The ancient ruins gleamed under the golden sunlight, their luster untouched by time. Amidst the breathtaking sight stood an old, wiry man, short in stature but carrying the weight of decades on his frail shoulders. His white beard twitched as he spoke, his green coat fluttering slightly in the gentle breeze. A battered horned helmet rested upon his head—one horn missing, a reminder of battles long past.
"So, they weren't deceiving us after all," he muttered, his aged voice laced with awe and disbelief. His eyes, filled with a lifetime of skepticism, reflected the shimmering gold that surrounded them. "The infamous City of Gold… it exists."
Byojack, standing beside the massive relic , turned his gaze toward his younger brother, Byrnndi World. His voice was calm but heavy with meaning.
"With all this wealth, we could raise an army so vast that nothing in the seas below could stand against us." His words carried an edge of hope, a flicker of the past when they still believed in dreams rather than just revenge.
But Byrnndi did not respond immediately. His presence was like a storm held at bay, his towering frame tense with suppressed fury. The years had been unkind to them, but to him, they had been brutal. Ever since his escape from Impel Down, something in him had died.
The warmth that once lit his eyes was long extinguished, replaced by an unyielding coldness. Even Byojack, his own brother, felt the distance—an unspoken chasm carved by betrayal and time.
If not for the treachery of his former crew, if not for their cowardice in turning on him when he was vulnerable, the Cipher Pol agents would never have captured him. That moment of weakness, that knife in his back, had festered into a wound that refused to heal. Even now, that resentment burned inside him like an eternal flame, flickering in the depths of his soul.
His hand clenched into a fist, the air around him shifting with the sheer force of his will.
"That's not why we're here, are we?" Byrnndi finally spoke, his voice a low growl, tinged with restrained fury. "The gold helps, yes… but it is not our purpose." His crimson eyes flickered to the towering Golden Belfry before him, its gleaming surface reflecting the weight of history itself.
"We're here for the Poneglyph."
Byojack and the rest of the crew exchanged glances.
Byrnndi stepped forward, his boots echoing against the gilded floor as he neared the massive structure. His fingers brushed against its ancient carvings, his mind already racing with possibilities.
"This stone might hold the key to an ancient weapon… A power capable of reshaping the world itself." His voice was dark, filled with conviction. His grip on the edge of the monument tightened.
"And as long as I get my hands on one of them… I will raze that so-called Holy Land to the ground."
The weight of his words hung in the air, thick with unshaken determination and deep-seated hatred.
For Byrnndi World, gold was merely a tool. Wealth could build an army, yes—but it was power that could change the world. And he had no intention of letting history repeat itself.
Not this time.
Byrnndi World's gaze remained locked onto the Poneglyph, his lips curling into a sneer as he barked his next order.
"Stop gawking and get to work! I want every single piece of gold accounted for!" His voice thundered across the golden ruins, snapping his men out of their daze. They scrambled to obey, their greed momentarily overtaken by the sheer authority in his voice.
But Byrnndi had little interest in the gold. His true prize stood before him—the ancient stone slab, handed down by the Shandians for centuries. A relic of the past, etched with the mysteries of the world he despised.
"Tch. If only I had someone who could read this cursed language…" he muttered under his breath, irritation creeping into his tone. His crimson eyes glowed with frustration before narrowing in cold amusement. "Well… if I can't read you now, I might as well take you with me."
A deep, gravelly chuckle escaped his lips as he reached for the weapon strapped to his back.
With a single motion, Byrnndi unsheathed his scythe—once merely an oversized blade, now expanding into a monstrous weapon coated in pitch-black Haki. The massive crescent blade gleamed ominously under the golden light. Without hesitation, he swung it down with the force of an executioner delivering judgment.
CLANG!
The deafening impact echoed through the ruins, sending sparks flying as metal met unyielding stone. The screeching noise rang through the air, causing even his men to flinch.
Yet the Poneglyph stood unmoved, unmarred.
Byrnndi's sneer vanished, replaced by a deep scowl. Even with his devil fruit powers, even with his full strength, he hadn't put so much as a scratch on it. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his weapon, his jaw clenching.
"Barororororo…!" His eerie laughter reverberated through the ruins. "A mere stone dares to stand in my way? You think you can defy me? My vengeance? My ambition?! Hah—"
But then—he felt it.
A shift. A disturbance in the air.
Byrnndi's laughter cut off abruptly, his instincts flaring as a presence he hadn't detected until now suddenly made itself known. His sharpened gaze flickered to the clouded horizon, his posture still but tense.
And then—
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
A voice rang through the golden city, casual yet laced with undeniable confidence. It was neither hurried nor anxious, as if its owner had simply walked into an old acquaintance rather than a man who had spent his life waging war against the world.
Byrnndi's eyes snapped in the direction of the voice.
I emerged from the mist, my silhouette framed by the glow of the Golden Belfry. The wind carried my words effortlessly through the ruins.
"It's not like people before you haven't tried to destroy one."
My steps were slow, deliberate. There was no hostility in my stance, no fear in my voice. Only amusement, curiosity—perhaps even a hint of expectation.
"Imagine my surprise, Byrnndi," I continued, flashing a knowing grin. "I was merely accompanying the Shandians to reclaim their Golden Belfry… but when I sensed something unusual, I came ahead to investigate. And what do I find?"
I tilted my head, my gaze meeting his, unwavering.
"Byrnndi World himself."
The tension crackled between us like a live wire.
The legend who had vanished, the man who had escaped the abyss of Impel Down, now stood before me in the flesh.
And from the way his grip tightened around his scythe… I knew that he hadn't expected me either.
"It's you…" Byrnndi World growled, his eyes narrowing as recognition dawned upon him. His grip on his scythe tightened, the air around him crackling with pent-up aggression.
Of course, he remembered me. How could he forget? After all, I was the one who had freed him from the inescapable depths of Impel Down.
But while Byrnndi himself remained composed, his crew did not share his confidence. Byojack and the rest of his men fidgeted, some nervously sweating as they instinctively took cautious steps back. Their instincts screamed at them—warned them of my presence. After all, I had built quite the reputation over the years, and they knew better than to take this encounter lightly.
Still, I remained unfazed, my voice carrying effortlessly across the ruins.
"Can I ask you to step away from the Poneglyph and the Golden Bell?" My tone was calm, yet firm. "They belong to the Shandians, and I gave them my word that I would help reinstate their rightful claim to their ancestors' legacy."
The question was merely a formality. I already knew the answer.
"Barorororo…!" Byrnndi threw his head back in laughter, the sound echoing through the golden ruins. He sneered, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement. "Rosinante, I do owe you for helping me escape back then… but don't mistake that for loyalty. Just because you saved my life doesn't mean I have to listen to your demands."
His smirk widened as he pointed his scythe at me.
"You should know better than anyone that out in these seas, everything is up for the taking. The strong survive. The weak perish. That's the only rule that matters." His voice dripped with arrogance, as if he were offering me a way out of an inevitable fate.
"So here's the deal—I'll pretend I never saw you here. Leave now, and I'll forget about this little encounter."
I sighed.
Maybe Byrnndi was too overconfident in his strength. Or maybe… he still saw me as the same teenager who had once infiltrated Impel Down all those years ago.
Either way, he had made his choice.
I vanished.
One moment, I was standing before him. The next—before anyone could react—I was already in front of him, my entire arm coated in jet-black Haki.
Byrnndi's pupils shrank. He barely had a second to react.
"Busoshoku Kōka…!" He roared, instinctively reinforcing his body with Armament Haki as he attempted to bring up his scythe in defense.
Too slow.
"Sai Dai Rin: Rokuogan."
The shockwave detonated point-blank against Byrnndi's chest, a devastating surge of raw, compressed force tearing through his defenses. His eyes widened in pure shock as his entire torso caved under the impact.
Then—
A deafening BOOM!
Byrnndi was sent hurtling through the air like a ragdoll, his massive frame crashing through the ruins as golden debris exploded in every direction. The entire cloud platform trembled beneath the sheer force of my strike, sending tremors rippling across the sky island.
The once-proud conqueror of the seas… was now a streak of motion, a blur of destruction being hurled across the city of gold.
Silence followed.
The remaining members of Byrnndi's crew stood frozen, their faces pale with horror as dust and rubble settled around them.
I exhaled, rolling my shoulders as I flexed my fingers.
"Words don't get through to you, huh?" I muttered, glancing at the trail of devastation I had left in my wake.
Some things never change.
"Byrnndi…!"
Byojack instinctively moved to rush after his brother, but his body froze in place, an involuntary shiver running down his spine. It was as if an ancient predator had locked its gaze onto him, paralyzing him with an overwhelming sense of dread.
But I wasn't looking at him. My eyes were already fixed on the spot where Byrnndi had crashed.
"If that's all it took to bring you down, I would've been sorely disappointed." I chuckled, my voice carrying through the ruins as I reached for the hilt of Shusui.
At the other end of the battlefield, Byrnndi groaned, forcing himself back onto his feet. Dust and debris cascaded off his battered frame as he steadied himself, his breath coming in sharp gasps. He had barely managed to put up a defense at the last second, but the damage was substantial.
Yet, his eyes blazed with fury.
"You… bastard…!" he snarled, rage contorting his features. His hand shot to his waist, fingers curling around the handle of a pistol—a custom-made firearm loaded with specialized bullets forged from compressed heavy metals.
Byrnndi knew. He knew that I wasn't an opponent he could take lightly. If he wanted a chance to win this battle, he would have to go all out from the very start.
"More More Hyakubai Gan!"
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Shot after shot rang out, each bullet infused with the power of the More-More Fruit. The moment the projectiles left the barrel, they expanded exponentially, growing in size at an astronomical rate. Within seconds, the incoming rounds were no longer bullets but colossal, meteor-sized projectiles hurtling toward me with enough force to obliterate mountains.
But for someone like me—someone who had sliced through the very seas—this was child's play.
The first massive bullet closed in.
In an instant, I unsheathed Shusui. The cursed blade crackled with pitch-black lightning, the air itself screaming as my blade cleaved through the void. A single slash erupted forward, an ink-black wave of destruction surging through the battlefield.
SHRIIING!
The flying sword slash carved through the massive projectiles as though they were paper, slicing them cleanly in half. The remnants exploded midair, sending shockwaves rippling across the sky island. But my attack didn't stop there—the devastating slash continued forward, hurtling straight toward Byrnndi.
"Tch…!" Byrnndi's eyes widened, but his instincts took over.
Enormous veins bulged across his arms as he channeled his Busoshoku Haki into his scythe, the massive blade turning jet-black with sheer intensity. Then, with a single swing, he expanded it—hundredfold.
"More More Hyakubai Giri…!"
His scythe grew into a monstrous weapon, the enlarged blade descending like the guillotine of a god as Byrnndi launched himself forward, his speed and power multiplying a hundredfold.
And then—
BOOOOM!!!
The collision was cataclysmic.
The force of our clash sent a shockwave so powerful that it reverberated across the entire ruins of the Golden City. The very Golden Bell, which had remained untouched for centuries, swayed in response to the impact.
Byrnndi gritted his teeth, pouring every ounce of his Haki into his scythe, trying to overpower my attack. But to his horror, the sheer weight of Shusui's slash matched his enhanced, hundredfold strength.
"How…?!" he growled, struggling to push back against the momentum.
He was supposed to be invincible. His More-More Fruit made him stronger and faster than any normal human could ever hope to be. And yet—here I was, matching him blow for blow, nullifying the overwhelming advantage his Devil Fruit granted him.
Byrnndi tried to shift his stance, to find a way to counter.
But he was already too late.
Before he could react, the skies above ripped apart.
A deafening CRACK split the heavens as a colossal pillar of black lightning descended from the storm clouds, aimed directly at him.
Byrnndi's Observation Haki flared—his senses screamed at him to move—but even with his enhanced hundredfold speed, it wasn't enough.
"El Thor."
I raised my arm.
And then—
KRAKABOOOOOM!!!
A massive bolt of black lightning crashed down upon Byrnndi, engulfing him in a blinding explosion of raw, divine fury. His entire frame was swallowed by the storm, his roar of defiance drowned out by the deafening roar of thunder.
Pillars of black lightning rained down relentlessly, each strike hammering Byrnndi with apocalyptic force. The battlefield trembled under the unrelenting storm, golden ruins shattering into dust as the sheer power of my assault reshaped the land itself.
Even with his hundredfold enhancements, even with his monstrous durability—Byrnndi was being torn apart.
If not for his Devil Fruit, his body would have already been reduced to nothing but ash.
*****
The sea was eerily silent.
The waves, usually restless, seemed to hold their breath, mirroring the tension that gripped the battered flagship of the Whitebeard Pirates. Once a majestic symbol of dominance, the ship now barely clung to seaworthiness. Torn sails flapped weakly in the wind, the deck riddled with gaping holes and splintered wood.
The stench of blood hung thick in the air.
"Drip… drip… drip…"
Scarlet droplets fell onto the wooden planks, seeping into the grain. A deep, jagged gash ran across Shiki's face, dangerously close to gouging out his left eye. Blood trickled freely, yet he paid it no mind. His entire body bore wounds that would have long since killed a lesser man.
Across from him, Whitebeard sat tall, his towering form mirroring the resilience of an immovable mountain. A vicious wound marred his abdomen, the deep cut still oozing fresh blood, yet his grip on Murakumogiri had not slackened in the slightest. His knuckles were white from the force of his hold, his instincts honed for another attack at any given moment.
They both knew it.
If Rocks D. Xebec was truly alive, then his first target would be none other than Whitebeard himself.
And he had come.
Even the combined might of Edward Newgate, the world's strongest man, and Golden Lion Shiki, the terror of the seas, had not been enough.
They had fought for three days—three relentless, hellish days that had shaken the heavens and split the very ocean apart. And yet, even after all that, they had failed.
Now, an oppressive silence smothered the ship.
No one dared step near where Whitebeard and Shiki sat. Not even Marco, who had been through countless battles alongside his captain, could withstand the suffocating pressure of their haki, which still oozed from their bodies like an untamed storm. Even in their battered states, their presence alone was enough to make the air feel like it was laced with blades, stabbing into the flesh of anyone who ventured too close.
The weight of defeat hung over them like an executioner's blade.
Then, Shiki spoke, his voice hoarse but filled with barely restrained fury.
"Why did you step back, Edward…?"
His tone was not a question, but an accusation.
Shiki's golden mane, matted with blood, shifted as he turned to face Whitebeard fully. His fists trembled with frustration. He had been ready—willing to die if it meant taking Rocks down with him. This could have been their only chance to erase that monster from existence. And yet—
"You let him go," Shiki snarled. "For what?"
His bloodstained fingers clenched into a fist.
"Tell me, you bastard!"
With a roar of rage, he slammed his fist into the deck below, shattering the already fragile wood, sending splinters flying in every direction. The ship groaned under the force of his anger, as if it, too, shared in his fury.
And yet, Whitebeard did not respond.
He remained seated, unmoving, his massive shoulders rising and falling with each slow, steady breath. But then, his gaze shifted—past Shiki, past the wreckage, toward his crew.
Shiki followed his line of sight, and realization struck him like a cannonball to the gut.
The remnants of the Whitebeard Pirates stood at a distance, their faces weary, their bodies bruised and bloodied. Every one of them had fought with everything they had. But unlike Shiki, Whitebeard had something to protect.
They were the reason he had taken a step back.
Despite the stalemate, despite standing at the very precipice of victory, Whitebeard had seen the truth—the tide of battle had shifted. He knew that if he pushed any further, if he forced Rocks into a corner, the outcome would no longer be a duel.
It would be a massacre.
Rocks would not hesitate to turn his fury toward the crew. He would slaughter them all without a second thought.
And unlike Shiki, Whitebeard was not willing to gamble with his crew's lives in pursuit of vengeance.
"…Tch."
Shiki exhaled sharply, his rage simmering just beneath the surface. He hated it. Hated the fact that Whitebeard had let Rocks slip through his fingers. Hated that he understood why.
The sea remained silent, bearing witness to two of the most powerful men in the world as they sat amid the wreckage of a battle they should have won—but hadn't.
And somewhere beyond the horizon, in the shadows of the unknown, Rocks D. Xebec lived on.
"Hmph…"
Whitebeard finally exhaled, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as his body loosened, the tension of battle momentarily easing. But with that release came a price—the pain. A molten fire burned through his veins, every nerve screaming in protest at the strain he had pushed himself through. His grip on Murakumogiri faltered for a brief moment before tightening again. Even in agony, he refused to show weakness.
Across from him, Shiki remained silent, his breath still ragged from exhaustion. Blood seeped from the gash across his face, but the pain was nothing compared to the bitterness clawing at his heart. His fists clenched at his sides, trembling—not with fear, but with frustration.
Then, Whitebeard spoke, his voice low but carrying the weight of an unshakable truth.
"Do you really think… that was the true extent of his strength, Shiki?"
Shiki's entire body tensed.
It wasn't pain that made him flinch—it was shame.
Because even he knew the answer.
A part of him had refused to accept it, had desperately clung to the belief that if he had pushed just a little further—if he had thrown aside the fear of death—then maybe, just maybe, he could have taken Rocks down.
But deep inside, beneath all his bravado, he knew the truth.
Whitebeard watched him, his eyes sharp despite the exhaustion weighing on his massive frame.
"Did you really think a man like him would have stagnated?"
Shiki gritted his teeth.
"We have grown stronger, much stronger, Shiki. Stronger than most in the last two decades."
Whitebeard's deep voice rumbled like distant thunder, each word pressing down like an undeniable force. "But Rocks—" He stopped himself.
He didn't need to say it.
Shiki already knew.
Even after all these years, after Whitebeard had ascended to become the world's strongest man and Shiki had carved his legend into the seas, Rocks D. Xebec was still beyond them.
The battle had proven it.
Even after twenty years, he had barely even needed to try.
Shiki's breath came slow and heavy. He had faced monsters before. He had fought against Roger, against Garp, against the most fearsome warriors the world had ever known.
But Rocks… Rocks was something else entirely.
A beast that should have never returned.
A force of nature that had once ruled the seas with an iron grip, standing above even the mightiest pirates like a god descending upon mere mortals.
Shiki clenched his jaw. "Tch… Damn it."
He hated it. Hated the truth staring him in the face.
Rocks D. Xebec had not been fighting them seriously.
Even with the full force of Whitebeard's devastating Gura Gura no Mi quakes.
Even with Shiki's relentless assault, his devil fruit twisting the very battlefield to his advantage.
Even after three days of clashing with two of the strongest pirates to ever live—
Rocks had not been pushed to his limit.