Chapter 9: The Sea's Dirge
The New World did not settle. It festered.
A storm lingered over the ruins of Marineford, a bruise upon the heavens that refused to heal. The rain no longer fell in gentle sheets, but in erratic bursts, the wind howling with the voices of a thousand drowned kings. Smoke clung to the water's surface, a miasma of blood, oil, and gunpowder. The sea, long a keeper of secrets, had grown restless.
Atop the remnants of a shattered spire, Mihawk remained.
Yoru's obsidian edge drank the stormlight.
His crimson gaze was fixed not on the survivors who skulked in the shadows of crumbling bastions, nor on the corpses adrift upon blood-darkened tides. He stared into the void where once the balance of power had stood.
A single man's death had become a harbinger. An invitation.
---
The storm churned, as if the world itself sought to deny what had come to pass. And yet —
[Shock Points: 9300]
A low, steady pulse echoed within his mind, the system a constant murmur in the ruin.
[World Event Progression: 32%]
He did not rise. Not yet.
A sovereign did not rush to claim dominion. He let the world crawl, bleed, and break itself in anticipation.
Below, a lone marine stumbled through the wreckage, his face drawn, his steps unsteady. The man barely registered the figure above until a bolt of lightning illuminated the ruin.
He saw the blade.
He saw the eyes.
And then he ran.
The Ruin King did not pursue.
One dead thing among a thousand mattered little.
---
Elsewhere — Totto Land
The storm had reached even here.
Winds lashed the candy-colored towers, turning sugary streets to syrupy mire. Homies cowered in alleys, their cartoonish faces twisted in fear as Big Mom's rage grew ever more unhinged.
Perospero gathered shattered remnants of his fallen siblings.
"Mama… the reports…"
She snarled, the sound primal.
"I DON'T CARE FOR REPORTS!"
A crack of thunder. A homie exploded in a plume of ash.
The court was gone — the festive banquets abandoned. The Great Queen of Gluttony spoke only to herself now, muttering ruinous promises. The storm, though distant, carried the taste of defeat.
And she knew it.
A shadow now ruled the seas.
One that did not barter, laugh, or spare.
---
Onigashima
The great halls of Kaido's fortress lay heavy with tension.
Even in the storm season, these skies felt different. Angrier. Thicker.
Kaido sat alone, a jug at his side, his gaze fixed upon the lightning-torn horizon.
The calamities waited, none speaking.
He finally chuckled, low and cruel.
"So… the old man's gone."
Another drink.
Another grin.
"But the real game's just started."
He would not rush to Marineford's ruin. Not yet.
Let the seas boil.
Let the weak gnash their teeth.
He would wait until the world began to bleed from within.
Then he would move.
---
Red Force
The rain had not stopped for days.
Shanks stood alone at the bow. Gryphon rested casually across his shoulders.
The crew kept their distance.
Beckman finally approached, lighting another cigarette.
"World's gone to hell."
Shanks didn't respond.
His eyes remained fixed on the thickening storm clouds that stretched across the horizon.
He could feel it — a sickness in the current, a malignant hunger that had begun to swell the moment Whitebeard fell.
And Mihawk… no, the Ruin King, had not yet left the corpse of Marineford.
That patience was a message in itself.
"Time to move?" Beckman asked.
Shanks spoke without looking away.
"No. Not yet. We'll know when."
---
Mary Geoise
The storm had reached even here.
The Holy Land's pristine skies lay choked with unnatural clouds.
The Five Elders gathered in silence.
The chamber's ancient walls seemed smaller now.
A chill passed through them as Imu entered, her presence alone snuffing nearby candle flames.
"Marineford has fallen," one Elder began, but the words felt thin.
Imu's gaze turned toward the storm-wracked distance.
"Let it."
A brittle hush.
"Your Majesty—"
"Let them bleed."
The Elders lowered their heads.
The world would drown soon enough.
---
Marineford's Edge
Kizaru approached the ruin cautiously.
The remaining admirals scattered.
The storm thickened around him, distorting his light-born form.
He found Mihawk alone, seated upon the same broken command platform, Yoru planted like a monolith beside him.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Only the storm.
Finally, Kizaru sighed.
"You're not leaving, huh?"
Mihawk's crimson gaze barely flicked toward him.
"I am the storm."
The words carried an ancient weight, older than even the Marines, older than the world government.
Kizaru hesitated — not out of fear, but something deeper.
Recognition.
A force had risen beyond the reach of treaties, justice, or ambition.
And it was only just beginning.
Kizaru turned.
"You'll regret it."
The Ruin King did not reply.
Lightning split the sky.
---
Beneath the Sea
The Sea Kings stirred.
Their ancient songs spoke of ruin.
Of a tyrant born in storm and blood.
The deep knew before the surface ever did.
A King had risen, and not of this world.
---
And so the storm lingered.
The world did not yet shatter.
But it cracked.
[Shock Points: 9700]
The system pulsed.
[World Event Progression: 36%]
And Mihawk, the Ruin King, remained upon his throne of ash, letting the world unravel one breath at a time.