Halfway across the battlefield, Izo, commander of the Sixteenth Division and master marksman, found himself pinned down by precision sniper fire. Every time he attempted to use his flintlock pistols to support his comrades, bullets whizzed past his head with uncanny accuracy.
"Show yourself, coward!" he shouted, ducking behind a fallen mast.
The answer came in the form of a bullet that curved impossibly around his cover, grazing his cheek before embedding itself in the wood behind him.
From a high perch on Marineford's northern tower, Vice Admiral Momonga adjusted the scope on his long rifle, his face impassive. A master swordsman by reputation, Momonga had also proven an exceptional marksman when assigned to special ops missions. Sengoku had called on every skill set for this war.
"Apologies," he murmured, loading another round with steady precision. "Orders are orders."
With a gentle exhale, he fired again.
Izo barely dodged, sweat beading on his brow. "Who the hell trains these bastards?!"
From the execution tower, Sengoku oversaw the battlefield like a celestial warlord. The sweat that glistened on his divine form was not fatigue, it was fury tempered by calculation.
He spoke calmly into a private line connected to CP's coordinator.
"Begin disruption protocol. Tell your infiltrators to target morale and coordination. Jozu's flank is destabilizing, we force a split there. Have Kuma ready for Ace's extraction if they penetrate our first defense line."
A pause. Then: "And no interference for Luffy. We let him come. When he arrives, I'll be waiting."
He flexed golden fingers, light pulsing at their tips.
"This time, fate will not repeat itself."
Below, disguised among the pirate forces, CP agents began their subtle sabotage. A whispered rumor here, "Whitebeard's collapsed on the main deck"; a strategic misinformation there, "The Second Division is retreating!" Small lies, expertly placed, that spread like toxins through the already strained communication network of the pirate alliance.
Sengoku's eyes narrowed as he spotted a familiar straw hat bobbing through the battlefield's edge. Monkey D. Luffy had arrived, just as predicted, with an unprecedented coalition of escaped Impel Down prisoners in tow.
"Right on schedule," he muttered.
Bartholomew Kuma stood motionless at his assigned post, awaiting activation. The former Revolutionary's consciousness was all but gone now, replaced by Vegapunk's programming, programming that Sengoku had personally modified for this battle.
Inside his cybernetic mind, new priorities had been established:
Monitor Straw Hat Luffy's advance
Do not engage unless commanded
Prepare for emergency extraction of Portgas D. Ace
The machine that had once been human registered Luffy's presence on the battlefield, tracking his movements with cold precision. Soon, the confrontation that Sengoku had prepared for would begin.
From the deck of the Moby Dick, Whitebeard stood unmoved.
But his crew was being bled.
And Edward Newgate… was not blind.
"Vista! Marco! Fall back to command range!" he bellowed, his bisento crackling with tension. "We're bein' played!"
Marco regrouped mid-air, wings folding as he landed beside Jozu, whose shoulder was half-shattered from a recent blast. "We can't breach the plaza like this!"
Whitebeard glared toward the execution platform, ignoring the pain in his chest. That golden giant, Sengoku, had changed. More brutal. More precise. This wasn't the same old man from the old wars.
Newgate's knuckles cracked.
"Then we shatter their stage."
He raised his bisento.
CRACK!
The sea split. The land shook. The front half of Marineford cracked at its seams as Whitebeard unleashed the first quake punch of the war.
The power of the Gura Gura no Mi, the most destructive Paramecia in existence, manifested as a visible shockwave that traveled through air, water, and stone alike. Marines scattered in terror as the very foundation of their headquarters began to fracture.
Vice Admiral Lonz attempted to intercept the quake with his own massive weapons, only to be shattered along with the ground beneath him. The man's broken body flew backward, landing in a crumpled heap near the plaza's edge.
Whitebeard's attack was not merely destructive, it was precisely aimed at the structural weak points of Marineford's foundation, points that only someone with intimate knowledge of the headquarters' architecture would recognize.
The quake washed toward the execution platform like a tsunami of air and stone.
But Sengoku didn't move.
He raised one palm, and golden shockwaves pulsed from his form.
The quake stopped.
Not canceled, but contained.
A rumble rolled through the plaza, causing cracks to form in the upper citadel. Marines ducked, pirates stumbled, but the execution platform stood tall.
Sengoku's palm still smoked.
"He tested me," he muttered. "Now I'll answer."
The impossible had happened, the Buddha's power had somehow neutralized Whitebeard's quake. Around them, both Marines and pirates stared in disbelief. The Gura Gura no Mi was supposed to be unstoppable, its vibrations capable of destroying the world itself. Yet Sengoku had blocked it with a single gesture.
The Fleet Admiral's transformed body glowed brighter, divine energy cascading off him in visible waves. This was not the standard Buddha transformation that Marines had witnessed in the past. Something had changed, evolved. The golden giant seemed to radiate not just physical power but spiritual authority.
He turned his full attention to the Moby Dick.
And jumped.
The golden Buddha arced through the air like a divine judgment.
Toward Whitebeard.
As Sengoku soared over the battlefield, time seemed to slow. Marines and pirates alike paused their conflicts to witness the collision of legends. Two of the most powerful men in the world, the Buddha and the strongest man alive, about to clash directly.
Marco attempted to intercept, blue flames propelling him toward Sengoku's trajectory, but Kizaru materialized in his path, foot glowing with lethal light.
"Your dance partner is still me, birdie~" the Admiral drawled, unleashing a barrage of light kicks that forced Marco to defend rather than reach his captain.
Aboard the Moby Dick, Whitebeard's eyes narrowed as he tracked Sengoku's approach. The old pirate's face showed not fear but calculation, and perhaps a hint of respect. He recognized the resolve in the Fleet Admiral's attack. This was not a symbolic gesture but a genuine attempt to end the war with a single decisive strike.
"Come then, Sengoku," Whitebeard growled, coating his bisento with haki as he braced for impact. "Show me what justice looks like today."
The distance closed.
The world held its breath.
The clash of titans began.