"Wait, Oden!"
Rayleigh and Gaban watched Kozuki Oden, murderous intent boiling off him, launch like a shot. Their faces changed and they shouted after him.
"Don't be reckless!"
But the man who was usually all sunshine and blunt honesty didn't seem to hear. He only pushed faster, vanishing into the corridors of Ryugu Palace.
"This is bad," Rayleigh muttered, heart sinking. Courtesy to Neptune forgotten, he drew his sword and sprinted after Oden, worry drawn tight across his brow.
If it really was that Marine, Darren, going alone was suicide. The kid had brought down Golden Lion Shiki. Luck or not, the strength was real. And Oden—one arm gone—had only just rebuilt his style. He'd adapted, even shown flashes of growth, but in this state of mind he'd be no match.
Steel rasped softly as the rest of the crew eased blades from scabbards, faces grim. Shanks and Buggy had gone a shade paler, as if dredging up a memory they'd rather drown.
---
"I'll cut that bastard down. Whatever it takes."
Oden bounded across Fish-Man Island's roofs, feet barely touching stone. Wind tore at his cheeks and the hem of his robes. In his skull, scenes cracked open one after another:
The flaming sting of his severed arm.
A Marine's predatory, mocking smile.
The shame of Enma—his longtime treasure—ripped from his hands.
And—
The gentle face of a girl with pale green hair, flickering and gone.
His vision went red at the edges.
Nightmare.
The Whitebeard and Roger crews skirted that Marine's name, afraid to tear old wounds. Oden smiled for their sakes, pretended not to notice.
But when the dark was quiet and no one was watching, he woke shaking—again and again—dragged back through the loss of arm and blade.
Rogers Darren had long since turned into a thorn in Oden's heart, a rock in the stream of his will. Until he plucked it free, he wouldn't move an inch.
In Wano, a swordsman called it a "knot"—the mind's leash that keeps one's freedom caged.
Worse, every time Oden saw a paper, it screamed the same name:
Destroyed the Flying Pirates at Coin Island.
Turned the tide at Marineford, alone.
Took a medal before the whole world.
Blitzed Totto Land.
Hunted Golden Lion Shiki in the North Blue.
All of it pointed one way: the enemy was only rising. Fame, force, rank, reach—everything climbing.
As Darren's star burned brighter, the weight on Oden's will became a hand around his throat.
I have to kill him.
Only if I cut down that damned Marine and take back Enma—take back what's mine—will this pressure break. Only then. Otherwise I'll rot in his shadow for the rest of my life.
As for whether I can win—
"Tch. I don't care anymore."
Oden's eyes burned. He bared his teeth and let a low animal growl rise from his chest.
His forearm swelled on Ame no Habakiri's hilt, veins writhing like roots. A dark, lacquered sheen—like black petals drifting on water—ran over his skin and smeared up the famed blade until it drank the light.
Close…
He lifted his head. The entrance to Fish-Man Island lay ahead. Hundreds of Ryugu Palace guards kneeled clutching their skulls, howling.
Smoke boiled. The sea raged. And even from this distance Oden's keen eyes made out a figure stepping from a steel-gray submarine, arrogance radiating like heat.
A razor-cut black suit. Polished boots. A vast white cloak billowing behind. Hands in pockets. A cigar ember pulsing red between his teeth. The look of a conqueror—hell come walking under glass.
Conqueror's Haki rolled off him in waves, flexing the world. Thin veins of crimson lightning crackled free, power barely corked.
Such overwhelming Conqueror's Haki.
It was brushing the very threshold where presence shapes reality.
Oden's chest tightened; his pupils drew thin. He wasn't the fool who'd run from Wano anymore. Sailing with Whitebeard and with Roger, measuring days against the strongest alive, had changed his eye for Haki.
In broad strokes, Conqueror's Haki fell into three realms:
Beginner: a flare from raw emotion, cowing the weak in a wide ring—without control.
Intermediate: a will that can be trained and directed, the pressure focused and far stronger.
Advanced: a sovereign's mantle; presence itself crushes the foe.
A true king had married mind, body, and technique. By simply swelling their spirit, such men could keep that will unfurled at all times, the pressure rattling ships to their keels; even veterans might buckle just by standing near.
Whitebeard. Roger. Sovereigns.
And now, the Marine ahead gave Oden the awful certainty that he was brushing that same crown.
Damn it. Oden's stride never stuttered.
Closer.
Closer still.
If he hesitated now, he'd never pass this man. A swordsman's path ran straight through stronger prey.
"Oden… One-Sword Style!"
Ame no Habakiri thrummed in his grip—"sever the heavens"—and his Haki leapt like hellfire, bending the air into wavering heat.
"Fiend Aura…"
His eyes went blood-bright. He drove forward—then something in him jolted, a tremor up the spine. The Marine turned, as if he'd been watching all along, a cold, crooked smile cutting his face.
"Kill him, Enma," the Marine hissed.
More-More—Fiftyfold Speed. Hell Slash.
The words snapped, and Oden's pupils pinpricked. Cold shot through him like ice water.
A murderous edge he knew in his bones screamed through the void—a voice older than memory.
A black flash—and gone.
"Enma?!"
Oden's roar tore at his throat. He ripped his blade free in a single-arm cut—
Clang.
Boom.
The shockwave blew out for a kilometer. Coral forests tore loose; buildings went skidding; wreckage spun like leaves.
Blood misted from Oden's mouth. His palm split and bled where steel met steel.
Enma's monstrous force picked him up and hurled him like a toy. He scythed through more than a dozen buildings, skidded for kilometers, and—circling the whole of fate—slammed back into the banquet hall.
Boom.
Stone blew out. Ryugu Palace bucked like a ship in a gale; the ground shivered underfoot.
Dust and smoke geysered. Rayleigh and the others skidded to a halt, frozen by the sight:
Kozuki Oden, all fury and murder, had charged out.
And in under ten seconds,
he came hurtling back even faster.
To be continued...