"This place… is off-limits."
The Vice Admiral's calm voice cracked like thunder. From the four points of the compass, legendary Meito bared their killing edges, locking the island beneath a pressure that felt absolute.
His Haki rolled over the shore.
The six newly appointed Warlords glanced toward the broad back at the fore, expressions tightening. To pin the Whitebeard Pirates in place—alone.
Across this sea, perhaps not even Garp or Sengoku could do that.
Staring at Darren's unshakable stance, something crept up their spines—fear, hunger, excitement—they couldn't name it. But the truth was simple: only Darren could make a miracle like this feel inevitable.
"This place is off-limits…" Reckless. Unrivaled.
Relief followed the awe.
They were lucky to stand here as Warlords. Without that title, how else could they look down on the infamous Whitebeard Pirates—on the World's Strongest Man, Whitebeard Edward Newgate?
Exhilaration surged; a few trembled despite themselves, eyes rimmed red.
Across the deck of the Moby Dick, faces hardened. Blades slid free. The Whitebeard Pirates fixed their sights on the seven figures along the metal ark.
Darren, the King of the North Blue—no one needed an introduction. They had felt his heel before; Pops' sworn brother, Kozuki Oden, had lost an arm to him.
A humiliation deeper than any dealt by Roger or the Golden Lion.
Now the Marine who felled Shiki in the North Blue stood before them again—at the height of strength, prestige, and command. There was no testing here. The pressure hitting Marco and the rest felt like Shiki in his prime.
Worse, the schemer hadn't come alone. Six Warlords flanked him.
The wind died. Stillness, hard as iron, settled over the shore.
"…Darren," Whitebeard rasped, lifting his head. He measured the Vice Admiral in the air and the six behind him, then snorted coldly.
"The Marines have fallen far," he growled. "Joining hands with pirates."
"Did you brats really think—" Veins stood out on his brow. His roar split the air. "—you could stop me here?"
Crack… crack…
Hairline fissures crawled across the space around him, multiplying until the very air looked like shattered glass.
Rumble—
A sound like the world coming apart rolled from every direction at once. The island bucked and split. The sea reared into mountains as a gale tore the sky.
Crash!
Earth heaved; dust geysered up.
Layered walls of water climbed into the clouds—tsunami-high, terrible and grand.
The ground shuddered underfoot.
"He's forcing a tsunami—just by his anger?!" Crocodile hissed, color draining from his face.
Fisher Tiger stared, stricken. "How…?" he whispered. The sea itself keened through his bones, as if it could not bear Whitebeard's wrath.
"Heh heh heh heh… This pressure almost makes me want to run," Doflamingo cackled, trembling head to toe. "So this is the World's Strongest!"
Mihawk's fighting spirit flared. In his mind's eye, Whitebeard became a mountain; he, a lone traveler compelled to climb. The urge to test his blade surged like fever.
"Kishishishi! What monstrous power!" Moria's pallor flushed a sickly red; the misshapen shadows behind him fluttered, close to unraveling under that crushing will.
Then—
"Kahahaha! Save the tough talk for after you put us down, Whitebeard!"
BOOM!
Power erupted from Bullet, violet-black arcs snapping into a storm. Before anyone could stop him, he flashed a savage grin and vaulted from the ark, a cannonball with a heartbeat.
Whoosh!
Purple-black aura burst from his brow, swallowing him whole.
Demon Form.
"This isn't your era, Whitebeard! You're a relic clinging to the sea!" Bullet's voice boomed through the transformation. "A new age begins now!"
Speed spiked. In a blink he smashed down onto the Moby Dick, a piledriver of a fist swinging with bone-breaking force.
"Gurararara! Arrogant whelp—show me what you've got!" Whitebeard roared, fury curdling into a feral grin. He reversed his grip on Murakumogiri and swept up in a thunder arc.
Zzzzt—
Black-red lightning raced the blade, bursting in jagged flares.
BOOM!!
Fist met naginata. The world detonated.
A hell-gale ripped outward, swallowing the island. Rings of crimson-black thunder rippled across the sky, cutting the cloud ocean in two.
Numb heat crawled up Bullet's arm; he swallowed a groan.
Conqueror's Haki clashing head-on.
"With that strength, you're nowhere near 'ushering in' anything!" Whitebeard thundered, a crimson spark in his eye.
Whoosh!
A milky-white aura wrapped his left fist. He sank his weight; his white captain's cloak flared. Rope-thick muscle surged along his arm.
He drove his fist into Bullet's face.
Bang!
Crack… crack…
The pale shock burst outward. Under horrified stares, Bullet's features twisted; blood sheeted from his mouth and nose as if lightning had struck point-blank.
"You're centuries too early, brat!" Whitebeard snarled, following through.
Boom!!
Bullet shot away like a meteor—twice as fast as he'd come—plowing through kilometers of forest, splintering trunks by the thousand, and vanishing into the ribs of a distant mountain.
The range howled and collapsed.
At the same time, the quake from Whitebeard's punch ripped the land apart, gouging bottomless trenches that raced for the ark—ready to swallow the whole ship whole.
To be continued...