The world narrowed to the grating shriek of iron against obsidian. Marya's boots dug twin furrows in the ancient dust of the Lugh-Grange floor, her arms burning with the strain of holding back the mountain. Pier's violet eyes, mere inches from her own, gleamed with a terrifying, patient intensity. The smell of musk and hot stone filled the space between them.
"It appears your friends have made their move," Pier rumbled, his voice a low vibration Marya felt in her teeth.
Her expression, a mask of sweat-slicked concentration, didn't waver. "It appears they have."
A smirk tugged at the corner of Pier's mouth. "Don't you want to join them? The little escape? It's the prudent thing."
Marya's golden eyes narrowed a fraction. "They can handle themselves." Her philosophy, her father voicing repeating his lessons to her over and over again in her head—the empty mind—rejected distraction. Her crew was a variable; the immovable object before her was the equation.
Pier's brow quirked. "I guess we'll see then, won't we?"
In that micro-grain of distraction, Marya moved. She didn't pull back; she dropped. Her body vanished beneath the locked blades, and using the tremendous opposing force of Saigen as a pivot, she spun. Nisshoku, now free, traced a horizontal arc as she completed the rotation, not aiming for Pier, but for the space above him. A crescent of concentrated Armament Haki, black as a starless night, screamed from the blade's edge.
Pier didn't flinch. He leaned his head sideways with the casual grace of a dodging bull. The Haki arc passed so close it parted the wild strands of his beard before striking the domed ceiling far above.
For a moment, nothing. Then, a deep, tearing CRUNCH echoed through the chamber. A jagged fissure, thirty feet long, split the megalithic stone. A single, brilliant shaft of late afternoon sunlight speared through the dust-choked gloom, illuminating the swirling motes and the shocked faces of the fleeing crew near the exit.
Pier glanced over his shoulder at the new skylight, then back at Marya, who was already resetting her stance. "Oh," he teased, a genuine amusement in his tone. "That would have stung if it connected. Adding redecorating to your skillset?"
Marya ignored the jab. She flowed forward, Nisshoku a blur of black silk and crimson light. Pier met her with a downward sweep of Saigen. Their blades connected again, not with a grind, but with a CRACK that shook the foundation and sent a web of smaller fractures through the floor around them.
Pier grunted, a puff of dust exploding from his coat. "Looks like you're starting to get serious."
Marya's eyes flashed. She ceased to be a person and became a principle of motion—a wraith incarnate. She was the wind through Hekla's peeks, unpredictable and everywhere. She darted, feinted, and struck from angles that defied logic, her boots barely touching the ground. Each clash was a lightning bolt of sparks and concussive force.
Pier chuckled, a booming sound that competed with the ring of steel. He parried, blocked, and absorbed, his footwork minimal, his defense an utter negation of her speed. "You are definitely his offspring," he conceded, a hint of respect warring with condescension. "But you still have a lot to learn."
He stopped retreating. Planting his back foot, he twisted his entire titanic frame and swung Saigen in a vast, horizontal arc. He didn't aim the blade at Marya, but at the air in front of him. The sword released a visible wave of dense, grey Haki—not a cutting slash, but a tidal wave of pure force.
Marya's eyes widened. There was no dodging the breadth of it. She crossed her arms, Nisshoku braced before her, and took the full brunt. The impact didn't cut; it smashed. The air left her lungs in a pained gasp. She was ripped from her feet and flung backwards like a leaf in a gale, her body crashing through the crumbling remains of a stone bench before skidding across the floor. Gritting her teeth against the fiery pain in her ribs, she twisted in mid-air, forcing her boots down. She landed in a crouch, momentum tearing her backwards, leaving two long, deep scars in the dust and stone.
Panting, she glanced over her shoulder. Through the arched exit, she saw the last flicker of Galit's cloak as he vanished with the others. A sliver of tension left her shoulders.
Pier straightened, rolling his own shoulders with a sound like grinding boulders. He cracked his neck. "Now," he said, his voice dropping into a register that promised annihilation. "Now that we're properly warmed up… let's do this for real."
Marya rose slowly. She tilted her head, a cascade of dark hair falling over one shoulder. Her breath steadied, not with relief, but with a dreadful, focused calm. Deep within her, in a place touched by the Void and fused with the essence of Achlys, something answered.
An ominous DONG resonated, not through the air, but through the soul of everyone present. It was the sound of a funeral bell heard from the bottom of the sea.
Marya's form began to shift. Her long black hair dissolved at its ends into liquid streams of void-stuff—starlight, ash-grey tendrils, and screaming soul-smoke braiding together. A tripartite halo of gold, silver, and obsidian flickered into existence above her head. The skin on her arms cracked, revealing glowing veins mapping rivers of myth. Her eyes transformed: the left pupil now a window to peaceful Elysian Fields, the right a portal to the burning Naraka hellscape. Nisshoku in her hand shimmered and split into the tri-pointed Key of Thresholds.
Pier's violet eyes lit up with a hunter's ecstatic fervor. "Oh! You're a power holder! A devil fruit user! Well then, don't be shy… show me what you've got!"
From the freezing mist coalescing at Marya's feet, nine spectral forms tore themselves free. The Grim Reapers of Death's Knell Toll. Three Heaven's Heralds in robes of nebulae, their faceless gold masks blank. Three Purgatory's Arbiters, bodies half-rotted, floating mirror-scales reflecting the crumbling chamber. Three Hell's Executioners, horned skeletons whose lava-dripping chains scraped the stone with a hungry hiss.
Pier whistled, long and low. "Oh, impressive. Theatrical. I always appreciate a good presentation." A massive, devious smirk spread across his face. "Since we're sharing… I'll show you mine. A courtesy for the guest."
He took a breath, and the world held its own.
His transformation wasn't a shift; it was a geological event. His body swelled, darkening to the color of volcanic glass. A colossal, domed shell, etched with ancient, glowing runes, erupted from his back. His limbs thickened into pillars. From the shadow of the shell, a serpentine neck, scaled like armored plate, arced upward, a head the size of a warship swaying to fix its luminous, intelligent eyes on Marya. This was the Kame Kame no Mi, Model: Genbu—the Mythical Zoan of the Black Tortoise. He did not just occupy the chamber; he redefined it. His shell pressed against the dome, and with a deafening roar of protesting stone, the ceiling of the Lugh-Grange gave way. Massive blocks of masonry rained down, shattering on his impenetrable shell as sunlight flooded the ravaged space.
Marya cursed under her breath, the frozen swamp of her Awakened power already spreading, coating the rubble in hoarfrost. The scale was absurd.
The Genbu's serpentine head leaned down, Pier's voice now a dual-toned earthquake from both mouths. "I do not think you are fully awakened yet, girl. But show me… show me what you are capable of."
Marya planted the Key of Thresholds into the frozen ground. As she channeled her Haki, a cold, familiar whisper slithered up from the blade, from the veins on her arms—the voice of Igutoshi, the sword's original, hungry spirit. Let me out… it murmured, a cadence of tempting rot in her mind. I can sense it… the old seal… the true power… Let me…
Marya ignored it, sweat freezing on her temple. She pushed her will, her Haki, not into the voice, but into her spectral army. With a silent command, she sent all nine Grim Reapers rushing forward in a wave of chilling death, their scythes, scales, and chains aimed at the living fortress before her.
The true battle for the fate of the sword, the island, and the sleeping Hitotsume had begun.
If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider giving Dracule Marya Zaleska a Power Stone! It helps the novel climb the rankings and get more eyes on our story!
Thank you for sailing with us! 🏴☠️ Your support means so much!
Want to see the Dreadnought Thalassa blueprints? Or unlock the true power of Goddess Achlys?
Join the Dracule Marya Zaleska crew on Patreon to get exclusive concept art, deep-dive lore notes, and access to our private Discord community! You make the New World adventure possible.
Become a Crewmate and Unlock the Lore:
https://patreon.com/An1m3N3rd?utm_medium=unknown&utm_source=join_link&utm_campaign=creatorshare_creator&utm_content=copyLink
Thanks so much for your support and loving this story as much as I do!