Fleet Admiral Sengoku's fingers trembled slightly as he keyed the Den Den Mushi and contacted the Gorosei. Above the Red Line, in the Holy Land Mary Geoise, the Five Elders listened as Marineford's report crackled through.
When the message finished, fury warred with disbelief across their faces. An elder in a dark green suit, bald and marked by twin handlebar mustaches and a distinct birthmark on his forehead, St. Topman Warcury, narrowed his eyes and spoke in a thin, dangerous voice.
"What were you thinking, Sengoku? On the eve of a major war, Impel Down has a mass breakout?" he demanded.
The other elders exchanged glances, each brow knotted. One of them, in a dark blue suit with long white hair and a beard like a waterfall, St. Marcus Mars snapped that the World Government's façade would be ruined if the prisoners of Impel Down were set loose. Their tone left no room for excuse.
Sengoku bowed his head, the weight of the world showing in the lines around his eyes. "I accept responsibility," he said, voice low and bitter. "This is my dereliction of duty. I will recapture the escaped prisoners within a month."
He ended the call and pressed his fingertips to his temple, trying to stem the pounding in his skull. He had imagined retiring with dignity, not with this scandal. Garp and Vice Admiral Tsuru shared a look of sympathy, but sympathy would not undo the damage already done.
Far below the waves, a massive black-and-white hull cut through the dark sea, preserved from corrosion by a special coating. It was the Moby Dick, the warship of the Whitebeard Pirates. At its prow stood the captain, Whitebeard himself, a towering presence whose aura of Haki made the surrounding air feel heavier.
Marco approached with urgency. "Pops, we are almost at Marineford," he reported.
Whitebeard planted his Supreme Grade blade, Murakumogiri, into the deck and let the boat rumble with the power that radiated from him. His voice carried a great calm. "No. We will not strike yet. We shall wait."
The commanders exchanged confused looks. Marco, Diamond Jozu, Vista, and the others pressed him. If they did not attack immediately, would Ace's execution proceed before they acted?
Whitebeard's eyes crinkled at the question. "Have you forgotten my plan with Thorne Ashveil?" he asked, amusement and certainty braided together. At the mention of Ashveil, the crew remembered the hush of secrecy Whitebeard had insisted on during their voyage. Ashveil had insisted on waiting until they were close to Marineford to ensure the plan could not be compromised by spies.
Whitebeard had received word earlier. "Ashveil reports Ace has been rescued already," he said with a grin. The fleet erupted into cheers. For a moment the deck was full of relieved, roaring laughter.
"Pops, if Ace is saved then why not sail home?" Phoenix Marco asked, hope in his tone.
Whitebeard's expression hardened, the smile fading into grave resolve. "The Marines will not simply let us go. Their hatred for me cannot be placated. They will strike back. Instead of letting them dictate the battle, we will catch them unprepared."
He let his hand fall to his blade and the sheer presence of a legendary pirate captain made the men around him straighten their backs. "Ashveil has not only rescued Ace, he has rallied forces from beyond. A pincer attack will come down upon Marineford. Among Ashveil's allies are prisoners from Impel Down's Sixth Floor."
The name of the Sixth Floor drew a murmur. These were the monsters whose crimes had been scrubbed from the records, the sort of men the world had hoped would never walk free. Byrnndi World, Red Count Redfield, Douglas Bullet, and others—names that had once made even the bravest tremble—now marched with Thorne Ashveil.
The Whitebeard commanders felt a renewed surge of confidence. "If the Sixth Floor's terrors stand with us, the Marines will taste ruin," Jozu said.
Whitebeard laughed, deep and terrible. "Gurarara, Let them learn the price of provoking us. If the Marines will not leave us be, then we will take the fight to them. Crush Marineford. Show them the cost of challenging the Whitebeard Pirates."
Their voices rose in a chorus that shook the ocean. The plan was ruthless in its clarity. Strike Marineford with everything they had, and do so while the world reeled from the collapse of order that the breakout had caused.
For Sengoku and the Admiralty the situation was dire. The escape of so many powerful convicts—alongside a rescue of Ace—meant the Marines had failed at a fundamental duty. Sengoku felt that failure like an ache in his bones. He could see, in his mind's eye, the name of the World Government tarnished by this calamity.
Back on the Moby Dick, the mood shifted from celebration to cold determination. There would be no mercy. They would move at Ashveil's signal. In the distance, Marineford's silhouette loomed, a fortress soon to be besieged from within and without. The coming clash would decide reputations, lives, and perhaps the balance of power across the seas.
Thorne Ashveil, somewhere within the chaos he helped create, remained the axis upon which this hour turned. No one could yet say how the tides would turn, but for now the world had been shaken, and every navy and pirate alike prepared for the reverberations to come.
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