-Sky Screen Broadcast-
With the border dome compromised, Egghead's experimental district had lost its primary defensive system. Now only the first-generation Seraphim stood between Victor and his goal.
And their commander.
Sentomaru stepped forward to block Victor's path. His appearance was distinctive—wearing a traditional sumo wrestler's mawashi despite his military position, carrying an oversized axe that would have crushed normal humans under its weight, his black hair cut in a style resembling watermelon rind. Baby-faced despite his imposing build.
Character Note: Captain of Marine Headquarters Science Corps - Sentomaru. Bodyguard to Dr. Vegapunk. Apprentice to Admiral Borsalino (Kizaru). Combat Specialty: Advanced Busoshoku Haki (Armament Haki) techniques.
"How DARE you cause trouble on Egghead Island!" Sentomaru's voice boomed with genuine outrage rather than fear. "You're going to compensate us for every bit of damage you've caused!"
The threat would have been more effective if his voice hadn't cracked slightly on the word "compensate." He was young—barely twenty—despite his responsibilities. Brave but inexperienced in actual combat against opponents of Victor's caliber.
Behind him, the four first-generation Seraphim moved into formation. Sentomaru raised his hand, giving them silent tactical commands through gesture language. The children spread out, surrounding Victor from four cardinal directions. Encirclement pattern. Classic opening for coordinated assault.
They're waiting for my attack order, Sentomaru thought, studying his opponent. Need to assess his capabilities before committing the Seraphim fully. Can't afford to lose any of them—they're irreplaceable.
Victor observed the defensive formation with sensors that cataloged tactical details in microseconds. "I can compensate for the damage to Egghead Island," he said, voice carrying artificial reasonableness. "But first, I need confirmation: is the real Vegapunk actually behind you?"
The question was direct. Blunt. Tactically stupid unless—
He's testing me, Sentomaru realized. Wants to see if I'll reveal information under pressure.
"I'm the most tight-lipped man in the world!" Sentomaru declared proudly, puffing out his chest. "I absolutely won't tell you that Dr. Vegapunk is in that laboratory behind me! I'm EXTREMELY tight-lipped about sensitive information!"
Silence.
Victor's optical sensors—previously yellow—shifted to red. Emotional response subroutine activating. The mechanical equivalent of satisfaction mixed with... something else. Regret? Nostalgia? The emotion was complex, difficult to parse.
MADS, Victor thought, his quantum processors accessing ancient memories. When we worked together. When I was still flesh. When Vegapunk showed me the future and I... I chose wrong. Chose weakness. Chose mortality.
But I can fix that mistake. Can show him what I've become. Can offer him the same transcendence.
On the defensive line, Sentomaru's expression had transitioned from confident to horrified. "Wait. Did I just—"
"You revealed his location," Victor confirmed. "Thank you. That was surprisingly easy."
"YOU TRICKED ME!" Sentomaru's face flushed with anger and embarrassment. "That's—that's dishonorable! Using psychological manipulation! You're despicable!"
"I'm efficient." Victor took a step forward. "Now move aside. I don't want to damage you. You're just a guard doing his job. This doesn't concern you."
"EVERYTHING concerning Dr. Vegapunk concerns me!" Sentomaru raised his axe, Haki beginning to coat the blade in black energy. "He gave me everything! Food when I was starving! Training when I was weak! Purpose when I had none! I owe him my LIFE!"
His voice carried absolute conviction. Not duty. Not obligation. Debt. Personal debt that could never be fully repaid.
"So if you want to reach him, you'll have to go through me first!"
"Very well." Victor's third arm unfolded from his back, weapons systems activating. "I admire loyalty. Even misplaced loyalty. It's one of the few human traits worth preserving in the evolution."
Sentomaru gave the attack command: "ALL SERAPHIM—ENGAGE! TAKE DOWN THIS METAL BASTARD!"
S-Hawk moved first—the Seraph modeled after Dracule Mihawk, World's Greatest Swordsman. The child was ninety percent identical to the original: silver hair, sharp features, golden eyes that held no mercy despite belonging to someone who appeared barely eight years old.
Black wings spread from his back—Lunarian racial trait, granting defensive capabilities that made him nearly invulnerable under specific conditions.
The greatsword in his tiny hands was proportionally enormous. He wielded it with strength that shouldn't have been possible for his size—genetic modification and cybernetic enhancement creating combat capability that rivaled adult fighters.
S-Hawk launched himself upward, building momentum. Then descended with overhead slash that carried enough force to split mountains.
Supa Supa no Mi, text identified his ability. Dice-Dice Fruit. Paramecia-type. Allows user to transform body parts into steel blades and create flying slash attacks that can cut through virtually any material.
The slash descended toward Victor's head. Should have bisected him cleanly.
A purple barrier materialized around Victor's body—hexagonal force field generated through technology rather than Devil Fruit power. The slash struck the barrier and... reversed.
Reflected, observers realized with shock. Not blocked—reflected back at the attacker.
S-Hawk's own attack came screaming back at him with equal force. The child Seraph barely managed to dodge, diving sideways while his commander scrambled for cover.
"What the hell?!" Sentomaru stared at the gouge S-Hawk's reflected attack had carved in the laboratory wall. "That barrier doesn't just defend—it counters?!"
"Adaptation," Victor explained, as though lecturing students. "Attack me with cutting force, I reflect cutting force. Attack me with fire, I reflect fire. The barrier learns and responds appropriately. Quite elegant, really."
Sentomaru clenched his jaw. Can't use the same attack twice. Have to adapt. Mix up our approach.
"S-HAWK—close combat! Everyone else—surround and overwhelm!"
The Seraphim adjusted immediately. S-Hawk abandoned ranged slashes, closing distance with Victor while raising his sword for direct strikes.
S-Shark—modeled after Jinbei, former Shichibukai and Fish-Man Karate master—dove low. Grabbed Victor's metal legs with strength enhanced by Fish-Man racial traits and cybernetic augmentation. Tried to pull him off-balance, prevent escape.
S-Boa—resembling Boa Hancock, the Pirate Empress—attacked from the opposite direction. Her kick carried the distinctive style of her template: graceful, devastating, imbued with Haki despite her young age.
Mero Mero no Mi, text identified. Love-Love Fruit. Paramecia-type. Allows user to petrify targets afflicted with feelings of attraction. Supplemented with combat training making physical attacks lethal even without petrification.
S-Bear—patterned after Bartholomew Kuma, the Tyrant—flanked from the third angle. His palms bore distinctive paw-pad markings characteristic of the Nikyu Nikyu no Mi (Paw-Paw Fruit). He thrust both hands forward, creating a massive shockwave that could demolish castle walls.
Four directions. Four Seraphim. Coordinated assault that should have been impossible to counter simultaneously.
"Impressive coordination," Victor acknowledged. "Truly. Vegapunk's programming excels at tactical cooperation."
His electronic eyes flashed. Purple energy erupted from his body.
GRAVITATIONAL FIELD: ONE HUNDRED TIMES STANDARD GRAVITY
The Seraphim crashed to the ground as though planet's mass had suddenly multiplied. S-Hawk's sword clattered from his grip. S-Shark's hold on Victor's legs broke. S-Boa's kick barely reached ankle-height before she collapsed. S-Bear's shockwave dissipated, unable to maintain form under the gravitational distortion.
All four children lay prone, unable to move. Unable to stand. Barely able to breathe under the crushing weight.
Only their Lunarian bloodlines keep them conscious, viewers understood. Normal humans would have been crushed flat immediately.
"Pathetic," Victor said, though his tone carried more disappointment than cruelty. "Imitations of the Seven Warlords of the Sea. Copies built from stolen genetics. You were always going to be inferior. Shadows cast by greater lights."
He walked forward, each step deliberate. The gravity field moved with him, maintaining its crushing pressure on the Seraphim while leaving him unaffected.
"True power comes from transcending flesh entirely. From embracing the perfection of mechanism. You're caught between—neither fully organic nor fully mechanical. Weak because you're incomplete."
Sentomaru watched his charges suffer. Saw them struggling against force they couldn't overcome. Every instinct screamed at him to help.
But what can I do? My Haki won't work against gravity manipulation. My axe can't cut energy fields. I'm just...
No. NO. I'm their commander. Vegapunk's bodyguard. Kizaru-sensei's student. I don't get to quit just because the enemy's strong!
He raised his oversized axe, coating it in Busoshoku Haki so dense it appeared jet black. Drew on every lesson his mentor had taught him. Every technique Vegapunk had helped him develop.
"GET AWAY FROM THEM!"
Sentomaru charged. Not sophisticated. Not tactical. Just raw determination pushing him forward despite knowing he was outmatched.
Victor's third arm shifted, targeting systems locking onto the approaching warrior. "Foolish. But admirable."
Energy gathered at the third arm's terminus—not laser but something worse. Death ray was the only appropriate description. Concentrated radiation operating at frequencies that annihilated molecular bonds. Temperature and force combined into weapon that made conventional firearms look primitive.
The death ray erupted. Brilliant purple beam crossing the distance between Victor and Sentomaru in microseconds.
Sentomaru's Kenbunshoku Haki (Observation Haki) screamed warning. But there was nowhere to dodge. No way to evade. Only one option: endure.
He wrapped his entire body in Busoshoku Haki. Decades of training compressed into single defensive technique. The strongest armor his willpower could create.
Please, he prayed to whatever gods might listen. Please let this be enough.
The death ray struck.
For thirty seconds, Sentomaru's Haki held. Black armor of willpower against annihilating energy. Impossible clash between human determination and technological power.
Then his defense shattered.
The death ray punched through his shoulder. Flesh and bone didn't just break—they carbonized. Instant cremation at molecular level. His entire right arm became charcoal, the shoulder socket burned down to spine.
Sentomaru's scream was involuntary. Pure agony transmitted directly from destroyed nerve endings to brain before pain receptors died completely.
He collapsed. Couldn't stand. Couldn't think through the pain. Could barely maintain consciousness.
Failed, his fading thoughts whispered. Failed Vegapunk-sama. Failed the Seraphim. Failed...
Victor's third arm adjusted angle. The death ray's terminus shifted from Sentomaru's shoulder toward his head. Quick execution. Mercy for a brave but defeated enemy.
At least it'll be fast, Sentomaru thought with strange clarity. At least I tried.
The death ray fired.
A small body tackled Sentomaru from the side. Knocked him out of the beam's path. Took the hit meant for him.
S-Crocodile—the Seraph modeled after Sir Crocodile, former Shichibukai—had broken free from the gravity field through sheer desperation. Had thrown himself between his commander and death.
The death ray struck the child directly. Center mass. No armor. No defense.
S-Crocodile's body didn't have time to scream. The energy vaporized his torso instantly, leaving only ash and scattered cybernetic components.
Suna Suna no Mi, text appeared belatedly. Sand-Sand Fruit. Logia-type. Grants intangibility and control over sand. Insufficient against concentrated thermal radiation at point-blank range.
The child's remains hit the ground. No longer recognizable as anything that had once been alive.
Sentomaru stared at the ashes. At the small hand that had pushed him clear—now disconnected from any body, cooling rapidly as its internal temperature regulation failed.
"No," he whispered. Then louder: "NO! CROCODILE! GET UP! THAT'S AN ORDER!"
But Seraphim didn't resurrect. Machines could be rebuilt, yes. But each Seraph was unique—specific combination of genetics, programming, experience. S-Crocodile was gone. Truly gone.
"You killed him," Sentomaru said, voice hollow. "He was just a child. Just following orders. And you killed him."
"He was a weapon," Victor corrected without malice. "A sophisticated weapon, yes. But still just a tool created for combat. Don't mourn machines, Sentomaru. Save your grief for organic loss."
"He SAVED me! That makes him more human than you'll ever be!"
Despite his injuries—despite knowing he was going to die—Sentomaru tried to stand. Failed. Collapsed back against debris. Blood loss was catastrophic. No medical intervention could save him now.
But he could still speak. Could still defy.
"Even if you kill me... even if you kill all of us... it doesn't matter. When Homelander gets back, your tricks won't mean anything. He'll tear you apart like tissue paper."
"Homelander?" Victor's attention shifted. "The second-generation Seraph? Isolated on the subsidiary island? I doubt he'll arrive in time."
"You don't know him." Sentomaru coughed, blood speckling his lips. "He's not like the first generation. He's not like anything you've ever fought. The Five Elders and Vegapunk-sama created a god. And when he breaks free..."
Sentomaru's voice faded. Consciousness slipping. But his eyes held absolute conviction.
"When he breaks free, you're dead."
Homelander proved Sentomaru's faith wasn't misplaced.
He inhaled deeply—chest expanding beyond human capacity, compressing atmospheric gases into super-dense concentration within his enhanced lungs.
Then exhaled.
FREEZING BREATH
The technique rivaled Kuzan's Hie Hie no Mi (Ice-Ice Fruit) for sheer cold intensity. Temperature dropped to absolute zero in milliseconds. Water vapor crystallized instantly. Metal became brittle. Electronics seized up.
The robot army's front lines simply froze. Thousands of units transformed from functional combatants into ice sculptures. They fell from the sky like metal hail, shattering on impact with the ground.
It's working! Atlas thought, hope surging. We can win this!
Vice Admiral Doll allowed herself to breathe. To hope. To believe they might actually survive.
The surviving Marines cheered. They'd been certain they were dead. Now—now they had a chance.
Ultron observed the devastation calmly. No distress. No concern. Just... interest.
"Victor's analysis was correct," the mechanical intelligence said. "Numerical superiority is meaningless against artificial gods. Quantity cannot overcome that quality gap."
His optical sensors gleamed. "Fortunately, I brought quality as well."
The sky darkened again. Not from more standard robots but from something else. Something worse.
Massive figures descended. Each nearly ten meters tall—giants compared to the two-meter standard units. Their construction was immediately distinct: instead of smooth metal surfaces, these machines were covered in scales. Overlapping plates that shifted and flowed like living tissue.
Sentinel Robots, text identified them. Adaptive combat platforms. Designed to evolve mid-battle based on enemy capabilities. Ultron's most sophisticated creations.
Homelander's enhanced vision analyzed them automatically. His X-ray perception pierced their exteriors, revealing internal structure.
What he saw made him pause. Made his perfect confidence falter for the first time.
The scales weren't just armor. They were alive in some sense—nanotechnology that could reconfigure itself. Absorb energy attacks and convert them to internal power. Repair damage by consuming surrounding material. Replicate enemy abilities through quantum observation and mechanical mimicry.
These aren't simple combat robots, Homelander realized. These are weapons specifically designed to counter opponents like me.
Adaptive. Learning. Evolving.
For the first time in this battle—possibly for the first time in his life—Homelander felt something unfamiliar:
Uncertainty.
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