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Chapter - 159 The Throne Has Two Shadows.
🕑 Added 2025-06-21 22:08:30 +0000 UTCThe first rays of dawn broke across Mariejois, painting the towering spires of the Celestial capital in soft hues of amber and gold.
Inside Lakeman’s private palace, the once-heated chamber had cooled—though the scent of sweat, semen, and spent nobility still lingered in the air.
Scattered across the room, like offerings left at a forgotten altar, lay the divine bodies of the Celestial Dragon noblewomen.
Twelve in total. The most beautiful. The most sacred. The most untouchable women in the world.
Now bruised. Marked. Broken.
Some were sprawled across crushed cushions, their long legs still spread, inner thighs glistening with drying streams of seed.
Others lay slumped against the marble pillars, their breasts covered in bite marks and smeared lipstick, their swollen holes twitching from hours of use. Tongues lolled from parted lips, eyes dazed, minds shattered by waves of pleasure and humiliation.
Their hair—once perfectly styled by royal handmaidens—was tangled, matted with sweat, tears, and traces of his cum.
Their voices were hoarse from moaning, screaming, and choking on his cock through the long, endless night.
No words were spoken as they began to move.
Slowly, with grace only noblewomen could retain, they helped one another up. Their limbs trembled. Their hips buckled under their own weight. Yet not one of them wore shame. Only peaceful surrender.
The heir of the Saturn family, her inner thighs stained white, pressed a soft kiss to Lakeman’s foot before washing his scent from her neck.
The youngest daughter of the Figarlands, barely able to stand, whispered softly as she kissed the base of his shaft, “Master, I will never lie with another man. Only you…”
Together, they moved through warm water and perfumed towels, cleaning each other’s holes, brushing out their tangled hair, reapplying makeup.
Silken gowns and jeweled accessories were restored with quiet precision—masking the soreness in their wombs and the stretch of their throats.
When they emerged into the halls of Mariejois, they did not limp.
They floated.
Godlike in appearance.
Wrecked on the inside.
And entirely his.
To their families, they returned looking like noble perfection. None could tell what they had endured. None would suspect the truth.
And that was exactly how Lakeman wanted it.
Lakeman sat quietly at his dining table, sipping a rich blend of steaming Sky Island tea. The table before him held a light meal—fresh fruits, sweet buns, and roasted fish caught from the red line’s purest waters.
He ate slowly, savoring every bite.
His body was fully restored, bathed and massaged earlier by invisible hands. His demigod vitality pulsed just beneath the surface of his skin.
His crimson eyes glinted with calm purpose.
Today… he would meet the one who sat above the world.
After his breakfast, Lakeman stepped out into the open streets of Mariejois.
His long black coat drifted behind him as he walked leisurely through the sun-drenched white stone streets.
Servants of other nobles dared not look up. Even the rare few Celestial Dragons who had not yet departed for their ships gave him wide berth, their glass bubbles trembling in his presence.
He didn’t spare them a glance.
He was heading somewhere forbidden.
Somewhere that no one—noble or commoner—dared approach.
The flower fields.
At the very heart of Mariejois lay an ancient, secluded region untouched by time.
Deep beneath layers of enchantments and sealed gates bloomed a vast field of flowers—rumored to be older than the World Government itself.
None were allowed entry.
None dared trespass.
But Lakeman strolled forward like he owned it.
And why shouldn’t he?
He did.
But just before the final archway that led into the dense garden of sacred white blossoms, five figures appeared.
The Five Elders.
They stood across the path, arms crossed, auras flaring like condensed suns.
The atmosphere warped under the weight of their combined pressure—Admiral-level presence radiating from each of them.
Behind them stood one more figure.
Taller. Crimson-haired. A regal coat fluttering behind him.
Saint Garling Figarland.
Captain of the Knights of God. Head of the noble Figarland family. Father of Shanks.
And strongest among all Celestial Dragons not named Lakeman.
His aura rose slowly—not Admiral-level, but something greater. It was heavier, darker. The aura of an Overlord. Comparable to Rocks D. Xebec in his prime.
But it was still nothing compared to Lakeman.
The ground beneath them cracked lightly. Wind shivered. The field itself seemed to tighten.
Garling’s hand rested lightly on his sword. His eyes met Lakeman’s without fear—but with hesitation.
Because he knew.
His daughter, Mirana, the proudest jewel of his bloodline, the one he once raised to lead the Figarland name—was now Lakeman’s loyal slut. She had not only given herself, but had begged for more.
And the other Figarland girl, the most prized beauty in their lineage aside from Mirana herself—Lakeman had claimed her too.
Garling’s lips tightened.
He did not speak of it. He could not.
What could he say to the man who took his finest daughters and made them moan like whores?
"You’ve gone far enough, boy," he said instead, voice neutral. “This path is not for even you to walk.”
The Five Elders didn’t speak, but their aura spoke for them.
This was not a greeting.
This was a warning.
Lakeman didn’t break stride. He continued walking forward—unhurried, unbothered.
His own aura didn’t explode. It didn’t need to. It simply radiated from his skin like a divine truth. Demigod-level. Too vast to measure. Too dense to confront.
Saint Garling narrowed his eyes, about to draw—
And then…
A voice.
From deep within the flower field.
A voice that could not be defined by gender.
It was ancient. Cold. Filled with pure, unquestionable power.
"Let him in."
"You are no match for him."
The words echoed like judgment.
The Five Elders instantly dropped to their knees. Their heads bowed low, not daring to speak.
Saint Garling stiffened.
Then, slowly… he sheathed his sword.
And bowed.
Without another word, they stepped aside.
Lakeman paused only for a breath, then moved past them—walking beneath the archway into the sea of pale blossoms beyond.
He did not look back.
Beyond the sacred archway, Lakeman walked in silence.
The flower field deep within Mariejois was not merely beautiful—it was unnatural. Each blossom glowed faintly with ethereal light, untouched by insects or time. The petals shimmered with a faint pulse, as if alive, as if aware of his presence.
The air grew heavier with every step.
He moved calmly, surrounded by silence so profound it muffled even his footsteps.
And then… he saw it.
Hidden at the heart of the garden was a towering luxurious structure, carved from ancient white stone and black crystal—neither purely mechanical nor natural, but something beyond both. Ivy traced its outer walls, golden vines woven with symbols of the ancient world long lost to history.
At its base stood a single door—huge, smooth, and rimmed with golden script.
Lakeman approached.
Without a single touch, the door slid open on its own, releasing a sudden breeze of stillness and age—like the breath of a sleeping god.
He stepped inside.
The corridor was narrow but polished, its walls engraved with celestial runes.
Lightless lanterns burned with soft-blue flame. At its end, a wide set of golden doors stood closed—ornate and massive.
But they, too, opened without prompting.
Beyond them lay a throne room that dwarfed all others he had seen in the world.
It stretched into the dark like a holy abyss, its marble floor veined with red-gold, its high ceiling lost in shadow.
And at its far end, seated alone on a towering obsidian throne carved with the symbols of ancient royalty…
...was Imu.
Their body was draped completely in deep black robes. No skin showed. No flesh. Only the faint outline of a slim figure, and two piercing, inhuman eyes—glowing faintly from beneath a shadowed hood.
They said nothing.
They only stared.
Lakeman’s gaze lingered for a moment—then a smirk curved across his lips.
“So... are you a man or a woman?”
A pause.
Imu tilted their head slightly. Their voice was soft, calm, and impossible to gender. “Why do you ask?”
Lakeman’s smirk deepened, his eyes sharp with arrogance.
“Because if you're a woman,” he said, voice low and cold, “I’ll make you my slut after I defeat you. But if you're a man... I'll just kill you.”
Silence.
Then, the atmosphere shifted.
A hum—deep, resonant, terrible—echoed through the throne room.
Imu’s cloaked body began to radiate pressure, dense and suffocating. The very walls of the chamber cracked. Symbols on the floor began to glow.
Lakeman’s hair drifted upward. The pressure was real. Demigod-level.
Imu stood from the throne slowly.
In the blink of an eye—no movement, no sound—they were gone.
And then—
CRACK—BOOM!
Imu appeared directly in front of Lakeman and punched him in the chest.
DOOOM!
Lakeman flew backward like a comet, his body tearing through walls, marble, and columns—exploding out of the side of the building and crashing violently back into the sacred flower field.
The ground shook. Blossoms scattered. Craters formed in concentric rings around his impact.
A cloud of petals and dust slowly lifted.
But from within the crater…
Lakeman rose.
Unharmed.
A grin slowly spread across his lips as his body shimmered with invisible energy.
“Heh... not bad.”
He raised a hand—and in an instant, teleported.
He reappeared back in the throne room—his foot slamming onto the same cracked marble Imu had stood upon just moments ago.
This time, he struck first.
The instant Lakeman’s foot struck the shattered marble of the Void Throne chamber, his fist collided with Imu’s—a clash of titans, raw and unrestrained.
BOOM!
The very air screamed.
In that single, world-splitting moment, a shockwave burst from the impact, blindingly bright and deafeningly silent.
A ring of compressed force expanded from their fists, collapsing the ancient throne room around them.
Stone. Pillars. Walls.
Everything disintegrated.
And then—
The Red Line itself cracked.
Across Mariejois, the ground split open with a sound like the sky tearing.
White towers collapsed. Entire plazas crumbled. Noble mansions trembled and buckled under the force.
The sky dimmed. Birds fell from the air.
The clouds parted in spirals.
The entire world felt it.
Sabaody Archipelago
Vice Admiral Kizaru froze mid-conversation, his sunglasses flashing white as the air shifted.
"…What the hell was that…?" he muttered.
A second later, the ocean beside the archipelago rose—a tsunami nearly 300 meters high, forming without warning and rumbling like a living beast.
Marineford
Fleet Admiral Sengoku stood on the balcony of Marine HQ, his senbei falling from his mouth.
The sea boiled.
The sky trembled.
"...This pressure..." he muttered, sweat forming on his brow. "This isn't haki. This is... beyond."
Whole Cake Island – Big Mom Pirates
Charlotte Katakuri dropped to a knee, sweat dripping from his temple.
"That aura… it feels like two planets colliding…" he muttered, clenching his jaw.
His younger siblings all collapsed, unconscious, from the force of the lingering shockwave.
Wano – Ghost Island.
Kaido’s eye twitched. His cup of sake cracked in his grip.
“…Who’re fighting?”
Amazon Lily
Boa Hancock dropped her fan, her heart pounding wildly.
“…Master Lakeman…”
Back at Mariejois
Dozens of Celestial Dragons screamed in terror.
Some were knocked unconscious by the pressure alone.
Marble roads shattered. Flames burst spontaneously from collapsed buildings.
The Five Elders—faces pale—realized what was happening.
“Evacuate them. Now!” roared Elder Jaygarcia Saturn.
Even they, for all their might, were trembling under the sheer pressure of the demigods.
With the help of the few CP Agents who were still functional, they began hurriedly evacuating the survivors.
Back in the sky above the Red Line, Lakeman and Imu hovered, eyes locked.
Both untouched.
Both glowing with invisible force.
Their clothes had been torn apart from the first exchange—shredded by the sheer heat and compression around their bodies.
But without ceremony, their garments regenerated through energy manipulation. Robes reformed, coats resealed.
Yet Lakeman’s eyes narrowed slightly now.
In that brief instant when her cloak had split—
He had seen her.
Imu.
She was not a man.
She was not even human.
Her form was mesmerizing—a beauty not bound by mortal flesh. Her skin glowed faintly like starlight, her curves both ethereal and perfectly shaped, her hair weightless as mist. Eyes like galaxies. Lips curved in mystery.
Otherworldly. Seductive. Alien.
A goddess.
But Lakeman didn’t smile.
He only whispered under his breath, "I don’t care."
And vanished.
They clashed again.
In the air.
Then in the sea—steam erupting around them.
Then in space—their bodies shooting like comets across the upper thermosphere.
Each blow cracked the atmosphere.
Tides reversed.
Mountains exploded.
Storms formed over islands that hadn’t seen rain in centuries.
They struck with elemental mastery—Lakeman wielding thunder, flame, and gravitational force; Imu countering with frost that froze the sea mid-wave, spatial bends that turned his strikes away, even temporal blinks that reversed damage for an instant.
Their bodies were almost indestructible.
But still, each punch landed with force enough to shatter islands.
Time felt like it had slowed.
In truth, only six seconds passed.
But those six seconds nearly destroyed the world.
The skies of the Grand Line were torn into swirling black spirals.
The sea kings beneath the Calm Belt screamed and fled into the depths.
Entire weather systems warped and collapsed.
At least four islands were evaporated just from their proximity.
Then… suddenly… silence.
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