The earth rumbled, dust coiling through the air. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to stop.
"Saint Saturn..."
"Saint Saturn has been defeated..."
"How... how is this possible...?"
"That monster... he's terrifying..."
The Celestial Dragons who had fled to a supposed safe distance stared, stupefied, their eyes bulging, trembling from sheer terror. Moments ago, they had smirked, certain the Gorosei's Warrior God of Science and Defense would crush the insolent Marine who didn't know his place. Now the truth gnawed at them like frostbite.
What was happening?
"What are you thinking about?"
The cold voice came from behind.
Two Celestial Dragons jolted. The figure on the Gyuki's skull had vanished. A shadow fell over them. They turned—and the blood-smeared Vice Admiral stood an arm's length away, materialized like an avenging ghost.
Ice spiked down their spines. Their pupils shrank to pinpoints. Two wide, calloused hands settled almost gently atop their heads.
Crack.
Crack.
Skulls crushed like fruit. Headless bodies wavered, then fell.
Conqueror's Haki: 0.07!
Conqueror's Haki: 0.05!
The surge hit like a clean breath. Darren's eyes burned with feral glee.
Across the way, the Gyuki's caved skull began to change again. Black miasma whooshed outward; the colossal frame shrank like a collapsing lung.
"I underestimated you, Darren."
In under two seconds Saint Saturn stepped from the whirl of smoke—upper body human, wreathed in black fire, wrinkled hands gripping an ancient staff; lower body still the spider, towering nearly six meters and radiating cold dread.
A hybrid.
The head Darren had nearly pulped was whole again, save for drying blood. The severed leg had regrown.
Darren's eyes narrowed. Zoan Awakening meant resilience, yes—but this was something beyond.
"That's all you amount to," Saturn said, indifference settling back over his face. "As I told you, you cannot grasp what you oppose. The World Government's eight centuries—"
Boom!!
The staff swept up to meet a screaming Dragon Claw. Frost roared outward; the ground heaved like a stormed sea.
Darren—Three-Fingered Dragon Claw—was suddenly there, his talons locked around the cane, a savage grin cutting his face. "Save the grand speech for after you've actually beaten me."
He surged in. Spider-legs stabbed; he parried, then hammered a side kick across Saturn's chest.
Bang!!
Haki-soaked leather met bone. The crunch echoed.
Crack... crack...
The second pulse of Haki launched Saturn like a rag doll, ring after ring of white shockwaves ballooning out. He struck the distant range like a falling star; peaks flattened into a plate, and the snows around them avalanched inward, geysering ice and rubble into the air.
Less than three seconds later, his voice drifted up from the wreckage, mocking and cold. "You still don't understand. Against me, you have no chance."
Black smoke spilled as he crawled free—unmarred.
Darren only sneered. He turned his back on Saturn, pivoted, and went straight for the frozen nobles with ruthless economy.
A wolf in a sheepfold.
They didn't last a heartbeat. Armament-hardened guards shattered under his pitch-black talons; every blow was fatal. Years of training and a thousand battles converged into a single, terrifying efficiency—faster even than CP0's finest.
Conqueror's Haki: 0.07!
Conqueror's Haki: 0.06!
Conqueror's Haki: 0.05!
As the nobles broke and ran, their cries turned thin with panic, Darren felt his will climbing, faster and faster, like a storm taking the sky.
"That brat!" Saturn spat, eyes burning. The spider-body skittered, legs scything as he gave chase, fury contorting his features.
He had turned this sealed island into a private hunting ground.
Urgency pricked and grew in Saturn's chest—because with every Celestial Dragon that fell, the boy's presence swelled, steady and unstoppable.
He was watering his spirit with the blood of gods.
---
At the same time—
Felsek Island, coastal blockade line.
Battleships sat in a cordon, guns ready, sealing every inlet and strait.
"Aaaah!"
"Don't kill me!"
"I'll give you anything!"
"Damn it!!"
The island's heart poured out its misery—footfalls, sobbing, ragged screams—sounds that scraped raw at anyone who heard them.
On the decks, thousands of Marines listened, faces tight with conflict. They weren't fools. Slave transports. Nobles in hunting garb. The shape of it was clear.
On that silent winter island, a slaughter was underway.
Jaws clenched. Fists tightened until the knuckles blanched. Young eyes went red with fury.
Civilians were dying, and they were the cordon—standing watch, sealing exits, tidying up after the World Nobles.
"Admiral Sengoku, there may be a hunt on the island. Should we land?"
The voice came from a man whose gentleness hid iron. The strain in him had finally found his throat. He squared himself and forced the words out.
"Didn't I make myself clear?" Sengoku's voice was flat—and trembling. "Whatever you hear, you will pretend you didn't hear it."
He turned. His bloodshot gaze pinned the earnest young officer. "Arthur, as a Marine... your only duty is to obey orders."
He might have been convincing Arthur—or himself. Each hard word seemed to force its way out between clenched teeth, cold and pitiless.
To be continued...