Tens of thousands of elite marines stood in neat ranks on the decks of the warships. Every one of them wore well-fitted armor and carried standard-issue weapons. They stood straight and imposing, cold metal gleaming beneath the fractured daylight.
The vast reinforcements arrived with overwhelming force, cutting through the battlefield's deathly despair and bringing a long-awaited sense of hope.
At the bow of the flagship, three figures stood against the wind. Their steady presence commanded the entire field.
At their head was Fleet Admiral Sengoku. His immaculate white uniform was spotless, and the gale whipped his graying hair and beard. His face was solemn, his eyes sharp as a hawk's. He radiated the calm authority of the man who commanded the Marines.
Even standing still, he seemed to hold the entire situation in his grasp.
Two of the Marines' strongest fighters stood at Sengoku's side.
The blue cape of the newly appointed Marine Admiral Aokiji fluttered in the wind. He had one hand tucked lazily into his pocket, but his eyes held none of their usual indifference. He stared at the colossal figures facing off high above, unable to conceal his grave concern.
A faint chill surrounded him as he readied himself to defend at any moment.
Beside him stood Aramaki, another newly appointed admiral. He was broad and sturdy, with the heavy, grounded presence of the earth itself. His skin had a faint stony texture.
As a top-tier fighter who wielded the power of the earth, he sensed destruction and tremors far more keenly than most.
Now his fists tightened, and his power stirred faintly. He stared at the ravaged island and the terrifying battlefield overhead, shaken to his core.
The shattered land beneath his feet, now reduced to ruins, was the result of only two probing clashes. Such