Maybe the fact that i downed like a few glasses of mead before writing should be warning in case nothing here makes sense, but like, honey and spiced meads are so good i'm now a wine enthusiast convert.
And i'm sorry in advance for splitting this up into two and that there's just mostly lore flashbacks in this first chap, but there's so much i want to expand on and even leave little hints as to why and what happened in the original story, for example like why did Marco's healing worked instantly on everyone but Ace which is definitely not plot convenience, or why Ace was an orphan (which i think after just the first 2-3 paragraph of this chapter will kinda make sense to people), that the guy who hurt him wasn't a random allusion to original series, just basically i love supernatural gods and humans AUs and i'm rambling, just please read on, ignore this, i just hope you guys will enjoy above all.
"I envy them,"
The cup that's halfway to Roger's lips stilled, and the dark haired god quirked a confused brow, "Huh?"
Whitebeard's own cup of ambrosia was abandoned between them at this point, his eyes only focused on the pond placed under the patio overlooking the land around Temple of Moby Dick. It's surface reflected the world itself, of the humans going about their lives day and night. The god of earth slouched, supporting his head with one hand propped against his thigh, "You ever feel like that, Roger? Humans, their lives are so short and insignificant compared to ours, yet it's full of purpose and companionship,"
On the corner of his eyes, Whitebeard could see Roger putting down his cup, the clear, yellow tinted liquid inside sloshing against the glass container, "Uh," he said, eloquently, flushed cheeks informing his larger friend that perhaps he chose the wrong time to utter the question. It wasn't often that he friend would lament about this, but then, they had been drinking ambrosia since the sun was still visible. Now, Borsalino's bright rounds in this hemisphere has ended, and to be replaced by Kuzan's sleepy nights, where Whitebeard is sure the god of night would simply let pass in slumber. He could see it even here in his dwelling, the two gods exchanging lazy waves to each other from beyond the clouds, concealed from any human eyes.
"So, yer lon'ly, or sumthin'?" With slurred words, Roger blinked up blearily, moustache as dark as night sky twitching, "Well, i'm here, Beardy boy, what are friends for? If yer still feelin' like that, i'll get Rayleigh up here too. Hell knows he needs ta loosen up now and again,"
He highly doubted that the Underworld gatekeeper will react too well with this invitation to shirk work - which Roger is already doing plenty himself - even if that is what Whitebeard meant. In the end, Whitebeard shook his head, knowing that there is no way he's getting his point across like this, "Nothing, old friend, forget i said anything. Let's just drink the night away,"
They drink well until it was almost the end of Kuzan's shift in this hemisphere, and the conversation turned lighter: Roger's responsibility as the god of underworld and whining about boredom over the decades worth of peace, of the new development above ground, and all the while steering clear of any more conversation about humans.
Before leaving, staggering and wobbling, Roger clasped one hand on his shoulder, and stared at him with clearer eyes than one would expect a drunkard to have, "We're gods, Whitebeard," he muttered solemnly, "We are needed to keep the balance of the universe. There are things that it's best that we got over quick, before it consumes us,"
After he left, Whitebeard still sat on the patio overlooking the pond, half watching the reflection of a human city coming to life as he wondered if Roger himself has had the same thought as him.
A war breaking out is nothing out of the ordinary since the first humans appeared, but it would seem that Sakazuki, the god of war had been more agitated than usual. The land, Whitebeard's domain was badly damaged, forest decimated by fire and land destroyed by artillery, which angered him enough to step in. Days and night filled with waged wars of both humans and gods, and it wasn't until Sengoku, the chief god and god of balance himself stepped in, was it truly over.
Whitebeard returned to his temple wounded, feeling every bit of hit Sakazuki managed to get in while smugly recalling all the times he slammed the arrogant god's face first to the earth. A few cups of ambrosia would have been his choice of recuperation, if he didn't take a quick look at his pond to oversee the aftermath and felt regret. Humans wounded and lost their lives, and suffering rising amongst them. All for what? Some gods' pride?
With a long sigh, he sat down by the pond, watching all the sight it gave him guiltily.
It was subconscious, he would later recall, when pictures of newly orphaned children and mothers crying over their sons and husbands began to appear. He wanted to help, to restore not only the land but also the humans, to right what he did wrong. To heal them and bring back balance.
From his hands, gripped tightly together in his lamentation, warmth began to seep inside. Whitebeard frowned, surprised he let himself loose control enough for his power to act on its own, something that only ever happened to young, inexperienced gods. But filled with intrigue, he let it happen and slowly, carefully, began to unclasped his hands' tight hold.
In between his now upturned palm, was a small object that bear resemblance to an egg, its size almost half the size of his palm. The shell was opaque and hard, yet the colour was the softest blue he has ever seen. Warmth seeped out of it, still as calm water, but there was an undeniable beat of life from inside of it, one he could so easily sensed.
Speechless, Whitebeard could only stared at it. Did he made this egg?
He wasn't left wondering long, all thoughts pushed away when the egg suddenly jolted to the side, almost upturning in his palm and rolling to the ground below. In panic, he scrambled to hold the egg tighter, cupping his palms and making a barrier around the oval object. The egg twitched again, not quite as powerfully, and it took Whitebeard to see small crack beginning to form around its surface for him to realize that whatever is inside of it is trying to get out.
The crack widened even more, and bits and pieces of the sell began to fall out, creating small holes of which he couldn't quite peeked inside to see what exactly is inside of this egg. More shells began to fall, and when the egg seems to roll around agitatedly, the inhabitant unable to free itself fast enough, Whitebeard finally decided to lend a hand by carefully using his finger to nudge down already forming cracks to make it even easier to break down.
At long last, the first thing that appear was an unmistakable bird talon, followed closely by blue feathers that looks soft to the touch. The colour shimmers under the ray of light from the setting sun, and it took Whitebeard's curious poke to realize it didn't even feel like feather at all. It reminded him instead of being in Roger's domain, of the muted fire that kept the place illuminated and unable to harm him.
Another talon popped out, both appendage swinging in the air frantically trying to get a grip, and despite all the pain and confusion, it made Whitebeard gave a booming laugh. At the sound of his voice, the flailing talons stopped, before swinging again with greater momentum. Finally, they rolled themselves enough to land on his palm, and now, he has an egg with little sharp legs in hand, waddling around in circle in apparent confusion.
"Oh, i don't think you're quite done, little fella," he chuckle, bringing up one finger to tap the top of the egg shell, where it's still quite smooth and bearing no damage, "Up here. Break it up here and let me take a look at you,"
The egg stopped circling his hand, and soon, he could feel it struggle from the inside. He helped it again by knocking on the side of the shells, forming bigger crack than its own effort could, and before long, suddenly a head popped out, a fuzzy and rounded head that bore resemblance to that of a baby chick. It was blue all over, a few shade darker than its egg, but it was softer than even the finest silk in land. The little odd bird leaned unto the two fingers Whitebeard used to touch it, little high pitched chirps sounding like noises of happiness.
"Aren't you the cutest little thing," the god rumbles pleasantly, and began to poke around the rest of the shell encasing the bird's body to free it completely. The bird stared up at him with big round eyes, the colour bright like the glacier on top of the coldest mountains. Once the rest of the egg finally fell off, it reveals more of the blue, wispy feathers, with tinges of yellow at its edge the same as the little speck of colour on top of the bird's head, "Now, what might you be, hmm? I didn't mean to make you, but i wouldn't say i wasn't glad that i did, little one,"
The odd bird shook in his hand, giving little tweets and coos as it observed its surrounding. Large eyes zeroed in on a cut on his palm, one that happened as he tried to catch Sakazuki's magma hot fist. It gave a low coo, almost sombre, and waddled over to it with purpose. Whitebeard watched curiously as the little chick moved around the wound, its little feathery butt lifted up facing him as he felt soft feathers spreading across his wound, "Now, don't do that, you'll dirty yourself—"
But suddenly, there was a coldness spread right on top of the wound, like spring water flowing into the river. Whitebeard took a sharp, hitched breath in surprise, eyes widening even more when the little bird bounced away with little cheeps to reveal a completely healed space on his palm, as if he wasn never hurt in the first place.
The muscle bound god stared at his healed palm and then to the little bird, who has now flopped itself clumsily over another wound in his palm, this one smaller but deeper than the last. Its feather seemed to glow where it touches his blood, and Whitebeard could now see it pecking out its own short and fluffy feather to put above the cut. It was silent, but he could see it struggling in pain with every peck it gave itself.
Quickly, Whitebeard lifted the little bird up from his palm with his other hand, and it quickly twittered in loud protest, "None of that now, you're hurting yourself," he gently admonished it, while taking a subtle peek at his palm. The cut was partially healed, with signs of scabbing from where he interrupted the baby chick's healing.
Ah, that must be why. He had been thinking about healing his land and bringing back balance when his power suddenly went out of control. This little bird here must've been created from that guilt by his frayed control, and thus it was born with the power to heal.
"I don't need healing, little one," he told the little chick gently, "It is humans who do, after all the suffering we caused,"
Little chirps were quickly silenced by his words, and it was huge rounded eyes that spoke of intelligence staring back that told Whitebeard the little bird understood. In the back of his head, he could feel a tug of another emotion, one that felt like a part of him yet so foreign he knows it did not come from him. It was disagreement and urge to help yet still polite understanding, tinged heavily with joy and wonder for the world around.
He took another look at the bird, and understood where it came from.
"I think i should name you, my child, since i am the one who made you," he told the bird, running one finger carefully from the top of its head to the short yet deceptively sharp beak, "Phoenix. Yes, you are Phoenix. The child of Whitebeard, the god of earth, healer of the nations, who will bring peace and happiness back to war torn countries,"
"So you laid an egg and had a bird son,"
It was a couple of decades later when he met Roger again. The aftermath of the war between Whitebeard and Sakazuki was barely done when famine arrives due to the destruction of farms and fields, which kept him busier than Whitebeard was in restoring the land's health. The earth god caught him in the middle of moaning about the end of sorting out new souls entering his domain, the now significantly more mature Phoenix perched on his shoulder, his now constant companion.
Whitebeard glowered at Roger for the comment, which went unnoticed to the other god while he curiously played around with the bird. Phoenix, on his part, avoided Roger's hand with much protest and even pecked on the offending finger none too gently. Not that it deterred the god in the slightest, "I did not 'laid' him, Roger," the blond god groused, "I accidentally created an egg that resulted in him,"
"Same difference," the god waved off distractedly, relentless in his effort to touch Phoenix, "Aw, come on, you look so pretty, lemme just— Ow!"
For a second, Whitebeard thought that Phoenix managed to get in a good hit, when he noticed that while flinching, Roger was holding on to his side, "You're hurt? Did something happened?"
"Ugh, it's a damned human, would you believe it," the god waved him off, but the pain was still evident in his visage, "One of my underling accidentally left the gate leading here open and he must've snuck in then. Managed to even steal one of my artefacts too and then get a hit in on me when i found him. Almost beat him to a pulp before he escaped because of my artefact,"
Whitebeard frowned with concern, "A human managed to steal your artefact? Roger, this is serious. Have you alerted anyone about this yet?"
"Told Sengoku about it, which is good since the bastard thought i was the one who attacked Shanks a few months ago. Is he serious? Shanks was my protege, and like hell i'm going to hurt the god of wine of all people,"
He is also the god of peace, whose power was probably weakened due to the recent war. Which also explained why he was attacked, the demigod must've thought he could overpower him, "Is he alright?"
Roger only scoffed, which is already a good news, "He's Shanks, the little bastard just laughed at my face and was already drunk when i visited," he shook his head dejectedly, finally retracting his hand just in time to avoid another one of Phoenix's vengeful pecks to put it on his wounded side, "Still, that human made out with my dark fruit. It may be too strong for him to survive eating it, but if he did, he will gain my power for darkness and banishment. I didn't imbue it with enough to overpower gods, but if he started targeting other humans, it could be devastating,"
In the grim silence that followed, neither of them were paying much attention to Phoenix, who fluttered close by to Roger despite his initial rejection to the man's advances. Whitebeard only noticed when he heard a little pained coo, to see that the bird had once again pecked himself and plucked out a single feather, leaving a trail of clear blood leaking down. He held it with his beak while staring quizzically at Roger's garb, "Ah, that's right. Why don't you let Phoenix heal you, Roger?"
Roger was snapped out of his grim reverie, and glanced down to the bird now by his side, "What's this now?" He tried to reach down again, perhaps thinking that he could touch Phoenix easier in this distance, and almost pouted when he was dodged again.
"Phoenix can heal you," Whitebeard told him, his smile fond despite his conflicted feeling, "His feathers held his life essence, which he could then give to others and heal them with. And he had this tendency to care for anyone who is hurting, even when the process hurts him in return,"
He noticed this during the first few days of Phoenix's appearance, when Whitebeard fell asleep to recuperate and unbeknownst to him, little chick has sneaked into his chamber and began healing him. He woke up to Phoenix barely able to move, body littered with self-inflicted wounds but happily chirps and twitters as if proudly showing him what he had done.
The realisation over the source Phoenix's power had worried Whitebeard greatly. He heals himself by the end of it, the wounds scabbing and reverting to iridescent feathers after a while, but that was the last time he allowed Phoenix to heal him anymore. As Phoenix began to grow older, the more protective he became of his child.
Back to the present, Roger hesitantly shrug off his garb and lifted the undershirt beneath, revealing a pulsing wound that signified the damage had been caused by ascended beings. Phoenix was of a single mind as he lowered the feather on his beak over the wounds, cooing gently as the feather dissolved and immersed itself into the open injury. Slowly, the skin began to stitch itself back, and while it was nothing new to Whitebeard anymore, it was entertaining to see the open wonder and surprise in Roger's face.
At least, until the skin stopped crawling back to its normal state, leaving more than a half of the injury still the way it is.
Phoenix was the first to react, cawing loudly in apparent distress. Whitebeard voiced out the thumping irritation, surprise and panic that suddenly formed in the back of his head, the tugging alert that he has since understand if the connection between himself and the creature of his creation, "How odd, he should've been able to heal you completely,"
Without warning, suddenly Phoenix pecked himself yet again, pulling not only one but a few feathers along. Whitebeard sat up in alarm and raised a hand to stop the distressed avian from hurting himself too much, when Roger placed a hand on top of Phoenix's head, grinning, "You've got some nifty power there," he said cheerily, "But i'm sorry to say that powers of healing and those affecting the living isn't quite as effective to those of the undead like myself. It'll take a lot out of you to heal me,"
Phoenix looked dejected - and Whitebeard could feel his disappointment bubbling deeply in him - opting to say instead, "That's news to me,"
"Myself or Rayleigh, any of the underlings and demigods under our commands, those whose realm dwells in the underworld, we are unaffected by those up there around your domain, Whitebeard," Roger told him, hand now moving from Phoenix's head to his long neck. He seems to revel in being able to touch the soft feathers, "Same way i couldn't quite affect the living unless gods of time like Toki and Oden decided it is their time to visit me. Which gives me an idea,"
The hand on Phoenix's neck stilled, as Roger's other hand began to glow darkly, flickering in the already dim air. Dark wisp formed on his palm, moderate in size, which he brought close to Phoenix, "I see that despite your own pain, you are very determined to help others. This fire here is one of purification for this realm, that cleanses a lost and vengeful soul so that it could enter without bringing any worldly grudge with it. If it touches a living being, it'll kill them instantly and send their soul to me, but for you, i'll made it so it'll only heal you the same way you heal others, lessening your own burden,"
With a grand gesture, the dark haired god laid his fiery hand on Phoenix, and just through a single breadth of contact, Whitebeard could see the bleeding spot on Phoenix's torso has closed up, faster than the bird's usual speed of healing. He held his breath as Roger held the fire even closer to the other lesions, Phoenix's thrilling wonder that resonated inside of his head the only thing stopping him from acting at all.
Until, something unexpected happened.
Phoenix suddenly gave a sharp screech, the same time as shock slams into Whitebeard's mind. With a burst of blue, yellow and near dark flames, suddenly where the bird once stood was now a struggling child with a head of gold, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open in a scream that turned from beastly to that of a human cry.
Roger stumbled back with a surprised shout, and almost fell on his behind when Whitebeard pushed him away in panic, "Phoenix!" the god bellowed, eyes wide as he stared at the human child that suddenly took the place of his own, "What— why—Roger!"
"I don't know what happened, i swear!" the realm's ruler hastily blurted, glancing between the child and the fire in his hand, "Did i mess it up?! Oh for crying out loud, i just want to heal up Phoenix in return, i didn't mean to turn him into a human child! How the hell did that even happen?!" he fell onto his knee, just before the now hiccuping and wailing Phoenix, "Oh dear, oh dear, i am so sorry, i didn't know combining my power with yours will cause this, d-don't cry! Arghh, i don't know anything about kids, i'm never having one! Here, h-here, let dear old uncle Roger look at that— Oof!"
He stumbled back again, thankfully not to the point of slamming the back of his head on the ground when with another burst of colourful flames, a familiar wing now jutted out from where the child's right arm was supposed to be and smacking Roger on the face with a resounding slap.
Phoenix had been the first and last of his own progeny, but his existence reminded Whitebeard of what it was he was missing; companionship.
Centuries passed and as humans grew rapidly in number, the lesser do the gods received the same reverence given by their ancestors. The devastation brought by the human who stole Roger's fruit artefact serves only to raise fear amongst humans of the unknown, and slowly, they began to cast out those amongst them they believed to be different and thus feared. The first to ever seek refuge in the Temple of Moby Dick, not realizing that it had been the dwelling of a god, had been a demigod himself, a man who is capable of turning his skin into diamond.
Left to die on the steps of the temple, it had been Phoenix who brought him in and tended to him, and Whitebeard had allowed him to live in his court. Never learning of his own origin or the reason for his power, he devoted himself to keeping the earth god company and train his power in hopes that one day he could walk amongst the humans again.
The next few had been more or less the same: The dead cook who was brought to life by a necromancer who feared his own creation and tried to kill him again, the aspiring swordsman who was almost burned on a stake for being a witch, the half-bull ridiculed for his appearance, the swift half-dwarf who ran away from an abusive human family, the half mer who was brought to his doorsteps by Jinbe, the god of ocean, after it spread between all the higher gods that Whitebeard was taking in stray demigods.
"These demigods," Phoenix said suddenly one night, as they sat on the patio overlooking the pond. His thin little legs dangled over the ledge, eyes holding the sharpness and wisdom that told of something older than his physical appearance, that of a teenage boy, "They're still human too, right? So why did the other humans chase them away?"
"Because humans could only accept what is familiar to them," Whitebeard told him, gesturing to the pond. Its reflection showed what he had been trying to see before, just as Phoenix intruded on him. The new arrival today was not a demigod but a half-fae, whose kind had suffered since the growth of human population caused their habitat in the forest to be destroyed and their kind to disappear quickly.
The pond showed him how the half-fae, Izou, had been the last of his village before being brought to the Temple of Moby Dick. He and his sister, Kikunojo had tried to lived within the human city once, only to be chased out when their identity was revealed by a jealous wife whose husband continue to obsess over the younger sister, "Humans are rotten, Phoenix," he warned the child, "many years before, the day you were born, i blamed myself and other gods recklessness for their suffering,"
The sight on the pond shifted again, of Izou being separated from Kikunojo during their escape. He had used himself as a distraction from the chasing mob, allowing the younger to escape. Whitebeard saw Phoenix flinch as their new resident was beaten up and left for death, if it wasn't for Heracles, the wandering plant god finding and bringing him here, "Yet, none of these actions were influenced by anyone at all. These are all the humans' doing. No Sakazuki to incite war in their minds, or any other god's handiwork,"
Phoenix bit his lower lips, staring down to his lap, "There has to still be some good humans out there,"
Whitebeard only gave a noncommittal hum, not quite committing to agreeing or disagreeing. He thought that was the end of it, but he could still see Phoenix's hand fidgeting on his lap, and even after being alive for so long, he always forgot just how young his child still is, "What is it, Phoenix? You look like you want to say somet—"
"I want to see what's out there,"
Those words stilled Whitebeard.
After the increasing number of demigods being attacked by humans, it was a consensus amongst the gods to leave humans to their own affairs. Whitebeard is one of the stronger support of this notion, after watching his lands ravaged without any thought and the increase of demigods within his protection. He forbade anyone from leaving the temple and the area under his protection for their own good, and in so far, everyone who had come to his care had agreed.
Until now.
"Phoenix, there is nothing—"
"There has to be!" the blond child suddenly stood up, "I've heard stories from the others. They said that even though a lot of humans treated them poorly, there are still so many kind ones, even those who helped after knowing what they are. And some of those humans needs help too, the kind of help i can give," just to emphasis his meaning, Phoenix transformed both his human arms into his bird form, spread wide then brushing the ground, "And i want to help too,"
Whitebeard pursed his lips and shook his head, "They don't deserve your help, my son. Humans are evil,"
"But what if there are those who aren't?" Phoenix pressed on, "We've helped suffering demigods as much as we could, what if there are also humans who are suffering, that we didn't help because they're not the same as us? Won't that make us, deities and heavenly beings, the same as these humans?"
Whitebeard was left speechless.
His fear for letting Phoenix go does not simply lie in his disdain for human nature, it was fear and paranoia stemming from what humans would do to his son. If they knew the kind of power he held…
He shudders just thinking about it.
In the back of his mind, he could feel Phoenix's determination and insistence, his silent wish to not only keep his words but also how much he wanted to see the world outside, "You called me the healers of nations when you named me," Phoenix said again, the same time as determination pulsed inside of Whitebeard from the connection he had with his progeny, "I need to be out there, to heal and help, as you had made me to do,"
The urge to simply end this conversation by commanding Phoenix to forget this conversation was overwhelming. It was for his own good to order him to stay, to never leave and invite danger.
Yet, at the same time, it would be a lie to say that his words does not incite something in Whitebeard, the old sympathy and fondness towards humans who roam his earth.
"Never reveal who you are to any human," he said in the end, stern despite feeling amused by the outpouring joy and relief resonating from Phoenix's emotion in his head, "Never form any connection with any human. Walk amongst them as a human, and return here again as my son every fortnight. And no matter what you do, do not bring any human back to this place. A god's dwelling is no place for humans,"
He hadn't even finished talking when Phoenix half glide half leapt onto his embrace, chanting thank-yous repeatedly and joyously. Whitebeard felt doused with his happiness, both in his embrace and in the pulsing emotion reverberating in his head.
"You'll need a human identity," he said once the excitement was over, "A name that will let you blend in with humans,"
It didn't even surprise Whitebeard when Phoenix nodded and almost shyly said, "I thought of it. My name stood out between everyone else's so we talked about giving me a human name so i won't be the odd one out. We chose one yesterday,"
The camaraderie that formed between Phoenix and the demigods always filled Whitebeard's heart with happiness. Maybe he hadn't been the only one looking for companionship too, "Is that so? And what is this name?"
A proud grin appeared on Phoenix's face, almost childishly so, "Marco. My human name is going to be Marco,"
It was a mistake that cost him dearly, Whitebeard would lament for hundreds of years later, as he does every day since that fateful day, the very last day he saw his son's back, walking away until he was no more.
Marco was, even after thousands of years, an idealistic at heart. It was the nature he was born with, out of his father's grief and sorrow for humanity. At the cost of his own pain, he will heal others, keeping his promise in finding those he deemed just and good and safe them from the brink of death. He had come to love living as a human, Whitebeard knows, having sensed it in his emotion. He found them intriguing, and slowly found himself loving them.
It was the love that almost brought destruction to their kin, and he had to pay dearly for.
He had come across a dying human, beaten to a pulp with no one miles away, and just as all hope seems lost, he had saved the human. Out of his worry, instead of simply bringing the man to the nearby village, Marco had stayed and listened to the man's heartbreaking story. Lost with no home to go back to, and not knowing any purpose in life. The man had been so kind as well, offering to pay what is left in his meagre possession, that his kindness touched the demigod's heart.
Blinded by his newfound fondness of them, Marco decided to commit the biggest transgression of all: He brought the human into the Temple of Moby Dick, in hopes that his father and brethren could also see the wonders for humans the same way he had.
What were the chances, that the human he brought back had been the same human who stole Roger's artefact hundreds of years ago? Angered by gods and deeming them unfair, he had seek to destroy each one, and found immense power in stealing one of the gods of underworld's possession. He used his power to terrorise other humans in hopes to lure the attention of gods, and when no one answered, he spread words of their dismissal, deeming it foolish to worship gods as benevolent beings.
Marshall Teach, he had proudly proclaimed his name, the moment he stepped into the Temple of Moby Dick and his first act was to attacked the closest demigod. Thatch had barely escaped with his un-life, and not even the combined strengths of the rest of the demigods managed to defeat him. It took Whitebeard himself to finally take him down for good, and from his devastated corpse, the dark coloured fruit he consumed hundreds of years ago lay still.
Though never one to interfere with others affair, different gods gathered that day to witness the end of the human who brought so much suffering. Roger's fruit was returned to him, but not without a penalty for what Sengoku and the rest of the gods deemed to be his own negligence. Whitebeard could only watch as his friend was striped away from his power and was left barely a demigod for the next 200 years. Rayleigh, Roger's ever faithful right hand man, could only watch with stiff lips as Roger left for what none of them know would've been the last they'd seen him except for Whitebeard and Rayleigh.
Yet, for as stoic as Whitebeard seems, all of his composure broke the moment judgement was to be brought to his own child.
"You invited a human to the courts of gods, Phoenix," Sengoku's voice boomed in the tense silence, "The only appropriate punishment is death,"
Whitebeard had pleaded, ignoring all dignity and courtesy as he fell onto his knee in front of the multitudes of other gods, those whose station is equal or below his. None of that mattered, not in the face of his son's death penalty, "Spare his life, and punish me if you must," he had offered, despite all of the protest of the demigods in his protection, in which Marco's was the loudest, "I am the one who allowed him to leave and live amongst humans, let the punishment fall unto me,"
And indeed, the punishment fell onto him.
For what is a worse pain for a father than to banish his own son, leaving him to certain doom and never to see him again?
For 200 years since, Whitebeard wasn't sure what he regretted more: That he never fought harder in that court, or that he ever allowed Marco to leave in the first place.
If he had never allowed Marco to leave, he would not have invited Marshall Teach back into the Temple of Moby Dick. If he had never allowed Marco to leave, it would never have lead to his banishment. If he had never allowed Marco to leave, then he wouldn't have to forever stare at his pond, hoping he could catch a glimpse of his son and cursing the limitation placed into his pond to never find Marco again as a part of his punishment. If he had never allowed Marco to leave, then he wouldn't have to be tormented every day knowing the depth of his son's loneliness with every passing day in his mind, and is slowly tortured with knowing he could not comfort him.
If he had never allowed Marco to leave that day, perhaps Marco wouldn't have died.
A trend i'm beginning to notice in my last couple of updates:
Me writing adult Marco: Could be serious could be laid back, may have sneaked in my own personal character trait preference, enigmaTM, general dreamboat description
Me writing baby Marco, may or may not be influenced by that absolute dork in chapter 963 onwards: Soft baby, little baby, precious little bird baby
Make your predicting bets on what's going to happen in the comments, folks, and tell me what you think. If you like it, if something's unclear, if maybe i shouldn't have dumped so much lore rather unrelated to what the main story/pair itself is, but consider that i also like expanding on unnecessary details, i am so sorry.
Any way, hope you liked it!