Whitebeard snorted coldly, his crescent-shaped mustache trembling with power.
"Armament Haki!"
A deep metallic hum echoed as his body darkened, his skin turning jet black as his Haki coated him from head to toe. The air rippled around him from the sheer force of it.
It worked barely. The heat from Ezra's flames was suffocating, like standing before the heart of a star. Whitebeard's armament was enough to block the burning pain for now, but even he knew it couldn't last.
The old titan gritted his teeth, planting his massive weapon, Murakumogiri, into the scorched ground. His strength surged toward his fists like an incoming tide.
"Gura Gura no Mi Full Power Shockwave!!"
Voom!
The very air screamed as invisible cracks spread across the battlefield. Space itself shattered like glass. The explosion of force destroyed everything in its path the earth split, the sky trembled, and even Ezra's giant flaming hand crumbled under the quake's destructive might.
Whitebeard leapt from the blast, emerging from a haze of smoke and cinders. His clothes were half burned, his beard singed, and an acrid stench filled the air. His expression darkened, though beneath that scowl lay a flicker of shock.
This kid… how old is he, really?
Even if he had trained since birth, his strength shouldn't have reached this level.
For the first time in a long while, Whitebeard's eyes showed genuine caution.
Then
"Enough, Ezra! Leave the rest to me!" Garp's booming voice cut through the chaos as he landed beside him.
Ezra gave the old man a sidelong glance and shook his head lightly. "Not this time, old man. I don't need your help here."
He pointed his sword toward the horizon, where the Whitebeard Pirates' divisions were already preparing to charge. "If you've got the energy to yell, use it to hold back them instead."
Whitebeard lifted a hand, silencing his crew with a commanding gesture. "Stay back, all of you! This fight's between me and the kid. Anyone who interferes will answer to me."
The pirates hesitated but obeyed, retreating beyond the shattered battlefield. The island itself groaned beneath the strain of their power.
Whitebeard gripped his weapon tightly and charged. "Come at me, brat!"
Ezra's lips curled into a smirk. "Gladly."
The two figures blurred one wreathed in holy fire, the other surrounded by raw shockwaves.
"Shockquake Murakumo Slash!" Whitebeard roared as his bisento swept downward.
Ezra met it head-on. "The one who should kneel here... is you, Whitebeard!"
"Torches of the Fallen!!"
Their weapons collided.
The impact was apocalyptic.
A pillar of light and fire erupted from their clash, tearing through the clouds. The shockwave ripped across the island, flattening trees, rocks, and even the sea itself. Waves hundreds of meters high surged outward, devouring everything in their path.
The air screamed with heat and pressure. The entire island became a battlefield of flame and quake energy.
Boom!
Ezra's brow furrowed. "Tch... even with thirty percent inheritance, my spiritual pressure still isn't enough."
Both combatants were forced backward. Whitebeard's boots carved deep trenches in the earth, while Ezra slid more than ten paces before stopping.
Clang.
Whitebeard steadied himself, breath ragged, his once-proud cape now burned to ashes. With one hand, he tore away the charred remains of his shirt, revealing a scarred chest glistening with sweat. His eyes glowed with fierce admiration and danger.
Ezra's state was hardly better. His upper garments had been shredded by the quakes, leaving only his black trousers intact. His right hand trembled slightly from the recoil, and the blazing heat that once surrounded him was gone.
His Shikai had ended.
"Damn," he muttered under his breath, exhaling sharply. "I thought I could keep it up for ten minutes."
Even at his peak, facing Whitebeard in his prime was far beyond what he'd expected.
Whitebeard smirked faintly, wiping ash from his face. "You're still standing, kid. Not bad."
Garp called out from behind them, voice booming. "Ezra! That's enough! You've proven your point!"
But Ezra didn't lower his sword.
He raised Ryūjin Jakka again, flames flickering faintly at its edge. "I'm not done yet."
Whitebeard's massive form loomed forward, bisento glowing with quake energy. "You really want to keep going, huh?"
Their crews tensed, every eye locked on the two titans. The air itself grew heavier, thick with tension.
One wrong move and the island would explode again.
Then, just as the storm was about to break, a new voice rang out.
"Ahahahaha! What a lively bunch!"
The sudden laughter rolled like thunder across the battlefield. Both sides froze and turned toward the sound.
"Everyone, do me a favor let's cool off a bit, shall we?"
Ezra blinked, recognizing that voice instantly. It was so familiar, so unmistakably confident.
Only two people in the world could laugh like that one of them was Shanks, and the other... his captain.
Ezra turned his head.
And there he was.
A man in a red captain's coat stood atop a half-scorched rock, long black hair dancing in the wind. A faint mustache framed his smile, and his sharp eyes gleamed with a warmth that could pierce even the fiercest flames.
Gol D. Roger.
Ezra's voice was barely a whisper. "Gol D. Roger…"
Roger laughed heartily, his voice echoing across the battlefield. "Ahahahaha! Haven't seen you before, young man. A new face in the Navy, huh? To fight Newgate to a standstill at your age... that's something else!"
He grinned, admiration shining in his eyes. There wasn't a hint of hostility in his tone.
Whitebeard grumbled. "Tch. What do you mean, 'to a standstill'? You blind or something, Roger?"
But looking at the two of them both battered, both burned, both standing tall it was clear to everyone that Roger's words weren't wrong.
Roger turned his gaze back to Ezra. "You've got fire in your eyes, boy. I like that. But I know why you're here."
Ezra frowned slightly, lowering his sword just a fraction.
Roger's expression softened. "You came for me, didn't you?"
The battlefield grew silent. The waves crashed softly against the shore.
Roger looked down at his hands, his smile fading into something almost nostalgic.
"I can tell you right now…" he began slowly, his voice steady but distant, as if speaking to fate itself.
"I…"
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