A desolate island in the New World.
"Wave Slash!"
A blinding golden sword aura erupted from the mountainside, tearing across the horizon with unstoppable force. The dense sea of clouds split apart, leaving behind a vast, gaping rift. A mountain more than a hundred meters tall stood in its path—then parted neatly in two, its cross-section smooth as glass.
The mountain bellowed as it collapsed, boulders thundering down its slopes in a crushing avalanche that shook the island to its core. Dust billowed upward, blotting out the sun.
Through the chaos, a bloodied figure burst forth, battered against cliff and stone before regaining his balance and surging into the sky once more.
Darren.
"Jihahaha! How much longer can you last, Marine brat?!"
The Golden Lion's laughter was shrill and wild, his blades flashing as he tore through the broken mountain in pursuit. Sword beams crisscrossed the land, carving the island to ribbons.
"You're reaching your limit, aren't you?" Shiki roared. His blades unleashed another storm of golden slashes, cutting off every route of escape. His laughter echoed through the ravaged peaks, cruel and triumphant. "But I'll give you this, brat—lasting this long against me is no small feat!"
Swish! Swish! Swish!
Dozens of arcs of light screamed through the air.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The island convulsed under the onslaught, shockwaves flattening trees and sending beasts fleeing in terror.
Two heartbeats later, Darren emerged from the dust cloud, his body staggering, his face drained of all color. Blood drenched his back, a fresh wound so deep the bone beneath gleamed pale in the light.
Golden Lion's grin stretched into something monstrous. His predatory eyes burned as he watched Darren flounder through the sky.
This brat's about to break.
Even I would struggle to keep flying after wounds like that.
The thought sent a fevered thrill through him. The Marine who had ruined his plans—reduced to prey, gasping, bleeding, running. Shiki's chest heaved with wild exhilaration, his hands trembling around his swords.
Run, brat. Run as far as you can…
In the end, you'll understand there's no one left in this world who can save you.
The pain from the rudder lodged in his skull screamed through his nerves, threatening to tear his head apart—but he didn't care. His eyes were only for Darren.
As long as the Marine didn't reach Marineford or Mary Geoise, Shiki swore, there was nowhere left for him to hide.
The two tore across the skies—one crimson, one gold. Like wraiths, they streaked over seas and mountains, nations and ports. Their chase carved a path across half the world, a pursuit so reckless and vast it would echo in history.
Half a day later, Sengoku returned to Marineford at the head of the Headquarters' battered fleet. Prison ships from Impel Down were already waiting in the crescent port, ready to receive captives.
Though Shiki's Flying Fleet had been obliterated by Darren's storm, over two thousand survivors had been captured alive. Marines hauled them away in chains, their era of piracy ended.
Leaving the prisoners behind, Sengoku marched into the Fleet Admiral's Office with Sakazuki and Borsalino at his side. Dust and battle still clung to his uniform. The moment they entered the Supreme Military Conference Room, the officers waiting inside snapped to their feet and saluted sharply.
"Admiral Sengoku!"
Sengoku raised a hand, brushing off the formality, and went straight to Kong. The Fleet Admiral sat at the head of the table, his broad shoulders heavy with authority, his expression grave beneath a haze of cigar smoke.
"Fleet Admiral Kong!" Sengoku saluted, bowing his head. "I failed to eliminate the Roger Pirates. Please issue my punishment."
Kong exhaled smoke and shook his head. "No, Sengoku. It's fine."
"The Flying Fleet is gone. Strategically, we've already won this war."
"As for Roger…" His voice dropped, weary. "You and I both know he won't be brought down so easily."
No one understood the problem better than Kong. Roger's ship alone was a nightmare. Built from the Adam Tree by the finest shipwrights of Water Seven, the Oro Jackson was faster and stronger than any Marine battleship. Equipped with thrusters capable of short bursts of flight, and crewed by monsters, it made pursuit nearly impossible.
Other crews might boast greater numbers or territory, but in agility, in escape, the Roger Pirates reigned unmatched.
"I've reviewed the reports," Kong said firmly. "Don't bear this burden alone. Even in your place, the outcome would've been the same. Sit down."
Sengoku clenched his fists but obeyed, lowering into a chair. His voice was taut. "Then… what of Darren?"
"Tsuru," Kong prompted.
Tsuru leaned forward, her eyes sharp, her tone grave. "Darren is still fleeing. Golden Lion is in full pursuit. Their chase has gone beyond all sense."
She pointed at the map stretched across the table. "Here—the Edd War Sea, where it began…"
Her finger traced the red marks sketched across the waters. They curved in a massive arc, stretching over half the New World. At last, her hand stopped at the waters near Fish-Man Island.
"This," she said, "is the latest sighting of Darren and Golden Lion."
Sengoku's pupils shrank. The arc of red dots nearly encircled the New World itself.
His jaw dropped. "What in the world is Darren doing?! Has he completely lost his way?!"
To be continued...