Only one blade remained sheathed at his side—
Kogarashi.
The other, his beloved Oto, had been taken from him long ago—by none other than Shiro.
That sword had once followed him through countless battles, carving his legend into the seas.
Now, it was gone. All that remained was Kogarashi, a lonely witness to the passing of an age.
Years later, Shiki the Golden Lion found another sword to match it—fine enough, but never the same.
Every time his hand closed around its hilt, he could still feel the weight and balance of Oto—the perfect swing, the effortless cut.
No matter how sharp, this replacement lacked its soul.
Because of that, his swordsmanship never again reached the freedom and perfection of his prime.
Once, with twin blades in hand, he had soared across the Grand Line, clashing evenly with the likes of Gol D. Roger.
Those days were gone.
And worse still… the scar from Edd War never healed.
That battle had left him half-broken. A ship's rudder struck his head; though he lived, the timber remained lodged in his skull.
For decades it had been his curse—endless pain, slow reaction, dulled precision.
Each time he swung with full force, the wound burned, dragging him down once more.
Between his missing blade and that cursed injury, Shiki was no longer the monster who once ruled the skies—
But the experience of a man who had fought through a hundred wars still burned bright behind those eyes.
And now, he raised his twin swords again, facing Dracule Mihawk, the swordsman who sought to become the world's strongest.
Steel met steel in mid-air, each strike heavier than the last.
Shiki's swordsmanship was as wild as a storm—unrestrained, ferocious, every slash a display of dominance.
What made him truly terrifying was how he wove his Float-Float Fruit powers into each strike, twisting their paths mid-swing, attacking from impossible angles.
Even fragments of shattered rock cut by Mihawk's blade floated back under his control, reshaping into deadly shards that rained down again like a storm of knives.
"Slicing Wave!!"
With a thunderous roar, Shiki swung Kogarashi, sending a crescent of golden energy hurtling forward—
a slash like lightning itself, aimed straight for Mihawk's heart.
Mihawk's swordsmanship was its mirror opposite—calm, precise, absolute.
Where Shiki's cuts screamed with fury, Mihawk's flowed like inevitability.
Every strike was measured to the millimeter; every parry met the exact point of impact.
He moved with the rhythm of the sea itself—never too fast, never too slow.
The air split as their blades met.
A shockwave ripped across the island—mountains cracking, the ground gouged into deep trenches.
It was a duel that transcended generations.
The old lion of the sea, who had once ruled alongside the Pirate King—
and the hawk, who sought to stand at the summit of swordsmanship.
Neither could gain the upper hand.
Their wills, their blades—equal in every way.
Then, Shiki's grin widened.
"Fwahaha… impressive, boy! But let me remind you—"
He kicked off the ground, soaring skyward, his laughter echoing through the clouds.
"—why I once stood beside Gol D. Roger!!"
He drew on his power, the air around him twisting.
"Lion's Threat: Imperial Sky Spiral!!"
At once, the entire floating island began to move.
Avalanches thundered from the peaks; waves rose like walls around the edges.
The snow, the sea, the stone—all swirled together, molded by Shiki's will.
Within seconds, they took form:
Gigantic lion heads, each roaring with enough force to shake the sky, charged toward Mihawk from every direction.
It was like watching a natural disaster given life.
Yet Mihawk stood his ground, black coat fluttering in the gale.
He raised Yoru, his black blade, before him—
his eyes gleaming with the focus of a predator.
All his power gathered into that one strike.
The air around him froze, the world holding its breath.
Then he thrust.
The motion was simple. Effortless. Perfect.
A thrust born from countless battles, refined through endless solitude—
an evolution of the legendary Divine Departure he had once witnessed from Shiro himself.
He poured both Armament Haki and Conqueror's Haki into the blade.
The two merged, forming a singular, overwhelming force.
A black line of light flashed through the air, so sharp it seemed to tear space apart.
It pierced through every roaring lion, obliterating them from within—
even severing the invisible force that gave them life.
The sky fell silent.
The lions shattered into dust, their fragments scattering like golden snow.
Shiki's eyes widened.
His ultimate technique—broken by a single thrust.
Shock turned to rage… then to excitement.
But battle instinct overrode both.
He caught the faint hitch in Mihawk's breath—the smallest hesitation after that all-out strike—
and moved in.
Crossing his swords, he unleashed a blinding storm of slashes.
"Lion: Scattering Valley!"
Dozens of intersecting golden blades filled the sky, closing in from every direction, sealing off all escape.
Mihawk reacted in an instant.
His body turned fluidly, Yoru sweeping across in rapid arcs.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Metal rang out again and again as sparks rained like starlight.
The Lion of the Old Era and the Hawk of the New clashed again and again—
each blow a declaration of will,
each strike a step toward the summit of the world.
The sound of their blades roared like thunder across the floating sky.
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