The storm's fury swallowed Nuri's wingbeats as they descended toward the Gilded Talon, its Marine insignias gleaming like fangs in the tempest. Kai stood upon the Arambourgiania's spine, the rifle case strapped to his back humming with residual energy from Angkor'thal's temporal mists. Below, the warship's deck seethed with activity—Pacifistas lined the rails, their laser eyes flickering red in unison, while sailors scrambled to secure marine crates stamped World Government. The scent of salt and overcooked circuitry clung to the air, sharp as a blade.
"Optimal landing angle's 30 degrees!" Nuri screeched over the gale, his beak clacking with manic accuracy. "Crosswind at 12 knots—brace for turbulence, Maestro!"
Kai didn't reply. His glasses fogged with salt spray, but his mind replayed Casimir's smirk—the vial of Void Moss, the Syndicate masks. They're not just hunting Marya. They're excavating something worse.
They touched down with a metallic groan, Nuri's talons scraping the deck as he reverted to human form, his MVP-branded bat clattering to the floor. Vice Admiral Harlow stood at the helm, her prosthetic leg anchored to a rusted cleat. She exhaled a smoke ring, the cigar's ember reflecting in her scarred eye like a wraith.
"Report," she said, monotone.
Kai adjusted his glasses, the middle finger lingering—annoyance, focus, guilt. "Casimir's collaborating with …. Someone. Crates of seastone shackles. Void Moss harvest. And—"
"And he saw us," Nuri interjected, bouncing on his heels. "Did the whole villainous eyebrow raise! Classic narcissist playbook, page 42, subsection—"
"Enough." Harlow's prosthetic whirred as she pivoted toward the transponder snail. Its shell gleamed with opalescent fractures from her earlier grip. "Vergo's breathing down our necks. We move now or rot in a brig."
The snail erupted into static, then Vergo's voice—a graveled purr—sliced through the storm. "Status."
Harlow's jaw twitched. Tap-tap-tap. The bamboo stick in Vergo's hand echoed like an executioner's drum. "Pacifistas primed. Coordinates locked."
"Proceed as planned." A pause. Tap-tap. "Cleanly."
The line died. Harlow crushed the snail, its fragments scattering like broken teeth. For a heartbeat, Kai saw it—the ghost of Aric Thorne's smile in the debris. Guilt, he realized. She's drowning in it.
"Rear of the island," Harlow barked, snatching a fresh cigar from her coat. "Full sail. And wake the sleeping giants."
The deck shuddered as engineers cranked levers on the Pacifista control hub. One by one, the cyborgs' eyes blazed crimson, their monotone chant harmonizing with the storm: "Eliminate. Eliminate." Nuri gulped, his bat trembling.
"They, uh, ever blink?" he whispered.
Kai didn't answer. He was too busy counting the Pacifistas—twelve, thirteen, fourteen—his thoughts shifted, the crates of unknown tech being loaded belowdecks. Black seastone dust. Tartarus-forged iron. His violin case felt heavier.
Harlow limped to the prow, her coat whipping like a surrender flag. The Tidecaller's Spire loomed in the distance, its Lunarian lens fractured—golden light bleeding through cracks like Nika's unhealed wounds. She muttered star coordinates under her breath, a habit from her navigator days, and gripped the railing until her knuckles bleached.
This isn't a mission, Kai realized. It's a pyre.
Nuri sidled up, faux-casual. "So, uh, betting pool says Casimir's got a third eye under that eyepatch. Ten Berries says it's—"
"Secure the artillery," Harlow snapped, not turning. "Or I'll toss your bat overboard."
Nuri's grin faltered. He scurried off, rambling about Arambourgiania aerodynamics.
Kai lingered, watching Harlow's silhouette merge with the storm. Her cigar's ember trembled—fear? Fury?—before she steadied.
"You hesitate," he said quietly.
She exhaled a smoke ring shaped like a noose. "Hesitation gets islands erased, Sullivan. Remember that."
But as the Gilded Talon carved through the blackened waves, Kai swore he heard it—the faintest hum of Beethoven's Fifth rising from the depths, a requiem for the dawn they were about to extinguish.
*****
The docks of Haven of the Eclipse trembled as Mihawk and Marya sprinted through the labyrinth of stilted huts, their Haki pulsing in tandem—a father-daughter rhythm honed by years of silent understanding. Above them, the Tidecaller's Spire fractured further, its Lunarian lens splintering gold light over the bay like shattered promises. The air reeked of brine and burning wood, the Ghost Fleet's figureheads groaning as their carved eyes tracked the horizon.
"Five ships," Mihawk said, his voice a blade unsheathed. "Starboard formation. Marine colors."
Marya's mist curled around her boots, corroding the dock planks as she skidded to a halt. "Old man, you're slowing down," she taunted, though her golden eyes—ringed like his—narrowed at the fleet. The Gilded Talon loomed at the rear, Venus Harlow's prosthetic leg glinting like a rusted anchor on its prow.
Mihawk's lip twitched. "Ten Berries says I cleave three before you blink."
"You'll owe me twenty."
They drew their swords in unison. Eternal Eclipse hummed, its obsidian blade devouring the sunlight, while Yoru gleamed under the fractured spire, a crescent moon hungry for blood. The first slash tore the horizon—Mihawk's cut a seamless arc through two Marine sloops, their masts collapsing like felled giants. Marya's mist surged, coalescing into a jagged scythe that split a warship stem to stern, its hull screaming as it vomited fire into the sea.
"Two," Mihawk said, already pivoting.
"Three," Marya corrected, her smirk sharp as her kogatana.
A child's wail sliced through the chaos. They froze. Behind them, the Haven's refugees huddled in the shadow of the Driftwood Tavern, Captain Veyla barking orders as Silas slipped vials of paralysis rum into the wells. The twins, Tavi and Kip, crouched behind a Garuda automaton's carcass, their "treasure maps" fluttering like white flags in the smoke.
"They're here for us," Marya muttered, her void veins pulsing black. "We leave, they follow."
"An obvious stratagem," Mihawk said, but his grip tightened on Yoru.
They turned toward the nearest schooner—a relic half-sunk in the bay. But the deck erupted before they could leap, Pacifista lasers scorching the air. The shockwave hurled Marya backward, her mist scattering like panicked ghosts. Mihawk parried a beam with Yoru, the clash ringing across the bay as the Tidecaller's Spire finally shattered, raining bioluminescent glass.
"Harlow!" Marya snarled, reforming her body as the Vice Admiral descended.
Venus's Handguard blades, Leviathan Claws crackled with Armament Haki, her scarred face twisted into a rictus of vengeance. "You cost me a leg, Dracule. I'll take both of yours."
Above, Nuri Evander's Arambourgiania form screeched through the smoke, Kai Sullivan perched on his spine. "Trajectory: 82 degrees!" Kai yelled, Silent Requiem aimed at Mihawk's heart. Nuri dive-bombed, his MVP bat deflecting a mist-born dagger Marya hurled.
"Did you know the Arambourgiania's wingspan—"
"Not now!" Kai hissed, firing.
Mihawk deflected the seastone round with a bored flick, but the delay cost him. Guillotine Gereon's chain-scythe Karma lashed out, its seastone links nullifying Yoru's Haki mid-swing. The CP0 agent loomed, his executioner's mask leaking shadow.
"Swords are relics," Gereon's silence seemed to say as he struck.
Marcellus materialized beside him, glass shards spiraling into a mirrored labyrinth. "Let's see if your soul is as sharp as your blade, Yoru-chan," he crooned, kaleidoscope eyes reflecting a hundred Zoros, a hundred Shankses.
Mihawk's Conqueror's Haki flared, shattering the nearest mirrors, but Marcellus only giggled, reforging them with a snap. "Tut-tut. Rude."
Marya danced through Harlow's onslaught, mist-form evading serrated claws. "You Marines love chasing ghosts," she spat, reforming to drive Eternal Eclipse toward Harlow's chest.
"Ghosts don't bleed," Harlow retorted, dodging as her prosthetic leg sparked. "You will."
A Pacifista's laser grazed Marya's shoulder, and she hissed—real pain, not mist. Casimir watched through a sniper scope, his Velociraptor eye glinting. "Finish her," he ordered Teivel, who was already mid-leap, Gungnir aimed at Marya's throat.
"Sorry, Stumblebunny—this one's mine!" Teivel laughed.
Onyx's Starfall Gatling roared, dial-powered rain dousing the flames as she whispered, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"
Mihawk's voice cut through the bedlam. "You've made… friends, I see." Just then Juro, barreled from the forge with a seastone harpoon, and Branson, whose parrot screeched "IMU SEES!" as he suplexed a Pacifista.
Marya almost smiled. "Don't get sentimental, old man."
"Never."
A laser seared Mihawk's coat. He turned, Yoru poised—but froze.
Through Marcellus's glass, he saw her: a younger Marya, with Elisabeta, her laughter unburdened by void veins. A memory? A trick? The hesitation lasted a breath.
Long enough.
Gereon's chain ensnared Yoru, seastone biting into Mihawk's wrist. Marcellus's glass blade pricked his throat, oozing hallucinations—Zoro's defeat, Shanks's smirk, Perona's tears.
"Checkmate," Marcellus whispered.
But Marya's mist surged, corrosive and cold, melting the chain. "He's mine," she growled, her eyes flickering void-black.
The Tidecaller's Spire collapsed then, its final beam igniting the bay. In the chaos, Mihawk and Marya locked eyes—a silent pact.
"To the ruins," he said.
"Race you," she replied.
They vanished into the temporal mists, the Navy's fury howling at their heels.
The temporal mists coiled around Mihawk and Marya like serpents made of starlight and memory, their footfalls silent on the petrified mangrove roots as they raced toward the Temple of Dawn's Echo. The air hummed with the island's dying breath—crackling Lunarian solar-tech, the whispers of ancient Minks etched into the stones. But the mist rippled ahead, solidifying into a wall of seething smoke and iron.
"Hawkeyes," Smoker growled, his jitte glowing with seastone grit as he materialized, white plumes billowing from his cigar. "Stand down. This doesn't have to stain your legacy."
Behind him, Vergo stepped through the haze, bamboo stick tap-tapping against his Haki-hardened palm. "The Warlord title is a leash, Mihawk. Snap it, and we'll show you how rabid dogs are put down."
Marya's mist bristled. "Chatty today, aren't they?"
"Annoyingly so," Mihawk said, Yoru already slicing upward. The blade met Smoker's jitte in a shower of sparks, the impact rattling the roots beneath them.
Vergo struck like a viper, bamboo aimed at Marya's throat. She dissolved into mist, reforming behind him with Eternal Eclipse poised to carve his shadow. "You're slower than I last remember," she sneered.
"And you're as arrogant as your father," Vergo countered, his stick whirling to parry. The clash echoed through the ruins, dislodging shards of bioluminescent fungus that rained like dying fireflies.
A geyser erupted to the east—Guillotine Gereon's chain-scythe Karma slicing through the mists, its sea-stone links dousing Mihawk's Haki. "Swords. Relics," Gereon's silence sneered as he lunged, forcing Mihawk toward the beach where Marcellus awaited, glass shards swirling into a hall of mirrors.
"Yoru-chan," Marcellus singsonged, his kaleidoscope eyes reflecting a hundred Shankses, a hundred Elisabetas. "Let's see which cut cuts deepest."
Mihawk's Conqueror's Haki surged, shattering the nearest mirrors, but Marcellus only laughed, the fractures knitting back with a sound like breaking bones. "Rude, rude, rude!"
On the beach, Smoker pressed his assault, smoke tendrils snaring Mihawk's ankles. "Why throw away your title? For her?"
"Titles are fictions," Mihawk said, Yoru cleaving through Smoker's torso—only for the Marine to reform, seastone dust clinging to the blade.
"Fictions keep islands standing," Smoker shot back, jitte slamming into Mihawk's guard. "You're burning yours to ash."
A Pacifista's laser scorched the sand beside them, its monotone chant—"Eliminate. Eliminate."—drowned out by the roar of the Gilded Talon's cannons. Venus Harlow stood at the prow, hand guard blades crackling. "No more running, Dracule!"
In the temple's shadow, Captain Veyla "Storm-Eye" Rask fought like a woman possessed. Her brass eyepiece whirred, predicting Tashigi's sword strikes a heartbeat before they landed. "You Marines erase islands," Veyla spat, harpoon deflecting Tashigi's Shigure. "But this one? It fights back."
Tashigi's glasses fogged with sweat. "Stand down, Mayor. This isn't your war."
"It became my war!" Veyla roared, jabbing her harpoon into the sand. A hidden tidal mechanism triggered, geysers erupting to swamp a squad of Marines.
Nearby, the Tide Twins, Finn and Lora, hurled nets woven with stolen seastone thread at Pacifistas. "Moon's angry today!" Finn yelled.
"Nah—moon's sad!" Lora retorted, ducking a laser blast.
Juro "Iron Tide" Kurosawa barreled from the forge, his cobalt scales glinting as he hurled a Tartarus-forged anchor at a Pacifista. The machine short-circuited, its red eyes flickering. "Marya!" he bellowed. "Need a blade?!"
Marya heard him, even as Vergo's bamboo grazed her ribs. She grinned, blood flecking her teeth. "Keep it warm for me!"
Her mist surged, corroding Vergo's sleeve. He retreated, but not before Onyx's Starfall Gatling rained dial-powered hail from above. "S-sorry!" Onyx stammered, blushing as she reloaded.
Teivel lunged at Marya, Gungnir gleaming. "C'mon, She-Hawk—let's dance!"
"You'll need better rhythm," Marya said, mist-form dissolving around his thrust. She rematerialized behind him, Eternal Eclipse poised—
—only to freeze as Casimir's Velociraptor talons closed around her wrist. "Checkmate," he hissed, his remaining eye reflecting the Void in her veins.
Mihawk saw it—the flicker of doubt in Marya's eyes. He moved, Yoru a silver flash, but Gereon's chain ensnared his blade. "No," the executioner's silence warned.
Marcellus's glass pricked Mihawk's neck, hallucinations flooding him: Elisabeta's lifeless hand clutching a Poneglyph rubbing, a younger Marya weeping over mother's body.
"Pathetic," Marcellus whispered. "Even legends crack."
But Mihawk's gaze hardened. "Legends," he said, "are etched by those who outlive them."
With a roar that split the sky, he yanked Gereon's chain, hurling the agent into Marcellus. The mirrors shattered, and Mihawk was gone—a black blur cutting toward Casimir.
Marya's laugh rang out, wild and unbound. "Took you long enough, old man."
Together, their swords crossed—Yoru's moonlight and Eternal Eclipse's void—meeting Casimir's talons in a shockwave that atomized the beach.
The shockwave from their clashing blades atomized the sand into glass, the beach hissing as Mihawk and Marya's combined Haki scorched the air. But the victory was fleeting. Guillotine Gereon's chain-scythe Karma lashed out like a serpent reborn, its seastone links ensnaring Yoru mid-swing. The executioner's mask tilted, smug in its silence, as Marcellus's glass shards spiraled around Mihawk, refracting a thousand distorted echoes of Marya's face—younger, laughing, unburdened.
"Family reunions are so… tiresome," Marcellus drawled, kaleidoscope eyes flashing. His glass maze thickened, walls closing in as Smoker's smoke tendrils coiled around Mihawk's legs.
"Stand. Down," Smoker growled, jitte crackling with seastone grit. "Or I'll drag your corpse to Mariejois myself."
Mihawk's gaze flickered past him, toward the distant roar of Marya's mist. But Gereon yanked Yoru sideways, the chain's Haki-nullifying grip forcing Mihawk toward the surf. Saltwater soaked his boots, waves gnawing at the shore like a starved beast.
"Your daughter dies alone," Vergo's voice carried over the chaos, bamboo stick tap-tapping against his palm as he vanished into the fray.
Marya felt the separation like a severed limb. One moment, her father's Haki was a familiar anchor; the next, it drowned beneath a tempest of Navy malice. Casimir's Velociraptor talons gleamed as he circled, flanked by Harlow's handguard blades, Leviathan Claws and Vergo's iron-coated bamboo. Behind them, Onyx fumbled with Starfall's dials, her heels sinking in the sand as she whispered apologies to the wind.
"No more mist tricks," Harlow spat, prosthetic leg whirring as she lunged. Her claw grazed Marya's arm, drawing blood that sizzled against the seastone dust. "This ends where your mother's did—in ash."
Marya's void veins pulsed, black tendrils snaking up her neck. "You talk too much for a ghost," she hissed, dissolving into mist—only for Casimir's talons to rip through her form, Void Moss dripping from his lips.
"Pathetic," he sneered, his remaining eye reflecting the fractured spire. "The mist's puppet, dancing on Elisabeta's grave."
Vergo struck low, bamboo shattering the ground where Marya's shadow had been. "Surrender, girl. Or we'll carve the truth from your bones."
Marya reformed atop a crumbling arch, Eternal Eclipse humming in her grip. The blade's runes flickered—Nika's promise, Elisabeta's chant, Vaughn's last breath. She pressed a hand to her forehead, the Void's whisper a feverish itch.
"You want truth?" she murmured. The air stilled.
Then—lightning.
Black arcs split the sky, the Tidecaller's Spire's remnants exploding into fractal shards. Marya's left eye bleached white, her right drowning in void-black. A scarab-like sigil glowed on her brow, its wings throbbing with primordial rhythm. The beach trembled as her Conqueror's Haki crashed over the Marines, Pacifistas short-circuiting mid-stride.
"There's your truth," Marya said, voice echoing with a thousand dead tongues.
Miles away, Mihawk felt it—the Void's hunger, sharp as a blade in his ribs. He parried Gereon's chain, Yoru's edge chipping the seastone. "Move," he commanded, the word a thunderclap.
Marcellus giggled, glass shards reshaping into Elisabeta's face. "Aw, does daddy worry?"
"No," Mihawk said. "He avenges."
Yoru flashed. Marcellus's mirrors exploded, the backlash shredding the flare of his coat. Gereon lunged, but Mihawk pivoted, using the executioner's momentum to hurl him into Smoker's smoke.
"Enough!" Smoker roared, seastone jitte aimed at Mihawk's heart. "You'll die for a girl who's already damned!"
Mihawk's gaze sharpened. "Damned?"
A half-smile. "No. Unbound."
Back on the beach, Marya's Haki twisted. The scarab on her brow pulsed, Void-Mist hybridizing into a storm that devoured light itself. Vergo's bamboo shattered on contact, Harlow's prosthetic leg sparked and died, and Casimir…
Casimir smiled.
"Yes," he breathed, Velociraptor talons crackling with WG-suppressed tech. "Show me what your mother give her life for."
Marya raised Eternal Eclipse, the blade cleaving reality. A fissure tore open behind her—a glimpse of Tartarus's Maw, chains snapping as the Sea Devourer stirred.
"Come then," she whispered, blood trickling from her sigil. "Let's see which of us breaks first."
The Navy charged.
And the island screamed.