Structures and artillery stations, injected with screaming souls, stirred to life—rising as towering beasts, some several meters tall, some over ten. They let out bone-chilling wails as they charged toward the Marine defenses.
One stone building grew massive rock arms, clenched into fists that swept aside a dozen Marines like rag dolls, debris flying everywhere.
A fortress, now half-possessed, twisted its own cannon into an arm and fired directly into a cluster of Marines, erupting in flames and screams, sending bodies flying.
From a distance, the soul-beasts surged like a tidal wave of war incarnate—unstoppable, overwhelming, tearing through earth and iron.
Grinning with grotesque, humanlike expressions, they crushed buildings, trampled the ground beneath their enormous feet, and shattered the Marine defense lines before anyone could react.
"Damn it... what are these things!?"
"They were lifeless objects—how are they moving!?"
"They’ve been given souls by Big Mom!!"
"Charlotte Linlin is a Soul-Soul Fruit user! She can extract people’s souls and infuse them into anything—turning even dead objects into loyal servants to fight for her!"
"Bullets are useless! Damn it!!"
Marines fired frantically, but their musket rounds ricocheted off stone and steel. The soul-infused monsters barely flinched, the bullets leaving nothing but minor scuffs.
A cannonball roared through the air and exploded against one monster’s head. The blast cracked its skull and scattered smoke across the field.
The towering creature teetered—then collapsed in a heap.
"Use heavy artillery! Target their heads!!"
A grizzled Rear Admiral shouted, shouldering a portable cannon.
A savage scar cut across his cheek. His eyes were calm, commanding—a man forged by war.
That was Rear Admiral Novi.
One of Zephyr’s old comrades-in-arms.
With his call, the Marines quickly shifted tactics—ceasing their musket fire, they retreated just far enough to reposition and begin shelling from fixed turrets.
But the soul-beasts gave no ground.
They surged forward, relentless. The battlefield became a crush of bodies and monsters, with no room to maneuver.
"Damn it!! There’s no opening!!"
"Not enough cannons!"
The Marines staggered beneath the onslaught, lines crumbling by the second.
A tall figure leapt above the chaos.
Long black hair danced in the wind. Her elegant form cut a perfect silhouette as the white cloak of Justice flared behind her.
A golden blade rang from its sheath, sharp and clear.
A burst of radiant swordlight sliced down upon a cannon-turned soul-beast.
A clean vertical gash split the monster’s core.
It collapsed, cleanly bisected.
"That’s Commander Gion!!"
"Her swordsmanship is incredible!!"
Amid cheers, Gion landed lightly, face expressionless—but her eyes dark with stormclouds.
These soul-beasts, created from rock and metal, were absurdly durable. Only their heads were true weak points.
Even if you sliced off their limbs, they’d simply absorb nearby material and regenerate.
A raspy voice echoed nearby.
It was a middle-aged Marine wearing a peaked cap.
One of his eyes was ghostly white—blind. In his hand was a massive two-meter blade, chipped and scarred from countless battles.
Vice Admiral Davosger.
Another of Zephyr’s old elite.
"Vice Admiral Davosger..." Gion murmured.
He gripped his chipped sword tightly. "Commander Gion, this kind of battle... it may be too soon for Training Camp cadets like yours."
"But there’s nowhere left to retreat to," Gion replied, voice low but unwavering.
Davosger paused—then chuckled.
"A true student of Zephyr, through and through..."
He raised his battered blade. His remaining eye locked on the soul-beasts charging through fire and smoke.
"Armament Haki can hurt these things. All Marines trained in Haki—step forward!"
Hundreds of Marines leapt from the crowd.
Their eyes sharp. Their movements decisive.
They moved to the front lines, unwavering.
Purple-black Haki shimmered over their weapons, coating each blade in an ominous sheen.
Face after face of steel determination. Eyes steady. These were the hardened elite of Marine HQ.
Davosger looked to Gion—and to the ranks of Training Camp officers behind her.
A wild grin cracked across his weathered face.
"Now... show us the results of your training!"
With those words, Davosger—age 45, semi-retired Vice Admiral—let out a primal roar and charged forward.
His scarred blade gleamed in the light of fire and fury.
Not once did he tell the cadets to fall back—not once did he question their place on this battlefield.
Because Training Camp students were handpicked from across the seas. Already elite.
And after Zephyr’s instruction—their strength had skyrocketed. Nearly every one had mastered Haki.
More importantly—as Gion had said—
There was nowhere left to fall back to.
Even if it came to the last man—they would stand.
With Davosger’s furious charge, the Marine elites surged forth.
Their Haki-infused blades clashed head-on with the iron tide of soul-beasts.
Flesh and blood against monstrous steel—
Those without Haki found their burden suddenly lightened.
Under orders from their commanding officers, they rushed to the turrets—dragging mobile cannons from the armory, taking aim, and bombarding the soul-beasts’ heads with relentless fire.
Marines were hurled, bodies crushed, monsters roared.
Artillery shook the battlefield of Marineford.
Cries, explosions, battle shouts, and cannon fire—
Blood sprayed. Rubble flew.
Everything blurred into a storm of violence and gore.