A Marine butcher? I’m just fighting to live with everything I’ve got. Chapter 183 183: Whitebeard, Dead!

"Heh."

Sengoku ended the call with a cold snort.

The Navy was on the verge of wiping out two Emperor crews in one stroke, and at a ti like this…

They wanted him to show rcy?

What a joke.

Resolving two Emperors at once ant that nearly half of the New World's top-tier combat power would vanish overnight.

That chaotic sea would instantly lose its balance.

And that was precisely the perfect mont for the Navy to march in force, impose order, and reshape the New World.

Even if they delivered the entire military budget to headquarters right now…

Shanks would still die.

Sengoku stood up from his chair, tore open a fresh pack of rice crackers, and surveyed the battlefield as he ate.

With the Whitebeard Pirates' division commanders and allied captains falling one after another, the remaining fodder were nothing more than fish on a cutting board.

Seasoned veterans harvested lives with ruthless efficiency. Even the new recruits, fresh from their baptism by war, were beginning to adapt, their blades swinging faster and cleaner.

A frozen bay.

Shattered wrecks.

Scorched earth.

Corpses carpeting Marineford from end to end.

The Whitebeard Pirates had been almost completely exterminated.

The Den Den Mushi faithfully recorded everything, broadcasting this resolute brand of "justice" to every corner of the world.

And at the very center of that mountain of corpses and sea of blood, one figure still stood tall.

His body was drenched in blood. His chest was riddled with terrifying cavities burned through by magma.

Yet he remained standing.

Whitebeard. Edward Newgate.

Slowly, he swept his gaze across the battlefield that had buried everything.

He was not looking at the Marines standing ready before him.

Nor was he looking at Hawk, locked in fierce combat with Red-Hair in the distance.

He was searching.

Searching for the figures he cherished above all else.

His family.

Marco…

Vista…

Everywhere his eyes fell, there were only cold, lifeless bodies.

His sons.

"Gurararara…"

A hoarse, low laugh escaped him.

There was no joy in it, no madness.

Only endless sorrow and the weight of age.

Gathering the last of his strength, he roared one final ti.

"Magma brat!"

"Whitebeard,"

Akainu's voice was cold, solemn.

"You are the symbol of an era."

"As a farewell to the old age, and a tribute to the new, I will personally send you to your grave."

Akainu slowly raised his right arm, aiming toward the skies above Marineford.

He did not throw the punch imdiately.

Instead, he pulled his arm sharply back, every muscle in his body tensing like a fully drawn bowstring.

Dark red magma surged violently along his arm, bubbling and roaring as it boiled. The intense heat warped the surrounding air.

He exhaled a blast of scorching white steam.

The next instant, his arm shot forward like a cannon.

A massive pillar of magma tore upward into the sky.

It climbed rapidly, leaving a long trail of blazing fire behind it.

At its highest point, the magma column paused for a brief mont.

Then the imnse mass of molten rock began to collapse inward, compressing and refining itself.

A gigantic, dim magma sphere ford in midair, its surface covered in cracked, jagged lines.

All of Marineford was bathed in its apocalyptic crimson glow.

Whitebeard lifted his head.

In his clouded eyes, the reflection of that magma sun burned brightly.

He could feel it.

The power within it was enough to erase him completely.

Akainu spoke slowly.

"Final Sun."

The magma sun moved.

The cracks on its surface split wide as torrents of magma burst forth.

Yet instead of scattering, all that molten fury surged back toward the core.

Extre heat and density forced the sphere to shrink rapidly.

In the end, all the energy and matter condensed into a single magma core no larger than a fist.

It hovered there for a heartbeat.

Then it fell.

Trailing a blazing tail, like divine judgnt, it scread toward the earth.

Its target was unmistakable.

Facing this attack that would end everything, Whitebeard bent his knees and leapt.

He charged straight toward the falling sun.

"Gurararara!"

His final laughter echoed through the heavens.

Magma engulfed him.

There was no scream.

No struggle.

The man who once stood at the pinnacle of the old era, the man hailed as the strongest in the world, was reduced to nothing before the eyes of the entire world.

His flesh.

His bones.

All burned away into nothingness under that ultimate heat.

Boom!

After consuming Whitebeard, the magma core detonated.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Brilliant, colossal magma fireworks blood across the skies of Marineford.

That crimson light, like a grand salute, proclaid the end of an era.

And the arrival of a brand new age ruled by the Navy.

Sengoku stopped chewing.

He watched the blazing sky in silence.

"Farewell."

A lifelong rival was gone.

At the sa ti, the faces of the Red-Haired Pirates drained of all color.

Whitebeard was dead.

The Whitebeard Pirates had been wiped out.

What did that an?

It ant that the Navy's greatest force, Akainu, who had been locked in battle with Whitebeard since the war began, was finally free.

"We have to do sothing."

The thought exploded through Benn Beckman's mind.

His eyes swept rapidly across the battlefield.

Aokiji had instantly defeated Jinbe and sealed off the bay.

Kizaru, that bastard, had completely locked down all his movents.

And that newly risen monster of a rear admiral, Renn Hawk, was clashing head-on with Shanks, holding his ground without yielding an inch.

They could not wait any longer.

If they did, the Red-Haired Pirates would follow the sa path as Whitebeard.

Beckman's gaze hardened.

The decisiveness of a first mate made his choice instant.

He twisted sideways, pushed off the ground, and turned into a blurred afterimage, trying to shake Kizaru with ghostlike footwork.

But he was fast.

Soone else was faster.

At the spot where he reappeared, a leg glowing with golden light was already waiting.

"Ah, ah."

A lazy voice drifted through the air.

"I told you not to move, Benn Beckman."

Beckman's pupils shrank.

He tried to twist his body.

Tried to raise his gun.

Too late.

That foot filled his vision, expanding faster than his reflexes could follow.

Bang!

Kizaru's kick slamd squarely into Beckman's face.

Blood sprayed out, mixed with shattered teeth.

Kizaru slowly withdrew his leg. Beneath those amber-tinted sunglasses, a trace of icy killing intent flickered.

"Acting like that…"

"Where do you think that leaves my bonus?"