Visibility was almost zero in the thick, rolling steam. Three figures moved at an incredible pace, rushing toward the edge of the Red Line.
"Yo, Dragon, long time no see!" Kyle's voice rang out. His breathing was a little unsteady, but his tone was as carefree as ever. "Ginny and Kuma, they made it out, right?"
"They're safe," Monkey D. Dragon responded in his deep voice.
Hearing that, Kyle turned his head, his gaze falling on Hawkeye Mihawk. A wide grin spread across his blood-stained face.
"Puhahaha! Hawkeye, look at yourself!" Kyle laughed loudly, pointing at the tattered remains of Mihawk's noble attire. "Anyone who didn't know better would think you were a beggar who came to Mary Geoise for scraps!"
Mihawk's steps didn't falter, but the corner of his eye twitched in annoyance. Dragon glanced over, and then both of their gazes landed on Kyle himself. There was hardly a single piece of intact cloth on his body, just a few strips clinging to his muscular frame. The wounds on his chest were deep enough to see bone, and blood was still seeping out. Worst of all, a small fountain of blood was rhythmically spurting from a cut on the back of his head.
Dragon and Mihawk said nothing.
Boom—!!!
Behind them, a roar filled with pure fury exploded, and the entire ground trembled. A mountain-like dark figure crashed through the fog, crushing everything in its path. Saint Warcury, his eyes blood-red, had lost almost all reason. In the sky, a stream of black flames with tattered wings chased relentlessly after them. And leading the charge was an even faster, more formidable figure, whose icy killing intent seemed to freeze the air. Saint Nusjuro.
"Damn it!" Kyle cursed, pushing his speed even further.
The cliff was right in front of them. Just as the three were about to leap off the Red Line, their pursuers all attacked at once. Warcury opened his giant mouth and spewed a high-pressure water dragon. Mars flapped his wings, and a rolling wave of black underworld flames swept out. Nusjuro swung the Shodai Kitetsu, unleashing an icy slash that could freeze the soul.
The water dragon, black flames, and ice slash merged in mid-air, transforming into a ferocious giant dragon with horns of ice and wreathed in black fire that shot toward the three of them. The destructive aura made every hair on Kyle's body stand on end.
"Dragon! Mihawk! It's all you!"
Mihawk shot him a look that clearly said, Are you kidding me? Both he and Kyle were on their last legs. A bead of sweat trickled down Dragon's temple. If he could block an attack like that, the fires of revolution would have swept the world long ago.
But he didn't hesitate. He spun around, his right hand forming a loose grip. Wind converged into tens of thousands of fine blades, creating a green tornado to meet the energy dragon. The tornado only managed to weaken the attack slightly before it was torn apart. There was no time. The three of them exchanged a look and, without another thought, leaped off the thousand-meter-high cliff.
The feeling of weightlessness hit them as the wind whistled in their ears. Above them, the destructive energy dragon shot off the cliff and pursued them relentlessly. Just as the deadly light was about to swallow them, the night sky below them suddenly grew deeper and darker. A patch of pure, unadulterated darkness spread upward from the sea as if the abyss itself had opened its mouth.
The ice-fire dragon plunged into the darkness and vanished without a sound. A second later, thousands of meters away, a colossal pillar of light exploded on the sea, creating a tidal wave a thousand meters high.
Kyle looked down at the familiar darkness and laughed. "Well done, Moriah!"
A gentle but powerful wind conjured by Dragon caught the three of them, carrying them rapidly toward the distant horizon.
At the edge of the Red Line cliff, the wind whimpered. The steam gradually cleared, revealing the enormous shadows of the three Elders. They stood silently, gazing at the bottomless darkness and the sea beyond.
"Should we pursue?" Mars's voice was a hoarse, metallic grind. "The three of them are at their limit."
He was about to spread his wings, but Nusjuro raised a hand to stop him. The Elder, now back in his human form, shook his head. "Do not pursue a cornered foe," he said, his voice calm but firm. "Kyle has an endless supply of trump cards. Forcing them into a desperate situation might make us pay a price we cannot afford."
Warcury fell silent, remembering the golden warrior and the strange domain of "Silence." Mars also said no more. The three supreme authorities of the World Government stood at the edge of the world, watching their enemies escape. It was a humiliation unlike any they had ever known.
Suddenly, a nearly imperceptible whoosh came from the distant horizon. It was faint, swift, and almost lost in the howling wind. But the Five Elders noticed it. Nusjuro's brow furrowed. Warcury's eyes contracted, and Mars's head shot up.
A dark stream of light, wreathed in the black and red lightning of Conqueror's Haki, crossed kilometers of space at an incomprehensible speed, arriving at the cliff in an instant. It was too fast. They saw it coming but had no time to defend.
Its target was the largest among them: Saint Warcury.
Pfft—
With a soft, muffled sound, Warcury's massive body jolted and then froze. The other two Elders stared at his huge, ferocious left tusk. An inconspicuous little hole had appeared on its surface.
Crack—
A crisp sound rang out. A spiderweb of cracks spread out from the small hole, instantly covering the entire tusk. A moment later, half of the giant tusk, several meters long, snapped off and tumbled into the abyss below. The damage was minor, but the insult was absolute.
Warcury slowly lowered his head, looking at his broken tusk. His body began to tremble, not from fear, but from a terrifying rage that was brewing within him, a fury that could change the color of the sky.
Nusjuro's face was completely dark. They didn't even need to look to imagine the arrogant, unrestrained smile on that man's face, miles away. That silent mockery was worse than any insult.
High in the sky, several kilometers away, Kyle withdrew his gaze. He returned an antique-looking silver pistol with intricate patterns on its barrel to his waist. He raised his hand and gently blew on the still-warm muzzle.
"Hahaha, Roger's old sidearm, 'Ann,'" he said with a laugh. "After some serious modifications, it works like a charm!"
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