The Awakening

The air grew heavier as Garp's crew advanced deeper into the ruined Marine outpost. The eerie silence, broken only by the crunch of debris underfoot and the occasional caw of circling seabirds, put everyone on edge. Tenzin walked in the middle of the group, his kasaya fluttering gently in the sea breeze. His beads clicked softly in his hand, a rhythm that kept his heart steady even as unease settled over the group.

Ahead, the smoke thickened, curling into the sky like a dark omen. Garp, leading the way with Bogard at his side, finally slowed to a halt.

"We're not alone anymore," Garp said, his tone gruff but focused.

Tenzin's eyes, still shut as part of his ongoing training, detected the faint traces of life through his Observation Haki. It wasn't the calm presence of civilians; it was sharp and jagged, filled with malice and bloodlust.

As the group rounded the bend, they entered a wide clearing in the heart of the outpost. It was a scene of carnage: overturned crates, shattered weapons, and blood-soaked earth. At the center stood two figures, their presence as heavy as the smoke around them.

The first was Zorath. His wiry frame seemed almost insignificant compared to the chaos around him, but his posture was loose and confident. His sunken eyes gleamed with a twisted joy as his blade rested on his shoulder, the dark stains along its edge a testament to his cruelty.

"Marines," he spat, his lips curling into a sneer.

But it wasn't Zorath that drew Garp's attention.

The second figure loomed beside him like a mountain. Towering and broad-shouldered, the man's face was marred by a grotesque scar—a disfigured jaw that appeared smashed beyond repair. His presence radiated raw power and malice, his very existence an anomaly here.

"Orlen," Garp muttered, his usual boisterous demeanor replaced with a grim seriousness.

The name sent a ripple of shock through the Marines present. This wasn't just any pirate—this was Kraken Fang Orlen, a man infamous even in the New World. His bounty of 1.2 billion berries spoke volumes of his danger, but that wasn't what made his presence here shocking. Orlen was supposed to be in the New World, far from the Marines' reach.

"You shouldn't be here," Garp said, his voice steady but edged with warning.

Orlen chuckled darkly, the sound like gravel rolling downhill. "Oh, I shouldn't, should I? You think the Grand Line's some kind of boundary I can't cross?" He took a step forward, his boots crunching against the rubble. "I've waited a long time for this, Garp. You remember me, don't you?"

Garp frowned, but his gaze didn't waver. "I remember throwing a cannonball at your face. Looks like it did more damage than I thought."

Orlen's scarred jaw twitched, his massive fists clenching at his sides. "You humiliated me! First time I entered the Grand Line, and you made me a joke. I've lived with this mangled face for years, and every time someone so much as looks at me, I see you. You think I'd let that go?"

"What's a New World pirate doing out here?" Bogard asked, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

Orlen grinned, revealing crooked teeth. "Simple. Zorath here and I made a deal. He wanted Marines to pay, and I wanted Garp. Lure him out, get him away from Marineford, and settle the score once and for all."

Zorath chuckled, his blade spinning lazily in his hand. "Didn't take much convincing. The Marines destroyed my family when I was a kid. They burned my village to the ground because someone there 'might' have been sheltering pirates." His grin widened, his eyes glinting with malice. "Since then, I've made it my mission to repay the favor. Over and over again."

Garp's crew exchanged uneasy glances. It was one thing to face Zorath, a known menace with a penchant for slaughtering Marines. But to face Orlen, a seasoned veteran of the New World, was another matter entirely.

"Orlen used Zorath as bait," Garp said, his voice low but filled with understanding. "And you got me right where you wanted. Clever."

Orlen smirked. "I'm nothing if not resourceful."

The tension snapped like a taut wire as Orlen lunged, his massive fist aimed squarely at Garp. The ground trembled under the force of his blow as Garp blocked it with his own arm, sending a shockwave rippling through the clearing.

"Bogard, keep Tenzin safe," Garp barked, his voice cutting through the din. "This one's mine."

Bogard drew his blade, stepping protectively in front of Tenzin. "Understood, sir."

But Zorath wasn't about to wait idly. With a sadistic grin, he darted forward, his blade flashing toward Bogard. The swordsman parried smoothly, their weapons sparking as they clashed.

Tenzin stood still amidst the chaos, his beads clenched tightly in his hand. For all his training and wisdom, this was his first true battlefield. The screams of the dying Marines from earlier echoed in his mind, their torment painting vivid images of suffering.

He froze.

The monk, who had lived countless years in his past life and dedicated himself to compassion, found himself unable to move. His hands trembled as he clutched his beads tighter. This wasn't the disciplined sparring of the training grounds—this was unrelenting, raw violence.

Tenzin's breathing slowed as he clasped his beads tightly, his fingers moving over them with precision born of practice. The chaos around him—the sound of clashing steel, the roar of Orlen's punches, the shouts of Marines—became muffled in his mind, like distant thunder.

He sank to his knees in the dirt, untouched by the violence raging around him. His head dipped forward, and his lips began to move. Softly at first, his voice carried a low, melodic resonance, the words spilling forth like a gentle stream.

"Om mani padme hum..."

The chant was steady, unwavering. It carried with it a strange gravity that seemed to pull at the souls of everyone around him. At first, no one noticed; their focus remained on the life-and-death struggle unfolding. But as the chant grew louder, it began to seep into the battlefield like an unseen tide.

Pirates froze mid-swing, their hands faltering on their weapons. Marines paused in confusion, their bodies moving slower as a calm began to overtake them. Even Zorath and Orlen hesitated, their attacks briefly stalling as the vibration of Tenzin's voice reached their ears.

The chant deepened, layers of sound weaving together in harmonic waves that resonated in the hearts of all present. It wasn't just sound—it was emotion, a call that stirred something primal within them. Compassion. Peace. Regret.

Tenzin's voice began to rise, filling the clearing, each word a ripple that radiated outward. The beads in his hands clicked rhythmically with the cadence of his prayer. His aura, soft at first, now pulsed with a growing intensity.

Orlen snarled, shaking his head as if to clear it. "What is this... noise?!"

"It's just some trick!" Zorath spat, gripping his blade tightly, though even his fingers trembled.

Tenzin paid them no mind. His chants continued, building like the crescendo of a symphony. The air around him shimmered, faint golden light forming like a halo at his back. His calm voice grew commanding, each syllable carrying the weight of a lifetime of faith.

"Om mani padme hum. Om mani padme hum..."

The battlefield seemed to stop, all eyes drawn to the boy kneeling at its center. The chants filled their ears, pierced their minds, and pressed against their hearts. The light around Tenzin brightened, enveloping him in a radiant glow that banished the darkness of the island.

Finally, his chant reached its zenith. The words rang out clear and strong, the culmination of his belief and resolve. His eyes snapped open for the first time in over a year, shining with an inner light that seemed to pierce through the souls of everyone watching.

"Amitabha!"

The single word exploded like a wave, a profound pulse of energy rolling outward from Tenzin. It wasn't the domineering force of Conqueror's Haki, but something more ethereal. It didn't crush wills—it softened them. It didn't force submission—it invited peace.

The pirates closest to him dropped their weapons, their eyes wide with confusion and awe. Even Zorath stumbled back, his blade quivering in his hand.

Orlen gritted his teeth, his monstrous frame shaking as he resisted the pull of Tenzin's aura. "What... what is this power?!"

Garp, standing just outside the radius of the aura, smirked even as sweat dripped down his brow. "That's not a gimmick or a trick. That's faith."

The Marines stared in stunned silence, their gazes shifting between the kneeling monk and the chaos he had somehow tamed. Tenzin's calm, steady breathing filled the void left by the absence of battle, his presence radiating an unshakable serenity.

Slowly, he rose to his feet, the glow around him fading but leaving behind a palpable stillness. His voice, soft but firm, carried across the clearing:

"Put down your weapons. There is no need for further violence. There is always another path."

The pirates stared at him, many of them trembling as the weight of their actions seemed to settle on their shoulders. Several dropped to their knees, their swords clattering to the ground.

Even as Orlen and Zorath glared at him with fury, the tide of the battle had shifted. The violence had paused, and in its place was something neither pirate nor Marine had expected: peace.

Tenzin's gaze remained steady, his hands still holding his beads as he faced the chaos head-on. It was his first true test, and though the battle was far from over, he had taken his first steps toward a greater goal.