Skypiean temple, Sky Islands
The tension in the chamber was thick enough to cut with a blade. The council chamber, with its intricate designs of white cloudstone and golden embellishments, felt oppressive despite its grandeur.
The Skypiean elders sat on one side of the long table, their faces etched with anger and defiance. Across from them, the Shandians and their leader glowered with simmering rage, their years of suffering reflected in their hardened eyes.
"No! No, that is absolutely impossible!" bellowed one of the elder council members, his voice trembling with fury as he slammed his fist onto the table. The impact reverberated, though it did little to mask the fear lurking behind his outrage.
"There is no way we can hand over the Upper Yard to these barbarians! That land is sacred—it belongs to the people of Skypiea!"
The elder's voice echoed through the chamber, but the weight of his words fell flat. Across from him, Ganfall, the God of Skypiea, sat uneasily at the head of the Skypiean delegation. He avoided meeting the gazes of both sides, a thin layer of sweat glistening on his furrowed brow. He knew all too well that this was no ordinary negotiation.
I leaned back in my seat, a faint smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. The Shandians sat quietly behind me, their eyes fixed on me as if I were a living deity. In truth, to them, I was after whatever the high priestess had conveyed to them.
Now, within just a span of two days, they revered me, not only for my strength but for my current actions, which would restore their hope and dignity. I was no longer an enemy who came to raid their settlement.
The elders of Skypiea, on the other hand, were woefully unprepared for the situation they now faced. Only Ganfall seemed to grasp the delicate balance of power at play.
I finally broke the silence, my voice calm yet carrying an undeniable authority. "Ganfall, I think there's been a misunderstanding," I began, my tone as light as the breeze that danced through the cloudstone windows. "I'm not here to ask for your permission. I'm here to tell you how things will be moving forward."
The room went still. The faint hum of the storm outside was the only sound, yet the weight of my words made the atmosphere suffocating.
"Henceforth," I continued, my gaze locking onto the elder who had spoken out, "the Upper Yard will belong to the Shandian tribe. That is not up for debate. However, I am merciful. Skypieans and the people of Birka will not be barred from visiting or traversing the land. It will remain a shared space, but its guardianship—its soul—belongs to the Shandians."
Ganfall visibly swallowed, his trembling hand dabbing at the sweat trickling down his face. He nodded almost imperceptibly, the realization of the unshakable reality settling over him. But not everyone in the room shared his reluctant acceptance.
"You filthy Blue Sea dweller!" One of the elder council members snarled, his face red with fury. He stood abruptly, pointing a bony finger at me, his indignation boiling over into recklessness. "What gives you the right to dictate terms here? What makes a filthy bastard like you think that you can meddle in the sacred matters of the Sky Islands? This is—"
His words were abruptly cut off by a wet, sickening sound.
SHINK!
The old man's scream ripped through the chamber as a severed arm, freshly cut at the elbow, thudded onto the table, blood pooling rapidly around it. The elder collapsed to the floor, clutching at the stump of his arm, his anguished cries echoing in the shocked silence that followed.
The room froze.
Lucci stood motionless near the elder's chair, his crimson-streaked hand holding a dagger-like finger poised midair. His stoic face betrayed no emotion, save for the faintest glint of warning in his sharp eyes.
"Next time," Lucci said, his voice cold as death, "it won't be just an arm."
He flicked the blood from his fingers with a sharp motion and wiped them clean with the edge of a nearby cloth. His gaze, as precise and piercing as his actions, swept over the room, daring anyone to challenge him.
Hatori, perched on Lucci's shoulder, fluttered its wings and cawed in approval. "Head… away with his head!" the bird squawked, its shrill voice cutting through the stunned silence.
The air was heavy, charged with the aftermath of violence. The Skypiean elders sat frozen, their faces pale, their composure shattered. None of them had seen Lucci move. It was as if death itself had brushed past them without warning.
I remained seated, my eyes fixed on Lucci. His precision and efficiency were unmatched, and though I had foreseen his actions, I let them unfold. He turned to me, his gaze questioning, awaiting further instructions. His unwavering discipline was both admirable and terrifying.
I smiled faintly, a gesture both reassuring and chilling. "That will be enough for now," I said softly, my voice calm but carrying an unmistakable finality. "We don't want to kill anyone… yet."
The room remained silent, save for the elder's muffled cries as he clutched his stump, blood staining his robes. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table, my voice low and steady.
"Let this serve as a reminder," I said, my tone devoid of emotion, "of the cost of defiance. The Shandians have suffered long enough, and this land—this Upper Yard—was stolen from them. It's time the rightful guardians reclaimed what is theirs."
The chamber was silent except for the faint groans of the injured elder clutching his stump on the floor. The tension crackled like a distant thunderstorm, but the room's focus shifted when one of the remaining Skypiean elders stood, his expression carefully composed.
His demeanor was calm, almost calculating, in stark contrast to the chaos moments before. The man's shrewd eyes assessed me, his words weighed and measured before they left his lips.
He chose his approach wisely.
"You cannot truly believe that the people of Skypiea will peacefully hand over the Upper Yard," the elder began, his tone deliberate and neutral, as if navigating a minefield.
"It is a land they worship, a place they believe to be a divine gift. To simply relinquish it because the Shandians claim ancestral ties—surely, even you must understand how unrealistic that expectation is."
His words were spoken with the practiced polish of a seasoned diplomat. Unlike his injured colleague, he avoided inflammatory language. He deliberately refrained from calling the Shandians "barbarians," though I could feel the unspoken sentiment hanging in the air. His calculated gaze darted between me, the Shandian warriors, and their chief, Wyrah, who sat quietly, his jaw clenched.
The elder continued, his voice smooth and persuasive. "How about this? For the past four centuries, we Skypieans have developed the Upper Yard. We've built on it, protected it, and made it the sacred land it is today. Surely, we are better equipped to manage it.
However, I understand the Shandian perspective. So, as a gesture of peace, we propose allowing the Shandians to live on the Upper Yard. They can reside there freely, but to ensure organization and mutual benefit, they should pay an annual toll to Skypiea."
His words dripped with false magnanimity. My observation haki pierced through his facade, revealing the cunning thoughts swirling in his mind. He had no intention of granting the Shandians autonomy. In his mind, they would remain little more than tenants, their claim to the Upper Yard diminished over time, especially once the immediate threat I posed had receded.
The elder's lips curled into a faint smile as he concluded his proposal. "Additionally, to avoid further conflict over the lands of worship, we suggest barring access to the main temple for all. It can remain untouched—neutral territory, free from tribal claims. Surely, such an arrangement benefits everyone."
Behind me, the Shandian warriors bristled. The insult was palpable, and the room buzzed with barely restrained anger. Wyrah's fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, but his respect for my authority held his tongue. Even so, their fury was a blazing fire, barely contained.
I let the silence stretch, watching the elder bask in what he thought was a masterful display of diplomacy. His carefully veiled insult and power grab had been presented as a reasonable compromise, but I could see his true intent as plainly as if it had been written on his face.
Finally, I leaned forward, my elbows resting on the table, my gaze sharp and unyielding. The faintest smirk tugged at the corners of my lips, a predator's grin that sent a shiver through the elder's composure.
"Now that you mention it, that does sound like a decent idea," I said slowly, my tone casual. The elder's smile widened, mistaking my words for agreement. "I had almost forgotten about the toll you Skypieans charge Blue Sea dwellers just for stepping foot on your islands. You've certainly refined the art of taxation."
The elder's smile faltered slightly, his sharp mind sensing something amiss, but he dared not interrupt.
"So," I continued, my voice growing colder with each word, "here's how things will be. The Shandian tribe will have the entire Upper Yard under their sole control. That is non-negotiable. The land belongs to them—every blade of grass, every tree, and yes, even the temple. However, since you seem so fond of the idea of tolls…"
I paused, my eyes narrowing, and the room seemed to shrink under the weight of my presence.
"From this day forward, any Skypiean or Birkan who wishes to enter the Upper Yard will pay a toll to the Shandians. Every single time. Just as you charge Blue Sea dwellers for entry to your islands, so too will you pay for the privilege of stepping foot on their land."
The elder's face turned ashen, his carefully crafted mask of diplomacy cracking under the weight of my counterattack. He opened his mouth to protest, but I wasn't finished.
"As for the temple," I said, my voice dropping to a deadly calm, "it belongs to the Shandian tribe. It always has. But the Shandians are not unreasonable. Those who can set aside their prejudice and approach with genuine respect may be granted access—at the tribe's discretion."
I leaned back, folding my arms as I let my words settle like a thunderclap. "You were clever to couch your proposal in diplomacy," I said, my tone icy yet almost admiring. "But don't mistake cleverness for strength. I see through you, and so do they."
The elder's composure finally broke, his pale face flushing with suppressed anger. His trembling hand gripped the edge of the table, but his eyes darted to his injured colleague, who still lay unconscious on the floor, his blood staining the pristine cloudstone. The elder's anger turned to fear, and he sank back into his chair, silent and defeated.
Behind me, the Shandian warriors couldn't hold back their satisfaction. Wyrah's lips curled into a grim smile, and a low murmur of approval rippled through the ranks.
Ganfall, who had been silent throughout the exchange, finally spoke, his voice heavy with resignation. "It seems… a resolution has been reached," he said, his gaze dropping to the table.
"Let us respect the terms set forth here today. For the sake of peace."
The old man's sharp gaze darted between me and Ganfall, desperation simmering beneath his carefully composed facade. He realized now that his cunning words and veiled diplomacy were futile against the raw power I wielded, but his pride and fear refused to let him concede defeat. His hand clenched the edge of the table as he turned his ire toward Ganfall, Skypiea's long-revered leader.
"Ganfall!" he barked, his voice trembling with a mix of frustration and indignation. "How could you, of all people, agree to such outlandish demands? You are the apostle of the Skypiean god! You were entrusted to safeguard our people, our legacy. And yet, you sit here in silence, allowing our sacred lands to be handed over to them?"
His words carried a biting edge, carefully calculated to stir unrest among the Skypiean representatives in the room. He avoided outright insults but leaned heavily on his audience's emotions, hoping to ignite a spark of resistance.
"Do you not understand, Ganfall? Every true Skypiean would rather lay down their life than surrender control of the Upper Yard! This is more than land—it is our heritage, our symbol of divine favor. To lose it is to lose ourselves!"
The old man's voice rose, his desperate rhetoric echoing in the chamber. His shrewd eyes darted toward the other council members, gauging their reactions, seeking support. "Are we to bow before this outsider, this... this invader from the Blue Sea? Has Skypiea fallen so far that we bend our necks at the first sign of force?"
He paused, letting his words hang in the air, his face a mask of righteous indignation. It was a gamble—a last-ditch effort to rally the council and Skypiean pride against me. Yet, beneath his bravado, I could sense the quiver of fear that ran through him like a thread pulled too tight.
He believed, naively, that the full might of Skypiea could challenge me, that numbers and tradition might overcome the strength I represented. He failed to grasp the futility of his defiance.
Ganfall, seated at the head of the Skypiean side, sighed deeply. His weathered face, lined with years of leadership and battle, betrayed the exhaustion of a man who had long since made his peace with reality.
"Enough," he said, his voice soft yet firm, cutting through the old man's tirade. "Do not mistake my silence for weakness or my decisions for betrayal. I have lived long enough to know when a battle cannot be won; don't let the people of Skypiea suffer because of your ego."
The old man's fury flared, but before he could speak again, Ganfall continued, his tone carrying the weight of truth. "This is not about pride or symbols. This is about survival. Look at the one you call an invader."
Ganfall gestured toward me, and for a moment, the room seemed to shrink as all eyes turned my way. I sat relaxed but radiating an aura of unyielding dominance. My gaze was calm, yet it cut through the room like a scythe of death. Even in stillness, my presence was a storm waiting to be unleashed.
"This man," Ganfall continued, "is not merely powerful. He is beyond our comprehension. You may call upon the entire might of Skypiea and Birkans combined, but it would amount to nothing against him. Do you not see? The Shandians have found a protector, a force unlike any we have faced. To defy him is to bring ruin to us all."
The old man's lips pressed into a thin line, his face pale but his pride refusing to crumble entirely. He shifted his attention back to me, and in his eyes, I saw a flicker of hope—hope that perhaps words, not strength, might still sway the outcome.
"Your strength may be great," he said carefully, his voice tempered with caution, "but strength alone does not make one right. We have held the Upper Yard for centuries, building it into the sacred land it is today. You may force us to bow, but you will never have our respect."
I let his words linger, my silence unnerving him more than any retort. Slowly, I rose from my seat, my towering form casting a shadow across the table. The air in the room grew heavier as I spoke, my voice low but carrying the weight of unshakable conviction.
"Respect?" I said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. "Do you truly think I seek your respect? No, old man. I simply seek back what you took. Your people have clung to the Upper Yard for centuries, claiming it as your own while denying the Shandians their rightful home, just because you had the might to keep them oppressed. You speak of heritage, yet you've built your legacy on stolen land and oppression."
I stepped forward, my movements deliberate, each step reverberating in the silence. The old man stiffened, his defiance faltering under my gaze. "You talk of sacrifice, of laying down your lives for your so-called sacred land. Do not mistake me for someone who will entertain such theatrics. I have razed empires and sunk islands for less and have broken the will of men far greater than you."
My words struck like thunder, each one a hammer blow to the old man's fragile resolve. "You believe your numbers, your traditions, will protect you? Let me make this clear. If I so wished, I could turn the entirety of Skypiea into nothing but ash and memory. I do not need your permission, nor your cooperation. Or do you not believe me that I can bring ruin upon the entirety of Sky Islands?"
I paused, letting the weight of my words settle over the room like a thundercloud about to break. The silence was suffocating, heavy with the unspoken understanding of what was at stake. When I spoke again, my voice was colder than steel, each word laced with a chilling finality that sent shivers down the spines of everyone present.
"I am not here to destroy," I began, my tone measured yet carrying an undercurrent of raw power, "but do not mistake that for weakness. I am here to set things right. Not because I need your approval, and certainly not because I seek your cooperation. I am here because they chose to follow me—the Shandians, a people whose spirit you have tried to break for centuries. And now, they stand behind me, unyielding, because they know what I am capable of."
I took a step forward, my presence pressing down on the room like the weight of an impending storm. The air seemed to grow colder, the tension so thick it was almost tangible. "The Upper Yard will be theirs, as it always should have been. You will accept this—not because it is fair, or just, or even because you want to, but because you have no choice."
My gaze swept across the room, meeting each person's eyes with a stare so piercing it seemed to reach into their very souls. The defiance that lingered in some of their faces faltered under my unrelenting scrutiny. I continued, my voice dropping lower, becoming a lethal whisper that carried more menace than any shout could.
"And let me make one thing abundantly clear," I said, my tone sharpening like a blade. "Before you even consider stirring trouble—before you let pride or misguided notions of rebellion cloud your judgment—remember this: there is no middle ground. This path I offer you now is the only path to peace. The alternative..." I let the words hang for a moment, the silence amplifying the dread I intended to instill, "...is pure, unadulterated violence."
I leaned slightly forward, my presence pressing on them like a tidal wave. "And trust me," I said, my voice cold enough to freeze the blood in their veins, "I am far better at violence than I am at peace."
The room was deathly silent, the weight of my statement leaving no room for doubt. The Skypiean council, once so self-assured and proud, now sat frozen in their seats, the reality of their situation etched into their pale, trembling faces. Even Ganfall, who had seen much in his long life, looked down solemnly, knowing that I had spoken the undeniable truth. There was no alternative, no room for negotiation.
The message was clear: resistance was not just futile—it was suicidal.
The matter was settled.
****
Impel Down, Calm Belt
Within the fortress of despair known as Impel Down, one of the World Government's three great strongholds, an unusual event was unfolding. The arrival of Fleet Admiral Sengoku himself was a spectacle unseen in decades.
His presence in the forbidding halls of the Great Prison, carved into the fiery depths of the sea, sent ripples of unease through its guards and administrators. The reason for his visit was grave, and its purpose shrouded in secrecy.
Impel Down had lost its Chief Warden. Not through resignation or retirement, but murder. The fortress's highest authority, a figure considered an equal to the Admirals, had been slain within its very walls.
What made the incident all the more chilling was that no one had seen, heard, or even sensed the killer. The victim's body, untouched by alarm systems or observation, had been discovered in his chambers with a clean, almost surgical precision to the fatal blow.
Even Sengoku himself, a living legend in his prime, could not have executed such a feat without drawing attention. The sheer impossibility of the act left a scar on the fortress's reputation. This was not an ordinary breach—it was an affront to the World Government's authority, a shadow of something greater.
The truth of the matter was so tightly guarded that only a select few within Marineford and Impel Down knew. The official story, a fabricated tale of health complications, had already been drafted to maintain public confidence. But Sengoku wasn't here for damage control; he was here to fill the void left behind, to stabilize this vital cog in the government's machinery before whispers of its vulnerability spread.
"Magellan," Sengoku said, his voice steady but resolute as he faced the hulking prison officer in the Warden's office. "I know this is abrupt, but there is no time for ceremony. The position of Chief Warden must be filled immediately, and there is no one more suited than you."
Magellan, who had been standing at attention, flinched at the directness of the request. His massive frame betrayed an unease that few had ever seen.
"Fleet Admiral... I'm not sure I can bear the weight of this position. My predecessors were stronger, more capable. And yet... they—"
Sengoku cut him off with a sharp look, his piercing gaze brooking no argument. "The past is the past. You have served Impel Down faithfully, and you understand its workings better than anyone alive. Strength alone is not what makes a leader. Resolve does."
Magellan hesitated, glancing briefly at Hannyabal, who stood off to the side. Normally ambitious to a fault, the Chief Guard had said nothing, his usual bravado buried under a palpable fear. The position of Chief Warden now felt like a curse—a death sentence handed to those brave or foolish enough to accept it.
Before Magellan could protest further, Sengoku pushed a folder across the desk toward him.
"I've anticipated your concerns about the prison's security. To address them, I've personally overseen new appointments. Reinforcements will arrive today—promising individuals, handpicked from the Marines' elite ranks. Among them is someone I believe will be instrumental in fortifying Impel Down's future."
Magellan flipped through the files, scanning the names and ranks until his eyes stopped on the final page. His brow furrowed.
"A direct appointment... to Vice Head Jailer?" he asked, his voice tinged with surprise and skepticism. The candidate's age leaped out at him—early twenties, barely out of the Marine elite training academy. The position, traditionally reserved for veterans with years of service, was being granted to someone who hadn't even served a full tenure.
"I don't understand. This... Shiryu... what makes him qualified for such a post?" Magellan's tone was cautious but curious.
Sengoku allowed himself a rare, faint smile. "Read further. You'll understand."
Before Magellan could delve deeper, the heavy iron doors of the office creaked open. A group of guards escorted the new arrivals into the chamber—a dozen Marines, their uniforms crisp, their postures rigid. At their head walked a young man, his presence commanding attention even amidst seasoned officers.
Shiryu.
In his early twenties, Shiryu was already a figure of striking presence. His jet-black hair fell loosely around his sharp, chiseled features, and his piercing eyes carried a dangerous glint that spoke of untapped depths.
A sheathed katana rested at his side, its hilt worn but well-maintained, hinting at its constant use. He moved with the confidence of a predator, each step deliberate, his aura brimming with restrained menace.
"Vice Head Jailer Shiryu, reporting for duty," he announced, his voice calm, yet carrying an edge that silenced the room.
Magellan's eyes lingered on him, scanning for any trace of hesitation or arrogance. Instead, he found something more unsettling—an air of quiet ruthlessness. This was not a man who sought glory or recognition. Shiryu exuded the aura of someone who lived for the blade, who thrived in the chaos of battle, and who regarded rules as little more than suggestions.
Hannyabal, standing behind Magellan, took an involuntary step back, whispering to himself. "What kind of monster is this...?"
Magellan, still holding the file, finally asked the question gnawing at him. "Sengoku san, you think he will help fortify Impel Down? He's barely out of training."
Sengoku's gaze remained on Shiryu, his expression unreadable. "What you see is just the surface. Underneath lies a raw, unrelenting force. Shiryu is not just a swordsman—he's a prodigy. A future pillar, if guided correctly."
Magellan frowned but nodded, his instincts telling him there was more to this appointment than met the eye. His mind drifted briefly to the slain Chief Warden, the unknown force that had breached their walls.
Whoever—or whatever—had committed that act was still out there, shrouded in mystery. Could this young man truly stand against such an adversary? Or would he meet the same fate?
Shiryu, as if sensing the unspoken doubts, let his hand rest on the hilt of his katana. His eyes met Magellan's with a look of calm assurance, and in that moment, Magellan felt a flicker of something he hadn't in weeks: hope.
Or perhaps it was doubt.