The Roger Pirates fled with practiced speed—proof that hasty retreats were nothing new.
In a blink, the Oro Jackson's sails were up and biting the wind of Fish-Man Island's inner sea.
Crewmen scrambled across the deck, trading boisterous laughter.
"All right, lads! We're setting sail again!" Roger roared, grinning through bruises and cuts as he flourished his Meito.
"Hoo-rah!" the crew shouted, caught in his infectious joy.
"Trying to run?" a cold, rasping voice carried from the ruins behind them, freezing their smiles in place.
"Full speed," Rayleigh snapped, face hardening as he urged the helmsman on.
The crew craned back toward the voice. Someone hissed, "He's still standing?!"
Out of the smoke and wreckage, a tall figure pushed up from the ground. Blood striped his body; scar-lines crosshatched him like a demon walking out of hell.
The pitch-black aura of Demon Form receded, revealing the Marine Vice Admiral beneath, chest heaving.
"Damn, that stings… as expected of the 'Dark King,' Rayleigh."
Fire burned across Darren's back, white-hot and deep enough to make his vision swim. Rayleigh's strength had long since surpassed an admiral's, nipping even at Roger's heels. Timed to the instant he and Roger were deadlocked, that sneak attack had been almost impossible to parry. If not for the Indestructible Body and Demon Form layered together, that Conqueror's-imbued blade would have cleaved him in two.
He lifted his gaze to the fleeing ship. His bloodstained teeth showed in a vicious grin.
"Damn it… fire! Open fire!"
That venomous glare sent a cold spike through the men on deck. Buggy blanched, a primal dread thudding in his chest as a scream tore free. That look—like a ghost come for him—made every hair rise.
One thought flashed through every mind: Rogers Darren, the King of the North Blue, never forgot a grudge.
The Oro Jackson thundered with cannon fire. Pitch-black shot howled through the air, a storm of iron raining down on the Vice Admiral.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Shells blossomed in rapid succession, folding the ground into fire and smoke. Through the wavering heat, his silhouette stood unmoving.
Half-hidden by the flames, they saw his right hand slowly rise.
Rayleigh's pupils pinpricked. His fingers closed on the hilt at his hip. "Incoming slash!" he barked.
A heartbeat of confusion passed through the crew.
A slash? From there? …No—could it be—
Faces drained as the answer hit.
Kozuki Oden lay on the deck, half-conscious and unable to move. Rage burned red in his eyes.
"Go, Oto," a cold voice came from the heart of the blaze.
Whoosh.
For an instant, petals seemed to drift—an illusion of falling cherry blossoms.
The fire split.
Smoke ruptured.
Air itself parted.
Everything in the path—earth, stone, walls—sheared away in a single breath.
The legendary blade, hurled by a surge of electromagnetic force, howled through the sky and erased the thousand meters between them.
"I've got it!"
A lithe figure vaulted to the prow—black hair tied into a high ponytail beneath a bandana—twin battleaxes crossed as he met the onrushing sword without a flicker of fear.
Boom!
The impact hit like a Buster Call warship ramming full speed. Gaban's lids fluttered as he skidded back ten meters, boots carving lines into the planks.
The shockwave rolled outward, rocking the ship and nearly pitching men overboard.
Now they could see what he had stopped:
A sword.
The Meito of the Great Pirate Golden Lion Shiki.
Shanks and Buggy gasped together. How could a man that wounded still wield such terrifying force?
Cold sweat slid down Gaban's temple. His lips thinned; pins and needles prickled the webs between thumb and forefinger.
"Not bad—for the Roger Pirates' third-in-command."
Before anyone could breathe, the voice cut through again, colder still.
"Second strike."
Whoosh.
Another blade of light ripped across the sea, leaving a wake of withering silence in its passage.
Kogarashi—Shiki's other Meito.
"Damn it," Rayleigh hissed, steel whispering free. His silver blade snapped up, trailing crimson-black lightning as it crossed the incoming arc.
Clang!
Sparks burst. His sword flicked Kogarashi's strike aside.
He landed hard, teeth gritted. "Use it now! Don't drag this out!"
The crew froze. It was the first time they'd seen their unflappable vice-captain so taut with urgency.
A breath later, they understood.
An oppressive, icy dread fell like a lid. Air thickened; time seemed to stall.
Men locked where they stood, color draining from their faces.
"W-wait… no way…" Shanks croaked, raising his head by inches.
"That maniac—he's gonna kill us all!" Buggy shrieked, clutching at his head.
One by one, eyes climbed to the sky. Blood ran cold.
Reflected in their tightening pupils was a colossal obsidian blade, its surface breathing eerie violet flame. It hung over Fish-Man Island with its point aimed straight at them—
—like the sword of Damocles, suspended judgment between life and death.
"Shoot them down…" Oden's face went chalk white.
"…Enma."
To be continued...