Lost in thought, Darren weighed his current combat strength. I'm still a ways off from legends like Roger and Whitebeard at the very peak, but at least I wouldn't be helpless against them.
As for Kaido-sensei—before he reached his prime—Darren figured he could hold his own. At this stage, they were likely even.
"Hey! Young Darren! Are you listening to me, brat?!" Zephyr snapped, patience worn thin by the kid's vacant stare and the faint, self-satisfied twitch at his mouth.
"Don't worry, Zephyr-sensei," Darren said with a grin, snapping back to the present. "My butt's a little sore, but otherwise I'm great."
Zephyr rolled his eyes at Darren's pale, gaunt face.
Before he could retort, a crushing aura erupted from the Vice Admiral, crashing over the room like a tidal wave.
Zephyr's pupils tightened. He stared in disbelief as the boy bared his power without restraint.
"That aura…"
Crack.
A hairline fracture crawled across the wall; the coffee table bloomed with spiderweb fissures. Water in a glass shivered into concentric rings.
"Now you understand, Zephyr-sensei?" Darren smirked, black hair lifting in the invisible pressure. His presence rose like a mountain heaved from a flat plain.
The next instant, it receded like a tide. The air stilled. If not for the cracks, Zephyr might have taken that suffocating pressure for a bad dream.
He swallowed, throat dry, suddenly looking lost and old.
"It's… actually real…"
He took a hard drag on his cigar and dropped heavily onto the sofa. "This old man… really is getting old."
He would never have believed Darren's deranged regimen could work. It shattered decades of experience and judgment. Worse—the method was useless to anyone else. If another tried to "inhale" strength like Darren, they would die before the first breath did its work.
"It's alright, Zephyr-sensei," Darren said, laying a hand on his shoulder with sincere warmth. "You'll always be one of the greatest teachers on this sea to me."
He meant it.
Zephyr's eye twitched. He slapped the hand away, stood, and strode for the door.
"Where are you going?" Darren called.
"None of your business, brat!" Zephyr shot back over his shoulder. "This old man needs some peace and quiet!"
The door slammed. The retreating figure carried a bleak, inexplicable melancholy.
Darren stared after him, baffled. "What's he mad about? I was just being honest."
Purupuru… Purupuru…
The Military Den Den Mushi buzzed in his pocket. He answered.
"Godfather, we've found the target," a raspy voice reported. "He's enslaved by the Celestial Dragons—kept on an island where they use him as prey for their hunts."
Darren's eyes narrowed; amusement tugged at his lip. "Location?"
---
A desolate island in the New World.
Crack.
The thorned iron whip cut the air and tore another bloody gash into the Tiger Shark Fish-Man's already mangled body.
Fisher Tiger clenched his teeth. His shackled, towering frame trembled under the sear of pain, but he refused to cry out. Any weakness only fed these madmen's cruelty.
Whips cracked from every direction as guards drove a group of equally battered slaves forward. Eyes empty, bodies sluggish, they trudged toward the island's center.
"Keep moving!"
"The Lord is waiting for you trash!"
"Faster, damn you!"
Curses and laughter buzzed in the air. The guards, whips slick with old blood, grinned at the slaves with the flat indifference of men herding livestock to slaughter.
"Worthless scum."
Fisher Tiger felt their stares and fury flared. He cursed inwardly.
Another lash snapped out and ripped a slave's throat. Blood sheeted. The man dropped as if struck by lightning, hands clawing at the wound as his shackles clanged against stone.
Blood bubbled between his fingers and stained the cold manacles crimson.
"Ross!"
Fisher Tiger's eyes burned red. He lunged, his broad, blood-slick hands fumbling to stanch the flow.
Six months of enslavement had welded hard bonds among these sufferers.
"Gurgle…"
Ross coughed froth and scarlet, eyes fixed on the Fish-Man looming over him. With agonizing effort, he managed, word by word:
"You… must… escape…"
His pupils widened. Breath fled.
Even the other slaves—numbed by pain and despair—felt a dull ache at the sight.
"Tch! What a nuisance." A guard spat, then cracked his whip again.
Crack.
The lash raked Fisher Tiger's back; blood fanned.
"Move it! Don't waste time! Want to end up like him?!"
Fisher Tiger's body seized. His fists clenched so hard his closed eyes bled at the seams.
You have to escape…
He dragged in air and forced himself upright, resolve hardening.
The column lurched on, deeper into the jungle.
After hours hacking through green, Fisher Tiger lost all sense of distance—until the forest broke.
In the silent heart of the wilderness, a golden palace rose.
It made no sense for such opulence to exist on a dead island.
Guards lined the slaves across the courtyard.
Soon, escorted by figures in white silk, a middle-aged man emerged in resplendent dress, a glass helmet gleaming.
A World Noble—a Celestial Dragon.
Fisher Tiger's pupils narrowed.
"We pay our respects to Saint Feipuluosi," the guards and slave traders intoned, dropping to their knees.
"Hmm. They're all properly conditioned?" the Celestial Dragon drawled. He had golden hair and a face pocked to ugliness; scorn sat easy in his eyes.
"Yes," a trader fawned. "Six months together, day and night."
For some reason, those words scraped a chill across Fisher Tiger's spine.
"Very well."
A fevered grin spread across the noble's face.
"Then let the games begin."
"You pathetic slaves, listen well." He spread his arms, drool stringing at the corner of his mouth, eyes bright with mania. "You are less than dust to me—but today, this great lord grants you a chance."
He laughed, wild and delighted.
"Slaughter each other! The last one standing…"
His laughter rang across the courtyard.
"Shall be granted freedom!"
The words landed like a blade. Fisher Tiger's face went ash gray. Around him, his companions sucked in air in ragged gasps.
"No…"
He raised his head in disbelief.
Before him stood the people he had lived with for six months—shouldered hardship with, cared for, night and day.
Slowly, one by one,
As if on cue,
They turned toward him,
Eyes empty and lifeless—and burning with hysterical madness.
As a Fish-Man, he was the strongest among them.
To be continued...