Drizzle…
At some point the rain had softened.
The battlefield fell silent at the sight of a lone figure descending from the sky. Whether it was illusion or not, the Marines—who had finally forced themselves to advance on Zephyr under Sengoku's ruthless order—seemed to deflate at once. Relief slid out of them in a faint, shared exhale.
Salvation had walked onto the field.
For men who could barely imagine living with the memory of striking their own instructor, Darren's arrival felt like a reprieve they hadn't dared to hope for.
"You came just in time…"
Borsalino's mouth tugged into a playful curve, sunglasses glittering. Kuzan clenched his fists, face flushed with relief, his whole body trembling. Sakazuki's gloved hands slowly eased.
"Darren…"
Sengoku stared at the figure closing the distance, his expression shifting from shock to calculation and back again.
Boots hit the waterlogged stone, sending ripples through the puddles. Over Marineford, four legendary Meito materialized out of thin air, hanging in the air like reapers' scythes poised above every Marine's head.
Darren didn't spare Sengoku or the ranks a glance. He turned instead to the purple-haired old man, steam puffing from his lips in the cold rain.
No one moved. They had all seen Felsek with their own eyes: the "monster" of Marine Headquarters tearing into the Gorosei. And just now they had tried to lay hands on his wife and child. Even if it had been a last resort, it gave him a hundred reasons to kill them where they stood.
Silence leeched the color from the wrecked landscape. An old man and a young one faced each other across the ruin.
"You've gotten stronger, you little brat," Zephyr said, giving the Vice Admiral a long once-over. Pride crept into his eyes; a wide grin split his face.
Darren's gaze flicked to the empty sleeve, the blood-soaked shirt. After a beat, he said quietly, "But you've gotten weaker, old man."
Zephyr threw back his head and roared.
"It's just an arm! You should see my opponent—he lost his head! Hahahahahaha!"
The hoarse thunder of it punched holes through the storm, wild and steady all at once. It stirred something in everyone who heard it.
Darren didn't smile.
Standing in the rain, he studied the old man for a moment. "CP0 battle sequence?"
Zephyr shook his head and squared his shoulders. "Not just any CP0—the Celestial Dragons' Strongest Shield. The pinnacle of CP0."
Darren paused, then nodded. "I'll remember that."
An iron box appeared in his hand. He tossed it to Zephyr as if passing a cigar.
Sengoku's pupils pinpricked.
"What's this?" Zephyr asked, frowning at the weight in his palm.
"The prize from the Native Hunting Competition on Felsek," Darren said flatly. "Over five hundred Elite Celestial Dragons hunted islanders to claim it. The final reward—the Float-Float Fruit."
Zephyr's laugh cut off. His face went blank.
The Float-Float Fruit.
Golden Lion Shiki's power.
Before he could speak, Darren lifted a finger. A blue spark snapped across the box, and the lid creaked open.
Inside lay a golden, pineapple-shaped fruit etched with curling cloud motifs.
For a single heartbeat, the world forgot to breathe. Every gaze burned.
The Float-Float Fruit—one of the sea's most fearsome Paramecia. With it, Shiki had nearly ruled the New World—and almost dragged Marineford into the depths. Even without the legend, the power to make the unthinkable float put its value beyond measure. The Celestial Dragons would never have wagered it if it were anything less.
Zephyr looked once. Then he looked away.
"You need this more than I do," he said, voice low. "You'll be facing the strongest forces on the sea. This power could ease the pressure, even for you."
Darren shook his head. "No. I wouldn't trust it to anyone else."
"You're the only person I can trust… Please, Zephyr-sensei."
Zephyr went still.
Resolve—clean and unwavering—burned in Darren's eyes. It invited no argument.
"…I see," Zephyr said at last, a heavy breath leaving him. Understanding settled into the lines of his face. He snatched the fruit from the box.
"No!" Sengoku's face drained of color. "Stop him—"
Four bladed lances screamed through the rain, slamming toward him with explosive force. Sengoku's eyelids twitched; in the same instant he burst into his Golden Buddha form, Armament-clad forearms crossing before his chest.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
The four Meito hit like rockets, driving the Buddha backward across the shattered ground.
Before the Marines' stunned eyes—
Zephyr shoved the Float-Float Fruit into his mouth.
Chhh!
Juice spattered from the corner of his lips. His face froze; he swallowed hard against the gag.
Heat surged from his gut to his heart, a thunderclap under his ribs.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
His pulse hammered. Cords of vein rose on his forehead, neck, and arm, crawling outward like living rope.
And then the impossible happened.
Before the Marines' collective stare, the grit and gravel around Zephyr's boots began to tremble—
—then rose, weightless, into the rain.
To be continued...