"This thing is surprisingly handy!"
Wisps of blue smoke drifted from the black muzzle. Lucien, the "Death Gun," examined his custom black sniper rifle with satisfaction. With a crisp clack-clack, he cycled the bolt, ejecting a spent brass casing over ten centiters long.
BANG!
Another heavy, muffled roar shook the air.
At an even greater distance, nearly a kiloter away, a paladin clad in black armor emblazoned with a white cross was struck. His body erupted into a mist of blood from the midsection; half his torso and his two legs were sent flying, landing several ters apart.
"Sniper!!!"
A combat-hardened veteran shrieked at the top of his lungs, frantically lunging for cover.
The veteran was paralyzed with horror. To blow a man in full plate armor clean in two... that wasn’t a gun. That was a portable cannon!
Knowing that ordinary walls offered no protection against a weapon of such "artillery-grade" caliber, the veteran dove into the complex ruins of a collapsed high-rise, hoping the dense debris would shield him from the sniper’s line of sight.
Others, however, lacked his experience. In the minutes that followed, one by one, clergyn, paladins, officers, and even a Regional Bishop had their bodies blown apart. Even those hiding behind thick stone walls were not spared; the deaths were grueso, brutal, and utterly sickening to behold.
Under this constant shadow of death, the forces of the Church of the Night were terrified to their very core. So were driven mad by the sheer pressure of waiting for the next shot.
Clack-clack.
With cold, indifferent eyes, Lucien cycled the bolt again. A scorching shell casing popped out of the black rifle, tumbling from his high-altitude vantage point.
This weapon was a concept proposed by Aeridar and brought to life by Dr. Vade. A large-caliber bolt-action sniper rifle tailored specifically for Lucien, it boasted an effective range of up to 2,100 ters.
The previous shots proved its devastating power: at six hundred ters, a single round could vaporize a human’s upper torso, far outclassing any gunpowder firearm currently on the market.
Naturally, both the rifle and its ammunition were custom-made and strictly not for sale. Even within the Chris Pirates, including Aeridar and Calamodus, no one wanted to test if their bodies could withstand such a hit. Aeridar had no intention of waking up one day to find one of his brothers had been accidentally killed by his own technology.
...
Inside the Church of the Night’s Cathedral, Valanfort.
Bane stood by a fourth-story window, watching the swarms of stone and tal constructs flying in from the harbor.
Minutes ago, he had lost all contact with the front lines. In his final exchange with Razalo, the man only managed to gasp out five words before the line went dead:
"The... Flying... Grand... Fleet!"
Bane’s face was ashen. He had heard that term long ago, associated with the legendary Great Pirate, "Golden Lion" Shiki.
But Shiki had been dead for years. How could there be a Grand Flying Fleet?
The scene unfolding before him shattered his disbelief. Even from this distance, his telescope revealed over a dozen colossal pirate ships descending from the clouds. The sight was breathtaking, and the Golden Ring flag, the insignia of the Chris Pirates, fluttered defiantly from every mast.
It was true. Shiki was gone, but another Great Pirate, "Golden Ring" Aeridar, possessed the Float-Float Fruit as his second Devil Fruit ability. Only he could resurrect the legend of the flying fleet.
Bane felt a chill run down his spine. It was common knowledge that Aeridar had been the pri candidate for the Yonko position, but the man had walked away from the title, allowing Blackbeard to take the vacancy. To anyone who looked past the re title, his strength and influence were already equal to that of an Emperor.
"Damn it! I have to get out of here!"
Bane gritted his teeth and made his choice. The mont the Grand Flying Fleet appeared, Valanfort was lost.
Without notifying anyone or ordering a general retreat, Bane grabbed a black briefcase and vanished into the cathedral’s secret underground passage. It was a route known only to the highest-ranking officials of the Bivins Kingdom’s church, not even the common maps showed it.
Shortly after, the Chris Pirates breached the heart of Valanfort. A tide of animated beasts and constructs surged through the streets, ruthlessly purging anyone affiliated with the Church of the Night.
"Enel, have you found them?"
Aeridar stood atop one of the castle’s high towers, looking down at the rampaging pirates with an indifferent gaze.
"No. The nas Bane, Bank, and Razalo keep coming up, but only from the mouths of small fry. None of the three have been located," Enel replied, shaking his head.
"They run fast. They must have bolted the second they saw the fleet." Aeridar frowned in annoyance. "Forget it. I’ll have the External Affairs Departnt track them down later."
Suddenly, Enel’s brow twitched. "Wait... I think I’ve got one. Soone just ntioned Bank and Bane!"
"Is that so? That’s a pleasant surprise."
Aeridar’s lips curled into a smirk. "He’s yours. Capture him if you can, kill him if you can’t."
"I’ll go verify the identity," Enel nodded, instantly transforming into a bolt of lightning and vanishing into the sky.
...
In the North Gate District, Razalo was sprinting, gasping for breath, not from exhaustion, but from pure nerves.
"Who knows where that bastard Bank ran off to? I hope he dies at the hands of the Chris Pirates," Razalo cursed his old rival venomously.
As he saw thousands of soldiers still attempting to form ranks at the North Gate, he spat, "And Bane... in this situation, he still hasn’t ordered a retreat? Is he planning to use these people as at shields while he slips away?"
Lost in his suspicions, Razalo reached the gate. Ignoring the shouts and warnings of the soldiers, he prepared to leap over the city wall.
K-BOOM!
Suddenly, a massive bolt of lightning slamd into the top of the wall. Brick and mortar disintegrated as dust filled the air. A silhouette slowly erged from the haze.
"Yahahaha! Found you!"
With a roar of arrogant laughter, a gleaming golden staff pierced through the smoke. A sudden gust of wind swept the area clear.
"Thunder God Enel!!!"
Razalo’s face turned pale. The iconic long earlobes, the golden staff, the drums on his back, and the arcing electricity left no doubt about the man’s identity.
"Let’s see here..."
Enel glanced at Razalo and pulled out three photographs, checking them one by one. He quickly confird the match.
Enel grinned, leveling his golden staff at Razalo’s chest.
"Life or death. Pick one."
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