The horizon bled crimson as the Red Force sliced through the waves, its sails drinking the dawn's fury. Angkor'thal loomed ahead—a jagged silhouette of terraced temples and petrified mangroves, their roots clawing at the sky like skeletal hands. Bioluminescent fungi pulsed along the shoreline, casting an eerie glow that danced with the shadows of circling seabirds. At the prow, Shanks balanced on the figurehead, a half-empty rum cask swinging from his fingertips. His grin was sharp, but his lone arm tensed, Haki prickling at the edge of his senses.
"Land ho!" Gab bellowed from the crow's nest, his voice swallowed by a sudden gust.
Shanks' grin vanished. In one fluid motion, he hurled the cask aside and drew Gryphon, the blade singing as it arced through the air. Three searing slashes—golden with Conqueror's Haki—screamed toward the ship, only to collide midair with invisible force. The shockwave rattled the mast, sending Jelly "Giggles" Squish tumbling from his perch in the rigging.
"Bloop!" Jelly splatted onto the deck, reforming into a wobbling caricature of Shanks' defensive stance. "Sword rain! Scary-splashy!"
Benn Beckman exhaled a smoke ring, unflinching as the Red Force shuddered. "Trouble's early today."
Yasopp shouldered his rifle, peering through the scope. "Marines. Two flotillas flanking the eastern cove—Navy colors. And… Pacifistas. Lots of 'em." His finger twitched.
"And Mihawk?" Shanks asked, Gryphon still humming.
"Beachside, surrounded by rubble. Two CP0 goons pinning him—Gereon's chain, Marcellus' mirrors, Smoker's smoke." Yasopp smirked. "He's smirking. Probably bored."
"Perfect." Shanks spun, cloak flaring. "Limejuice—drop anchor where the coral's singing. Roux—keep Jelly from eating the cannons. Rest of you—"
A thunderous crack interrupted him. The sea erupted off starboard as a Pacifista's laser scored the waves, steam hissing skyward. On the beach, Mihawk's Yoru flashed, deflecting a seastone net launched by Venus Harlow's Leviathan Claws. Her prosthetic leg sparked as she lunged, snarling.
"Should've stayed a ghost, Dracule!"
Mihawk sidestepped, his blade carving a crescent through Smoker's smoke tendrils. "Ghosts don't bleed," he replied, cool as the tide. "You will."
Shanks laughed, wild and bright. "Ben! Let's return the favor!"
Benn flicked his cigarette overboard. "Try not to drown, Captain."
The Red Force surged forward, its hull scraping the jagged coral reef with a screech that set Jelly's teeth rattling. "Buh-buh-bad noise!" he wailed, morphing into a quivering puddle.
"Up, jellyfish!" Bonk Punch barked, hefting his guitar. "We need a theme song!"
"Aye-aye, music-man!" Jelly sprang into a tuba shape, blaring an off-key fanfare as the crew leapt ashore.
*****
The beach of Angkor'thal trembled under the weight of clashing steel and crackling Haki. Mihawk stood at the center of the storm, Yoru carving silver arcs through the smoke as Smoker's seastone-tipped jitte lunged like a viper. To his left, Guillotine Gereon's chain-scythe Karma hissed through the air, its seastone links nullifying Yoru's Haki with every parry. To his right, Mirror Marcellus's glass clones refracted a hundred taunting echoes—Elisabeta's laughter, Zoro's growl, Shanks' grin—each designed to fray focus.
"Still clinging to that title, Hawkeyes?" Smoker snarled, his cigar ash scattering as Mihawk sidestepped a Pacifista's laser blast. "Or have you finally found a cause worth dying for?"
Mihawk's blade met Gereon's chain in a shower of sparks. "Dying implies someone here is capable of the feat." His golden eyes flicked to the horizon—a flicker of crimson sails tearing through the morning mist.
Marcellus's laughter tinkled like shattered crystal. "Distracted, Yoru-chan? How unlike y—"
A thunderous crack split the sky. The Red Force surged into view, its hull riding a tsunami of Conqueror's Haki that turned the surf to steam. Smoker's cigar fell from his lips. "Shanks…? Damn it all—
"Landlubbers always forget tides turn," Shanks called, leaping from the prow, Gryphon gleaming. Beside him, Benn Beckman's rifle barked, a seastone round shattering a Pacifista's core mid-charge.
Mihawk smirked, the barest quirk of his lips. "Fashionably late, as ever."
"Early's overrated." Shanks landed in a whirl of scarlet cloak, Gryphon clashing with Gereon's chain. The impact sent tremors through the sand, scattering gulls and Marines alike. "Heard you needed a hand babysitting."
Marcellus's glass clones surged, only to evaporate under Benn's withering glare. "Mirrors break easy when you've got no reflection worth seeing," the first mate drawled, reloading with practiced ease.
The sky darkened, black lightning fracturing the clouds as Marya's Void-charged Haki pulsed from the jungle. Mihawk's gaze sharpened. "She's overextending."
Shanks nodded, Gryphon parrying Smoker's furious strike. "Then let's cut this reunion short."
Their eyes met—a decade of rivalry, respect, and unspoken pacts crystallizing in a breath. With twin bursts of Conqueror's Haki, the beach erupted. Sand fused to glass under the pressure; Marines crumpled; Pacifistas short-circuited in a chorus of static.
"Ben!" Shanks barked, already sprinting toward the tree line.
"On it," Benn replied, snapping orders to the crew. "Roux—cannons left flank! Yasopp—pick off the airborne snipers! Gab—keep those Pacifistas off the townsfolk!"
Lucky Roux grinned, hefting a cannonball like a melon. "BBQ buffet after this, yeah?"
"Jelly-jump time!" Jelly Squish inflated into a bouncy ramp, launching Hongo over a tidal wave of Marines. "Wheee—glurk!"
As Shanks and Mihawk vanished into the jungle, Tashigi lunged at Benn, Shigure gleaming. "You're enabling a fugitive!"
"And you're wasting my bullets," Benn said, disarming her with a rifle-butt strike. "Stay down, kid. This war's got enough ghosts."
On the beach, Smoker roared, seastone dust swirling. "After them!"
But the Red Force crew descended like a typhoon. Monster's axe cleaved a Pacifista in two; Building Snake's daggers webbed "Guillotine" Gereon in seastone wire; Limejuice's storm-dials summoned a localized hurricane, scattering Teivel's spear thrusts.
"You're outgunned, Smoker," Benn said, lighting a fresh cigarette. "Best retreat before the island eats you too."
Above, the Tidecaller's Spire groaned, its Lunarian lens finally shattering. The jungle pulsed with Void energy, the ground splitting to reveal veins of Black Seastone that writhed like serpents. Somewhere in the chaos, Mihawk and Shanks raced toward the heart of the storm—where Marya's laughter echoed, unbound and defiant.
The dawn had come. And Angkor'thal would remember it in fire and song.
As the Red Hair Pirates held the line, the jungle swallowed Mihawk and Shanks whole, their path lit by the pulse of Nika's distant drums. Somewhere, a key turned. And the Gates of Lethe began to scream.
*****
The Temple of Dawn's Echo trembled as Marya's mist coiled like a living tempest, her mismatched eyes—one white as bleached bone, the other black as Tartarus's maw—burning with defiance. The beetle sigil on her forehead pulsed with volatile light, casting jagged shadows over the temple's ancient mosaics of Lunarian sun-worshipers and Mink warriors. Bioluminescent fungi dimmed under the oppressive weight of seastone dust, their glow drowned by the eerie luminescence of Marya's Void-charged haze.
Vergo struck first, his bamboo stick whistling through the air, Armament Haki hardening it into a blade that split the mist. "Predictable," he droned, his voice a monotone threat. "Your phantoms can't bleed, but you can."
Marya's lips curled. A specter of Mihawk materialized beside her, mist-forged Yoru parrying Vergo's strike with a hollow clang. "Neither can you," she hissed, as the phantom dissolved into vapor.
Harlow lunged next, her handguard blades crackling with seastone sparks. "You took my leg, Dracule's brat!" Her prosthetic whirred, gears grinding as she vaulted over a crumbling pillar. "I'll carve out your heart and feed it to the Sea Kings!"
Marya sidestepped, her younger self's phantom darting forward—a fleeting distraction. The ghostly girl grinned, echoing Marya's lost innocence, before Harlow's claws shredded it to mist. "You'll need better aim," Marya taunted, but her breath hitched. The beetle on her brow flickered.
Casimir emerged from the shadows, Velociraptor talons glinting with venomous Void Moss. "Pathetic," he sneered, his WG-issued eyepatch reflecting the fractured light. "A Dracule, reduced to parlor tricks." He slashed, and the moss hissed, corrupting her mist into a sickly green hue.
Marya's phantoms wavered. Vaughn's specter—broad-shouldered and warm-eyed—lunged at Casimir, but the Void Moss ate through his form like acid. "You're running out of time," Vaughn's echo whispered as he dissolved.
Fatigue clawed at her. The temple's Poneglyph hummed, its ancient script resonating with her Void veins, a siren song of power and peril. She pressed a hand to the stone, its cold surface searing her palm. Elisabeta's research… the Oath of Ginnungagap… The words swam in her mind, half-remembered.
"Focus," she growled to herself, as Aurélie's phantom—her stoic stance edged in mist—parried Vergo's strike. But Harlow's claw grazed her ribs, seastone biting into flesh. Marya staggered, blood mingling with the mist, its metallic tang sharp in the air.
Casimir pressed his advantage, talons carving through Aurélie's ghost. "Your mother begged too," he lied, venom dripping. "Before the WG silenced her."
Marya's beetle flared, black lightning arcing across the temple. "Liar!" The ground cracked, temporal mists rising as her Conqueror's Haki erupted. Vergo's bamboo splintered; Harlow's prosthetic sparked; Casimir hissed, his eyepatch cracking to reveal a milky, scarred socket.
But the surge cost her. The phantoms frayed, their forms dissolving. Her knees buckled, the Poneglyph's edge biting into her back.
Harlow limped closer, claw raised. "No more tricks, Dracule."
Marya's vision blurred. The mosaics above seemed to mock her—Nika's grin, the Alliance of Dawn's clasped hands. So close…
Then—a tremor. The temple's roots groaned, and the Poneglyph's hum crescendoed. The beetle on her forehead blazed anew, not with Void energy, but gold—Nika's gold.
"You forget," Marya rasped, rising on trembling legs. "This temple remembers."
The air split. Her phantoms surged back, not as mist, but as luminescent echoes—Mihawk's blade gleaming with dawnfire, Vaughn's laugh shaking the stones, Aurélie's hands steady on her shoulders.
Vergo faltered, his bamboo trembling. "Impossible—"
"The Dawn…" Marya whispered, as the phantoms charged, their strikes now solid, real.
Harlow's claw shattered. Casimir staggered, clutching his ruined eye. Vergo's Haki flickered, his stoicism crumbling.
But the light faded as quickly as it came. Marya collapsed, the beetle dimming to an ember. Her vision darkened, the temple's whispers fading to silence.
Casimir laughed, bloodied but unbroken. "A final flicker. How… poetic."
As their shadows loomed, Marya's hand brushed the Poneglyph. Somewhere, drums pulsed—a rhythm older than the Void.
Not the end. Not yet.
The air in the Temple of Dawn's Echo crackled with the acrid tang of seastone dust and ozone, the bioluminescent fungi along the walls dimming as Marya's mist coiled around her like a wounded serpent. Her breaths came ragged, each exhale tinged with the metallic bite of blood from her split lip. Vergo's bamboo strikes had carved furrows into the petrified mangrove floor, Harlow's Leviathan Claws sparked against the corroded Lunarian alloys, and Casimir's Velociraptor talons gleamed with Void Moss venom—each assault chipping away at her resolve.
"You are looking tired," Harlow spat, her prosthetic leg whirring as she lunged. Marya dissolved into mist, reforming behind a crumbling pillar only to find Vergo's Haki-hardened bamboo waiting.
"As is expected," Vergo droned, the tap-tap of his stick syncing with the Pacifistas' mechanical chants outside.
Marya's phantom clones—specters of mist shaped like Mihawk, Vaughn, Aurélie, even a younger, unburdened version of herself—darted through the hall, their whispers echoing. "You're running out of time." "The Void will claim you." "Weak."
Casimir batted a phantom aside, his remaining eye narrowing. "Absurd parlor tricks. Is this all a Dracule can muster?" His talons raked her shoulder, drawing a hiss as Void Moss seeped into the wound.
Marya stumbled, Eternal Eclipse trembling in her grip. The blade's obsidian edge flickered, its runes dimming as the toll of the fight leeched her strength. The temple's mosaics seemed to mock her—Lunarian warriors frozen mid-victory, Minks howling under a liberated sky. So close. So close.
"Your father's watching," Harlow sneered, her blade scraping Marya's ribs. "Bet he's proud."
Marya's mist surged in a final, desperate wave, phantom hands clawing at the Marines. But Vergo's bamboo shattered the illusions, and Casimir's talons pinned her against the Poneglyph, its ancient script biting into her spine.
"Checkmate," Casimir whispered, venom dripping from his claws.
Then—lightning.
Not the Void's jagged black, but gold-and-crimson—a Haki storm that shook the temple to its roots. The walls screamed, Lunarian solar-tech flaring to life as two shadows cut through the chaos.
"Party's over," Shanks declared, Gryphon meeting Vergo's bamboo with a clang that sent cracks spiderwebbing through the floor.
"Took you long enough," Mihawk said, Yoru's edge halting Casimir's talons mid-strike.
Marya blinked, sweat and blood stinging her eyes. "Uncle Shanks...? What the hell are you doing here?"
Shanks grinned, his Conqueror's Haki flaring to dispel Harlow's seastone net. "Saving your dramatic ass."
"Unnecessary," Marya muttered, though her mist instinctively coiled around Gryphon's hilt, reforging a chip in the blade.
Harlow's snarl echoed off the mosaics. "Red-Hair?! This isn't your fight!"
"Funny," Shanks said, driving Vergo back with a Haki-inflected slash. "I swore the same to your bosses at Marineford."
Mihawk's gaze flicked to Marya, assessing her wounds with a swordsman's cold calculus. "You've dulled, girl."
"And you've aged," she shot back, ducking Casimir's strike.
The temple quaked as Shanks' crew surged into the fray. Benn Beckman's rifle barked, shattering a Pacifista's core mid-leap. "Lucky—east corridor! Yasopp—high ground! Gab, keep those roots off the villagers!"
Lucky Roux cannonballed through a wall, ham hock in one hand, seastone grenade in the other. "BBQ's served hot, Marines!"
Jelly Squish bounced past, morphing into a gelatinous trampoline to launch Hongo toward a cluster of wounded townsfolk. "Doctor-jump! Wheee—glurk!"
Harlow lunged at Marya, claws crackling. "You don't deserve that name! That power!"
Marya parried, mist hardening into a jagged shield. "And you don't deserve that leg."
"Enough!" Casimir roared, talons gleaming as he charged Mihawk.
"Bored now," Mihawk said, Yoru slicing the air. The blade's arc split Casimir's WG-issued eyepatch, revealing a milky, scarred socket beneath.
"You—!"
"A relic," Mihawk interrupted, pivoting to block Harlow's strike. "Like your ambition."
Shanks laughed, Gryphon locking with Vergo's bamboo. "Missed this, didn't you, Hawkeyes?"
"I missed silence," Mihawk retorted, though his blade moved in tandem with Shanks'—a dance forged in decades of rivalry.
Marya watched, grudgingly impressed, as their Haki intertwined—gold and silver—crumbling the temple's remaining pillars. The Poneglyph shuddered, its text glowing as if awakened.
"Focus, Marya," Shanks barked, deflecting a Pacifista's laser. "This isn't over yet!"
She hesitated, her Void veins pulsing in time with the Poneglyph's hum. The Keybearer's duty. Elisabeta's legacy.
Harlow seized the moment, claws slicing toward Marya's throat—
—only to freeze as Mihawk's blade pressed against her jugular. "Move," he said, "and I'll spare you the embarrassment of losing both legs."
Shanks whistled, kicking Vergo into a wall. "Always the charmer."
Outside, the Tidecaller's Spire collapsed fully, its death throes echoing through the jungle. The Sea Devourer's roar shook the island, chains snapping in Tartarus's Maw.