The skies above Mariejois were calm when two divine shadows descended.

Shakky and Stussy arrived together, their heels clicking against the marble as they entered the rebuilt palace.

Behind them marched the Cipher Pol agents who had been stationed across the Holy Land before its ruin. Each agent's eyes glowed faintly with conviction — not to Imu, not to the Five Elders, but to Saint Lakeman.

The Five Elders waited for them, grim faces veiled with practiced serenity. But in their hearts, they already knew the truth: the game of power was over.

Stussy's red lips curved into a sly smile as she stopped before them. "Mariejois looks alive again. At least on the surface."

Shakky blew out a puff of smoke from her kiseru pipe, eyes narrowing with calm dominance. "But you're wise enough to know that walls can be rebuilt. Loyalty cannot. That belongs to us now."

The Elders bowed their heads. None dared to argue.

Within hours, Cipher Pol returned to their posts. Streets that had been empty for weeks were filled with their presence again — black suits, sharp hats, silent eyes. To the outside world, it looked as if the government had never been touched.

But behind those cold eyes, loyalty had shifted.

CP0. CP1. CP2. All the way down to CP9.

They all bent to Lakeman's will through Stussy and Shakky.

The Five Elders signed the orders reluctantly, but their signatures no longer carried weight. The two women — once shadows themselves — were now the architects of the world's silence.

To contain the panic of millions of deaths and a world nearly undone, Cipher Pol unleashed its most potent weapon: lies.

Agents scattered across seas, markets, taverns, and temples, whispering stories into the ears of desperate men.

"The World Government was fighting alien invaders. That's why the sky burned."

"No — it was divine punishment! The gods were enraged at the arrogance of the Celestial Dragons."

"You fools! It was Saint Lakeman! He was chosen by God Himself, and he fought Him to a draw!"

"Wrong again. I heard Garp farted so loud it cracked the Red Line and drowned whole islands!"

The more outrageous the tale, the faster it spread.

Sailors carried them across harbors. Merchants retold them with exaggeration. Priests shouted them from pulpits.

At first, the people trembled. But as the lies grew more absurd, something strange happened: fear gave way to laughter.

The memory of terror dulled under layers of rumor and mockery. People began to return to their work. Ships sailed again. Markets opened. Children laughed in the streets.

But deep inside, no one forgot. They knew the world had nearly ended. And they knew it could happen again.

Two Months Later

Time passed. Two months since the clash of gods. Two months since the dead were buried and the cities rebuilt.

During those months, Cipher Pol spread deeper. Silent tendrils wrapped around kingdoms, noble families, Pirates, even the Marines. Each day, one more officer, one more general, one more royal heir was quietly bent to Lakeman's will through Stussy and Shakky.

They worked in turns.

One week, Stussy would smile her way into a Marine base, bending its commander with a gaze..

Next, Shakky would stroll into a royal palace, her eyes glowing faintly as she turned kings into pawns and queens into willing playthings.

Resistance was rare. Futile. By the time anyone realized, their loyalty had already shifted.

While the world rebuilt under illusions, Lakeman reigned in luxury above the clouds.

The golden palace of Skypiea had become his new den of pleasure.

The halls dripped with silk, wine, and the scent of sex. Robin and Lily never left his side, their bodies always ready, their laughter echoing through the sky.

Stussy and Shakky came and went as they pleased. Sometimes, to whisper strategies of global conquest. More often, to have their holes filled until they screamed his name against cloudstone walls.

And Imu — proud, divine Imu — no longer resisted her cravings. She took him anywhere, anytime, without hesitation. In throne rooms. On balconies. Against the very pillars that held up the palace.

To the outside world, she was still untouchable. A goddess.

But in his arms, she was his queen, moaning like any woman broken by lust.

—-------------------------------

Mariejois had been rebuilt, rumors had spread, Cipher Pol's tendrils had reached deeper than ever before — but one man still carried the weight of truth.

Fleet Admiral Sengoku. —

The Five Elders summoned him in secrecy after receiving Lakeman's order through Stussy.. Their words were sharp, their faces pale with something he had never seen in them before — fear.

They told him everything. Not the lies meant for the masses. Not the rumors meant to soothe kings or peasants.

The truth.

That Saint Lakeman had risen to a power equal to the gods.

That Imu, the figure whispered of only in shadows, was real — and had ruled the world in silence for centuries.

The clash of those two nearly destroyed the world in seconds.

That, now, they ruled together.

Sengoku sat still as the words washed over him. His fingers trembled against his desk. His heart beat like a war drum.

For years, he had believed the Marines, though chained to the World Government, still bore the torch of justice. That one day, they might stand free.

But as the Five Elders spoke, his hopes withered.

When they finished, the chamber fell into silence. Sengoku lowered his head. His voice was hoarse, heavy with despair.

"…So it is decided. The Marines will never be free. Not from gods."

The Five Elders said nothing.

Sengoku rose, his golden coat of justice trailing behind him like a burden. As he left the chamber, his eyes were shadowed, his lips trembling.

"Then we will work," he muttered to himself. "We will work in peace. That is all we can do."

After arriving back at Marine Headquarters, Sengoku called his adjutant.

His voice was steady now, though his heart bled inside.

"Relay this to every corner of the seas. From the lowest recruits to the highest Admiral candidate. From East Blue to the New World."

The adjutant straightened, ready.

"Any pirate that has lost their humanity — those who take joy in slaughter, in burning the weak, in killing without reason — are to be wiped out. No mercy. No hesitation. From this moment, the seas must be purged."

The adjutant's eyes widened. "Sir… a full-scale purge?"

Sengoku's jaw tightened. "Yes. And hear this: every pirate killed this month will bring double rewards. Double pay. Double merits. Make sure they know. World government is paying"

The adjutant bowed and sprinted out.

The order spread like wildfire.

And the Marines, who had been hollow, shaken, broken by the unseen terror of the gods, suddenly surged with renewed purpose.

To the common soldier, it was salvation. A chance to take back pride. A chance to prove their justice still meant something.

They were like chickens injected with dragon's blood — restless, frenzied, alive with fire.

From the Blues to the Grand Line, Marine fleets unleashed hell.

Villages that once feared pirate banners now cheered as white sails arrived. Brutal crews, once confident in terrorizing civilians, found themselves surrounded, boarded, cut down.

Small-time killers. Mid-tier warlords. Armadas of bloodthirsty rogues.

One by one, they fell.

The seas ran red.

But this time, the blood belonged to pirates.

By the end of the month, the oceans quieted. The screams faded. The waves calmed.

Where fear had once crushed hearts, faith returned.

In taverns, common folk raised mugs, whispering with relief: "The Marines still protect us. The World Government is still strong."

In markets, merchants reopened their stalls without trembling.

In villages, mothers let their children run free without glancing fearfully at the horizon.

The faith of the world's lowest — the powerless, the forgotten, the common people — was reignited.

Justice had returned to the seas.

Or at least, the illusion of it.

And yet, in the highest tower of Marineford, Sengoku sat alone.

He looked out over the quiet seas, his hands clasped behind his back, the weight of truth heavy on his shoulders.

Yes, the Marines had restored order. Yes, the world trusted them again.

But Sengoku knew better.

He knew justice was no longer theirs to hold.

It belonged to the gods.

And he whispered into the night, voice trembling, "May the people never see the truth. For if they do… even their faith will be ash."

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