The bay had frozen, then shattered. Now the battlefield was a cracked maze of ice and fire, littered with bodies still warm, still bleeding.

Cannons thundered somewhere far off. Swords clashed. Men screamed. The air stank of salt, smoke, and burning flesh.

Luffy had just been dealt a devastating blow. The wound was impossible to ignore—blood and exhaustion painted his small frame as he collapsed.

And Admiral Akainu was already moving in for the kill, magma dripping from his fists like liquid death.

But before the final blow could land, a figure stepped between them.

He was battered, bloodied, chains still rattling faintly against his wrists. And yet there was no hesitation in the way he planted his feet and spread his arms wide.