The naked threat sent ice down every spine aboard the Oro Jackson.
Four legendary blades, each aimed from a different quarter, seemed to squeeze the air from their lungs—cutting off any hope of flight. Back-to-back, grim-faced, they dared not twitch.
The killing aura from the four Meito whipped the wind into needle-stiff gusts that stung as they struck.
If they hadn't seen it, they'd never have believed it: the Roger Pirates, who roamed unchallenged, pinned in place by four swords.
Shanks swallowed, eyes fixed on the Marine Vice Admiral locked with Roger—and drawing blood. Fear coiled tighter in his chest.
"Damn it," Rayleigh hissed through his teeth, feeling the blades' bloodlust raking over the deck. His heart dropped like a stone.
That Marine brat… too cunning by half.
A filthy tactic—immobilize them with a single gambit.
What burned worst was his helplessness. Gaban had already gone ashore. If Rayleigh left the ship now, those four blades would butcher the crew—and perhaps the Oro Jackson herself.
He tightened his grip. Red veins crept through his eyes.
Humiliation this raw he hadn't tasted since he first put to sea with Roger.
---
"Darren, you bastard! How is your body even tougher?!" Roger roared, voice rattling the sky. Seizing the instant Darren's focus flickered, he drove his blade down.
Boom!
Black and crimson sword-light blew outward in a spiraling shockwave, dust surging in tidal walls that battered the island. A fissure hundreds of meters long split the ground, chewing into the jungle and toppling trees by the score.
The earth thrummed. Less than a heartbeat later, the Vice Admiral's crazed silhouette launched from the crack like a shell.
His foot hammered the ground—thunder in his wake—and he blurred forward on a blast of force.
"Do you know what I've gone through this past month?!" Darren bellowed, eyes burning red. In a blink he was above Roger, three pitch-dark dragon claws venting scalding force as crushing power poured down.
Dragon Claw Fist: Dragon's Breath!
Roger lunged and slashed up through clenched teeth. "I don't care!"
Clang!
Boom!!
Metal screamed—and then the world detonated. Shockwaves flung out like a nuclear tide, ripping the island in all directions. Storm-winds tore the earth, seawater flooded inward, trees and boulders ripped up and pinwheeled through the sky.
Claw met sword. The two, blood-drunk, stared into each other's lightning-sparked pupils.
Darren's chest and arms ran crimson. A deep gash laid bone bare, but the savagery in his gaze only sharpened.
Closer.
I'm getting closer.
A month of hell—relentless diarrhea and degrading treatments—and the gap to the world's strongest pirate had shrunk.
Compared with Fish-Man Island, Roger's Divine Departure pressed less harshly now; the wounds bit less deep. His stamina, his recovery—both markedly higher.
If a month ago he'd have collapsed after a single day of straight fighting, now—
"At least two days."
The realization poured fuel on the fire. His heart hammered; his blood sang.
He stepped in—punch, elbow, knee, whip-kick—close-quarters technique flowing like a single breath. On raw physique alone he met the Conqueror's Haki on Roger's edge, smashed through guards, and became a beast that only advanced.
Blood spattered; cuts multiplied; Darren's grin widened.
This is it.
The unfiltered thrill of trading blows with the world's strongest pirate.
"Is that kid insane…?" Rayleigh muttered, a chill running his spine.
Roger—lost in the rush—likely hadn't noticed. Even if he had, that thickheaded captain wouldn't have cared. But Rayleigh, watching from distance, saw with brutal clarity.
They had crossed this Marine more than once in under two years. Early Grand Line—one casual slash had nearly ended him. Then Edd War. Then Fish-Man Island. And now this.
Each time, the Vice Admiral had climbed—terrifyingly fast. From careful probes and layered schemes, to tentative clashes at Fish-Man Island, to this—wild, toe-to-toe ferocity.
In less than two years he'd gone from testing Roger to reveling in him. A monster without precedent.
"I won't let you rampage!" Gaban landed hard, hurling himself at Darren, twin axes churning with black lightning.
Darren didn't spare him a glance. He took Roger's blade on the body and drove forward like an avalanche, smashing into him like a falling cliff.
Boom!
Air buckled with the impact. Roger tasted iron.
"Die!"
Murder lit Gaban's eyes. To be ignored—by this brat—ignited a rage he didn't try to check. The twin axes fell.
Clang!
Sparks fountained as strands of pitch-black thread knit themselves from thin air and caught both blades. The axes shuddered, held.
Gaban snapped his head around.
At the threads' far end stood a blond youth, eyes bloodshot, veins leaping along the backs of his hands as he strained—yet a feverish, fanatic grin still dragged at his mouth.
"Sorry," Doflamingo rasped, licking at cracked lips, "but I'm your opponent."
To be continued...