An overwhelming aura, crackling with black lightning, flared from Darren and Bullet's clenched fists as they coiled to strike, warping the air around them.
Whitebeard's heart dipped as he watched the two brats settle into their stances. His grip tightened on Murakumogiri. An indescribable premonition pressed down on him—a suffocating dread that fixed him in its sights.
For a chilling moment he felt that even with Observation Haki, he wouldn't be able to slip the joint blow about to fall.
Everyone on the battlefield felt it. That crushing pressure rolled out across the island, stealing breath and stoking panic.
"What the hell is happening?" Diamond Jozu's eyelid twitched. He barely noticed the blood at the corner of his mouth as his gaze snapped toward the distant mountains.
Even Moria, trading blows with him, shivered. "Whoa, whoa… this aura is insane…"
With a clang, Crocodile's Golden Hook smashed against Marco's mid-air kick. Crocodile grinned. "Can Whitebeard really weather those two together?"
"Pops is the strongest," Marco shot back through gritted teeth—but his eyes flickered. He could feel it too: a destructive tide ready to erase everything.
All around, expressions varied, but awe gleamed in their eyes. An impossible thought rose:
So this is what a clash between the world's top fighters looks like.
—
Deep in the deserted island, a hellish gale howled, scattering dust and leaves into a raging spiral.
Wreathed in lightning and wind, Bullet roared, eyes burning. "Ready, Darren?!"
Darren's black hair snapped in the gusts, his aura cold and feral. A savage grin split his face. "Don't hold me back this time."
Their gazes locked, then fixed on the World's Strongest Man as his own pressure surged. In perfect unison, they lunged.
Their movements matched like they'd drilled them a thousand times. They struck as one.
"Combined Technique: Nation Splitter!"
ROAR—
A cataclysmic shockwave blasted forward, bearing down on Whitebeard.
Rock, soil, foliage, towering jungle—everything in its path was pulverized in an instant.
The shockwave's sweep spanned hundreds of meters, devouring the land before them and leaving nothing behind.
The moment they launched, Whitebeard moved.
His aura peaked—crimson-black lightning spiraling around his massive frame. Golden hair whipped in the wind; his eyes burned a fierce red.
He slashed.
Crack.
The naginata tore the sky, Tremor-Tremor Fruit and Haki interlacing into a crimson arc that ripped through the air.
Then—
A white flash swallowed sight. The world-shaking thunder came a heartbeat later.
From above, it would have been a nightmare: a colossal white ring expanding from the collision, obliterating everything it touched. In less than a breath, it devoured dozens of kilometers.
The blast lanced upward.
The shock flattened every tree on the island. Ground buckled. Stones scythed through the air like shrapnel.
On the coast, fighters flinched in horror, diving for cover or crumpling where they stood, arms up against the onrushing gale. Their bodies trembled.
A roar hammered their eardrums, leaving them dizzy and deaf.
Time slipped.
It felt endless, and yet only seconds passed. The vast vortex drew inward, then unraveled into silence.
Dust hung suspended. Eyes widened as if at an impossible sight.
Many of Whitebeard's men gasped.
A colossal pit yawned before them, its depths swallowing the horizon.
The island's jungle was gone, replaced by naked earth. Even the mountains—several over a hundred meters tall—within the blast zone had been erased without a trace.
As if a god had carved a piece from the world.
Silence fell—heavy, funereal.
Three towering figures stood unmoving, arms slack at their sides.
White steam bled from their bodies.
"Pops!" Marco gritted his teeth, burst into a phoenix, and arrowed toward them.
The others followed at once.
Up close, the damage was worse than they'd imagined.
Darren and Bullet were flayed with cuts, blood pattering to the ground like rain, their bodies little more than crimson smears. Their breaths rasped, thin and faltering.
Whitebeard looked better by comparison. Only his hands on the naginata were drenched; the rest of him bore no obvious wounds.
"Pops!!"
"Damn it—kill those two bastards!"
"They're at their limit!"
…
Murder gleamed in the Whitebeard Pirates' eyes as they tightened their grips and stepped forward.
Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.
Figures flashed into place before Darren and Bullet. Doflamingo and the other Warlords of the Sea formed a wall, holding the crowd at bay.
The recent clash had burned respect into both sides. Stalemate settled like a blade's edge.
"Dof… flamingo…" Darren's lips trembled. "Withdraw the Birdcage."
He raised his head with effort, young face masked in blood, lids dragging open.
Doflamingo paused, then nodded once and obeyed.
The vast white Birdcage sheathing the island thinned and dissolved into the sky. A quiet breath of relief slipped from the Whitebeard Pirates.
"Well then…" Darren glanced at the silent, immovable Whitebeard and bared his teeth in a grin. "Looks like our fun ends here today."
To be continued...