"Rankyaku!"
A pale-blue slash split the sky, crashing down upon the spot where the squad stood.
The air blade was massive, nearly a meter wide, its azure glow carrying a razor-sharp aura. Swift and merciless, it streaked downward at lightning speed.
It had been launched from an unseen point, carving a curved trail through the air. The slash tore away half of the wall's edge in front of the squad before continuing past them, smashing into the structure behind. The impact left a deep black gouge, three inches thick, scarring the stone.
The six men who narrowly dodged broke out in cold sweat. Their scalps tingled; shock flickered across their eyes at the sheer crushing power behind that one attack.
"There!"
One sharp-eyed man pointed toward the northwest rooftop.
A lone figure stood there, a gun slung over his shoulder, gazing down at them with cold detachment.
"Apologies," the figure said flatly. "But for now, I can't let you leave this island."
The sunlight burned around him, casting his silhouette in brilliance. Half a mask, like something from a masquerade ball, covered his face. The name of this man: Trens.
For a brief moment, as the men in black suits looked up at the masked figure backlit by the sun, their hearts clenched. The sight carried with it an inexplicable dread.
"Who the hell are you?" The squad leader's gaze hardened, his voice heavy and forceful.
"You may call me… Trens."
With deliberate precision, he slipped the mask off his face, his expression calm and unflinching.
"Trens, we are an elite unit of the World Government's Army Division. We are here to apprehend the World Criminal, Tom. Don't bring disaster upon yourself!" The leader warned, voice raised and severe.
Trens didn't flinch. Instead, his eyes sharpened, his tone ice-cold.
"The captain said… it's about time we knocked on the World Government's door. And so-- " His voice grew heavier, each word like a strike of iron. "…here I am."
In that instant, the killing intent in Trens' eyes was unveiled, cold, sharp, and suffocating.
"Protect Spandam!"
The squad leader's heart jolted with fear. His shout rang with urgency. That cowardly idiot might be worthless trash, but his family's influence reached deep into the World Government. If anything happened to him, the blame would fall squarely on their shoulders.
Before they could act, one of the soldiers gasped in disbelief, his voice trembling.
"My God… h-he's walking on air!"
Every pair of eyes snapped upward.
They saw the masked man step lightly into the sky itself. A violent swirl of wind coiled beneath his feet, lifting him upward. Another step carried him several meters across the air as if the sky itself were his path. Each movement left behind a brief vortex, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. His speed was terrifyingly fast, making it impossible to follow with the naked eye.
In the blink of an eye, Trens hovered right above them.
"Rankyaku!"
His right leg cleaved downward in a sharp arc. A surge of pale-blue energy burst out, another massive air blade slashing toward the ground like divine judgment.
The men in black suits blanched and scattered in panic.
But this time, one of them was too slow. The blade grazed him, slicing his arm clean off. His scream echoed through the street, shrill and agonizing.
"Fire!!" The leader's pupils constricted to pinpoints as he gave the desperate order.
"Pēng! Pēng! Pēng!"
Their guns barked fire in unison, bullets whistling upward toward the hovering figure. Yet, within an instant, they realized, Trens was gone. Every shot pierced nothing but empty air.
Then, "I'm right here."
The voice was cold, detached, carrying an almost casual cruelty.
From the mouth of a nearby alley, a figure emerged. Gun in hand, his stride steady, his expression calm. His eyes were unshaken, as if life and death meant nothing to him.
It was Trens.
"What the hell do you want?"
The leader drew the short blade at his waist, his voice strained, his face locked with grim tension as he tried to stare down the enemy before him.
"Heh heh… the captain said it's time to knock on the door of the Heavenly Palace. We don't know where this palace lies, but surely, it must mean the very gates of the World Government!"
The mocking words came from the opposite alley.
The agents in black spun around, only for despair to wash over them. The other exit was blocked.
"You dare… you dare kill officials of the World Government?!" The leader shouted, his face pale with dread.
"Why not?"
The voice came from above. From the rooftop descended a figure in a grotesque monkey-faced mask. In his hands gleamed a longsword, the same blade whose shout earlier had been enough to make Spandam faint in fright.
Within seconds, more shadows began to coalesce at his sides. One after another, masked figures emerged, forming a silent, oppressive lineup behind him.
"Who the hell are you people!?" The leader's despair thickened, his last thread of hope snapping.
From the instant Trens had walked on air and unleashed Rankyaku, he understood, they stood no chance. These men had mastered Rokushiki. Their speed, their strength, their techniques… they were monsters. Trens alone had been enough to crush them. Now, facing more of his kind, there was no realistic hope left.
What should have been a simple mission to escort a criminal had transformed into a nightmare, an encounter with an enemy beyond imagination.
"You may call us… Nether Soul," Came the cold reply.
Rojen drew his blade, taking a step forward.
The black-suited agents trembled, brandishing their weapons like cornered beasts prepared for death.
But the next instant, steel sang.
A phantom blur rushed past with dazzling swiftness. Swordlight scattered through the alley like a hundred shimmering butterflies, beautiful yet deadly.
By the time Rojen halted before Spandam, the men in suits were already clutching at their throats. One by one, they collapsed into heaps of lifeless flesh, choking on despair in their final breaths.
Too fast. Far too fast.
Clang!
The Rainbow Abyss slid cleanly back into its sheath. Only then did the corpses hit the cobblestone.
At that moment, Spandam regained consciousness.
When the festive, comical monkey mask filled his vision, his entire body began to shiver. The mask itself was almost laughable, but the pressure behind it, the killing intent, froze his very soul.
"To witness your own death… You should be honored."
The words were cold like steel, burrowing into Spandam's ears and snuffing out his courage. He shook his head violently, horror dawning in his eyes.
"No! Don't! I'm CP5! I'm an officer of the World Government! You can't kill me!"
Behind Rojen, grains of sand lifted from Crocodile's shoulders, swirling into sinuous tendrils that twisted outward.
A hoarse scream tore from Spandam's throat. "Logia!?"
"No, wait! Don't kill me! You'll make enemies of the entire world!"
But his cries meant nothing.
The swirling sand slithered forward, devouring the fallen, turning corpses into shriveled husks before collapsing them into clouds of dust.
Spandam's mind cracked. His eyes bulged with lunacy-born terror.
"Sever his head…"
The monkey-masked man's order was quiet, final.
"…Let him be the sacrifice that marks the birth of our Nether Soul Pirates."
The sand shifted at once, reshaping into a gleaming blade. With one swift slash, Puchi!
Spandam's expression froze mid-plea. No scream escaped his lips. His body crumbled, everything below his neck disintegrating into whirling ash.
Only his severed head remained, a grim trophy.
A single head of a high-ranking World Government officer, enough to carve their name into the seas, to make the world tremble at the very mention of Nether Soul Pirates.
Crocodile licked his lips, eyes ablaze with excitement.
This was the moment he had waited for …the birth of terror, the dawn of infamy.
(End of Chapter)
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