Marineford could only be described as a grand battlefield to Ghidorah—a single step meant catastrophe.

He lowered his immense wing. Buildings collapsed. A hurricane of debris thundered through the streets.

Admiral Sengoku, grievously wounded, panted with every breath. His eyes, bloodshot and resolute, fixed on the rampaging abomination.

"I admire your tenacity."

Ghidorah emerged from the dust, towering over the Admiral. His voice was an icy taunt.

"Your tone is... repulsive."

Sengoku wiped blood from his lips, mind unwavering.

"You may have destroyed the symbol of the Navy," he said.

"But I will not allow you to destroy its foundation!"

Ghidorah paused, his golden gaze flickering. He swept his eyes to the tens of thousands of Marines still standing on the frozen bay.

Their collective glare was like an abyss staring back at him. Soldiers froze in place, unable to breathe.

In that silence, Ghidorah withdrew his eyes. The soldiers gasped for air, drenched in cold sweat.

"What are you fighting for?" Ghidorah asked, turning back to Sengoku.

"As Admiral, you know everything.

Is your twisted justice worth preserving?"

Sengoku's silence was telling. Ultimately, the World Government used the Navy as its puppets.

Ghidorah's voice echoed across Marineford…and around the world through transponder snails:

"My dream was simple: to let everyone live happily…

But everything changed once they arrived.

I am a demon from the abyss.

Now, by my justice, I will destroy your so-called 'light and righteousness!'"

Shockwaves erupted, ripping through shattered walls. The air grew thick, suffocating—as if time itself was crumbling.

Marines dropped like wheat before a swathe. The shockwave reached Whitebeard's fleet offshore—the waves knocked sailors to their knees.

On the Moby Dick, Marco gasped:

"Oyagi!"

A cracking wave of awe and fear followed.

"They're just passing out…" Whitebeard murmured. Yet his eyes blazed with defiance.

Returning onboard, Whitebeard's decision was clear: he would fight.

Back on the battlefield, Ghidorah roared. Sengoku, gathering his last reserves, met the challenge headlong:

Taill Whip vs. Buddha's Palm.

Shockwaves merging, buildings crumbled—Marineford was drowning in devastation.

Sengoku's bones splintered, but he held firm—spurred on by his belief that he must stand so the Marines might survive.

Each blow shattered plaza towers. Clouds rolled in, rain threatened—and then lightning struck the teetering Buddha tower.

"Fist of Faith Impact (OC)!"

Suddenly, just as the bolt was about to land, a deep, authoritative voice broke the tension.

"Bang!"

A shockwave collided with the lightning strike. No massive explosion—for a moment the sky itself seemed to tear apart.

"I thought you'd watch this from a distance."

"I'm not here to save you," replied Garp, stepping into the fray, battered but unyielding.

"I can't bear watching what you once stood for be erased."

Sengoku relaxed slightly, relieved.

"I'm sorry… but from today on, the Navy has no 'Hero Garp.'"

He corrected him: no more legends. Only grim necessity.

"Old ancestor…" Garp breathed, the wordsforeign and awkward.

Even the otherworldly referent—Ghidorah's that term carried weight.

"Do you wish to challenge me too?" Ghidorah asked, eyes narrowing.

"Garp!" Marines trembled the air thick with disbelief and dread.

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