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Chapter - 162 Broken World.
🕑 Added 2025-08-30 12:36:19 +0000 UTCThe tenth day ended in silence.
The golden palace of Skypiea lay shrouded in the scent of lust and sweat, its crystalline walls glowing faintly, as though the structure itself had witnessed a war of gods and trembled at the memory.
Imu lay tangled in silk, her divine body exhausted but still yearning. She turned her violet eyes toward Lakeman, lips parting with hunger.
“…It isn’t enough,” she whispered, her voice trembling with pride and need. “Ten days, and still my body craves you.”
Lakeman brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, his smirk sharp. “You’ll have more. But not now.”
Imu frowned, her hand trailing across his chest, tracing the scars that had already healed. “Why not? We are gods. The world itself bends to us. Why should we stop?”
Lakeman’s eyes hardened. His voice was calm, but firm.
“Because while we’ve been buried in pleasure, the Five Elders have called for you countless times. Mariejois is nearly in ruins from the aftermath of our fight. If you want to play, you’ll go back first. Pacify them. Then return to me.”
Imu clenched her jaw, reluctant. She wanted to stay. To continue. To test him until she either shattered or broke him. But beneath her pride burned recognition — he was right.
“…Fine.” She finally rose, her long hair flowing like liquid void around her naked body. With one last glance at him, she whispered, “…Do not forget, Lakeman. You are mine as much as I am yours.”
He chuckled, leaning back against the cushions. “We’ll see who belongs to who in the end.”
Her form dissolved into silver mist.
And she was gone.
When Imu reappeared at the heart of the Holy Land, her breath caught.
Mariejois — the seat of world power, the city of gods — lay in shambles. The once-pristine palaces of the Celestial Dragons were shattered, whole avenues torn apart. Craters marred the marble streets. Towers once gilded with gold now lay broken across the Red Line cliffs like discarded toys.
The scent of smoke still lingered. Ash fell softly from the sky.
Only five figures remained standing in the ruins — the Five Elders. Immortal thanks to the gifts she had bestowed upon them, they had survived when every other Celestial Dragon in the city perished.
More than five million souls across the seas had been lost in the chaos that rippled from her and Lakeman’s clash. Whole coastal cities drowned. Islands cracked. Kingdoms burned.
The elders bowed low when she materialized before them, their robes stained, their faces weary.
“Lord Imu,” one whispered, voice tight with fear.
Imu raised her hand, violet light spilling outward. With a pulse of divine power, Mariejois began to heal. Buildings reformed, rubble lifted into the sky and reassembled itself. Streets smoothed, cracks in the Red Line sealed. In moments, the Holy Land shone again, restored to its former prosperity — as though it had never been touched.
But the dead did not return.
Imu’s voice was calm, but colder than ever.
“Lakeman and I fought. For ten seconds only. And in that span, the world nearly ended.”
The Elders stiffened, eyes widening.
She continued, “He is equal to me. His power rivals my own. Together, we would have destroyed everything had we not stopped. That is why… we have decided to rule this world together. From this day forward, he will be king. I will be his queen. And you…”
Her gaze swept over the elders like a blade. “…He will be your new master. Just as I am.”
The five looked at one another, their ancient pride flickering. But the memory of the battle’s destruction lingered too heavily in their hearts. They knew they were nothing before such power.
As one, they dropped to their knees.
“Yes, Lord Imu.”
“No,” she corrected, her voice sharp. “Say it to him.”
Their heads bowed lower. “Yes, Master Lakeman.”
A faint smile tugged at her lips.
Just as Imu turned to leave, one of the elders spoke again. His voice shook.
“Lord Imu… what of the Celestial Dragons who have perished? What of the Marines? The pirates? The world has grown restless. We beg for instruction.”
Imu stopped. She glanced back over her shoulder, eyes like collapsing stars.
“The Celestial Dragons who died have no use. Their bloodline was never strength, only arrogance. Recall those few who survived — scattered across the world, spared only because they were not here. When they return… let them breed. Endlessly. More of these insects will be born.”
Her voice hardened.
“If marines question the events of these ten days, tell them only this: the World Government was fighting enemies. They need know nothing else. If any resist, if any Celestial Dragon dares defy, if any pirate threatens balance — kill them.”
The elders swallowed, bowing again. “Yes, Lord Imu.”
“And one more thing.” She turned fully to face them again, her tone final. “Lakeman’s subordinates — Stussy and Shakky — will command Cipher Pol from this day forward. CP0 to CP9. They will hold the same status as you five. Their orders will carry the weight of gods. When they arrive with the agents, you will treat them as equals. They will make decisions alongside you about the direction of the world.”
The elders froze. Reluctance darkened their eyes. Power slipping from their hands. But the memory of that clash — that godlike destruction — silenced any thought of refusal.
One by one, their heads touched the floor.
“Yes, Lord Imu.”
Imu’s expression softened slightly. Then, without another word, she dissolved again, vanishing toward the flower fields where her throne had once stood.
Leaving behind five kneeling elders, and a world more unstable than ever before.
The clash of gods had ended ten days ago.
But the world still bled.
The Red Line bore scars that no hand could hide. Valleys split open where palaces once stood. Oceans still raged with the memory of tsunamis. Whole archipelagos had vanished beneath the waves.
Millions of lives had been erased. Fishermen swallowed by rising seas. Coastal kingdoms drowned. Merchant fleets scattered into the abyss.
For those who lived, fear had taken root. Men and women whispered in taverns, temples, and battlefields alike: “The world itself nearly ended in a single night.”
Parents hushed their children to sleep with trembling hands. Kings tightened their guards. Peasants looked skyward with dread, fearing another invisible clash would erase them in an instant.
And none knew the truth.
The Navy, keepers of so-called “justice,” now stood hollow.
Admirals and Vice Admirals received no explanation from the Five Elders. Whispers spread through headquarters that Mariejois had been struck by unseen enemies. Some murmured of gods, others of ancient weapons.
Morale collapsed.
Rear Admirals stared at maps, hands shaking, trying to anticipate the next wave of chaos. Ordinary soldiers sat in barracks like husks, whispering, “If the gods fight again, what use are we?”
Discipline held on paper. But their will was gone. The White Coats of the Navy were now pale masks hiding exhaustion and dread.
Even Sengoku and Garp, veterans of countless wars, felt the chill in their bones. They had fought monsters — but never forces that could erase millions of lives in the span of seconds.
The Marines sat on pins and needles. Waiting. Always waiting.
If the Marines trembled, the pirates howled.
The seas had never been more violent. Petty crews turned savage, raiding with a desperation born of fear.
Blood and smoke trailed across the Grand Line. Entire villages were gutted, not for treasure, but for the hollow thrill of proving they still lived.
The great pirates felt the storm most keenly.
Whitebeard, the strongest man in the world, withdrew his fleet deeper into his territories. He forbade reckless raids, his massive frame slouched against his throne as he growled to his sons:
“Not now. The seas are watching. The gods are awake.”
Charlotte Linlin — Big Mom — raged inside Totto Land, her tantrums leaving her own children bloodied. Her soul-twisted homies whispered in fear, trembling as she screamed at shadows.
Kaido drank endlessly, his laughter echoing across Onigashima, but even in his drunken mirth, his eyes flickered with unease. He looked to the skies too often, as if waiting for death to fall.
The seas were not brave. They were terrified.
And terror made them crueler than ever.
Across kingdoms, ordinary folk wore masks of calm but lived in quiet terror.
Farmers sowed their fields with trembling hands, glancing at the sky as though another unseen wave might sweep their land away.
Merchants whispered of divine punishment, charging double the price for food and salt.
Priests declared that the gods had quarreled, and the dead were sacrifices for the balance of the world.
In truth, the people no longer trusted the heavens.
They lived not in hope, but in fear of sudden, meaningless death.
In Mariejois, the Five Elders bowed lower than ever before.
Their pride had cracked, their authority halved. They obeyed Imu and Lakeman’s will without question, yet in the solitude of their chambers, they muttered about their waning power.
And then came the order that sealed their fate.
Cipher Pol — the hidden fangs of the World Government — no longer belonged to them. Stussy and Shakky, Lakeman’s women, would arrive soon to claim it all.
CP0 through CP9 would bow to them.
The Five Elders would sit beside them as equals in council, though they knew in their hearts they had already been surpassed.
Reluctance twisted in their veins, but they swallowed it whole. For what choice did they have against gods who could end the world on a whim?
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