You fucking call yourself one of the Gorosei?!
What is with this brat's physique, defense, and strength? I'm the one with a Mythical Zoan, awakened no less—yet in close quarters he's more ferocious, more bloodthirsty, than I am. He fights beyond technique and restraint; every inch of him is a weapon.
"How can this be…?"
Crimson malice flashed in Saint Saturn's eyes. His pitch-black spider legs lashed like venomous dragon tongues, stabbing for Darren's throat.
"Don't… underestimate the Gorosei!"
A red gleam flickered in the Vice Admiral's gaze; he read the line of attack as it formed.
"You've slowed down."
Darren slipped his head aside and let the strike whisper past. His hand fell like a blade.
Tch.
The furred limb parted cleanly. As green venom spattered the air, the Gyuki—down to four legs—lost its footing and crashed with a mountain-splitting roar. Blood rained. Bathed in it like a demon, Darren strode in and stamped, crushing the swollen abdomen until a froth of gore burst under his heel.
"The Gorosei… is this all you've got?"
His fist hammered down. Another fan of green.
He fought like a maddened beast, tearing at the mythical monster as if to rip it apart alive.
By now Darren had the measure of him. Saint Saturn—the Warrior God of Science and Defense—was a master of Devil Fruit development, not Haki, martial arts, or raw physique: the tools of close combat. With the Gyuki's power he wielded suppression, the Evil Eye, and venom—battlefield control, unseen strikes, lethal debuffs—layered over a Mythical Zoan's native might. Against anyone below Admiral level, that arsenal was absolute dominance. Even Admirals would be ground down in a long fight by those relentless techniques and that uncanny, near-immortal body.
Let's be plain: his combat strength stood on par with an Admiral. Add that regeneration and the pressure became suffocating.
But he was facing me.
He had not imagined anyone could temper a human body into something this monstrous: iron-hard hide; a toxin resistance that mocked poison; brute force beyond giants; an arrogant, domineering style; a beast's berserk fury.
For an instant, staring at the boy's crazed grin, Saturn's dazed eyes seemed to glimpse phantoms behind him—Kaido, Big Mom, Roger, Whitebeard, Golden Lion—faces of defiance flashing past until they settled, grim and implacable, on Iron Fist Garp.
Air burst and coiled into a pitch-black fist veined with crackling lightning. It swelled in Saturn's pupils until it swallowed his sight.
"D—damn it…"
Darren's black hair whipped as he drove the punch home.
"So you're the fucking Gorosei?!"
Fist Bone—Underwater Descent!
The blow fell like a star, the kind that sinks seas. It slammed into Saturn's chest with a cannon's roar.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
Bones broke like dry twigs. Saturn spewed blood; his chest caved, his body curled like a boiled shrimp. The impact rattled his core—his monstrous form unraveled, shrunken back into a man as he went spinning end over end, a kite with its string cut.
He vanished into the far range.
BOOM!!
The mountain answered by splitting. Shockwaves punched skyward; avalanches cascaded in rolling walls, each collapse triggering the next down a spine of peaks. From a distance it looked as if a fist had punched straight through the snow-crowned ridge.
On the outer edge of the island, Marines on the blockade line flinched and stared, thunderstruck, at the mountains inland. The blizzard billowed and overturned; a vast chasm yawned down the middle of the range.
"What… what on earth is happening?"
"That aura…"
"What are the Celestial Dragons playing at now?"
The thought that nobles might be using weapons of mass destruction to "hunt" slaves and civilians scalded their throats. Jaws clenched; eyes went red—but they held their tongues.
"Admiral Sengoku! Are we really just going to stand here and watch?"
"Admiral Sengoku! I recommend we storm the island!"
"Admiral Sengoku—"
"Your orders are to hold the blockade and let no one in or out!" Sengoku's rebuke cracked across the decks like ice breaking. "If reinforcements are needed, we will receive a call on the Den Den Mushi."
His own eyes were bloodshot, his chest rising hard. "Has anyone received a Military Den Den Mushi transmission? Without orders, a landing would be a direct violation of the World Government's command. Can any of you carry that weight?"
The words hit like cold seawater. The cross-shaped flag. Eight centuries of authority. Mouths opened and shut; silence fell heavy as snow.
"Maintain formation. Keep the coast sealed. I will bear the responsibility," Sengoku roared.
A lookout's strangled cry cut him off. High on the mast, the sailor pointed with a shaking hand.
"Th—that's…"
To be continued...