Bullet was livid.
What the hell did "I don't want to kill you" even mean? Was Darren implying he could—and simply chose not to?
The sheer arrogance made his blood boil. Not even Captain Roger, in all his glory, had ever spoken to him with that kind of condescension.
So you've gotten stronger since last time? Bullet snarled inwardly. You think you're the only one who's been training, Darren?
His fury erupted like a volcano. Purple lightning flashed across the battlefield as his Conqueror's Haki exploded outward, swallowing the air in a violent storm of pressure and killing intent.
Darren sighed softly. "Well, I guess that means talking's out of the question."
Then, with a lazy grin: "Fine. I'll knock you flat first, and we can chat afterward. But try not to scream too loudly, alright? There are tens of thousands of Marines watching. I'd hate for you to embarrass yourself…"
Out on the battleships, several Marines twitched violently.
The three Headquarters Vice Admirals turned to glare at Borsalino, who was reclining on his beach chair, sipping juice through a straw.
That tone… that exact tone.
They'd heard it before. And they knew what came next.
On the island, Bullet's eyes bulged with rage, crimson veins spreading across the whites.
"YOU'RE DEAD!!!"
He slammed his foot into the earth—BOOM!—and the ground beneath him collapsed into a crater. His figure blurred, vanishing like a shot from a cannon.
A heartbeat later, he was upon Darren.
His Armament Haki burned black, steam hissing from his skin as his fist ripped through the air like a meteor aimed straight for Darren's skull.
This was Douglas Bullet: brute force incarnate.
No tricks. No hesitation. No mercy.
Just a pure, unrelenting collision of will and muscle.
Darren's lips curved. "Looks like you've finally improved."
The cigar ember gleamed faintly between his teeth as his eyes sharpened to blades. His Observation Haki unfolded across the field—reading Bullet's movement, his breath, his intent—before the punch even arrived.
He didn't dodge.
He didn't block.
He simply stepped forward.
A torrent of Armament Haki surged through his body, flooding his arm like molten iron before condensing into his fist. The movement was fluid, almost gentle, yet it carried the precision of a blade and the weight of a falling mountain.
To the watching Marines, Darren's counter looked almost sluggish—slow enough to follow with the naked eye.
But Borsalino, from his chair, stopped mid-sip. His lazy leg froze in midair.
Then, after a beat, a knowing smirk tugged at his lips.
Bullet felt it instantly—an instinctual, primal dread clawing up his spine.
That simple, casual punch carried something… incomprehensible. The very air around it seemed to twist and fracture, the horizon warping like rippling glass.
This feeling—this pressure—he'd only ever known once before.
Captain Roger.
That same crushing, sovereign force that made gods hold their breath.
No… it can't be!
There was no time to think. With a roar, Bullet clenched his fist and met Darren head-on.
BANG!
Their fists collided—black against black.
A shockwave erupted outward like a volcanic blast, swallowing the island in an expanding ring of destruction. The ground split open in jagged veins, and stones the size of buildings shattered to dust.
Then Bullet's eyes went wide.
Pain exploded through his arm—bone cracking beneath the force, Armament Haki splintering like shattered glass.
He was launched backward, skidding through the dirt for hundreds of meters before crashing to one knee, his breath ragged and blood dripping from his knuckles.
"What the hell was that?!" he snarled, disbelief twisting his face.
Darren straightened, smoke curling from his cigar, his expression calm and composed.
"Serious Fist."
The words rolled out like a verdict.
Since rising to Admiral-level strength, Darren had pushed Garp's "Fist of Love" to its logical extreme—melding raw power, refined Haki, and focused will into a single, seamless strike. It was more than a technique. It was a state of being.
The perfect unity of mind, body, and spirit.
He didn't need brute force to shatter mountains anymore—his control was the force.
"You're… full of shit!!" Bullet roared, his voice cracking with rage.
'Serious Fist'? What kind of bullshit name is that?!
He felt mocked—humiliated. As though Darren wasn't even taking him seriously.
Darren exhaled softly. "If you won't believe the truth, I can't help you."
He tilted his head slightly, his voice low and unhurried.
"But surely by now, you understand the difference between us."
He took a step forward, eyes gleaming like steel.
"Stop struggling, Bullet. I'm afraid I might accidentally break your other arm."
He smiled faintly. "With one arm, you can still be a Shichibukai. But with none, I'll just toss you into Impel Down and let you rot."
From the distant ships, the three Vice Admirals gaped.
"Is he trying to make the man surrender?" one muttered.
"He's going to drive Bullet insane," another whispered. "He's pushing him into a fight to the death!"
And sure enough—
Bullet erupted.
"DAMN YOU, DARREN!!!"
His roar split the heavens. The ground beneath him cracked apart as a monstrous vortex of dark purple Haki spiraled up around his body. The air screamed as if the world itself were buckling under his power.
He was burning everything—his will, his stamina, his life itself.
Darren frowned slightly, his brows knitting.
Even without using Observation Haki, he could feel it—the violent, desperate surge of energy tearing through Bullet's body.
He's burning his reserves completely…
A flicker of regret crossed his expression.
Have I really pushed him this far?
To be continued...