The battlefield had quieted, but only momentarily—like the eye of a storm pausing before tearing the world apart once more.
Around the fallen form of Dragon, the Revolutionary Army faltered. Their symbol of resistance, the man who had inspired a generation to rise against tyranny, now lay bloodied and motionless beneath the boots of Jazz, the self-proclaimed king of the new world. A tense silence gripped the jungle, broken only by the distant crackling of fire and the occasional groan of the wounded. Yet in that silence, something ancient stirred—an anger not just in men, but in the very world itself.
Jazz stood above Dragon, breathing heavily. The blade in his hand was stained, not only with blood, but with the gravity of what he had done. He had toppled a pillar of rebellion, silenced one of the strongest voices of resistance in the world.
And yet, his heart felt…hollow.
He narrowed his eyes, his gaze shifting from Dragon to the remnants of the battlefield. Revolutionaries still fought, but their morale had shattered. His own crew began spreading across the island like a plague, securing territories, looting bases, and executing prisoners. The island was his. This part of the war, at least, was over.
But something about the moment gnawed at him.
"Why doesn't it feel like victory?" he muttered.
Behind him, Silverblade approached, his steps measured and wary. "Because this wasn't your war, Captain," he said softly. "It was a message. And messages always echo."
Jazz turned, narrowing his gaze. "Then let them echo with fear."
---
Whispers of Uprising
Elsewhere, hidden in the ruins of a decimated outpost, a group of young revolutionaries watched from the shadows. Their faces were ash-streaked and hollowed with grief, but their eyes burned with something Jazz hadn't destroyed—hope.
Among them was a girl named Maia, a former noble who had joined Dragon's cause after witnessing the World Government execute her family for questioning the Celestial Dragons.
"Dragon-sama…" she whispered, clutching a bloodied banner in her hands. "He gave us everything."
A voice beside her, older, raspier, spoke with conviction: "Then we must carry it on. If Jazz thinks this is the end, he has no idea what he's started."
The remnants of the Revolution were already moving underground, like sparks beneath dry leaves.
The world wasn't done burning.
---
A Dark Celebration
Back aboard his flagship, the Grave Tyrant, Jazz sat on his obsidian throne in the war room, surrounded by his inner circle. The room was lit by ethereal blue fire—energy siphoned from the Uranus itself, now under his command.
Big Mom let out a bellowing laugh, crushing a barrel of wine with her bare hands. "You did it, Captain! You've crushed the Revolution. There's no one left to stop us now!"
Silverblade remained silent, arms crossed as he leaned against the far wall.
Jazz looked around at his top commanders—Kaido, silent but watchful; Shiki, grinning with madness; and others loyal only because they feared him more than death itself.
"Do you truly think it's over?" Jazz asked them. "We've lit a fire. But fires… they don't always burn in the direction you expect."
He stood, the light from Uranus casting sharp shadows across his face. "I want the world to feel the pressure. Every sea. Every kingdom. From Mariejois to the last island of the North Blue. We don't let the embers die—we suffocate them."
Kaido smirked. "You want total control."
"I want peace through dominance," Jazz corrected. "No more factions. No more gods on thrones. Only one king."
---
In the Shadows of Mariejois
Far above the chaos, in the holy city of Mariejois, the Five Elders gathered around a large table carved from black stone. The room was cold, and yet the tension made it feel like the world might combust at any moment.
"So," one elder said, his fingers laced, "Dragon is defeated. Jazz has Uranus and Pluton. And our fleets are thinning."
Another scowled. "We created the Xebec-0 Clone to match him, and it failed. Miserably."
A third elder turned to the shadows behind them. "What of the final weapon? Is it ready?"
A deep, chilling voice spoke from the darkness. "Soon. But once we release it, there's no going back."
"Then let the world unravel," the elder whispered. "Jazz D. Xebec wants to rewrite history? We will show him why we are the authors of fate."
---
Dreams That Refuse to Die
In a secret chamber far beneath the surface of the ruined battlefield, Dragon opened his eyes.
His body was broken. His wounds were grave. But he lived.
A group of loyal revolutionaries surrounded him. Among them was Ivankov, tears brimming in his eyes.
"Dragon-chan! You scared the life out of us!"
Dragon's voice was rasped, but firm. "Is the world...still standing?"
Ivankov nodded solemnly. "Barely. But they still fight. And we still have allies in the shadows."
Dragon turned his head slightly, staring at the ceiling above, as if he could see the heavens.
"Then it's not over."
---
The Stage Expands
In the days that followed, the world was shaken anew.
News of the Revolution's fall spread like wildfire. Kingdoms once on the brink of rebellion now trembled under the boot of the Rocks Empire. Jazz, now seen by some as a messiah and by others as a devil, began enforcing his vision of order. Rogue pirates swore allegiance or were destroyed. Warlords were dethroned. The seas grew quiet—but it was the silence of fear.
Yet in the shadows, alliances were forming.
Old enemies began to whisper.
Former admirals. Exiled kings. Secret Celestial Dragons. Even remnants of CP0 and Vegapunk's rogue creations began looking toward one another.
Because they all knew one thing:
Jazz had won a battle… but he had declared a war on the world. Though the flags of the Rocks Empire now flew over much of the world, beneath the surface, rebellion took root. While Jazz tightened his grip on the seas, claiming victory after victory, the seeds of resistance had already been sown in places he could not reach—not with warships, nor with weapons forged by the ancients.
In the ruined ports of the South Blue, whispers of revolution danced on the wind. Fishermen passed coded messages in barrels of salted mackerel. Mercenaries, once loyal to gold, now fought for something else—vengeance, perhaps. Hope. Even former Marines, disillusioned by the World Government's cowardice, began to vanish from barracks, only to reappear fighting under a nameless banner.
Somewhere in the chaos, a new name began to circulate.
Phoenix Dawn.
---
The Phantom Leader
Deep in the fog-covered mountains of a hidden island, a cloaked figure stood before a gathered crowd. They were young—most barely older than children—but their eyes were hardened by suffering and betrayal. And they listened, enraptured, to the voice of a legend reborn.
The figure pulled back the hood.
It was Sabo.
Scarred, but alive.
"Dragon is not dead," he told them. "The dream he carried, the freedom he believed in—it survives in all of you. The tyrant who calls himself king thinks he has won, but he does not understand what we are. We are not an army. We are not soldiers. We are fire. And fire spreads."
The crowd erupted in quiet, fervent cheers. They didn't scream—they couldn't risk being found. But their silence was louder than war drums.
The Revolution was not dead. It had simply changed form.
---
A King's World
In the newly named capital of Ragnarok, once the Holy Land of Mariejois, Jazz D. Xebec stood before a balcony overlooking a sea of fire and steel. The city had been reshaped—sacred towers demolished, palaces turned into war factories. The Celestial Dragons who once ruled from gilded thrones were now prisoners in chains, paraded through the streets as symbols of the old world's collapse.
Behind him, Big Mom, Kaido, and Shiki awaited his word.
"We've won more than land," Jazz said, his voice low. "We've won silence. The world now speaks only when we allow it to. That is the first step to peace."
Shiki laughed. "Peace? This is domination."
Jazz turned, eyes sharp. "Peace and domination are twins. One is only born when the other is strong enough to protect it."
But even as he spoke those words, a report was laid on his war table.
"Mass escape in Impel Down. Level 6 breached."
Jazz narrowed his eyes. "Who escaped?"
The officer hesitated. "We believe... Crocodile, Daz Bones, several rogue commanders... and a young woman claiming to be related to Gol D. Roger."
Jazz's eyes flickered with a dangerous glint. "Then let the games begin."
---
A Storm Brews in Wano
Far across the sea, the once-isolated land of Wano had begun to stir. Since Kaido's departure and the fall of the Beast Pirates, the country had tried to heal. But now, with the world's balance shattered, emissaries of Jazz had arrived, offering protection in exchange for obedience.
But Momonosuke, now matured and ruling in his father's stead, refused.
Wano would bow to no king.
As Jazz's forces began constructing a military harbor along the coast, a shadow returned to the land.
Zoro.
Scarred from battles with Jazz's lieutenants, wielding Enma with a deeper control than ever before, he knelt before Momonosuke.
"I failed to stop him before," Zoro said. "I won't fail again."
Momonosuke placed a hand on his shoulder. "Then we make our stand here."
From the shores of Wano, a resistance stronger than any before was being born.
---
From Below, He Rises
In the deepest reaches of the ocean, far below where even Neptune's kingdom feared to tread, something ancient stirred. Among the ruins of forgotten civilizations and the bones of sea kings, a machine long thought destroyed came back to life.
Xebec-0.
Cloned from Jazz's own DNA but twisted by cybernetic design, the failed experiment had survived. Abandoned by the World Government, discarded as a liability, it had rebuilt itself—piecemeal, crude, but functioning.
It did not speak.
It did not sleep.
It remembered.
It remembered betrayal.
And it would rise, not as a servant of the Elders, but as a rival to the man it had been modeled after.
---
The Warning
In a flash of white lightning, Enel descended from the sky above Ragnarok, intercepted by Jazz's aerial fleet. Lightning danced across his body as he laughed maniacally.
"I saw it," Enel whispered as he landed before Jazz, unburnt and grinning. "I saw the sky scream."
Jazz raised an eyebrow. "Speak clearly."
Enel's grin widened. "The Void Century... echoes again. There's something coming. Not from the seas. From the stars. You think you've conquered the world? You haven't even conquered the map."
Jazz stared at him, unblinking.
And for the first time in years, he felt a flicker of something unexpected.
Uncertainty.
Darkness had fallen over the seas—not merely the black of night, but the kind that crept into men's hearts and settled like poison in their bones. Jazz D. Xebec, the self-declared ruler of the world, sat upon his throne in Ragnarok, now the seat of the Rocks Empire. His victories were written in fire and blood, his enemies scattered or silent. But in that silence, danger bloomed.
Despite the power of Pluton, the ancient battleship, and the terrifying force of Uranus, the sky-devouring weapon now tethered to his will, Jazz could feel it: the world was beginning to move against him in a different way—quietly, surgically, like a knife sliding between ribs.
He had changed fate once. He had rewritten the disaster of God Valley. But now, the ripples of that rewrite were threatening to become waves.
---
The Gathering Storm
In a hidden fortress carved into the cliffs of the Red Line, the old world's enemies convened. What remained of the World Government, those not captured or executed, had merged with rogue elements of the Revolutionary Army, former Yonko lieutenants, Shichibukai, and Warlord descendants. Each of them scarred, hunted, yet still alive.
Sabo stood at the head of the table, his voice calm but sharp. "Jazz rules the world through fear. He rules because we let him. But he doesn't rule the truth."
He unfurled an ancient parchment across the table. A fragment of a Poneglyph. And beside it—a stolen schematic of Uranus, leaked from the fallen Vegapunk labs.
"He's vulnerable. Not in body—but in origin. Jazz is not from this world. His presence is an infection to time itself. We stop him by unraveling the wound he made the day he was reborn."
The plan was beginning.
---
A Rift in the Empire
Not all within the Rocks Empire were loyal. Jazz knew that well. Among his closest captains, ambition still simmered—especially in Kaido, who had once sought to die in glorious battle, and now found himself a general in an army of order. The beast within him grew restless.
One night, in the underbelly of Ragnarok, Kaido met with Blackbeard, who had somehow slithered back into Jazz's good graces.
Kaido's voice was low, his sake bottle half empty. "You really think he's a god?"
Blackbeard laughed. "No. I think he's just a man who thinks he is. That makes him mortal."
Kaido cracked his knuckles. "Then maybe it's time the world saw him bleed."
---
The Return of the Swords
Far across the sea, on the sacred cliffs of Wano, Zoro trained under the fading stars, his blade clashing against a phantom in the dark.
The phantom spoke with an ethereal voice. "You are not yet ready."
Zoro gritted his teeth. "I don't care."
"You will die."
"Then I'll die with my swords in hand."
The phantom faded, and Enma pulsed with dark light—its will awakening more and more. Zoro had grown stronger. But strength alone wouldn't be enough. He needed purpose. And purpose was now rising in the east.
Beside him, Yamato arrived, battle-hardened, a dragon mask at her hip. "The world's watching Wano again," she said. "And this time, we won't stand alone."
---
The Rebirth of the Sun
In a quiet temple deep in the ruins of an island forgotten by time, the sleeping body of Luffy stirred.
The world thought him dead.
But Luffy—scarred, unconscious, broken by his defeat at the hands of Jazz during a failed resistance campaign—had been saved by a group of monks once loyal to Joy Boy's legacy.
Now, as ancient drums echoed, his heartbeat returned—slowly, then steadily, like a distant storm rolling toward the coast.
Ba-dum.
Ba-dum.
The Sun God's will had not faded. The true bearer of that will was returning.
---
Final Moves of the Elders
The Five Elders—those few who survived the war—had found shelter in the ancient ship Mother Flame, hiding beyond the world's edge.
Their plan was simple.
Not to fight Jazz.
But to erase the world entirely.
With one final weapon—Chronos, the Time Gate—created long ago by the lost scholars of Ohara and hidden beneath the sea, they planned to reset everything.
All of history.
All of time.
Jazz, the rebellion, the World Government, even Joy Boy—would vanish.
Forever.
"Let the world die," one of them whispered. "And let a clean one take its place."
---
Jazz's Reflection
Back in his throne room, Jazz stared into the swirling vortex of Uranus. He saw not the world, but his past—moments from Earth, his old life, where he had been weak, forgotten, ordinary. That man was dead. And yet, he felt his memories fraying. Sometimes, he could no longer recall his real name.
"Have I become him?" he whispered. "Or has he become me?"
He turned to Silverblade, his loyal enforcer.
"If I fall… everything I've built—burn it. Let no one inherit my dream."
Silverblade nodded.
But in his heart, he wondered: Was Jazz still a man? Or had he become a monster shaped by history's hate?