"Titans Fall."
The headline blared in bold letters across the front page of the World Times, its stark simplicity striking a chilling chord across every corner of the globe.
Beneath the headline, a haunting image dominated the page: a blinding explosion of fiery brilliance engulfing the horizon, its scale unfathomable, spanning hundreds of miles. It was the kind of image that seemed plucked from nightmares, yet it was all too real. The world reeled from the shock.
Charlotte Linlin—Big Mom—one of the Four Emperors who reigned supreme over the treacherous seas of the New World, was dead.
The news struck like a thunderclap, silencing bustling ports, chaotic markets, and even the lawless strongholds of the Grand Line. The unthinkable had happened. One of the Yonko, whose names alone could freeze the blood of the most hardened pirates and cause governments to tread lightly, had fallen. And the man responsible?
Donquixote Rosinante.
The Shadow Emperor.
The Kingmaker of the notorious Donquixote Family.
This was no prolonged war, no drawn-out campaign to topple an Emperor's rule. Rosinante had walked into Totto Land, Big Mom's fiercely guarded territory, and challenged her directly in her own domain. The battle's details were scarce—shrouded in secrecy and whispers.
What was known was enough to shake the foundations of the world: Rosinante emerged victorious, leaving behind devastation and uncertainty. The fate of Big Mom's fearsome pirate crew was equally unclear. Rumors flew like wildfire.
"Her crew scattered to the winds, leaderless and broken!"
"Every last one of them slaughtered by Rosinante in a single night!"
Each story grew wilder than the last. The truth lay buried under the weight of speculation, but one fact remained: Charlotte Linlin, the indomitable Yonko, was no more.
In bustling markets from Loguetown to Sabaody Archipelago, merchants and sailors huddled around newspapers, their faces etched with disbelief.
"Impossible," whispered a fisherman, his hands trembling as he gripped the newspaper. "Big Mom? Dead? No one's strong enough to do that!"
A group of young pirates, wide-eyed and barely into their first voyages, exchanged nervous glances.
"If someone can kill a Yonko, what chance do we stand out there?" one muttered, his bravado shattered.
In Mariejois, the heart of the World Government, the news was met with a tense, stunned silence.
The Celestial Dragons—untouchable and godlike in their arrogance—found themselves rattled.
Big Mom's death wasn't just the fall of a pirate; it was a seismic shift in the balance of power.
"This is a disaster," muttered a Vice Admiral in the halls of Marineford. "If the Donquixote Family can bring down a Yonko, what's to stop them from targeting us next?"
The four of the Five Elders convened in hushed urgency, their grim expressions betraying their concern. A single man had done what entire fleets could not—killed a Yonko and lived to tell the tale.
The Donquixote Family's reputation ascended like a meteor. No longer were they seen as cunning manipulators or mere opportunists—they were now spoken of in the same breath as the Whitebeard Pirates, the Overlords of the current era, and even the late Roger's crew.
On Dressrosa, the family's stronghold, the people celebrated in awe and terror. Fireworks painted the night sky as loyalists raised glasses to Rosinante's name. In the underworld, whispers turned to roars of admiration and fear.
"The Kingmaker isn't just a title," said a broker, his voice hushed. "Rosinante's the one making moves no one else would dare. Taking down Big Mom proves it."
But not everyone celebrated. Across the seas, families who had suffered under Big Mom's reign feared the vacuum her death left behind. Would Rosinante step into her place? Or would chaos engulf the New World as rival crews clawed for dominance?
The man himself was nowhere to be seen, but his name was on every tongue. People debated his motives, his strength, and the sheer audacity of his actions.
"What kind of monster goes into a Yonko's territory alone and comes out alive, let alone victorious?" asked a tavern-goer in disbelief.
Others saw it as poetic justice.
"Big Mom ruled through fear. Rosinante? He just proved he's the bigger nightmare," said an old pirate, nursing a drink. "The New World just got a whole lot deadlier."
As the world processed the news, one thing was clear: this was not the end—it was only the beginning. The balance of power had been irrevocably shattered, and the repercussions would ripple across the seas.
In the quiet corners of the world, alliances shifted, betrayals brewed, and plans were set in motion. The age of the Yonko was trembling on the edge of upheaval, and at the center of it all stood the enigmatic Shadow Emperor, Donquixote Rosinante.
The world held its breath.
A true Titan of the sea had fallen. Who would rise to take their place?
*****
Dresssrosa, New World
"Fufufufu…!!!"
The room echoed with the distinctive, raucous laughter of Donquixote Doflamingo, one of the Four Emperors—though now, it seemed, they would need to be called the Three Emperors.
His voice reverberated through the chamber, a raw, unrestrained sound devoid of his usual cunning undertones or calculated menace. No schemes lay hidden in this laughter; it was pure, unadulterated joy. The news had electrified him: his younger brother, Donquixote Rosinante, had toppled Charlotte Linlin—Big Mom herself.
Standing at the side, Senor Pink allowed a rare smirk to cross his normally stoic face. He couldn't help but think how long it had been since he'd seen Doffy laugh like this. This wasn't the laugh of the manipulative "Joker," the man who played puppet master with the fates of nations. No, this was the heartfelt laughter of an older brother basking in his sibling's triumph.
In the room were only four individuals: Doflamingo, Senor Pink, Issho, and Diamante. The weight of the moment wasn't lost on any of them.
Doflamingo leaned back in his chair, his sharp grin stretching wider as he wiped a tear of amusement from the corner of his eye.
"Fufufu… My little brother, eh? I always knew Rosinante had it in him. But to kill Linlin?" His words came out in awed disbelief, the grin on his face refusing to fade.
"I thought he'd win—I was confident in that—but killing her outright? That wasn't even in my wildest dreams."
Senor Pink crossed his arms, his smirk deepening. "Guess young master Ross has a way of surprising everyone. Even you, Master Doffy."
Doflamingo chuckled, flipping the freshly printed World Times back onto the table in front of him. The front page bore the explosive headline "Titans Fall" in bold, capital letters, accompanied by an image of a vast, fiery cataclysm consuming what was once Totto Land.
The picture alone was enough to make the strongest tremble. Though he may have been the first to get this news, that didn't make the news in the papers any less impressive.
"Fufufu… My little brother surely knows how to pick his moments. He couldn't have timed this better." Doffy's voice carried a mix of pride and amusement as he gestured to the paper.
"With an Elder of the World Government personally visiting our territory, this stunt is an absolute power move. The Government's already scrambling—Big Mom was a thorn even they hesitated to pluck, and now they've been outdone by a single pirate."
Issho, seated across the table with his usual composed demeanor, interjected. "Scrambling might be putting it lightly, Doffy-kun. The power vacuum left behind is immense, and the World Government will have no choice but to react. Not to mention…" He hesitated for a moment before pulling a newly printed bounty poster from the folds of his coat and placing it on the table.
[WANTED]
[DONQUIXOTE ROSINANTE]
[DEAD OR ALIVE]
[4,693,000,000 BERRIES]
The room went silent for a moment as the men took in the sight of the new bounty.
"Fufufufu…!!!" Doffy's laughter erupted again as he picked up the poster. The photograph of Rosinante, standing amidst the desolation of Totto Land, was haunting. The sprawling archipelago, once the seat of Big Mom's power, was now nothing more than a drowned wasteland erased from the map.
"4.693 billion berries, huh? Second only to Whitebeard now." Doffy's grin widened. "And the gap is only seven million. My little brother has truly arrived, hasn't he?"
Issho's brow furrowed. "That's precisely what worries me, Doffy-kun. With this new bounty, Rosinante is no longer just a pirate—he's a global threat on par with Whitebeard. The Government won't take this lightly, and with the Elders visiting, tensions will be higher than ever. We'll need to bolster our security measures."
Doflamingo leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as he locked eyes with Issho. "I know, Issho. The sharks will come circling now. Big Mom's territories are ripe for the taking, and every pirate worth their salt will want a piece. But that's not my concern."
He straightened, his usual arrogance replaced by a fiery determination. "I've made a promise. One day, I'll personally take Kaido's head. Rosinante's already making waves, but as the elder brother, I can't afford to lag behind. Starting tomorrow, Issho, I'll need your help with my training. I need to grow stronger—much stronger."
Issho nodded solemnly. "I'll do what I can, Doffy-kun."
Diamante, who had been quietly observing the exchange, finally spoke. "But Doffy, with Rosinante making moves like this, won't that force Kaido's hand? If he feels threatened, he could retaliate before you're ready."
Doffy's smile turned razor-sharp. "Let him try. Fufufu… The moment he steps into my territory will be his last."
As the room fell into a tense silence, the weight of Rosinante's actions loomed large over all of them. The world was shifting, and the Donquixote Family stood at the heart of it. The Emperor's throne was no longer a matter of strength alone—it was a contest of ambition, cunning, and timing.
Doffy glanced at the poster one last time, his grin returning.
"Fufufu… Rosinante, you've lit the spark. Now let's see how brightly this fire burns."
"I wonder how he managed to strike such a perfect pose after all that carnage," Diamante mused aloud, his lips curling into an amused grin.
Unlike the others, who were caught up in the magnitude of the bounty or the implications of Rosinante's actions, Diamante seemed more entertained by the peculiarities of the photograph.
The bounty poster depicted Rosinante standing amidst the desolation of Totto Land, his coat billowing dramatically in the wind, his expression sharp and resolute as though he had posed deliberately for the shot.
"It's almost like he was waiting for the camera. Who even thinks about that in the middle of a battlefield?"
Issho, who had been quietly observing the exchange, gave a faint chuckle. "He must have known whoever was taking the picture. With his observation haki as sharp as it is, there's no way anyone could sneak up on him. Ross Kun's mastery when it comes to haki is second to none."
The room turned its attention to Issho, a man whose mastery of observation haki was legendary. If he acknowledged Rosinante's skill as superior, it wasn't just flattery—it was fact.
Issho continued, his tone calm but edged with respect. "Rosinante's haki doesn't just see movements or intentions—it feels the world around him, like he's connected to it in ways that most of us can't comprehend. To him, the presence of a camera, no matter how subtle, is as obvious as the sun in the sky."
Doflamingo leaned back in his chair, his signature grin spreading across his face. "Fufufufu… Issho's got it right. That brat was flexing, plain and simple. He knows exactly how to leave an impression, just like me."
His laugh grew softer, almost fond, as he traced the edges of the bounty poster with a gloved finger. "That's what makes him so damn irritating, you know? That charm, that flair for theatrics… It's in the blood. We're cut from the same cloth, after all."
Senor Pink, who had been leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, raised an eyebrow.
"Guess you taught him well, Master Doffy. Though I'd say he's taken it a step further. Posing like that after leveling an entire archipelago? That's next-level showmanship."
Diamante couldn't resist chiming in again, a wide smirk plastered on his face. "Oh, it's not just showmanship—it's audacity. He just wiped Big Mom off the map, and he's staring straight at the world as if to say, 'Who's next?' I love it."
Issho, cleared his throat. "Audacious or not, that pose is going to stick in people's minds. It's deliberate—he's sending a message. And with a bounty like that, the message is clear: Rosinante isn't just a name anymore. He's a symbol."
Doflamingo's grin widened, his sharp teeth glinting in the light. "Exactly, Issho. My little brother no fool—he knows how to play the game. He's showing the world that he's not just strong; he's untouchable. Every pirate, marine, and bounty hunter who looks at this poster will see it. And they'll know—whether they love him or hate him—that Rosinante has arrived."
The room fell into a brief silence as each man considered the implications of Doflamingo's words.
Issho finally broke the quiet, his tone measured. "Still, this level of visibility comes with its own risks. The World Government won't just ignore him, especially not after killing one of the so-called Emperors of the Sea."
"And then, like you mentioned earlier, there's the power vacuum left behind by Big Mom's fall. Every ambitious pirate in the New World is going to want a piece of her former territory. Things are going to get messy, Doffy-san."
Doflamingo's grin didn't falter, but his eyes darkened with a calculating glint. "Let them come. The seas are about to boil, and only the strongest will rise to the top. My brother's stunt has thrown the world into chaos, but chaos is where we thrive, isn't it?"
Issho nodded slightly but added, "Even so, with the Elders visiting, tensions will be at their peak. Extra precautions will need to be taken. After all, Ross-kun's actions don't just affect him—they affect all of us. The Donquixote name is in the spotlight now, and we'll have to tread carefully."
Doflamingo chuckled, standing from his seat and tossing the poster onto the table. The sight of Rosinante's unflinching gaze stared back at them.
"Careful? That's not really my style, Issho. But you're right—there's work to be done. If this brat thinks he can steal the show, then I'll just have to remind the world why I'm the one sitting on the Emperor's throne."
His tone softened slightly, an edge of brotherly pride creeping in. "Still… I'll give it to him. That's one hell of a pose."
The room erupted in quiet laughter, the tension momentarily lifted, but the weight of the situation still loomed heavy. In the wake of Rosinante's actions, the seas were changing, and the Donquixote Family was poised to ride the storm—or sink beneath its waves.
*****
"Gurararara…!!!" The mighty laugh of Whitebeard, Edward Newgate, echoed across the seas, its sheer power seeming to shake the ocean itself. His massive hand held the crumpled newspaper, and despite the booming laughter, a single tear traced the weathered lines of his face.
The combination of joy, sadness, and an almost unbearable nostalgia painted a rare, vulnerable picture of the man who was often seen as invincible.
"It seems… a little brat managed to do what I could not… for you, Oden." His voice softened as he spoke the name, the image of his fallen comrade flashing in his mind. The bittersweet moment lingered, the triumph of Rosinante against Linlin stirring a whirlwind of emotions.
Whitebeard's laughter continued, but there was a crackling undertone of disappointment—at himself. This young upstart, barely in his twenties, had taken on a Yonko, defied the odds, and triumphed.
A feat that once would've seemed unthinkable, even to someone like him. He glanced at the bounty poster Marco had handed him. The image stared back at him—a sharp-eyed Rosinante standing amidst the ruins of Totto Land, every ounce of his being radiating confidence, as if daring the world to challenge him.
Whitebeard's hand trembled, not with weakness, but with renewed resolve. "I've been too soft… too cautious," he muttered.
His eyes, like twin whirlpools, burned with newfound determination. A lingering shadow had gnawed at his mind for months—the unease, the whispers, the possibility of Xebec's return. That specter of doubt had made him hesitant, retreating where he might have once charged forward. But no more.
He straightened his colossal frame, his back unbending like the mast of the great Moby Dick. His voice thundered, shaking even his crew.
"Why should I fear a ghost? If a dead man crawls out from his grave, let him come. Roger couldn't defeat me at his peak. Garp couldn't break me. Why should I tremble before the shadow of the past?" His massive hand reached for his trusted naginata, and with a powerful thrust, he planted it deep into the deck of the Moby Dick. The wood creaked and groaned under the force, a testament to the fire burning within him.
"Marco!" His voice roared across the ship, sending a shiver even through his closest allies.
Marco, standing nearby, snapped to attention, though the sheer weight of Whitebeard's aura made him unconsciously step back. This wasn't the gentle, fatherly figure they were used to. This was the Whitebeard who had once stood side-by-side with Rocks D. Xebec himself—the man whose very name made the world tremble.
"Yes, Pops?" Marco responded, his usual calm demeanor shaken.
"Send word to every fleet under our banner. If any of them spot Kaido, I want to know immediately. That slimy snake will be crawling out of his hole now that Linlin's domain is ripe for the taking." He paused, the sheer intensity of his gaze boring into Marco.
"I will personally rip him apart. And offer him as a requiem to my brother."
The declaration made the entire deck go silent. Marco swallowed, nodding sharply. He understood now—this wasn't just about territory or revenge. Whitebeard had been carrying something heavy, something unspoken, for a long time. Today, it seemed, that burden had finally been cast aside.
"And another thing," Whitebeard continued, his voice calmer but no less commanding. "Send a message to every one of our affiliates. Tell them not to clash with the Donquixote Pirates unless directly provoked."
Marco blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in tone. "The Donquixote Pirates? But why—"
Whitebeard cut him off with a raised hand. "Rosinante… that brat's no ordinary upstart, and now I owe him a life's debt. He's Garp's protégé, isn't he? It's been years since I've seen that boy, back when he still wore the Marines' uniform. If he's grown strong enough to take down Linlin, then he's earned my respect. It's time we meet again, face-to-face."
The crew exchanged uneasy glances. The mere mention of Garp or his lineage often brought mixed feelings, but none dared question their captain.
Marco, ever the tactician, furrowed his brows. "And if Kaido moves on Linlin's old territories?"
Whitebeard's grin widened, the dangerous glint in his eye reminiscent of his days as a younger, wilder pirate.
"Let him try," he growled, his voice carrying the weight of a promise and a threat all at once. "If the seas of the New World aren't satisfied with the blood of one so-called emperor, then I'll gladly stain them with another's. Kaido's always been an ambitious beast, but if he thinks he can claim the world's throne without consequence after killing Oden, he's sorely mistaken."
The old pirate's hand tightened around the shaft of his naginata, the polished wood groaning under the force of his grip. "If that cowardly snake wants a fight, I'll give him one he won't forget. No, not one he can't forget—one that will remind him why Whitebeard's name still shakes the world. Why the New World bends not to men like Kaido, but to me."
The wind carried his words across the deck, their weight sinking into the hearts of his crew. They'd seen their captain in countless moods—his jovial laughter, his quiet melancholy, and his unyielding fury. But this? This was something else. This was Edward Newgate, the man who turned the tides of the world, who stood unshaken against legends and gods alike.
"And Rosinante…" Whitebeard continued, his tone shifting to something thoughtful, almost amused. "That brat's bold move changes everything. He didn't just kill Linlin; he rewrote the rules of the game. He reminded the world that even the mightiest can fall. It's time the seas remember—Whitebeard doesn't follow the tides. I make them."
His words were a declaration, not just to his crew but to the entire New World. The horizon stretched before them, vast and unforgiving, yet somehow smaller under the weight of his will. As he stood there, his silhouette against the blazing sun, Whitebeard seemed larger than life—a figure who would shape the destiny of the seas once more.
Marco, standing nearby, exchanged a glance with the other commanders. Each of them felt the same thing: pride, awe, and a fiery determination to stand beside their captain, no matter what storms awaited. They knew Kaido wouldn't back down, and that the power vacuum left by Linlin's fall would drag everyone into chaos. But under Whitebeard's banner, they didn't fear the chaos—they thrived in it.
As most of the crew dispersed in a sudden flurry of activity, Whitebeard remained, gazing out at the shifting waters. His grin lingered, sharp and unyielding. "Let the world try to take what's mine," he muttered to himself. "I've weathered storms far worse than this."
The sea seemed to echo his words, the waves surging as if answering his challenge.
The air on the Moby Dick was electric, charged with the renewed vigor of their captain. Marco nodded firmly, stepping away to relay the orders, while the rest of the crew watched Whitebeard with awe.
This was the man who had once claimed the seas as his own, the man who still bore the title of the world's strongest. And now, with the weight of doubt lifted from his shoulders, there was no telling what storms he would unleash.
As Whitebeard gazed out at the horizon, his grip tightened on his naginata. "Oden… I may not have been able to avenge you before. But now, I swear, I'll settle this score. Not just for you, but for every soul lost to the chaos of these seas."
With that, he raised his weapon as his conqueror's haki soared to the heavens, the sunlight glinting off its blade as if heralding the resurgence of a legend. The seas of the New World trembled—not out of fear, but in anticipation.