Jet-black light pulsed along the blade, violet flames blooming like exotic flowers, cold and domineering.
Only then did the onlookers truly see the sword.
It was Enma, the Hell-Destroyer—one of the 21 Great Grade swords.
Drip... drip... drip...
Kozuki Oden's eyes were bloodshot and fierce as he glared at the trembling demon blade. The edge had split his palm; half the tip was buried in his chest, blood seeping freely.
"Oden-san…" Shanks murmured, staring at the emaciated, hunched figure, the empty sleeve hanging loose at his shoulder. Sorrow edged his voice.
Since their crushing defeat by that Marine Vice Admiral on Fish-Man Island, Oden had become someone else entirely. The spirited swagger and easy confidence were gone, replaced by nights drowned in alcohol—sometimes weeping, sometimes laughing like a madman. Only when Captain Roger asked him to read the ancient script on the Poneglyphs did clarity return.
He had stopped practicing his swordsmanship.
What reason was there to train? What sword could he even wield now?
Enma was gone, and even Ame no Habakiri—the peer to Enma, famed for cutting the very heavens—had been taken by that damned Marine.
The Roger Pirates offered no comfort, only heavy, helpless sighs.
A dual-blade samurai who had lost both swords and an arm—such a blow would break most men.
Rayleigh cast Oden a long look, then sank back into the work of deflecting the rain of blade-light screaming across the sky, with no attention left to spare.
"Enma…" Oden whispered, clamping down on the quivering sword.
Dark-crimson Armament Haki coiled along his remaining arm, trying to pour into the cursed blade.
The instant the Ryuo neared Enma, the sword bucked like a living thing.
Shing!
Blood sprayed from Oden's torn palm as the blade ripped free.
The four Meito that had been weaving a canopy of sword-shadows over the Oro Jackson halted midflight, as if pausing with a human hesitation high above.
After what felt like a long, measuring gaze at the Roger Pirates, the four blades hissed together, flashed into streaks of light, and vanished into the island's depths.
The smothering dread lifted without a trace.
Thud!
Shanks and Buggy collapsed onto the deck at the same time, gasping, faces white as paper.
"W-we actually survived," Buggy muttered, voice still shaking.
Shanks forced a weak smile. "You were never going to die. Those swords weren't going to kill you."
"You've got the nerve to say that?! I'm not done with you!" Buggy sprang up as if stung, grabbed Shanks by the cheeks, and ground his teeth. "You used me as a shield, you bastard!"
Shanks' face twisted comically, but he only chuckled.
Around them, the crew stayed sitting where they'd fallen, tight muscles finally loosening. Hours of bracing for a stray blade to impale them had wrung them dry.
Rayleigh leaned on his sword, chest rising and falling, sweat beading on his brow. He stared into the island's depths, eyes dark, and let out a quiet breath.
"Is it finally ending…?"
---
Deep in the jungle, two figures clashed like beasts, battle intent radiating off them in waves. Blades flashed like falling water as cyclones of force ripped the land to pieces. From the air, swathes of ancient forest lay broken, pillars of smoke rising into the sky.
"Hahahaha! Darren! Come on!" Roger shouted, laughter wild as he swung his longsword. Crimson-black lightning poured from the blade, crisscrossing and detonating midair.
"Roger!" Darren bellowed back, charging through blood and dust. One hand became a dragon's claw, the other an iron fist, both crackling with black lightning.
BOOM!
They collided again. A wall of force blasted outward, leveling trees for hundreds of meters like a passing tsunami. A hellish gale rolled across the ruin.
Roger's sword bit deep, carving a bone-baring gash along Darren's flank. Darren's iron fist slammed into Roger's chest; the crack of fracturing ribs rang through the clearing.
An instant later they crashed down like meteors, plowing a hundred-meter trench into the earth.
"Hahahaha! Now this is living!" Roger roared, eyes blazing with battle lust. He ignored the stabbing pain in his ribs as blood ran down his blade.
The smoke thinned—then Roger fell silent, stunned.
"What the hell…?"
The palace lay in rubble, the ground black with blood, corpses strewn everywhere. Among them, the mangled body of a Celestial Dragon—a grotesque ruin.
"Looks like our fun ends here for today, Roger."
Roger's head snapped up, pupils pinpricking.
Marine Vice Admiral Darren, drenched in blood, hung in the air above, looking down with a taunting smile.
"You bastard! Don't run! We're not done!" Roger roared, fury boiling. He was only getting started.
Darren's grin went cold. He spared the pirate a final glance, then dropped toward the coast like a hawk stooping on prey. In a blink he was gone.
Near the shore, Doflamingo—battered, swaying—was barely holding under Gaban's relentless assault. Blood seeped from his nose and mouth; his vision swam.
"This ends here, brat!" Gaban leaped high, twin axes slick with blood, edges gleaming in the sun.
Suddenly—
A figure knifed down from the sky at impossible speed and slammed into the ground.
A black military boot crashed onto the descending axe, a whip kick detonating like a collapsing mountain.
Clang!
Boom!
The shockwave rippled out. Gaban staggered back, eyes narrowing in surprise. The power driving through his axes felt like wrestling a Giant.
Before he could recover, four streaks of light—cutting through everything in their path—screamed past, forcing him into a desperate retreat. Off balance, he took several slashes across the waist and legs, blood spraying.
Darren, one hand fisted in the collar of the unconscious Doflamingo, seemed to sense a gaze on him. He turned, arrogant eyes settling on the distant Oro Jackson.
Fury and resentment burned there—but under the rage, a shadow of fear.
"Farewell. Good luck to you all."
He wiped the blood from his face, a crooked smile twisting. "Oh, and by the way, there's no Poneglyph here."
He hefted Doflamingo and shot into the clouds, vanishing in an instant. Four sword-beams chased after him, shrieking, their explosions etching long trails of smoke across the sky.
To be continued...