Meanwhile back to the lab….The silence in Caesar Clown's laboratory was no longer just the quiet of a contained environment, it was the heavy, accusatory silence that follows a catastrophic failure.
The small, lifeless body of Momonosuke had been unceremoniously dragged away by his subordinates, leaving only a faint, bloody smear on the cold floor.
Caesar paced, his long coat swishing, his mind a whirlwind of panic and fury.
He had to report this. Doflamingo would certainly be… displeased. Taking a deep breath that wasn't strictly necessary for his Logia body, he activated the Den Den Mushi linked directly to the King of Dressrosa.
The snail's features morphed, adopting the signature blonde hair and sharp, pink sunglasses of Donquixote Doflamingo. Before a word was spoken, the snail's expression was already one of amusement.
"Fufufufu… Caesar, my friend. To what do I owe the pleasure? Have you finally perfected the S.A.D. production?" The voice was a smooth, condescending drawl.
Caesar's bravado evaporated, replaced by a nervous sweat. "Joker! We… we have a problem. A security breach."
The smile on the Den Den Mushi's face didn't falter, but the air coming through the receiver seemed to grow colder. "A breach? Explain."
"Someone got in. Into a secure storage room. They took something… a Devil Fruit. One of Vegapunk's old failures, the prototype model," Caesar babbled, his words tumbling out.
"They were in and out in seconds! My guards saw nothing! The only witness was one of the brats, and he… he's no longer able to talk."
"He's dead?" Doflamingo's voice was flat.
"He was lying! He said a man appeared from nowhere, took the fruit, and hit him! Preposterous! I had to… discipline him. But the point is, Joker, someone was here! They could have seen anything! The SMILE production, the children, everything!"
The line was silent for a long moment, a silence more terrifying than any outburst. Caesar could almost feel the gears turning in Doflamingo's mind, calculating the risks, the angles, the potential exposure.
"A man who moves unseen. Who takes a single, seemingly worthless fruit and leaves. This wasn't a random theft, Caesar." Doflamingo's voice had lost its playful edge, becoming sharp and serious.
"This was a targeted extraction. Someone knows about our operation. And they are sending a message."
"What should we do? Increase security? Lock everything down?"
"Fufufu… No. That would be like closing the barn door after the horse has not only fled but also set the barn on fire." Another pause.
"I am sending Pica. He will fortify the island's perimeter and serve as your personal guard until we understand who we are dealing with. You will continue your work. Do not fail me again, Caesar. The consequences would be… inorganic."
The Den Den Mushi went limp, the connection severed. Caesar slumped against a console, wiping his brow. Pica was coming.
The mountainous, stone-manipulating executive. It was a statement of both protection and threat. Doflamingo was worried. And when Joker was worried, the world tended to shake.
….
Meanwhile somewhere high above the clouds, soaring on wings of feather and light, Morgans paid no mind to the chaos he had left in his wake. The pink fruit was secured. The Heaven's Mark was planted. Phase one was complete. Now, for phase two: Wapol.
His Angel of Propaganda powers were not merely for broadcasting; they were also for finding. He was the nexus of information, the living conduit through which all news, all whispers, all data flowed.
Closing his eyes as he flew, he cast his consciousness out like a net across the seas. He filtered through thousands of signals, newspaper reports, marine communiques, pirate boasts in seedy taverns, the frantic chatter of fleeing royalty.
He searched for the specific, gluttonous, cowardly frequency that was Wapol of Drum Kingdom.
The signal was weak, pathetic, and headed towards a remote, wintery island in the South Blue. A place called Black Island. Perfect. Morgans adjusted his course, a predator locking onto a plump, unsuspecting prey. The hunt was on, and it would be a short one.
….
Far to the South, on the deceptively peaceful Banaro Island, a storm of a different kind was brewing. The air crackled not with electricity, but with the palpable tension of two opposing wills.
On one side stood Portgas D. Ace, the fiery Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates, his fists wreathed in flames, his back branded with the symbol of his father's pride.
His mission was simple, born of loyalty and rage: to bring the traitor Marshall D. Teach to justice for murdering a crewmate.
Opposite him stood Teach himself, a mountain of a man whose darkness seemed to swallow the very sunlight.
"Zehahaha! Ace! So you finally found me!" Teach boomed, his grin missing several teeth. "Join me! With your power and my plan, we can rule the seas!"
"Your plan ends here, Teach!" Ace roared, and the battle was joined.
It was a cataclysm of elemental forces. Ace was a torrent of incandescent fury. "Hiken!" A massive fist of fire roared towards Teach, so intense it threatened to vaporize the entire port town.
"Zehahaha! Not so fast!" Teach bellowed, his hand shooting out. A void, darker than the deepest abyss, erupted from his palm. The Yami Yami no Mi.
The flames, brilliant and all-consuming, were snuffed out of existence, drawn into the absolute darkness as if they had never been. The very light around them bent and twisted, sucked into the gravitational pull of Teach's power.
"What is this?!" Ace gasped, feeling a strange, draining sensation.
"Darkness is the embodiment of gravity, Ace!" Teach laughed, charging forward.
"It sucks in everything, light, fire, even hope! And it has another property!" He slammed his palm onto Ace's shoulder. The effect was immediate and agonizing. Ace cried out, his Logia intangibility nullified.
For the first time in years since the battle with his pops, he felt a solid blow connect, the pain magnified exponentially. "Anything I touch, I can make solid! Your invincibility is useless against me!"
The fight was brutal and one-sided. Ace, reliant on his overwhelming offensive power, was completely countered. Every pillar of fire was extinguished. Every swift, flame-propelled movement was halted by the crushing gravity of the darkness.
Teach was slower, clumsier, but every hit he landed was devastatingly real. He pummeled Ace with bare fists, slamming him into the ground, laughing all the while.
"You rely too much on your Devil Fruit, Commander!" Teach taunted, stomping on Ace's chest.
"You forgot what it means to brawl! Entei!" A colossal sun-like sphere of fire formed above Ace, his last, desperate gambit.
"Kurozu!" Teach responded, unleashing a wave of darkness that rose to meet it. The two forces collided, but the darkness consumed the sun, pulling the flames into nothingness before crashing down onto Ace, pinning him in a vortex of crushing gravity and nullification.
With a final, exhausted groan, Ace's eyes rolled back, and he fell unconscious.
"Zehahaha! It's done!" Teach stood over his former commander, chest heaving, his body bruised but triumphant. He looked at his crew, Laffitte, Burgess, Doc Q, and Van Augur.
"This is our ticket. We can't take on Whitebeard ourselves. Not yet. But the World Government… they would pay a king's ransom for the son of Gol D. Roger."
"So we use him as a bargaining chip?" Burgess grinned, cracking his knuckles.
"Exactly," Teach said, his eyes gleaming with ambition.
"We contact the Marines. We offer them 'Fire Fist' Ace. In exchange, we want a position among the Shichibukai. The legitimacy and freedom to operate without interference. It's the perfect plan. Zehahahaha!"
….
In Marineford, Fleet Admiral Sengoku's office was a bastion of controlled chaos. Reports streamed in constantly. Which made him have a headache, but that concern was abruptly shoved aside by an urgent, top-priority transmission.
It was from the Five Elders themselves. Saint Jaygarcia Saturn was on the line, his image projected by a special Den Den Mushi.
"Fleet Admiral Sengoku," Saturn's voice was ancient, dry, and carried the weight of absolute authority. "We have received an… offer. From the pirate Marshall D. Teach, formerly of the Whitebeard Pirates. He has captured Portgas D. Ace."
Sengoku's blood ran cold. Ace. Roger's son. The secret he and Garp had kept for decades. "Captured? What are his terms?"
"He offers to hand Ace over to the World Government. His price is a position in the Shichibukai."
Sengoku's mind raced. It was a trap, a provocation. Taking Ace meant inviting the full, unimaginable wrath of Whitebeard. But to have Roger's bloodline in their custody… the symbolic victory was immeasurable.
He could see the gears of the Elders' machinations at work. They wanted this. They wanted a public execution to showcase their power.
"I understand the strategic implications, Saint Saturn," Sengoku said carefully. "However, the repercussions-"
"The repercussions are not your concern," Saturn interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. "You will dispatch a negotiation team to Banaro Island immediately. Secure the prisoner. The order comes from the highest authority."
The line went dead. Sengoku slowly placed the receiver down, his face ashen. The highest authority. That could only mean, whoever sits on that empty throne.
He wasn't stupid, with his wisdom he had long figured out that, but keeping his mouth shut was what brought him here. So this was no longer a mere naval operation; it was a celestial decree.
His first, instinctual thought was of Garp. The Hero of the Marines. The man who had raised the boy was now planning to execute him.
If Garp found out… the damage would be catastrophic. He would tear Marineford apart with his bare hands. Sengoku's heart hammered against his ribs. He had to keep this contained. He had to…
A sudden, horrifying realization dawned on him. Garp wasn't here. He had left just yesterday on an inspection tour of a remote base in the East Blue, grumbling about paperwork.
It was a bureaucratic errand Sengoku himself had assigned to get the chaotic Vice Admiral out of his hair for a week. It was the single greatest stroke of luck in his entire career.
A wave of profound, shaky relief washed over him. He had a window. A small, precious window to get Ace into Impel Down before Garp could return and burn the world down in a grandfather's righteous fury.
….
In the sacred and silent chamber of Pangaea Castle, Saint Jaygarcia Saturn relayed the successful transmission to his four peers. A rare, grim smile touched his lips.
"It is done. The Fleet Admiral will comply."
Saint Shepherd Ju Peter chuckled, a low, grating sound. "How convenient. The dog catches its own tail."
"The son of the Great Sin, delivered to us by the greed of another pirate," Saint Topman Warcury mused, his massive frame shifting. "We need not even dirty our hands."
"This will send a message to all who carry the blood of D.," Saint Marcus Mars added, stroking his long beard. "Their fate is annihilation."
Saint Jaygarcia Saturn nodded, his satisfaction a deep, cold thing.
"Indeed. This serves Imu-sama's divine will perfectly. We eradicate a lingering threat, provoke the strongest man in the world into a war he cannot win, and elevate a useful, controllable pawn into a position of power, all without expending a single resource of our own. The gears of destiny turn, and they grind our enemies to dust."
The other Elders murmured their agreement.
In the hallowed stillness of the Empty Throne room, the fate of a young man named Ace was sealed, setting in motion a chain of events that would soon drench the world in blood.