The majestic Stairway to Heaven echoed with the Marine Vice Admiral's fierce, commanding voice.
Though he spoke the words "Paying homage to the Gorosei," the force behind them was anything but submissive—his killing intent seemed ready to split the heavens and tear down the Holy Land itself.
Winds howled around his scarred frame, towering and immovable as a cliff.
Hidden CP agents emerged from the shadows of Pangaea Castle, their faces pale.
He's lost his mind…
That Marine actually dares defy the Gorosei!
But before they could act—
Boom!
A crushing, abyssal presence erupted from the summit, dark and endless as the void itself. It descended in waves like a collapsing fortress wall, meeting Darren's overwhelming aura head-on.
The two forces clashed. The air itself buckled.
Black-crimson lightning carved through the clouds, blotting out the sky.
Every CP agent dropped to one knee, arms raised against the blast, eyes wide with disbelief.
The Gorosei… they've intervened!
The clash lasted only a heartbeat before dissolving completely, leaving a gaping chasm of clear air above the Holy Land.
"Permission granted to ascend the Stairway to Heaven," came the aged, resonant voice of Saint Topman Warcury.
Darren's eyes narrowed. He chuckled softly, drew a fresh cigar, bit and lit it. "My gratitude to Saint Warcury," he said, voice steady.
He began his ascent. Each step fell heavy on the vast, white stairway, his bloodstained uniform and battered frame still bearing the marks of war with the world's strongest man.
He climbed between towering stone statues—the twenty kings who had founded the World Government—silent gods looking down upon him.
Step by step, he climbed… until he reached the summit.
---
In under three minutes, Vice Admiral Darren stood before the ancient castle.
Smoke curled from his cigar, coiling around a face cut sharp with fatigue and resolve. The metallic tang of blood clung to him like armor.
He stood before the gate in silence.
He didn't need Haki to feel it—five colossal presences lay within, dark and fathomless, the unseen rulers of the world. But of Imu… there was no trace.
"Come in, Darren."
He inhaled deeply, pushed open the heavy door, and stepped inside.
The Chamber of Deliberation was not the dark, oppressive sanctum he'd imagined. Light poured through wide windows; bookshelves lined the walls, stacked with immaculate volumes. The scent of tea drifted through air touched by birdsong and flowers from a garden outside.
Five elders stood or sat beneath the sunlight, each radiating effortless dominance.
Darren inclined his head with a faint smile. "Darren greets Your Excellencies."
The Gorosei lifted their gazes, calm and appraising.
Saint Warcury, bald and mustached, spoke first, eyes glinting with hidden weight. "How are you feeling?"
"Excellent," Darren replied evenly.
Saint Warcury nodded. "We've reviewed your reports on the Whitebeard interception. You performed admirably—beyond expectation."
"It is my honor to serve the Government and the Marines," Darren said.
Saint Shepherd Ju Peter, the golden-haired elder, added coolly, "Your loyalty is noted."
"Then let's not waste time," Warcury continued. "Figarland Garling has likely informed you—the Holy Land intends to revive the Native Hunting Competition."
Darren's lips curved faintly. "Yes, Excellency Garling and I had… a cordial discussion."
"Excellent," Saint Saturn said, his voice smooth and cold. Leaning on his ancient cane, he continued, "Just before the Miracle Island battle, Kong approached us with a reasonable suggestion."
His sharp eyes gleamed. "We have decided to promote you to Marine Admiral—bypassing the usual channels."
He paused. "However, there is one condition. You will personally oversee this year's Hunting Competition."
"And," Saturn added casually, "it will take place on Felsek Island—in the North Blue."
His tone was calm, as if condemning an entire island's population to death were nothing more than administrative procedure.
Darren's face remained still, but inside, his chest tightened.
He had already suspected as much from Garling's hints—but hearing it confirmed still struck like thunder.
The North Blue. His territory. His birthplace.
So this was their test. Their message. Their leash.
He had expected cruelty—but not this level of audacity.
Anger burned low in his gut.
After a long silence, Darren lifted his gaze, eyes hard as steel. "So… this is my reward for service, Excellencies?"
"From the 'World Destroyer' Byrnndi World to the 'Flying Admiral' Golden Lion Shiki, to the interception of Whitebeard himself—I've carried out every mission without hesitation. I came here before my wounds even closed."
"And this is what I receive? To stand by while the people I swore to protect are butchered like cattle?"
He stepped forward, the echo of his boots cutting through the room like thunder. "The North Blue is where I built my power. If the Hunting Competition is held there—if civilians die—how do you expect me to save face?"
Rage flashed across the Gorosei's faces.
"Watch your tone, Darren!"
"This chamber will not tolerate insolence!"
"We already indulged your earlier outburst!"
"What is your face worth to us?!"
"The Marines are the Government's facade—your pride means nothing!"
"Laughable!"
Their fury rolled out in waves—five overlapping storms of black, crushing power that flooded the chamber with suffocating pressure.
Behind them, the air itself warped; indistinct, monstrous shadows writhed like living nightmares.
Darren's breath caught.
Then he laughed—quietly, coldly. Anger and grim amusement twisted together.
He flexed his fingers, briefly weighing the odds of killing one—or two—before they brought him down. But before the thought could root, a chill deeper than death pierced through him.
It came from nowhere and everywhere at once, striking straight into his bones.
His fist unclenched. His eyes drifted toward the garden outside—toward the faintest ripple of presence hidden within the sunlight and flowers.
That killing intent… was one that could end him.
To be continued...