A heavy silence settled over the bay, broken only by the lapping of waves and the groans of the wounded. Hesitant Marines sheathed their swords and lowered their rifles, while the surviving pirates—Whitebeard's crew, the escapees, Luffy's allies—exchanged incredulous glances. The war, that insatiable beast, seemed to finally loosen its grip.
Shanks nodded, a flicker of respect in his eyes. Then he turned to Ace, who still carried an unconscious Luffy on his back. Ace's flames flickered weakly, his face etched with exhaustion and sorrow. Shanks approached, his boots crunching on the ice, and placed a hand on the young pirate's shoulder. "Ace," he said softly, his voice tinged with regret. "I'm sorry I got here so late. I wanted to stop this… for you, for Whitebeard."
Ace blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in Shanks' tone. He dipped his head slightly, his hoarse voice rasping through cracked lips. "You… you saved Luffy. That's enough. Thank you, Shanks."
Shanks glanced down at Luffy, still out cold, his straw hat dangling off his back. A tender smile curved his lips, a fleeting memory of their meeting years ago crossing his mind. "This kid's come a long way," he murmured, almost to himself. Then, lifting his gaze to Ace and Hancock, he said, "Go now. This war's over for you."
Hancock, wary but grateful, nodded. "Come on, Ace," she said, her voice firm yet softened by fatigue. She led the way, her heels clicking against the ice, as Ace followed, Luffy bouncing on his back like a precious burden.
Shanks turned back to Sengoku, his expression growing serious. "One last thing, Sengoku," he said, his tone calm but weighted with new gravity. "I want to take Whitebeard's body. He deserves a burial worthy of his legend, not to be left here like some trophy."
Sengoku's brows furrowed, his fists clenching again. The idea of letting a pirate—even an Emperor—take Newgate's body was a bitter pill to swallow. But he knew prolonging this conflict would be pointless—not with Shanks and his crew ready to step in. After a long silence, he grunted, "Make it quick, Red-Hair. Before I change my mind."
Shanks tipped his head slightly in acknowledgment, then strode toward Whitebeard's body. The fallen Emperor's imposing figure still loomed at the bay's center, frozen in a defiant stance, his white coat stained with blood and soot. Even in death, his presence dominated the battlefield—a monument to his legend. Shanks paused before him, his eyes lingering on Newgate's weathered face. Then, with a fluid motion, he sheathed Gryphon at his waist and bent down. With surprising strength for a one-armed man, he hoisted Whitebeard's massive body onto his shoulder as if it weighed nothing. The giant now rested across his back, his head lolling slightly to the side.
But before Shanks could take another step, a guttural voice cut through the tension-laden air. "Zehahaha! Hey there, Red-Hair!" Teach, surrounded by his crew at the far end of the bay, raised a hand in a mocking salute, a twisted grin splitting his face. "How's that scar on your eye doing, huh?"
Shanks froze, his gaze hardening. He turned his head slowly toward Teach, his eyes narrowing with cold fury. The claw-shaped scar on his face seemed to pulse under the flickering light. "Smile while you still can, Teach," he replied, his voice low but sharp as a blade. "Your time's coming."
Teach erupted into booming laughter, his crew snickering behind him. "Zehahaha! Can't wait, Red-Hair!" He waved dismissively at his men. "Come on, boys, we're out. Had our fill of fun here." But before turning away, he shot a piercing look at Mihawk, still facing Akainu. "See you in the New World, Hawk," he called, his syrupy tone masking an obvious threat. "Got some scores to settle with you."
Mihawk didn't deign to glance his way. His golden eyes remained fixed on Akainu. "Sakazuki," he said, his voice cool and measured. "Do you wish to continue?"
Akainu, magma crackling around him, twisted his face into a scowl, his features contorted with barely contained rage. His wounds—the deep gash across his chest, the burns on his arms—still oozed lava, but his spirit refused to yield. "All you filth…" he growled, his voice trembling with contempt. "Your days are numbered. Justice will catch up to you, sooner or later."
Mihawk's lips twitched—not a smile, but a hint of amusement. "Perhaps," he replied, yanking Yoru from the ice with a sharp tug. "But not today. We'll cross paths again soon enough, Sakazuki." Then, without another word, he turned and walked off through the bay's wreckage.
Inside Mihawk's mind, Leo felt a rush of panic laced with exhilaration.
Oh shit, it's really happening—everyone's leaving!
But he knew this exit had to be epic—after all, he was in the body of the world's greatest swordsman, and he had a reputation to uphold.
As he walked, a familiar figure crossed his path. Shanks, Whitebeard's body slung over his shoulder, paused for a moment, his eyes settling on Mihawk. He frowned slightly, a spark of curiosity in his gaze. "You seem… different, Hawk," he said, his voice calm but edged with a question. "Something's changed in you."
Leo panicked internally.
Oh no, he's onto something!
But he forced Mihawk's body to stay composed, those golden eyes meeting Shanks with calculated coldness. "I just have a new goal now," he replied, his low, cutting voice piercing the silence.
Shanks raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Which is?"
Mihawk paused, turning his head slightly to cast a final glance at the Emperor. Then, as he resumed walking, he said casually, "The One Piece."
Shanks blinked, caught off guard. A heavy silence followed, thick with surprise, before a wry smile tugged at his lips. "The One Piece, huh?" he murmured, almost to himself, as Mihawk faded into the bay's mist. "Interesting… Very interesting."
Inside, Leo was in a frenzy.
I actually said that?! To Shanks?! This is insane!
His heart—or at least his mind—pounded wildly. Mihawk, driven by Leo's fanboy ambition, had just declared a quest that would shake the New World.
Meanwhile, Ace and Hancock pressed on with their escape, joined by the last survivors of Whitebeard's crew—Marco, Vista, Joz, and a few others, their faces carved with grief but lightened by newfound freedom. Marco cast a final glance at Shanks, carrying their adoptive father's body, and mouthed a silent "Thank you" before following his comrades.
Teach and his crew slipped into the shadows, their guttural laughter echoing like a promise of future chaos. Kuzan, Doflamingo, Moria, and the vice admirals watched them go, weapons lowered but eyes heavy with suspicion. Kizaru, perched on some debris, sighed dramatically. "Ahhh… All that for this. What a drag," he muttered, adjusting his sunglasses.
Akainu, alone at the bay's center, slammed a furious fist into the ground, sending up a final pool of lava that hissed as it cooled. "It's not over…" he growled, his rasping voice fading into the wind. But he knew, for now, he had to obey Sengoku's command.
Sengoku, back on the platform, crossed his arms, his gaze locked on Shanks as the Emperor rejoined his crew. With Whitebeard's body over his shoulder, Shanks gave the fleet admiral a final nod—respectful, yet a warning. Then he turned, his crew encircling him like an honor guard, and they vanished toward their ship, leaving a ravaged bay behind.
Mihawk, now alone, walked to the edge of the bay, his gaze lost on the horizon. Inside, Leo felt a surge of pure adrenaline.
The One Piece…
He knew that declaration would draw eyes—the World Government, the Emperors, the entire world. But for now, he savored the moment, this pivot where he'd seized control of a legend and reshaped its destiny.
The Battle of Marineford was over, but a new era was dawning, brimming with promise and peril. And Mihawk—or rather, Leo in Mihawk's body—was ready to be one of its starring players.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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