Whole Cake Island, nightti.
Giant ghostly shadows road through the towns with wicked grins, collecting souls from the residents. This was the price of living under Big Mom's protection—a periodic offering of life spans, paid not in coin, but in pieces of their very souls. Though the people feared her, they had long grown accustod to this grim tax.
Once the soul collection was complete, Big Mom wore a deeply satisfied expression, as if she had just finished a feast. Protheus the Sun , Zeus the Thundercloud, and Napoleon the Bicorne all floated nearby, their faces radiating innocent glee.
"Has Smoothie set sail yet?" Big Mom asked her gathered family.
"She's at the harbor now, getting ready to depart" answered Katakuri.
"Mmm... Fish-Man Island desserts... so delicious..." Big Mom murmured, her mind lost in cravings for the exquisite sweets found only on Fish-Man Island—the finest in the world.
The island itself, beyond its culinary wonders, was ho to two Poneglyphs: one an Apology Poneglyph, the other a Red Poneglyph pointing to Raftel. Yet, Big Mom wasn't particularly concerned with either of them, nor was she aware that the ancient weapon Poseidon had resurfaced in the form of Shirahoshi. Very few in the world knew this secret.
At the harbor, ships painted in whimsical colors to match the island's fairytale aesthetic were being prepared to sail. At the head was Smoothie, one of the Sweet Commanders, with a bounty exceeding 900 million berries—an imnsely powerful woman. Like all of Big Mom's children, she was the product of selective breeding between their mother and n of potent bloodlines. Although most of the children were... unconventional in appearance, many were monstrously strong.
Smoothie's mission was clear: take control of Fish-Man Island. It no longer belonged to Whitebeard, and naturally, Big Mom Pirates aid to claim it next. After all, Big Mom, Charlotte Linlin, was the most powerful woman in the New World.
Back on Paradise Island.
Doflamingo had already passed all the intel on Whitebeard's territories to Crocodile — the number of islands, their locations, and their strategic significance.
"Good. We'll depart tomorrow" Elior declared.
Now that he had the necessary information, Elior wasn't going to waste ti. After all, these were re territories — few, if any, strong forces guarded them. In the original tiline, Blackbeard had swiftly conquered most of them, and now many were eyed by minor or mid-level pirate crews—nothing worth worrying about to Elior.
That night, the crew gathered for a strategy eting.
Whitebeard's territories numbered 41 islands (excluding Fish-Man Island), spread over a fairly concentrated area of the New World. The surrounding seas counted as part of the domain, but that wasn't a concern.
Elior's plan was simple: conquer them all, planting the flag of the Elior Pirates on each one.
The assignnts were as follows:
Bullet: 10 islands.
World Destroyer (now living on Paradise Island): 9 islands.
Shiryu: 7 islands.
Crocodile: 5 islands.
The Supernova Trio — Law, Urouge, and Hawkins: 10 islands.
Each group would lead a battalion of 5,000 cloned Germa soldiers. Though Germa's army was nearly 50,000 strong, Elior deed 25,000 sufficient for this campaign. If reinforcents were needed, they could easily be sent in.
Elior himself would lead the mission to Fish-Man Island, accompanied by Weevil. Though Weevil was a brute with the intelligence of a rock, his sheer strength made up for his idiocy. Otherwise, Elior would've tossed him into the sea already.
Fish-Man Island was a priority. Elior intended to take control, see if he could 'sign in' there given its uniqueness, and retrieve the Red Poneglyph located there. He also knew of the other Poneglyph, the apology Poneglyph, but that held little interest for him.
With everyone in agreent, the eting adjourned. Elior returned to his quarters, where Reiju waited, still nervous in his presence. To her, Elior was akin to a god—a terrifying, unknowable force.
"You seem nervous, Reiju" Elior noted.
"N-no... not at all, my lord..."
Elior chuckled, leaning close. "I liked you better when you carried yourself with confidence—seductive, assured, the proud woman you were. Don't lose that."
"I... I can do that."
"Good. You're coming with to Fish-Man Island."
"Fish-Man Island?"
"Yes."
"Understood."
She didn't ask why. She knew she only needed to obey. Yet, inside, she thought Elior was actually quite easy to be around. He wasn't overbearing, didn't treat her like a servant. Compared to the cold, oppressive atmosphere of Germa 66 and her family, this was far better.
With that realization, Reiju's anxiety lted away. Her usual poise, seductive charm, and mature confidence returned, and she seed to glow with newfound assurance.
The next day, the fleets departed Paradise Island en masse. Elior boarded a mid-sized vessel alongside Reiju and Weevil, setting sail for Fish-Man Island. Weevil, simple-minded as ever, manned the helm.
Only then did Reiju realize—this was a full-scale campaign to seize Whitebeard's forr territories. Madness! Yet, in the chaotic New World, who had more right to such ambition than Elior?
As they sailed, the World Governnt received word of the fleet's movent. The Gorosei grew restless.
"What is that monster planning now?"
"He's likely going after Whitebeard's territories."
"Let him. The New World is already a ss since Whitebeard's fall. If that creature moves, he'll pacify the region by force. For now, there's nothing we can do to stop him."
"The balance of power in the New World is already crumbling. Perhaps this is just the beginning... It might spiral out of control completely."
"We still have the World Military Draft to prepare for. There's much to handle."
"And Judge, that bastard... providing rcenaries to Elior."
"Didn't expect that one."
Of course, Judge's rcenary services were entirely legal — after all, Germa 66 was part of the World Governnt's mber states, and much of their inco ca from providing military services. Who they sold to was of no concern to the Governnt.
anwhile, sowhere in the Grand Line's first half, hidden from even the World Governnt's reach, stood the island of Baltigo — headquarters of the Revolutionary Army.
The Revolutionary Army's headquarters, Baltigo, was shrouded in a suffocating gloom. The air itself seed heavy, pressing down on every soldier, every officer, every comrade. The death of Sabo had shattered them.
Sabo wasn't just a leader. He was their heart. Young, brilliant, charismatic, and strong, he was the fla that inspired both hope and courage within the Revolutionary ranks. But now... that fla had been extinguished by Ling Bai, the demon of the sea, in the cruelest, most rciless way.
Sabo was gone.
His ever-present smile, his unyielding resolve, the laughter that echoed through Baltigo's halls—all silenced. His cold corpse was the cruel proof of it. No one could deny it anymore.
The planned operation to overthrow a tyrannical kingdom had been postponed indefinitely. How could they march forward when their hearts were crushed? The Revolution itself felt as though it had lost its very pulse.
Dragon, the enigmatic leader of the Revolutionary Army, had crumbled into grief and self-loathing. His mind replayed a single haunting thought:
"If only I had stopped him... if only I'd forbidden Sabo from going to Marineford to save Ace... What did Ace's life have to do with us?"
Because of that fateful decision, Dragon had lost not just an officer — but family. Sabo, the boy he viewed like a son, was dead. His actual son, Luffy, had barely survived and was now ntally broken, sedated constantly by Ivankov just to prevent him from collapsing completely.
Dragon wept. In all his life, he had stood tall as the World Governnt's most dangerous enemy, but now, he couldn't even protect his own people. His heart bled with regret, sha, and unbearable sorrow.
Koala, Sabo's childhood sweetheart, had fainted from crying too long, and every ti she regained consciousness, grief struck her down again, forcing her back into unconsciousness. She had yet to wake up since.
The Revolutionary Army's headquarters was dead silent, save for the muffled sobs and cries of countless comrades. The walls, the floors, the skies themselves seed darker, as if the heavens mourned with them. A storm of sadness hung above Baltigo, heavy and unrelenting.
The revolution, for the first ti, stood still.
Because their brightest star had fallen.
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