Chapter 19: Matters of Family

Ace, Thatch, and Marco were late to the all-commander meeting in Whitebeard's quarters that night. Most often, these meetings were simply held on deck, but a last-minute request from Marco for more privacy had seen it moved to Whitebeard's quarters to save Whitebeard the trouble of relocating too far from his chair.

The first of the trio being late wasn't a huge surprise; more than once, a bout of narcolepsy had left Ace stumbling in halfway through the meeting. The second was also fairly in-character. Cooking could be unpredictable, after all, and no one would fault the chef for arriving late if it meant a meal was prepared to his rather high standards.

The last, though, was a shock. Marco was never late, barring some unexpected combat or a mission that ran into complications. Concern delayed the meeting until all three of the missing commanders showed up at the same time, each one of them looking as serious as any had seen them while the evening wind banged the open door against the wall. There were, of course, other commanders not in attendance—rare was the day they were all on the Moby Dick together, Whitebeard's territory being as vast as it was—but the absence of those three had been particularly noticeable.

Whitebeard, sat up against his bed's headboard, frowned at the sight of them.

"Here I thought deciding whether to claim territory would be a pretty happy occasion," Izo said while Ace battled the door closed against the force of the oncoming storm. "What's wrong?"

"We'll save it until the end-yoi," Marco deflected, taking up his usual spot next to Whitebeard. As the second division commander, Ace stayed by his side, while Thatch filled the hole next to Jozu, nearly vanishing behind the third divison commander's tremendous bulk.

"Hn," Whitebeard grunted, while a rumble of approaching thunder rattled the ship. He gestured for the meeting to start, and Marco cleared his throat.

"On the matter of claiming Fukitsune Island as part of our territory, are there any objections?"

"Not an objection," Haruta said, "but if we do, who's gonna manage it?"

Thatch scratched at his goatee. "Foodvalten is mine, and this is pretty close. I'd be fine with taking it on too, unless anyone else has a compelling reason for me not to."

"It's a pretty dreary rock," mused Vista.

Thatch grinned. "Ah, but some of the ingredients here can only be found in a few other places, none of which are ours." He rummaged in his sash and produced a mushroom that, to Ace, looked identical to the vast majority of mushrooms he'd seen on Dawn Island. "This thing is so rare I've only seen it in books until now! Do you have any idea how much they charge for it at market?"

A few interested hums came from the other commanders. When no further objections came up, Whitebeard nodded. "We'll bring Fukitsune Island under our protection. Thatch, the details are your responsibility."

"'Course, Pops, leave it to me." Rather than tucking the mushroom back into his sash, Thatch popped it into his mouth. Despite the seriousness of what was to come, Ace gagged. The mushrooms on Dawn Island that looked like that had tasted awful even when spiced to hell and back as part of a stew.

"Quick meeting," Fossa grunted, turning for the door.

"We're not done yet-yoi," drawled Marco, and Fossa sighed back into his spot. "There's another matter of the nuisance attacks on our territories these past months. Lately-yoi, they've been increasing in frequency and boldness. Foodvalten's flag being defaced was just one incident, but there are dozens being reported. In some cases, those responsible are other pirate crews; in others, marines disguising themselves as pirates."

A couple of the commanders who hadn't heard about that particular tactic yet muttered in irritation but quieted when Marco continued.

"While Fukitsune Island is close to our existing territory-yoi, these attacks have shown how thin our coverage is becoming. Pops is aging, and the world knows it." Everyone in the room straightened up, but Whitebeard cut off their protests with a gesture.

"I won't fall to any upstart brat who crosses us, but my health is no secret. The last thing I want is a family who refuses to confront the fact I won't be here forever."

Ace, who'd been quiet up to that point, bit his lip hard until the urge to speak out faded. Logically, of course, he knew Whitebeard wouldn't live forever. At Marineford, he'd seen firsthand both how absurdly powerful and terrifyingly mortal he was. That didn't mean he liked thinking about a world without him. A world where the only father figure who mattered didn't exist, whose legacy would forever be stuck battling his rival's.

Weight fell on his shoulders and he looked up to see Whitebeard eyeing him. Ace ducked his head until he could get himself under control. Of all the things to focus on tonight, that was not one of them.

"Point being," Marco continued, "it's time we reminded the world why Whitebeard is an emperor and what it means to insult his family. Pops doesn't need to be there personally; we carry his flag for a reason"

"I can go out," Ace said, earning twin sharp looks from both Marco and Thatch, the latter of whom had to lean out from behind Jozu to do it. He held strong under their scrutiny. "Once we've taken care of things here—"

"You've only just recovered-yoi."

"But I did recover," he retorted to Marco's point. "Besides, with Striker, I can reach the more distant territories faster than anyone, and the second division's is far away anyway."

"It's not a task for one commander—"

"A matter for later," Whitebeard decided, ending the conversation before Ace and Marco could really get into it and right as a large wave heralding the storm's arrival rocked the ship. Experienced sailors that they were, every pirate in the room rolled with the motion of the planks under their feet. Whitebeard may as well have been a mountain with how little he moved. "We've settled Fukitsune Island's claim. Is the issue of the other territories what you were holding for the end?"

"No." Marco nodded at Ace, who stepped forward a little and swiftly claimed the room's attention.

"Those nuisance attacks on our family aren't a coincidence. The marines, maybe. I'm pretty sure there's an admiral behind what they're doing. But not the pirates."

Kingdew cocked his head, sending his blond bob into an asymmetrical lean. "What, there some kind of mastermind pulling their strings?"

"There is. His goal is to sow doubt in Whitebeard's strength, seek out recruits for himself who are willing to cross an Emperor, and distract us while he grows his own power."

Crossing his arms, Izo commented, "You're talking like you know who he is."

"I do. I'm not making this accusation lightly." Ace took a deep breath. "It's Teach."

He saw confusion flash through his fellow commanders' eyes. Even Whitebeard frowned. A bone-shaking boom of thunder from directly overhead punched through the growing silence.

"Teach?" Jozu rumbled in its wake. "Marshall? The one in your division?"

A bolt of anger lanced through Ace at the reminder of the responsibility he bore for the traitor. "Yeah. That one."

At his confirmation, protests rose up around the room, but Whitebeard calmed them with a raised hand. He had eyes only for Ace. "Explain."

But it was Marco who responded, those papers with Teach's trail in hand. "Teach has been hiding his moves from us-yoi." He handed them off to Whitebeard, who held them carefully in his massive hands and scanned them with an ever-deepening frown. For the benefit of the others in the room, Marco gave a quick overview of the various shady transactions, and—most importantly of all—the moniker "Blackbeard," which even the marines knew about.

"Disrespectful," Haruta scoffed. "But that's not anything definitive and you both know it."

"It doesn't feel right to suspect family," Fossa growled. "Especially on something as flimsy as finances and a nickname. All of us have gone on trips of our own that could look suspicious if you wanted to view them that way."

Ace bristled. "What are you implying? You think I want to suspect a member of my own division? You don't even kn—"

"Ace," cautioned Thatch, before addressing the room. "Trust me, we're not making this accusation for the fun of it. We have strong reason to believe Teach is going to make a move for the Yami Yami no Mi, and that move isn't exactly going to be asking if I'm willing to part with it, if you catch my meaning."

"He wouldn't," Izo said. "None of us would—"

"He would," snapped Ace. "He di—"

"Ace!" Marco cut in, loud enough to catch Ace by surprise and even make a few other commanders jump. Ace bit his tongue with a scowl and brushed off the flame that had taken hold on his forearm. Outside, sharp droplets of rain intermixed with bits of hail like bullets began to fall. They pinged off the Moby Dick, creating a constant rattle Marco had to speak over.

"Like Thatch said, we suspect he'll make a play-yoi for the devil fruit. I saw the greed in his eyes myself. I know a paper trail and greed alone isn't enough. I know even suspecting one of our own of anything like this is insulting and against everything our flag represents. I know." He indicated himself, Ace, and Thatch. "We all know. But I'm not willing to risk family for the sake of it. If we're wrong, we're wrong, and we'll accept the punishment we're due-yoi." Ace stiffened, only to bite his tongue when Marco flashed him a warning look. "But I don't think we are."

Those fiery words coming from Marco of all people, rather than the black-haired commander at his side, gave them far more weight. The mood in the room shifted from affronted to disbelieving and confused.

Another bout of thunder shook the ship. The light of the setting sun had been completely choked off by the black clouds.

"Pops?" Izo's soft voice broke the tense silence. Whitebeard, gaze lingering on the papers, didn't respond right away.

"We don't intend to punish without actual proof," Marco said, pushing the point as far as he could. Ace couldn't help the anxiety swirling in his stomach at the sight of the doubt and lingering resentment on his brothers' faces. Before Teach's betrayal, he would've been feeling the same as them, if not even more insulted that anyone would cast doubt on the strength of the Whitebeard family's bonds. The thought of anyone betraying Pops had been unfathomable. "What we need is your support, and your eyes. Teach will try to take the fruit and he will hurt anyone who gets in his way. We can catch him in the act."

"When?" asked Fossa. "You're so sure, but do you expect us to be on guard against our own brother forever?"

"Tonight." All eyes swung back to Ace. Teach had done his time; now that he'd seen his prize, his patience was spent. Besides, he thought everyone would be distracted by the storm, which he'd also be using as cover to escape. So, he spoke with absolute surety. "He'll do it tonight."

Whitebeard's gaze was heaviest of all, and it wasn't pleased.

The longest night of Ace's life was wet, cramped, and smelled distinctly of the feast the locals in town were holding to celebrate their freedom. The scents of their cooking wound through the pounding rain, down through the bowels of the Moby Dick, and all the way to Ace's quarters to remind him that he'd only managed to choke down a single portion at dinner.

In another lifetime, he'd been down at that celebration, enjoying the heat, noise, and food on offer in the town's central hall, uncaring about the storm wailing beyond its walls. On his return to the Moby Dick, when he'd been the first to find Thatch's lifeless body, that cozy feeling had gone up in flames.

And now, at the memory of that awful moment, his hunger likewise evaporated. He resisted the urge to get up and pace; he was relying on his observation haki to keep track of what was happening in the rest of the ship.

Whitebeard remained in his room while the other commanders were spread out around the ship in positions that varied based on their ability to act normal. Haruta, as one of the few people able to avoid detection via observation haki so long as he didn't move, was hidden in Thatch's room; Marco was in his office; Blamenco, Jozu, and Fossa were out on deck helping to deal with the storm; Izo and Vista were wandering, and so on such that there was no part of the ship one of them couldn't reach within ten seconds.

And Thatch? Thatch was wrapping up end-of-day kitchen cleaning with his division, his daily ritual. His daily, predictable, constant ritual. Everyone knew that Thatch liked to have a little time alone after finishing; no one would be surprised at his lack of appearance in the common spaces for a while afterward. Maybe later he'd wander down to the festivities below, but that wasn't a guarantee with the storm in play.

The path from the kitchens to Thatch's quarters would take Thatch near Ace, but not right past him. If anything went wrong, it would take Ace a few seconds to get there and help.

"I'll be fine," Thatch had promised. "Your freakish talent aside, my observation haki is for now still better than yours, you know, and now I know to have my guard up."

No amount of reassurance would banish the sight of Thatch's body from Ace's head.

He was pacing. He didn't even remember standing up. Scrubbing a hand through his hair—his hat was hanging on a hook on the wall—he forced himself to stop moving and take a deep breath. That didn't help; he couldn't get enough air.

All of it, all of those days and weeks of fruitless investigation and preparation, all of that for this moment. And what was he doing? Sitting in his room waiting for the inevitable.

He tried to tell himself that it was like all the times he and Sabo had lain in wait in the forest or Gray Terminal for their targets, but that didn't work because at least back then he'd had Sabo for company. Sure, right now he had all the other commanders on his side, but they were elsewhere. In his room, there was nothing and no one to accompany him but all the ways this night could go wrong.

If he ended up hunting Blackbeard again, though, he'd do it right. He'd get all the mercy Ace had shown the wild animals in his early youth: none at all. He'd kill the bastard before he had any chance to retaliate and raze to the ground every inch of the little reputation he'd started building for himself. He'd—

Thatch was moving, and so was Teach. The traitor had been in the galley, by all accounts enjoying one of his usual pies as a late-night snack. When Thatch bid his division members farewell for the night and began the trek to his room, however, Teach was conveniently finished with his pie and headed in the same direction.

Ace's mouth was suddenly dry, his palms clammy. He really was doing it tonight. Ace had known that, of course, he'd said as much—but still a seed of doubt had remained, the fear that he'd done something, said something, changed something that would make Teach reconsider his plans. But he hadn't. He hadn't.

Of all the things in the world Ace hated—and there were many—being powerless often ranked at the top. Here, now, he was stuck being precisely that. If he went to Thatch, he could spook Teach. If he went anywhere near Thatch, he could spook Teach, who would no doubt be scanning for any potential interruptions with haki. Hell, if he so much as got a little too riled up in his quarters, he could spook Teach.

There was a knock on his door. He froze, realizing in his frustration he'd both resumed pacing and let his own haki slip. Heart hammering, he spread his awareness again. Thatch was still meandering through the halls toward his room, and there was Teach, slowly closing the distance.

Another knock, followed by Tasuka's annoyed voice: "Open this door before I pick the lock, Ace."

"It's not locked," he responded on reflex. He didn't want anything slowing him down when he ran out after Teach.

With a huff, Tasuka swung the door open and stepped inside, letting the door close behind her.

"Marco sent me." She put a hand on her hip, frowning. "Said you could use a checkup."

"I don't need a—" he stopped, realizing Marco's game. Tasuka giving a checkup would explain why Ace was hanging around in his room instead of joining in on the celebrations on shore like he had the last time. "Okay," he said, weakly.

She pointed at his chest, then jerked her wrist. "Shirt. Off."

He complied with token resistance while she rummaged through her medical bag. "What exactly are you checking up on?"

"Scar tissue plasticity, heart and lungs—a general physical."

"I've been stretching."

"I could tell since you were able to take your shirt off unassisted. Stay still." She took a stethoscope and began pressing it to Ace's chest, her eyes closed in concentration while she listened to…whatever she was listening to. "I always forget how warm you are," she muttered.

"Your hands are cold," he offered in return, and she snorted.

"Can you take a deep breath in, then breathe out slowly?"

He did as asked. She nodded in approval and switched the stethoscope to his back, once more pressing it to a few different places and asking him to breathe again.

"Good news, your lungs and heart are probably still there." She straightened and hung the stethoscope around her neck. He waited for her to comment on how he was a little short of breath, but she didn't seem to have noticed, and he started to wonder if it was in his head. "This next bit is going to involve some poking and prodding. Try to stay still."

It wasn't exactly comfortable, having anyone pressing and pulling on the skin of and around his scar. It didn't hurt anymore, but the pain had soaked in deeply enough to leave echoes. He shifted, grimacing, and Tasuka promptly pinched him.

"Hey!"

"I said don't move. I'm almost done. Trust me, I know enough to not make your rib any worse."

He held his grimace and stared up at the ceiling with his jaw firmly set while she kept going. It was easier to bear if he kept his focus on Thatch and Teach, who would be passing by a nearby hallway in just a few seconds. Teach was maybe ten seconds behind Thatch, but he wasn't stupid enough to make a move right by Ace's quarters when he had to know Ace was inside.

Thatch's unconcerned whistling carried down the hall and through the door. Ace couldn't help tensing up, and Tasuka pinched him again for that.

"It's hard enough to do this when the storm's rocking the ship, I don't need you squirming."

A flash of lightning cut off Ace's retort, followed almost instantly by a clap of thunder that shook him to his bones. Tasuka cursed in surprise and Ace wiped away his grin before she could see; she still had that ever-present belt of loaded syringes wrapped around her waist.

"I hate storms," she muttered, embarrassment dusting her cheeks that Ace knew better than to comment on. "Okay, just a few more things, then I can go back to the infirmary…and hopefully not get thrown into any walls on the way."

"At least we're docked."

"Small mercies. Turn your head, I need to look in your ear."

"What? Why?"

"Just do it. And bend your knees, you're too tall."

He rolled his eyes and started to comply, only to freeze.

"Ace?"

In a single heartbeat, he'd flown out the door and torn down the hall.

"Ace!"

Tasuka's voice gave chase without catching; he was laser-focused on the next turn, slamming into the wall because he couldn't stop in time and it was faster than slowing down, the straight corridor he used his flames to hurl himself through, the next right—

And there was Teach's bulk blocking the way, and there was Thatch pinned on his back on the floor, holding the wrist Teach was trying to bring down because in that hand was a knife aimed squarely at his throat.

Ace crashed into Teach with a furious roar, bodychecking him clear over Thatch, who'd been paying enough attention to release Teach at the last second. Teach went flying, thrown by the impact and by a burst of brilliant flame that bloomed like a flower when it and Teach hit the opposite wall several doors down. Ace yanked his power back under control before anything could catch fire and hurriedly knelt by Thatch.

No blood. There was no blood.

"Blue?" Thatch gasped. Ace hauled him up, simultaneously checking him over for wounds in case the blood had just been soaking through out of sight. He didn't see any.

"What?"

"Your"—Teach was standing up—"never mind." Thatch expertly kicked the knife Teach had dropped up into his hand and made a show of examining it. "Hey, Teach, I think you dropped this."

Teach took in Thatch holding the knife, Ace standing beside him with flames licking hungrily at his skin, the approaching presences of every other commander on board, and he lied.

"Commander Ace! Zehahahaha," his laugh was as nervous as they came, "there's been a misunderstanding."

"Don't call me that. That word is reserved for people you respect."

"Tell me how I'm misunderstanding you trying to stab me in the back," Thatch drawled. He tossed the knife away, seemingly disgusted by even holding it. Teach held up his hands.

"I was taking it back to my cabin to clean it, it's rusty, but when the ship rolled—"

The fire bullet slammed into the wood planks an inch from Teach's head, singeing his hair and filling the hall with the unpleasant smell of it burning.

"Lie again," Ace hissed. What he meant: give me an excuse.

Thatch was safe, Teach was disarmed, and the remaining commanders were on their way. In a moment, Teach would be in their custody and Ace wouldn't get the chance to finish what he should've finished all those months ago. He started forward, but Thatch's hand on his shoulder stopped him. That hand was coated in haki, the only reason Thatch could bear the heat pouring from Ace.

Seeing that, Ace also processed the sheen of sweat on Thatch's skin, matched by the nervous sweat coming from Teach.

And in that moment of hesitation, the rest of the commanders arrived. No one needed to be told what had happened; they'd all observed it, even if they hadn't witnessed it with their own eyes.

"Teach," Izo growled, pistols in hand.

"Unforgivable," Fossa agreed, a sentiment echoed throughout the halls. Jozu slammed his fist into his palm, skin turning diamond iridescent. Whitebeard's displeasure, though, outstripped all of theirs; even from his place in his quarters, a weight like hammer blows slammed down onto everyone on the ship while unnatural waves left all of them staggering. Teach's complexion had gone gray, but there was no getting out of this for him.

"It's over, Teach," confirmed Marco, one of the few standing straight under the pressure. "Submit quietly while you still can."

A few other Whitebeard Pirates, the ones not knocked flat by their captain's anger, were emerging from their quarters and gathering from around the ship at the commotion, but the intimidating aura of fury surrounding the commanders kept them at a distance. Something big was happening, they could tell; something with which they shouldn't interfere.

Teach's gaze darted from Marco, to Ace, to Thatch, to the commanders, seeking a way out, an opportunity, a weakness. He saw none, and that fear began to build. He was strong, strong enough to be considered for second division commander, but even Ace in his prime couldn't take on every other commander at once.

Teach was trapped, and everyone knew it. Until he reached into his pants pocket, a motion that had everyone bristling.

"Don't move!" snapped Izo, a bullet slamming into the wall almost exactly where Ace's fire had hit earlier.

Teach did stop moving, but he'd already pulled the thing out of his pocket. Ace frowned at it. It looked for all the world like a small Den Den Mushi with some random bits and wires stuck on it. It was familiar, but he didn't have time to place it. More worrying was the grin spreading across Teach's face. His confidence was back.

"Zehahaha, what's over, Marco?"

"What is that?" snapped Haruta.

"Never seen a dead man's switch?" Before any of them could stop him, he used his other hand to yank a pin out of one of the extra bits. The snail woke with a start, eyes wide and shell vibrating. "I let go, this snail sends a signal, and down sinks this ship and half the ships in the fleet!"

"You're bluffing!" Ace stepped forward, eyes and fists ablaze. "That thing doesn't have the range."

"This ship, then," Teach amended. His grin widened. "Maybe I've got another snail hidden away for this one to talk to."

For the second time that week, Ace found himself in a stalemate. He wasn't worried about the ship sinking—they were right next to an island, everyone would make it to shore—but he was worried about explosives. Who knew how many could get caught in the blast? Precious few of their family had the ability to survive something like that if they didn't see it coming.

If they tried to knock Teach out or kill him or even shoot the snail out of his hand, there was a chance it would still send out the signal. Nor could they take the chance that he was, in fact, completely bluffing. Ace tried to think back to the first time, to any damage that had been done to the ship that they'd chalked up to the storm and all its lightning, but it was hopeless. He hadn't cared about any of that at the time, hadn't been listening for the details, hadn't wanted to.

"And the point of this?" Vista challenged.

"My freedom," Teach declared. "Let me go, I tell you where the explosives are."

"Not gonna happen," Ace snarled.

"Ace," Marco warned. He crossed his arms and leveled an uncompromising stare at Teach. "You realize we'll hunt you down-yoi. There is no forgiving fratricide. Attempted or otherwise."

"That's a cold thing to say to your brother."

"You've lost the right to call us family."

Without Pops present, Marco spoke for him. Such a declaration was anathema to the crew—but not a single soul protested. Teach just laughed. "I figured! I'm flattered by the concern, but I'll be just fine, don't you worry."

"Feel free to capsize and drown," spat Izo. "The world never forgives a traitor. No matter how long it takes, his time will come."

The sheer knowing in his voice gave Teach pause. And in that time, a presence—so small compared to the commanders that it had gone completely unnoticed—slipped close to Teach. There was a flash of lightning that bathed the whole corridor in blue, a sliver of metal shining in that light, and then a needle plunged into Teach's shoulder.

Teach shouted in pain and lashed out blindly. He bashed Tasuka into the wall, the nurse letting out a choked cry and going limp as she fell to the ground. The commanders exploded into motion and Teach went to release his grip on the dead man's switch but found to his surprise that he couldn't loosen his fingers. In the next moment, his limbs ceased responding to him and he collapsed, stiff as a board and foaming at the mouth, to the ground.

Letting out a soft groan, Tasuka slowly picked herself up and leaned against the splintered wall while she winced in pain. "Always," she wheezed, "wanted to try that one."

Ace stared at the body. "Is he dead?"

"No, I," she coughed, a few tears leaking from her eyes from the pain, "We needed his hand to stay tensed, right?"

"How long do we have-yoi?" Marco asked.

"Ten minutes, then he'll start to loosen up."

Marco quickly nominated several of the commanders to coordinate their divisions and locate any and all explosives across the fleet's craft. Thatch, meanwhile, untied his yellow sash and wound it tightly around Teach's hand to maintain his grip on the switch. Blamenco stepped forward and pulled heavy manacles from one of his pockets, which he and Thatch worked together to fasten around Teach's wrists and ankles, a task made a bit more difficult thanks to Teach's body being locked rigid by Tasuka's drug cocktail.

Then they were hauling the traitor up and marching him through the halls to face Whitebeard's judgement. Ace, feeling like he was outside himself watching things happen, only joined the procession when Thatch gently nudged him forward.

"I'm okay," he murmured. "It's over."

The words washed over Ace like so many raindrops. He followed the procession up to the main deck, where actual rain pounded against every exposed plank of wood and pane of glass. For the moment, at least, the island was shielding them from the worst of the storm and the Moby Dick, big as she was, was holding fairly steady in the turbulent waters of the harbor.

Teach was brought to the center of the deck, forced to his knees in front of Whitebeard's empty chair. Pirates ringed the lowered section, not a single one of them who wasn't a commander daring to step down into the arena. Many were being held up by their compatriots, and many more were visibly straining to stay upright. Whitebeard's anger was carrying undertones of haki now, and Ace—from that distance place he couldn't escape—wondered if he could do that too.

The commanders, meanwhile, arranged themselves around the space. Jozu and Vista stayed by Teach, silently assuming the task of making sure the traitor went nowhere they didn't want him to go. Thatch tugged Ace into the formation. Ace let himself be pulled. He tried to focus, he did. But all he could see was Thatch's pompadour drooping in the rain.

A door banged open, carried into the wall by the storm with a crack to rival the last thunderbolt. Whitebeard unfolded to his full height from the entrance to his cabin. Gone were the IVs, the breathing tube, the hovering nurses. His captain's coat billowed in the wind and his every stride forward was accented with a strike from the end of his bisento.

Teach started with his head proudly raised, but as Whitebeard approached with those slow steps, his bravado evaporated bit by bit. Maybe his shivering was from the cold; Ace knew better.

The strongest man in the world descended the four steps next to his seat and stood in front of Teach. The end of his bisento came down one last time, and Teach flinched.

"I called you my son," Whitebeard said. "In return, you commit the greatest sin possible against your family."

"C'mon, Pops, he's still alive."

Rage from Whitebeard and every single pirate in earshot sharpened the air into something that hurt to breathe. Ace was putting off so much heat that any rain hitting him evaporated on contact.

And still he felt like he was watching all of this happen from a Den Den Mushi projection. That was Whitebeard, his father, Pops, staring down the traitor with nothing but disappointment and anger in his gaze and Ace should be here, he should be right here, but he was two feet up and out of his body and it was taking all he had just to hear what was being said over the rain.

Whitebeard's eyes pinched with disdain.

"You may be a child of the sea, but you're not my son. You're a disgrace. As of this moment, you are expelled from this crew. You have no right to its name or its flag. You are a traitor, a backstabber, and nothing more." Whitebeard took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, the disappointment was gone. Only the anger remained. "Marco, the punishment for killing a crewmate."

"Execution," Marco replied promptly.

"He's not dead!" Teach protested.

"No thanks to you," muttered Thatch.

Whitebeard slammed his bisento against the planks. Blamenco flinched, but the wood held up. "Attempted or succeeded, the intent is the same, Blackbeard."

The name hung in the air. Teach blanched, realizing what Whitebeard knowing about that moniker meant.

"It was meant to pay my respects," he tried, his voice rising with increasing desperation when he saw Whitebeard hefting his weapon. "To show the world how much the name Whitebeard meant! That's all!"

Whitebeard's lip curled under his mustache. The powerful muscles in his legs, back, and arm bunched up in answer. Teach, sensing his time was coming to an end, shoved himself to his feet, empty flattery cast aside.

"Your era's ending, old man!" he yelled. "What the hell does family mean? We're pirates! It's not about family, it's about the goal! It's about claiming the One Pie—"

"Roger isn't waiting for you," Whitebeard snarled, and swung.

He didn't miss. Of course he didn't, not at this range, not with Teach bound and helpless to do more than spit one last insult that was lost to a booming clap of thunder. The blade severed his neck like the flesh and bone was so much air.

When Teach's head hit the planks, Ace snapped back into himself. At once he was aware of the storm's fury, the crash of waves, the salty spray crashing over the railing, the wind whipping that spray and the rain nearly sideways into his face, his wet hair plastered to his skin, his soaked clothes steaming from the reflexive heat of his devil fruit under the onslaught.

He sucked in a deep, sudden breath, his lungs aching, and tried not to feel dizzy.

As Whitebeard finished his follow-through, white lines split the air with an echoing pulse of warning. The shockwaves of that single fatal blow ripped a tidal wave from the ocean on the other side of the Moby Dick. So tall Ace had to crane his neck to see its crest, it was silhouetted for fractions of a second at a time by lightning strikes before, with a roar like thunder of its own, it crashed down hundreds and hundreds of yards away. The resulting swells nearly pitched a few stunned pirates overboard. Ace staggered into Thatch, who stumbled into Marco, and finally Blamenco steadied them all.

Thatch's hands were on Ace's shoulders. Just a reflex, trying to catch him. Like anyone would do.

Ace turned on the slippery deck, grabbed Thatch, and pulled him into a hug so tight he could feel the other commander's heart beating a steady rhythm in his chest.

Alive. Thatch was alive. Teach was dead, Thatch was alive.

It was really over.

Luffy fell out of his hammock on the Going Merry and hit the floor with a muffled thud. The impact meant nothing to his rubber body, but it was just enough to force him into a sleepy, semiconscious daze, if only for a moment.

He looked around, a strange feeling hovering just outside of his ability to identify it.

Then he shrugged, climbed into his hammock, and went back to sleep.

Far away, on an unknown island in a barely known stretch of sea, a man paused mid-word, blinking his blue eyes in confusion. The woman beside him frowned and cocked her head.

"Something wrong?" She kept her voice low, not wanting to be overheard as they crept along the rooftops by the light of the crescent moon overhead.

He shook his head and kept moving. "Nothing. Just a weird feeling."

"Is it an ambush?"

Frowning, he tried to bring that feeling back into focus, but the more attention he paid to it, the faster it slipped through his fingers. As quickly as it had come, it was now gone. "No. Let's hurry; the patrols will be here soon."

Within a minute, the feeling—small and brief and vitally important—was already fading from his memory.