Boom! Boom!
Boom! The ruins outside the palace lay in disarray.
The chaotic battle between the four sides—the Marines, the Donquixote Family, the Whitebeard Pirates, and the Straw Hat Crew—was gradually drawing to a close.
"Pica, Baby-5, Señor..."
Vergo lay dying in a pool of blood, his weary gaze sweeping over the ruined surroundings.
Some of his comrades were dead, and others were wounded. Even the Marines, who shared a common enemy with them, wouldn't come to their aid.
Meanwhile, powerful figures from the Straw Hat Crew and the Whitebeard Pirates were running rampant across the battlefield, driving the Marines back at every turn.
A feeling of desperate helplessness welled up in Vergo's heart. Every bone in his body was broken; he could no longer fight.
By now, how could he not see that no one was coming to help them?
"Snap out of it... Cough. Cough, cough!"
"...Sorry, Doffy."
Vergo struggled to roll onto his back and gazed wearily at the sky. He murmured, "So the Donquixote Family ceased to exist at that very moment."
"And we're nothing but a bunch of walking corpses driven by hatred." Vergo gave a bitter, self-mocking smile.
He closed his eyes. Faces filled his mind: the family members who had gradually joined them since the family's founding.
The foolish woman who'd risk her life to help anyone who asked, the perverted gentleman who still wore baby clothes that didn't fit him, and the sisters who never let go of their grapes and dreamed of becoming birds...
Every one of them had been saved from a tragic fate and joined the family, pledging their loyalty.
"Vergo!"
Gladius hurried over and crouched down, trying to help him up. "How are you? Can you still move?"
"Don't worry about me, Gladius."
Vergo's voice was hoarse. He