Chapter 72

20th of April 1522,
Dressrosa

Capone Bege stood in the middle of Dressrosa's Grand Place, the vibrant heart of the island. The plaza was a whirl of colors and sounds, children's laughter mingling with the whimsical movements of living toys—a hallmark of Dressrosa's unique charm. Yet beneath this lively façade, a storm was brewing, unnoticed by the unsuspecting citizens. Bege, in his signature tailored suit, took a deep drag from his cigar, savoring the bitter taste before crushing the stub under his polished shoe. Four of his men, dressed in identical mafioso suits, flanked him, their postures alert and ready for action. His sharp eyes scanned the surroundings, noting the relaxed yet wary atmosphere of the people, blissfully unaware of the upheaval about to descend upon them.

Beside him stood Viola, the future queen of Dressrosa, her determination clear in her fierce gaze. Her dress clung to her figure, the deep red silk and intricate black lace highlighting her every movement. The dress featured a plunging neckline that drew attention to her ample cleavage, and a high slit that revealed her toned legs with each graceful step. Her long, dark hair cascaded in luxurious waves, and her deep, expressive eyes held countless secrets. Bege couldn't help but feel a flicker of surprise that they had not yet been detected - she was a famous visage among Doflamingo's crew - she had been part of them, after all.

"Stay sharp," Viola whispered, her voice steady despite the tension. "We need to move quickly."

Inside Bege's fortress-like body, of Moria's elite fighting divisions were primed for battle. Among them were the two Commanders Roronoa Zoro and Selena Whitefang. Once he was in an attenant street, near the Colosseum, he let them out of his body. Selena emerged, her war attire leaving little to the imagination. She wore a leather bra that barely contained her firm, round breasts, and leather shorts that hugged her muscular hips. Her bronzed skin gleamed with a light sheen of sweat, highlighting the chiseled muscles of her abs and legs. In her hands, she wielded a massive battle axe with a manic grin. Her red hair flowed wildly around her fierce face, and her eyes gleamed with a feral light that promised violence and destruction. Bege gulped - he recognized the look of hunger, and knew she had a tendency to literally eat people.

Out of Bege's body also stepped Mikita, Selena's plaything, and the crazy Monet, that had been broken by Nami. Behind them were thirty hardened pirates from Selena's crew, grizzled veterans with eyes that reflected countless battles fought and won.

"Good luck," Bege muttered, knowing he had no authority to command them but wishing them well nonetheless.

Selena nodded, her manic grin widening. "Let's show them what we're made of," she growled, leading her team with fierce determination.

Bege then made his way to the palace, his steps echoing in the empty corridors until he reached a hidden cave beneath the grand structure. There, he released Zoro, Daz Bones, and Miss Doublefinger from his body. Zoro, with his muscular frame and green hair, his three swords always ready at his side, exuded a stoic determination that promised swift and lethal action. Daz Bones, a towering figure with a body made of blades and a menacing presence, stretched his limbs, his metallic skin gleaming under the dim Doublefinger stepped out next, her tall, curvaceous figure a stark contrast to her deadly nature. Her long legs were accentuated by a high slit in her dress, and her form-fitting top highlighted her ample bust. Her seductive smile and confident posture were disarming, but her eyes were cold and calculating, ready to strike at any moment.

Zoro gave Bege a curt nod. "We'll handle things here."

"Good luck in securing the palace," Bege said, his voice low but firm.

Bege had one final task: to return to the Grand Place and set up a large screen to broadcast the war. The people needed to see Doflamingo's defeat, to witness the fall of their tyrant and the rise of their new order. He moved with purpose, his mind a whirl of plans and contingencies. As he reached the plaza, he signaled his men to begin the setup, his eyes scanning the crowd.

Capone Bege took another cigar from his pocket, lighting it with a flick of his wrist. As the screen flickered to life, broadcasting the chaotic battle from Marineford, he exhaled a cloud of smoke, his lips curling into a grim smile.

"The people of Dressrosa are about to witness history," Bege murmured, watching the images of the battle unfold. "The end of an era, and the beginning of a new reign under Gecko Moria."

But why hadn't they been detected yet ? Where were Doflamingo's men?

20th of April 1522
Marineford

Sengoku watched grimly from his vantage point, his gaze sweeping over the battlefield mired in chaos. The air was thick with the acrid scent of blood and gunpowder, mingling with the anguished cries of the dying and the deafening roar of cannon fire. Bodies lay strewn across the ground, twisted and broken, their lifeblood seeping into the frozen bay, painting it bitterness of loss and the metallic tang of fear clung to the air, palpable and suffocating. So many lives lost…

Amidst the chaos, Sengoku's eyes locked onto Moria. Doflamingo had failed, huh…He stood amidst the carnage, his grotesque figure a dark silhouette against the icy backdrop. With a maniacal grin stretching across his face, he raised his hands into the air, his fingers curling like skeletal claws. Sengoku's frown deepened as he watched the dark tendrils of shadows slither from the fallen, converging toward Moria like hungry serpents. The Warlord was harnessing the very essence of the dead, using the war to feed his insatiable hunger for power.

Suddenly, the shadows around Moria expanded, spreading out in a ten-meter radius, a dark miasma that pulsed with sinister life. The horror on the faces of both Marines and Whitebeard's pirates was palpable as they witnessed the birth of something truly nightmarish. From the depths of the darkness, twisted figures began to emerge, coalescing into monstrous forms. Hundreds of shadow warriors, their bodies forged from the blackest void, rose up, each one exuding an aura of pure malice. These warriors, each more powerful than they had any right to be, sent waves of dread through the hearts of onlookers.

The shadow warriors were a grotesque and terrifying sight. Knights clad in heavy, shadow-forged armor, their eyes glinting with malevolent light, moved with an eerie, silent grace. Archers, their forms shifting and flickering, notched arrows of pure darkness, their aim unerring and deadly. Terrifying mages in tattered, spectral robes chanted eldritch incantations, their voices a haunting cacophony of whispers that gnawed at the sanity of those who heard them. Each warrior crackled with dark energy, their forms shifting and warping in ways that defied the natural order, exuding an otherworldly menace.

The shadow warriors were a grotesque and terrifying sight, an abomination born from the darkest nightmares. Knights clad in heavy, shadow-forged armor moved with an eerie, silent grace that defied the essence of life, their eyes glinting with a malevolent light that cast an unsettling glow through the battlefield. Their armor, a cruel mockery of medieval design, bristled with jagged edges, as if forged in a hellish abyss. Each step they took was soundless, yet the ground trembled beneath their weight, a silent harbinger of doom. Archers flickered into view, their insubstantial forms notching arrows of pure darkness that writhed with inky tendrils. When released, these arrows hissed through the air with unerring precision, leaving trails of despair in their wake. The archers' hooded faces occasionally revealed skeletal grins and hollow eyes that chilled the blood of those who dared to look. Even more horrifying were the mages, draped in tattered, spectral robes that billowed as if moved by an unseen wind. Their chants, a haunting cacophony of eldritch whispers, gnawed at the sanity of all who heard them, each syllable a blade slicing through reality. Their skeletal hands traced dark symbols in the air, leaving behind trails of crackling, unnatural energy.

The ground was soon slick with blood, the viscous liquid pooling around the fallen bodies of pirates. The air was thick with the stench of death and the coppery tang of blood, mingling with the acrid smoke of gunpowder and the salty spray of the sea. The screams of the dying rose in a macabre symphony, each cry a desperate plea lost in the cacophony of battle. Moria's insane laughter cut through the noise like a serrated blade, a chilling reminder of the nightmare they faced. His cackles echoed across the battlefield, a discordant soundtrack to the carnage that unfolded.

"Kishishishiiiiiii!"

The pirates fought back with desperate ferocity, their faces contorted with fear and determination. Swords clashed and guns fired, but their efforts were futile against the relentless shadow warriors. Each time a pirate managed to cut down a shadow knight, the dark figure would dissolve into a cloud of black mist, only to re-form moments later, whole and unscathed. Archers loosed arrows of darkness that pierced through flesh with sickening ease, while mages cast spells that twisted reality, causing bones to shatter and flesh to rot. The unyielding nature of the shadow warriors sowed deep terror among the pirates, their morale crumbling under the relentless onslaught. Shadow assassins appeared from nowhere, their blades glinting with a sinister light as they struck from the shadows, cutting down pirates with brutal efficiency.

The ground was littered with severed limbs and disemboweled bodies, the blood-soaked earth a testament to the sheer horror of the battle. Shadow knights in heavy armor cleaved through flesh and bone, their swords leaving trails of black mist. The pirates' attempts to fight back were met with unending waves of regenerating shadows, their hope dwindling with each failed attack. The cries of the wounded and dying were a haunting chorus, punctuated by the sinister chanting of the shadow mages, whose eldritch spells seemed to draw power from the very suffering they inflicted.

In the midst of it stood, carving through the chaos with unholy fervor. His towering frame, standing at an imposing 22 feet tall, loomed over the battlefield like a demonic colossus. His skin was a sickly pale blue, stretched taut over his gaunt form, giving him an almost cadaverous appearance. His face, smeared with the blood of his victims, was a grotesque mask of sadistic glee. Two horns jutted from his forehead, slick with the blood mist that hung heavy in the air, adding to his devil-like visage.

Moria's eyes, sunken deep into his skull, glowed with a malevolent crimson light, reflecting the madness and bloodlust that consumed him. His mouth, wide and filled with jagged, yellowed teeth, twisted into a perpetual, grotesque grin, revealing a tongue stained with the dark ichor of the fallen. As he slashed his rapiers through the air, blood sprayed in wide arcs, adding fresh streaks of crimson to his already stained attire. Stitches ran vertically from the top of his face down his thick, unnaturally long neck, lending him a patchwork appearance that was disturbingly unnatural. His hair, spiky and dark red, framed his ghastly face like a crown of thorns, shifting with each twisted movement. He wore a black coat and gloves, the edges tinged with the same pale blue as his skin, and bright orange pants imprinted with pale window shapes. A fur-laced cape fluttered ominously in the wind, adding to his sinister aura. In his long, bony fingers, he wielded two rapiers, their blades gleaming with unholy light and dripping with the blood of his victims. Each movement was a deadly dance, his rapiers slicing through the air with a malevolent grace, leaving trails of dark energy in their wake.

Moria moved through the battlefield with eerie fluidity, his long limbs and grotesque form shifting in unnatural ways. He plunged his rapiers into the chest of a pirate, lifting the dying man off his feet before tossing him aside like a rag doll. His laughter, a guttural, grating sound, echoed across the battlefield, mingling with the screams of the dying and the chants of the shadow mages. He swung his blades with brutal efficiency, dismembering limbs and cleaving torsos in a gruesome ballet of death.

It had only been a few minutes since the start of the massacre, but Sengoku was almost glad when Vista finished defeating the Vice Admiral he was engaged with and charged at Moria, fury burning in his eyes. Vista's twin swords flashed as he moved with the speed and grace of a seasoned warrior, cutting through the chaos towards Moria. Moria, sensing the approaching threat, turned his grotesque face toward the new challenger, his twisted grin widening. Vista's swords clashed against Moria's rapiers in a shower of sparks, the force of their impact reverberating across the battlefield.