The descent had taken longer than Jinbei expected. Even with the strength of a fishman’s body and the clarity of his vision, the ancient waters of Wano resisted him. The deeper he swam, the stranger the world became—light bled away, swallowed by a haze of sediment and drifting motes of time. Broken arches and toppled spires whispered from the abyss, their outlines half-swallowed by coral and silt.

And yet, through the silence and ruin, he could feel it—an ancient pulse, slow and steady, echoing through the stone beneath his palms.

When he finally reached the base of the submerged valley, his eyes widened. There it was—half-buried in shadow and time—the temple.

A samurai shrine, unmistakably Wano in design, though centuries older than anything Jinbei had ever seen. The curved eaves were carved with dragons and phoenixes whose faces had long since eroded into formless guardians. The grand torii gate that once marked the temple’s entrance had collapsed inward, its lacquer faded to ghostly white. What had once been polished wood was now petrified, veins of coral running through its grain like the arteries of a living reef.

Seaweed curtains swayed through broken doorways. Lanterns—impossibly, still hanging—drifted in the current like ghosts keeping watch. Schools of silver fish darted through the hollow corridors, their scales catching faint glimmers of the world above.

Jinbei hovered there, transfixed, the light of his transponder snail flickering against the shrine’s façade.

"By the seas..." he murmured, voice trembling through the receiver’s static. "Issho-dono... You were right. It’s all here... the old Wano... still sleeping beneath the tides."

He swam closer, careful not to disturb the delicate vines of coral that had grown across the temple walls. His fingers brushed against stone inscriptions—kanji carved in the old Kozuki script, older even than the World Government itself.

Each stroke, each curve, told stories of an era long buried—when Wano was still whole, before it sealed itself away from the world.

Jinbei followed the carvings deeper into the temple’s belly, through crumbling archways and collapsed murals, until he reached the rear sanctum. The water here grew murkier, heavier. A faint current pulsed from beneath the stone, whispering secrets through the silt.

And then—he saw it. The hidden chamber.

It wasn’t large—perhaps the size of a small throne room—but it felt immense. The ceiling was high and vaulted, ribbed with carved beams shaped like great koi dragons. Dozens of paper charms, somehow untouched by decay, clung to the walls. Ancient prayers written by samurai hands fluttered softly in the ebbing current.

Half the chamber was underwater; the other half exposed to a strange, shimmering air.

For a long moment, Jinbei just stared—confused. By all logic, this place should have been completely flooded. Yet, somehow, it wasn’t. The waterline stopped abruptly at his knees, as if an invisible barrier held the ocean at bay. He reached out tentatively—his webbed hand met resistance, like the surface of a bubble.

The ingenuity of the Kozuki craftsmen left him speechless. Even submerged beneath the sea, their seals and techniques still protected this room after centuries. And there, standing tall against the far wall, half-shrouded in darkness and overgrown with vines and coral, was the monolith.

The Red Poneglyph.

It loomed like a mountain within the chamber—crimson stone etched with curling, ancient glyphs. The markings glowed faintly as the transponder snail’s lens passed over them, reflecting light like veins of molten metal beneath the rock’s surface.

Jinbei’s heart thudded once, hard enough that he felt it echo through the water. Until this moment, he hadn’t truly believed the blind swordsman’s words. He had followed Issho’s command out of honor and respect—and perhaps, curiosity. But seeing it now... the truth was undeniable.

This was a Road Poneglyph.

The kind that could lead to the end of the world. He waded closer, reverence tempering every movement. The closer he drew, the more he could feel the weight of it — not just in presence, but in meaning. It wasn’t simply a stone; it was history itself, carved in defiance of gods and kings.

Centuries of sediment hadn’t softened its edges, seaweed clung to its flanks, and tiny bioluminescent creatures made constellations across its surface. Only a portion of the writing remained visible—the rest swallowed by coral and vines.

Jinbei reached out, his palm resting against the cold, smooth face of the stone. The vibrations were faint but unmistakable—like the heartbeat of the world itself.

"...So it’s true," he whispered. "The Kozuki Clan... they hid one of the four roads here, in the bones of their own country..."

The transponder snail blinked and clicked, capturing every angle as instructed.

He could almost imagine the samurai of old—chiseling those words into the indestructible red stone, sealing it away here with honor and fear. What had they seen? What had they known that terrified them enough to bury the truth beneath an entire nation? For a moment, Jinbei forgot his duty. He simply stood there, lost in awe.

"Piri piri piri..."

The shrill ring of the special transponder snail shattered the silence. Jinbei blinked, exhaling sharply before reaching into his coat. The tiny snail perched on his palm, its shell etched with the Donquixote family insignia. He flipped the receiver open.

"You found it, Jinbei-kun?" came a calm, measured voice — unmistakably Issho’s.

Jinbei’s throat was dry. "Aye... I have. It’s real."

He expected questions. Perhaps even orders to confirm the text. But Issho’s tone remained light, almost as if he had already foreseen this moment.

"Good work. Leave the Vivre Card I gave you next to the Poneglyph. Then continue your search for the second objective."

Jinbei frowned. "The second...? You mean Pluton."

"Indeed." A faint smile seemed to carry through Issho’s voice. "But don’t expect that one to be as easy as finding the Poneglyph. We had more than enough information about the poneglyph to guide us here. The other—" he paused, as if tasting the word—"is beyond foresight. Even our eyes see nothing beneath that darkness."

Jinbei hesitated. He’d worked with the blind swordsman long enough to know that the Donquixote family’s reach and knowledge ran deeper than most kingdoms—perhaps even deeper than the Marines themselves. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what they intended to do with relics this powerful.

His massive hand reached into his sash, pulling out a carefully folded sheet—the Vivre Card. He stared at it a moment longer, doubt flickering through his eyes.

"Leave it there," Issho repeated softly, as though sensing his hesitation. "That’s all I need you to do."

Jinbei sighed through his gills, resigned. He wasn’t fool enough to think the blind swordsman couldn’t somehow move this colossal stone—after all, the red Poneglyph from Fishman Island had vanished years ago, and no one, not even the World Government, had ever managed to move such indestructible monoliths. But the timing... the precision... all of it pointed to one truth: if anyone could, it was them.

Carefully, Jinbei pressed the edge of the Vivre Card between the vines that curled across the Poneglyph’s base. The card fluttered faintly, a sliver of life touching history.

He stood there for a moment longer, the silence thick with ancient gravity. Then he turned away, the faint ripples of his steps echoing across the chamber. His mission wasn’t done. The red stone was only the first step — the easier of two impossible tasks.

Somewhere deeper beneath the bones of Wano slept the ancient weapon the world had forgotten— Pluton. Jinbei’s eyes hardened as he disappeared into the dark water, leaving the Vivre Card behind like a ghost’s promise. Behind him, the monolith pulsed once. Just once—like a heartbeat waking after centuries of silence.

****

"Shattering Void!"

Whitebeard’s roar split the heavens. His haki surged, painting the very air in streaks of silver and crimson lightning. The ocean convulsed beneath him, as if the world itself trembled before the power of one man. His titanic fist, layered in both Armament and Conqueror’s Haki, pulsed with the unmistakable hum of the Gura Gura no Mi—the quake fruit.

Ripples of raw, spatial distortion bloomed outward, a dome of collapsing reality spreading across miles of open sea. The horizon cracked like glass. Tidal waves hundreds of meters tall surged away from him in every direction. The heavens themselves screamed as the quake’s pulse reached the clouds, tearing through them in rings of shattering light.

Water 7, already reduced to a burning ruin by the Buster Call’s bombardment, vanished beneath roiling seas. Yet two titans refused to leave.

Whitebeard—the strongest man in the world—and Kaido—the indestructible beast. Both refused to retreat because they knew what the World Government’s desperation truly meant. The ancient weapon was still there.

But before either emperor could reach it... a single man stood in their way. Monkey D. Garp. The Hero of the Marines.

"Galaxy Divide!"

The old marine’s bellow thundered across the waves. His fist collided with Whitebeard’s quake wave, a collision so violent it unmade sound itself. The very sea recoiled, spiraling outward as a black void yawned between them—air, space, and reality ripped asunder by the collision of two titanic wills.

For a heartbeat, the world stopped. Then came the shockwave.

It erupted like a divine judgment. The heavens were split asunder, the sea was flung aside in walls that rose higher than mountains. The collision’s aftershock obliterated entire fleets that hadn’t fled far enough. The ships caught within their wake were reduced to splinters and mist. The world went white.

And still, the two stood, locked fist-to-fist.

Their Conqueror’s Haki tore at the very fabric of existence—silver lightning laced with crimson streaks dancing through the air, forming a dome of annihilation around them. Anything foolish enough to drift near their battlefield—man, ship, or debris — was erased instantly, shredded by invisible blades of raw willpower.

They fought in their own domain of gods. A space where even titans would be reduced to dust.

"Aaaah!"

Garp’s roar pierced the maelstrom. His body blurred—the old hero vanishing and reappearing at inhuman speeds. The sea beneath him burst with every step, exploding into geysers as he launched forward using Geppo and Soru with mastery born from decades of warfare.

Whitebeard’s eyes narrowed, his Observation Haki extending to its limits. The air itself seemed to slow as Garp’s fists came in from every angle—the sound of thunder heralding each blow.

The first punch shattered the air beside Whitebeard’s head. The second grazed his ribs, sending a jolt of vibration through his entire frame. Then came the third, fourth, and tenth—a relentless storm of strikes that turned the space between them into a living explosion.

Each blow carried the weight of a mountain. Each strike could have leveled an island.

Whitebeard countered with brute precision, his titanic frame twisting with surprising agility. His massive bisento—Murokamarigiri—swung in wide arcs, each motion splitting the sea in two. The weapon screamed under the strain, glowing with white fissures of quake energy.

Garp’s battle cry cracked the heavens. His fists ignited in crimson lightning, glowing like molten meteors. As he launched himself skyward, the night burned red—each punch descending from the heavens like a falling star.

Whitebeard grinned beneath his mustache, his teeth flashing like carved ivory. "Good, Garp! Show me that fire one more time!"

He planted his feet deep into the fractured seafloor, Murokamarigiri humming violently in his grasp. The quake power condensed along the blade, the air vibrating so intensely that reality itself began to blur around its edge.

The first meteor fist came down—a blazing comet of Haki and fury. Whitebeard sidestepped, the air behind him imploding from the strike, and swung his weapon in reply. The bisento’s quake aura tore through the air, cleaving apart the shockwave from Garp’s punch.

Then came the next. And the next. Each exchange birthed new cataclysms—islands of water hurled skyward, whirlpools forming and collapsing within seconds. The sky fractured with crimson lightning that danced across the storm clouds. The battlefield had become a churning inferno of raw destruction.

Garp roared, plunging through the chaos. Whitebeard met him head-on.

"Naginata Rasetsu!"

The quake power erupted down the length of his bisento as he brought it across in a devastating horizontal arc. The air screamed as the weapon carved through space—a tidal wave of fractured energy exploding outward.

"Genkotsu Ryuseigun!"

Garp answered in kind, his fists raining down like celestial judgment. The first strike smashed against Whitebeard’s chest, sending shockwaves ripping through the man’s massive frame. Yet the Yonko didn’t even flinch. His swing connected, biting deep into Garp’s ribs with enough force to send cracks of quake energy coursing through the marine’s body.

Neither man dodged. Neither yielded. They traded devastation for devastation. Hundreds of fists hammered into Whitebeard’s chest, each one ringing like thunder against steel. His ribs groaned, blood trickling down his torso—but his bisento didn’t stop. The weapon slammed again and again into Garp’s side, bones fracturing, the sound of quake energy detonating like cannon fire.

The sea convulsed around them—waves frozen mid-rise, pulled in opposite directions by the sheer violence of their willpower. Lightning ripped the heavens in half. Every clash between their fists created rings of annihilation that expanded outward, erasing everything they touched. It was no longer a battle between men. It was a clash between forces of nature.

Whitebeard swung upward with both hands, his bisento screaming as it unleashed a quake so massive that the sea bent away from it. Garp dove straight into the quake, both fists raised high, the very world trembling beneath his roar.

Their attacks met—the sound of impact echoing across the Grand Line. For an instant, the world went silent. Then came the cataclysm.

An explosion of power so vast it could be seen from hundreds of miles away tore the sea apart, a pillar of light and destruction piercing the clouds. The resulting shockwave vaporized the remnants of the Buster Call fleet, reduced entire chunks of Water 7 to dust, and left a crater where the ocean once was.

When the light faded, both men stood—without budging an inch.

"Go back to your domain, Newgate."

Garp’s voice was low and guttural—stripped of its usual boisterous warmth. Each word carried the weight of unyielding authority, the kind that could still silence a room full of admirals. His broad frame rolled, joints cracking as he shrugged his shoulders like a man shaking off a warmup rather than a battle that had shaken the heavens.

"Go back to the New World," he growled, eyes narrowing beneath his battered cap. "Before I turn my fists on your crew. But if you’re still here for the weapon..." — his stance deepened, the air rippling around his fists — "...you’ll have to go through me."

There was no laughter now. No trace of the carefree fool who once chased pirates with a grin. Only the Hero of the Marines, whose fists had shaped eras.

Beneath the steel mask of his fury, Garp’s Observation Haki stretched out—and it hurt. He could hear them. The screams of the marines. The cries of civilians trapped beneath the rubble of Water 7. The pounding surf as the island itself groaned beneath bombardment. His senses were filled with terror, pain, and death—the chaos that the World Government had unleashed in the name of "justice."

And amidst that chaos stood Whitebeard, ready to add another catastrophe. Garp’s jaw clenched. His anger wasn’t just at Newgate. It was at everything. The world, the system, the blood that refused to stop spilling.

The Yonko, however, only grinned—broad, fearless, and full of thunder.

"Gurararara!" The sound rolled like an earthquake, echoing across the shattered sea. Whitebeard’s massive frame loomed beneath the darkened sky, his bisento glinting with lingering quake energy. He brushed off Garp’s warning like a jest between old friends.

"That’s what I was hoping you’d say, Garp." His voice rumbled like tectonic plates grinding beneath the ocean floor. "But I’m not going back. Not without that weapon."

His eyes hardened, old and fierce. "I can’t leave the fate of my family in the hands of others. Not anymore."

The air itself began to vibrate. His Conqueror’s Haki exploded outward, colliding against Garp’s own in a black-crimson storm that painted the sky. The sea heaved, the horizon bending beneath the weight of two monstrous wills.

Whitebeard’s power surged higher still—his quake energy crackling around him in expanding concentric rings. Even from miles away, ships trembled, the water splitting apart as if the ocean itself was being torn in half. There was a reason he was called the Strongest Man in the World.

And now, he would show why.

"Newgate! Do you want to die?!"

Garp’s roar carried across the entire sea—a primal command, like the voice of the storm itself.

But Whitebeard didn’t stop. Didn’t listen. Didn’t care.

He raised his colossal arm—veins bulging, haki roaring—and his fingers spread wide as if grasping the very heavens. The quake aura pulsed, spiraling around his forearm in jagged rings of white light. And then—

He clawed. The world screamed.

His fingers sank into thin air—no, into reality itself—gripping the invisible fabric of the world as if it were clay beneath his might. The ocean bent upward like a mirror being warped. The clouds twisted and contorted. Space itself cracked under his grasp, fissures of glowing white racing through the sky like spiderwebs of broken glass.

"Shima Yurashi!"

Whitebeard’s bellow split the world. And the world answered. Everything tilted. The seas convulsed, half of the horizon rising like a wall while the other sank. The very planet groaned beneath the quake as if protesting the idea of being torn in two.

Mountains of water surged upward. Ships were thrown into the air like toys. The ocean itself had become his weapon—the entire battlefield now an extension of his will. The Strongest Man was about to split the world in half.

But Garp didn’t flinch. He snarled.

His right arm coiled, muscles rippling like cables of steel. Crimson lightning bled from his skin, coating his fist in an aura so dense that the air around it screamed in protest. The sea below flattened from the sheer pressure, waves crushed beneath the gravity of his haki.

The Hero of the Marines stood upon a rising pillar of water and threw his arm downward, voice breaking the heavens.

"GALAXY IMPACT!"

The world went white. The collision of their powers wasn’t sound—it was everything. Light. Pressure. Force. Gravity.

The moment Garp’s fist met the quake, it was as if two stars had collided. A blinding sphere of energy erupted from the impact, expanding outward faster than sight could follow. Space folded, the sea vaporized, and even the clouds above were torn apart in concentric rings of light and darkness.

Whitebeard’s quake—the very technique that had split the Gates of Justice in half—was halted, crushed beneath Garp’s descending strike. The vibrations of the Gura Gura no Mi shattered and diffused, the energy unraveling like broken glass swept away by a storm.

The seas stilled. The tilt of the world corrected itself. The impossible had happened. Garp had stopped Shima Yurashi.

The strongest Yonko grunted, blood dripping from his arm as he stumbled half a step back, his feet digging into the sundered seabed for balance. His body trembled—not from fear, but from strain.

Across from him, Garp stood rooted, fist still extended, steam rising from his knuckles like the aftermath of a meteor strike. The very sea beneath his boots boiled. His eyes burned—not with rage alone, but sorrow.

"Don’t make me do this, Newgate," he muttered, voice barely a growl above the hiss of steam. "Don’t make me raise my hand against another old fool chasing ghosts."

Whitebeard’s lips curled into a weary grin. "Gurararara... You always did hit like the wrath of the gods, Garp."

Their auras clashed again, shaking what remained of the ocean around them, the tension between them palpable enough to crush steel. The world might survive their battle—but barely.