As his words faded, Kozuki Oden erupted in a frenzied roar.
"Darren!!"
Eyes blazing crimson, he drove in like a demon and brought his blade crashing down.
Wind tore through the passage, dust spiraling high.
Darren's cold smirk widened. He met the charge head-on.
His fingers curled into the Three-Fingered Dragon Claw—a grip that broke all resistance—and he thrust forward.
Dragon Claw Fist: Dragon's Claw.
Jet-black Armament Haki poured over his hand; the steel-bright "claw" gleamed beneath Fish-Man Island's filtered light.
Clang!
The Three-Fingered Dragon Claw bound the legendary Ame no Habakiri. Sparks knifed out between steel and skin, flaring like tiny suns.
Boom!
A hellish gust kicked their coats into a frenzy.
"So one sword and one arm weren't enough," Darren drawled. "Now you're handing me the other."
Black hair snapping, eyes glittering with mockery, cigar a fierce ember at his lip, he let the barb sink in.
"You're generous. Ame no Habakiri and Enma—one to cleave the heavens, one to cut hell—belong together. Don't you think they should both be mine?"
The taunt speared Oden's battered pride; his eyes burned hotter.
"You'll die!"
Unable to rip free his sword, Oden pivoted. Armament hardened along his right leg; he channeled power from his core and whipped a kick at Darren's skull—force enough to make any man loose his grip.
He froze a heartbeat later.
Thud.
His heel met Darren's head with a dull, useless sound. No give. No crack.
Had he landed it?
Shock stormed Oden's face.
The Vice Admiral didn't so much as sway. Not just the body—his skull, the full brunt of the strike, might have been bedrock.
How?
How far had this man driven his physique?
Oden knew the reports; Darren's body was monstrous. He hadn't imagined this. His kicks didn't even scratch.
He had prepared for this fight. After losing arm and blade, he'd sworn revenge, buried himself in close-quarters forms, hammered his body and footwork until they bled. He'd meant to turn the tables where he'd once been humiliated.
Not like this.
"Hey," Darren said, almost annoyed, "that actually stung a little."
A savage light slid into his eyes. Before Oden could recoil, Darren's other hand locked around his ankle.
Cold shot up Oden's leg to the crown of his skull. Darren grinned, feral.
"Ever seen the power of the Indestructible?"
Horror twisted Oden's face.
The world flipped. His balance vanished.
Under the Roger Pirates' stunned stare, the Vice Admiral—rage-demon in a white cloak—used Oden like a hammer and drove him into the floor.
BOOM!!
The impact hit like a falling battleship. For a kilometer, ground fractured and fell in, stone flung like shrapnel.
Fissures screamed open, swallowing buildings.
Blood erupted from Oden's mouth; a tooth snapped. Red sheeted down his face.
His pupils fluttered; sight dimmed.
He'd armored himself on instinct, but Darren's inhuman strength blasted through, and Oden felt as if every bone in his body were breaking.
From the rear, Neptune stiffened at the ruin, face draining.
Thank the ancestors he'd evacuated the gate in advance. The shock from that single blow would have killed civilians by the score.
"Monster…" he breathed. He could do nothing. Even if he had the strength to topple Darren, he had no grounds. The crime of harboring the Roger Pirates—a world-class criminal crew—gave this Vice Admiral all the pretext he needed to tear Fish-Man Island apart. In a world that hated fish-men on sight, Darren could even drag the king of Ryugu Palace off in chains and pay no price.
The barrage didn't stop.
With a vicious smile, Darren kept his grip, swung Oden up, and smashed him down in another arc.
Boom.
Once.
Boom.
Twice.
Boom.
Thrice.
Again and again, under the horrified—then numb—stares of Ryugu Palace soldiers, the Roger Pirates' famed samurai hit the ground like a rag doll in the Vice Admiral's hands.
Each crash widened the lattice of cracks, painting the broken earth in fresh pools of blood.
"Damn him!"
"That bastard!"
The crew's eyes blazed; veins stood out at their temples. Only Roger, grim-faced at the fore, kept them leashed. Even if it meant taking the shame of an unfair brawl, they were a hair from carving that Marine to pieces.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Stone gave way. Dust billowed.
Oden's vision smudged; blood ran from nose, mouth, ears.
Is this the end…?
The thought drifted through what was left of his focus.
The Marine was too strong.
Haki, body, strength, technique—he surpassed Oden in all of it. Once Darren closed the gap, his storm of blunt, terrifying strikes left no air to breathe. Swordplay meant nothing.
Boom.
Skull to stone again. Another mouthful of red.
Through the blizzard of grit and rubble, a figure swam into sight.
A blood-red captain's cloak.
Roger… Captain…
He still believes in me…
He still believes in me.
Oden's eyes snapped wide. He bared his teeth and roared through blood.
"How could I possibly lose like this?!"
Power—raw and new—surged up from somewhere he'd never reached.
Darren's boot still pinned his leg. Even so, Oden whipped himself over, bit down, and cut with everything he had.
"Peach Garden—Ten-Fist Strike!!!"
Fiend Aura roared; threads of dark-red lightning crackled and bloomed.
Darren's pupils tightened.
A sword like a demon god's?
To be continued...