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The air in the Dove Room didn't just turn cold; it turned stagnant, as if the very concept of life had been forcibly evicted from the space.
Akainu stood abruptly, the legs of his chair shrieking against the floor. He slammed his fist onto the table with a violent bang. "I want to see it for myself!" he barked, his eyes burning as he glared at Robin.
"Ohoho..." Borsalino hummed, his usual mockery replaced by a tight, thin smile.
"Alala," Aokiji sighed, though his posture had gone rigid.
Garp let out a sharp, barking laugh that lacked any warmth. "Bwahaha! Well then, let's see it!"
Nico Robin looked at the hungry, fearful curiosity in the room. "Let me call my mother first," she whispered. She pulled out a small, elegant Flower Snail—pink with red antennae.
Tok... tok... tok...
Across the sea, in the secluded libraries of Ohara, a matching snail buzzed. A slender hand pressed the shell. Kaccha.
"Hello? Mother, are you there?" Robin asked.
"Hmm, Robin-chan? Do you already miss me?" The voice was identical to Robin's but carried the weight of centuries. On the screen of their minds, they saw Nico Olivia. She was a mirror of her daughter but with hair white as fresh snow, dressed in a matching floral kimono. Her cheeky tone vanished the moment Robin mentioned the black scroll.
"The Ancient Tongue has appeared," Robin said.
Olivia's expression shifted to a mask of absolute gravity. "Put the snail on the table. I will give them the measures. I want to hear this myself."
As the snail was placed on the table, its face morphed into the serious, mature expression of Olivia. "Greetings, everyone. I am Nico Olivia, head of the Ohara Clan. I have given Robin permission. But prioritize your safety—this is not just a drain on your life force. It is a dialogue with the Void."
Robin stepped forward. Her hand trembled as she placed her entire palm flat against the jagged, glowing text.
Suddenly, the room exploded in a kaleidoscope of light.
It wasn't a conscious choice. Their bodies reacted before their minds could think. Primal instinct triggered the ultimate defense: Advanced Haki (Ryou). Transparent barriers of pure willpower erupted around every person in the room, forming shimmering shields to ward off the sudden, crushing weight of Death.
Sengoku was encased in a blinding Gold Haki. Akainu shimmered in Dark Red; Aokiji in Ice Blue; and Borsalino in Yellow. Garp radiated a fierce Crimson, while Dragon's barrier was a Dark Emerald. All Might was surrounded by a swirling Rainbow of light, his internal power roaring against the darkness.
The UA teachers flared to life: Aizawa's was Ink Black, Ryukyu's a Draconic Red, Nighteye's a Sharp Green, and Midnight's a Cloudy Pink. Fujitora's Deep Violet and Shakky's Rose Red flickered like candles in a gale.
They felt as if a massive, invisible serpent was coiled around their throats, squeezing the very essence of their souls. This wasn't Conqueror's Haki—the aura of a King. This was the aura of the Grave. It looked down on them like ants.
Sweat poured down the faces of the world's strongest men and women. They watched, horrified, as Robin's black hair began to turn snow-white at the roots. Her skin turned the color of marble.
Then, she opened her eyes. They were no longer blue. They were Shimmering Gold.
Her lips parted, and a voice emerged that was not her own. It was a raspy, withering sound—the roar of a dying dragon mixed with the hiss of a primordial snake.
"Graaasghraaaa... maaahaagraaaaavaa... maghrakasha..."
The syllables were a song of the end. With every word, a massive, golden eye seemed to open in the center of the room, staring into their very souls.
"Raagehamm... grssssshuaggghrammm... brggehaaam..."
The Heroes and Legends felt their power—their Quirks, their Fruits, their Haki—wither. In the presence of that golden gaze, they felt completely and utterly powerless. It was as if the universe was telling them that their lives were nothing more than a brief, insignificant flicker in the dark.
"Arrrgaaahmmmmaaaaa... shaaarum... graham..."
As the last syllable left Robin's lips, the golden eyes in the air narrowed, and the room felt as if it were being pulled into the scroll itself.
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To be continued