fast."
He moved.
No more talk.
The Seven Star Demon Sword flashed again and again, carving arcs of red lightning through the dark. Brook's pressure was relentless, the divine weapon forcing Mars to burn Armament and Conqueror's Haki just to survive.
Every block cost too much.
Every clash screamed warning.
Mars' Haki consumption was at least triple Brook's now. That sword made caution mandatory, and one lapse meant death.
Outside the Realm of the Dead, Figarland was drowning in spirits.
Brook's mark clung to him like a curse. Ghosts poured in endlessly, even the fresh souls of men who had just died moments ago. They rushed at Figarland like starving wolves.
He crushed them. Again and again.
But the tide did not end.
Five or six minutes passed.
Brook and Mars had vanished, leaving Figarland alone beneath a storm of dead.
His anxiety deepened into something sharp and ugly.
He absolutely could not allow another Elder to fall to Brook.
If one more died, the World Government's power would drop hard. Each Elder could suppress an entire sea. They could not die one after another in the New World like common soldiers.
Figarland's eyes narrowed, furious at the thought.
If he had known it would become this, he would have ordered Sheila to transmit Imu and Saturn here from the start.
Then they could have crushed the Hell Pirates in one clean sweep.
But it was too late.
The battlefield report streamed back to Mary Geoise through Den Den Mushi, and in the Holy Land, Saturn's nerves snapped.
He immediately ordered Sheila to return and bring him over.
Sheila, the Quasi God Knight, nearly bit through his own pride.
He was already suffering.
Teleporting today had hollowed him out.
More than ten years ago, he had been selected from CP0's reserve pool by the Elders. Back then, he thought he had been blessed by luck itself.
He was brought into the Holy Land. Given a rare Devil Fruit. Trained personally under Imu.
Then Imu forced him into the edge of death until his ability awakened.
After that, he was sent to do the impossible.
He had been the one to send Brook to the moon.
His Superhuman Teleport Fruit allowed him to blink to any place within sight, and it also allowed him to appear beside marked targets. But the limit was ten marks, and each finger counted as one mark point.
He had tried toes. He had tried other parts.
Nothing worked.
Even his head refused to count.
And there were other rules. If he wanted to transmit living targets, they could not resist. The stronger the target, the more people involved, the more disgusting the stamina cost became.
Sending Brook to the moon had nearly killed him.
Half his life had burned away in that single transmission. And because the moon was so far, he needed days to recover after using his awakened power once.
That was why he abandoned his companions. It was not only time.
He had no strength left to carry anyone else.
Today, he had already transmitted two admirals and eight vice admirals.
His body was close to collapse.
Even now, he had to grit his teeth and return to Mary Geoise again, just to transmit Saturn to the New World.
If he tried to transmit Imu too, he would probably drop dead on the spot.
A day later, maybe, he could manage one Imu transmission. Back and forth, carefully.
But not today.
Today he was already beyond empty.
Especially after transmitting Garp.
The stamina cost of that man was even more terrifying than Sengoku and Zephyr.
In Mary Geoise, Sheila's face went pale as paper. Still, he forced his body to obey and transmitted Saturn into the New World.
When they appeared on a warship in the New World, Sheila collapsed instantly.
Saturn looked down at him with faint disgust.
Yet even Saturn understood the irony.
It was Imu who had forced this early awakening, who had wrung Sheila's potential dry, leaving him fragile in exchange for power.
And today, they had already transmitted four or five top fighters back into the New World.
This was the limit.
Sheila, lying there, still remembered the strength of the Navy's monsters.
Among the vice admirals he had moved, there were two in the Monkey family. One was stronger than an admiral, and the other was almost at admiral level.
A terrifying bloodline.
The moment Saturn arrived, the Hell Pirates' side tightened.
Another Elder had entered the war.
If the World Government kept stacking its forces, this battle might become unwinnable. Even the Hell Pirates could not fight the World Government and Navy Headquarters at the same time forever.
And then, as if the sea itself wanted to add weight to the moment, another ship appeared at the edge of the battlefield.
Two overwhelming Haki waves erupted without restraint, like a warning flare fired into the night.
On the Oro Jackson, Roger and Rayleigh watched in silence.
They did not enter.
They could only stand at the perimeter and let their presence speak, hoping the World Government would hesitate.
They did not want the Hell Pirates to be crushed. If that happened, the New World would tip out of balance and fall into chaos that would never end.
They did not know Brook had returned.
In their eyes, the Hell Pirates were still behind in top tier numbers. The Elders alone were enough to grind down the Four Hell Kings, and Navy Headquarters only made it worse.
Inside the Realm of the Dead, Brook felt the pressure outside like a hand on his throat.
He could not finish Mars quickly.
So he watched.
Through the dark space, he observed the battlefield beyond, reading the shifting lines and the new arrivals.
Then his eyes caught a figure.
A shape that made hatred surge up, sharp enough to bite.
Brook's gaze narrowed.
He thought for a moment, then his intent changed.
His target shifted instantly.
And he made the decision without hesitation.
He would kill that disgusting man first.
--------------
Brook kept carving at Mars inside the Realm of the Dead, not to win, but to bleed his Haki dry. Through the pressure of the battlefield, he could feel Figarland outside linking up with Saturn, trading information at high speed, preparing to pounce on the Four Hell Kings.
Brook understood the truth.
He could not finish Mars today.
But he had already taken Ethanbaron's life and forced the Seven Star Demon Sword into a true divine artifact. That alone was a victory.
And yet, it still felt… insufficient.
His gaze turned, cold and fixed, to the limp figure on the Navy ship.
That man had sentenced him to eight years of prison on the moon.
That man had also dragged reinforcements onto the battlefield, shattering Brook's plan to pick off the Elders one by one.
A man like that could not be allowed to live.
He had to die.
Outside, Brook sensed two Elders moving together toward Redfield, aiming to erase the Red Earl as quickly as possible.
Brook's eyes narrowed.
He slammed Mars away with a single strike, then stepped out of the Realm of the Dead without hesitation. Without Brook sustaining it, the domain would not last. One solid hit from Mars would crack it apart.
But when Mars steadied himself, he did not immediately break it. Instead, he swept the area with pure caution, searching for Brook's presence, bracing for a second ambush.
That caution bought Brook a sliver of time.
The moment Brook returned to the real battlefield, he hurled the divine artifact, the Seven Star Demon Sword, straight at the Quasi God Knight, Sheila.
At the same time, a wave of ghost generals surged after it.
Brook himself blurred forward, charging toward the two Elders closing in on Redfield.
Figarland's eyes widened.
Brook had reappeared, and Mars was nowhere in sight. For a heartbeat, Figarland believed Brook had already killed Mars.
His eyes turned bloodshot.
Rage exploded, and he launched himself at Brook like a maddened beast.
Saturn did not believe Mars could fall that quickly, but the moment Brook appeared, Saturn's attention still snapped onto him.
Vengeance for Ethanbaron.
And confirmation of Mars' status.
Both demanded Brook's head.
In the distance, the Roger Pirates froze.
Roger and Rayleigh exchanged a look, then barked an order for the crew to stand by. The two of them shot toward the battlefield at full speed.
They intended to become the pivot.
To stop the war.
To keep the Hell Pirates from being ground down.
Linlin saw Brook and went feral.
She hammered Zephyr with punch after punch, each blow shaking the air. Zephyr vomited blood and flew back. Linlin immediately launched herself toward Brook, determined to block an Elder for her man.
Rayleigh moved with precision, reading the board in an instant.
"Roger, handle Garp. Let Newgate back Brook up!"
Rayleigh did not want Roger taking on the Elders head on. The risk was too high, and the World Government's hatred of Roger did not need to deepen any further.
They were here to end the war, not die in it.
Roger's mouth twisted. "I still wanted a little dance with the Elders…"
Rayleigh's eyes hardened.
Roger sighed, then flicked his gaze away. "Fine."
He pivoted toward the clash between Garp and Newgate, while Rayleigh slipped to intercept the badly injured Zephyr. This way, neither of them had to gamble their lives for the Hell Pirates.
Roger's supreme sword Ace flashed.
A single blow sent Garp skidding back, smashing through wreckage.
"Newgate!" Roger called, voice easy, almost cheerful. "I'll leash that mad dog. You go help your captain. We end this quickly!"
Newgate understood immediately. He was not a man who enjoyed slaughter for its own sake, and he knew what would happen if Brook kept fighting without an exit.
If this dragged on, the Roger Pirates would be forced to withdraw, or be swallowed by the war.
"Roger… the Hell Pirates won't forget this."
Newgate did not hesitate.
He surged toward Brook's side.
Maybe, just maybe, they could take another Elder.
From the rubble, Garp erupted back into the fight, furious.
"Roger, you bastard!"
He did not chase Newgate. He lunged straight at Roger, fists roaring.
Linlin and Newgate arrived near Brook almost back to back, and for a moment, the Hell Pirates seized the advantage.
Then Mars reacted.
He slammed through the weakening Realm of the Dead and emerged, alive.
Figarland and Saturn felt the shift instantly, relief flashing through their rage.
The war snapped tight again.
Balanced.
Even.
And then, a scream ripped across the sea.
On the Navy warship, sailors shrieked as the Quasi God Knight, Sheila, was pinned to the deck.
The Seven Star Demon Sword had nailed him down like an insect.
The warship detonated.
Brook knew the rule. Once the World Government learned the Hell Pirates could recycle Devil Fruit powers, Imu planted self destruct bombs in key ability users. Death meant immediate destruction.
The explosion threw the divine artifact away, but when the smoke cleared, the blade was spotless.
Not even a scratch.
It transformed into Quetzalcoatl and streaked back to Brook.
The three Elders went mad.
"Brook!"
Their fury was a physical thing, pressing down like a storm.
Brook's laughter rang out, bright and sharp.
"Yohoho! That one's on you." He lifted his chin, eyes blazing. "You left a treasure like him collapsed on a deck, right in front of me. Exhausted, helpless, no guard worth mentioning. If I didn't kill him, that would've been an insult."
He grinned wider, then added with cruel satisfaction, "What a waste, though. If he'd served under me, he'd have gotten the same treatment as Uju. Protected. Carried. Cherished."
Brook's gaze flicked toward Saturn, contempt obvious.
"Instead, you worked him to death, then tossed him aside so you could chase the Four Hell Kings. A man like that was doomed the moment you stopped valuing him."
He laughed again, almost gleeful.
"In other words, he died exactly where you put him."
The Elders' killing intent surged.
Brook's smile vanished.
Eight years of prison cracked something in him, and what crawled out was not patience, not restraint, but hatred sharpened into a blade.
"Brook! I'll kill you today!"
"Come on!" Brook roared back, voice raw. "I've been swallowing this for eight years. Come and kill me!"
He raised his hand.
Souls poured out.
Ethanbaron's shade rose first, dragged up like a mockery. Brook did not care whether it could hurt them. He wanted to disgust them. To poison their eyes. To tear open old wounds.
Then more ghosts joined.
God Knights.
Navy Fleet Admiral.
Admirals.
Even the dead Celestial Dragons.
An army of spite, summoned not just to fight, but to insult.
Roger had wanted a stop.
But Brook's rage only poured more fuel.
The war did not cool.
It flared.
Ethanbaron's death made the remaining four Elders furious. Brook's eight years of imprisonment made the Four Hell Kings burn with hatred that could not be extinguished.
Thunder and flame tore the sky.
Space cracked.
Ghost legions surged.
Abilities were suppressed, copied, ignored, devoured.
Conqueror's lightning flooded the sea in endless red arcs.
The strongest forces in the world kept switching opponents, hunting the matchups that gave them advantage, grinding each other down with everything they had.
The battle raged through the night.
It did not stop until dawn.
And even then, there was no sign of an ending.
So many pirate ships and warships began to retreat from the core battlefield, scrambling to put distance between themselves and the monsters tearing the world apart.
Because the closer you were, the clearer it became.
This war was no longer a battle.
It was a disaster.
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