Roger's eyes narrowed, fixed on Dimon's hovering form.
No doubt—a Zoan-type. And not a normal one. His hands had been severed moments ago, yet now they were whole again.
A regeneration like that? Only possible with a Mythical Zoan.
Dimon smiled faintly. "Yeah, you guessed it. A Mythical Zoan."
He wasn't about to explain the truth. Let them think what they wanted.
With a single beat of his wings, Dimon soared higher, gazing down on Roger like a shadow from the heavens.
Roger laughed, exhilarated. "That's more like it! Getting one-shotted's boring!"
He bent his knees—and exploded upward like a cannon shot.
In an instant, he reached Dimon's altitude, his blade Ace slicing upward in a wide arc.
Dimon twisted midair, wings flashing as he sidestepped.
"Too slow."
With a blur, he vanished from Roger's front—only to appear at his flank.
His foot crashed against Roger's cheek.
"Down you go!"
A shockwave rippled outward as Roger plummeted, smashing into the sand below.
"Flying abilities are so unfair," muttered the trident-wielding fishman.
Jabba's eyes narrowed. "Reminds me of Golden Lion Shiki. Flight's a pain to counter—even Roger can't reach him easily."
The smoker exhaled a cloud. "He's fast… unreal reflexes. Dodging Roger midair? That's not easy."
But then he added, "Still, his attacks look… moderate."
Roger rose from the crater, rubbing his jaw—and grinned. "Didn't even hurt, rookie!"
"Really?" Dimon hovered lazily, smirk curling. "And what're you gonna do about it?"
Roger gripped Ace. "Try this, then!"
His sword sang—a blast of sword aura shooting like a cannonball.
Dimon dodged, wings slicing through the air—only to find the sky filling with more blades.
Roger's slashes came one after another, a storm of energy cutting through the sky.
Each one weaker—but relentless.
Dimon dodged one, two, ten—but Roger's future sight tracked his every move, predicting his path perfectly.
Black wings flickered left and right—until a blade finally grazed him.
Dimon's arms hardened with Armament as he punched through the slash, shattering it.
But another came immediately after—and another. He had no time to breathe.
Then Roger appeared behind him in a blur, laughing wildly.
"Hahaha! Got you!"
He swung—not with the edge, but the flat of his blade, slamming it down onto Dimon's back.
"Nice try—but you're not walking away either!"
Dimon coughed blood mid-fall, but even as he plummeted, his right arm detached, fingers spreading—and clamped around Roger's face.
Roger froze. "What the—his body can separate!?"
A monstrous force ripped through him.
Dimon's disembodied arm flung Roger like a ragdoll toward the sand.
BOOM!
Two figures crashed down nearly together, shaking the entire beach.
The Roger Pirates gawked.
"What kind of creature is that!?"
"He heals instantly, he flies, he can split his body apart—how do you even fight that!?"
"Only his offense's a bit tame. Otherwise, he's busted!"
"For anyone but Captain Roger, that's already a nightmare."
When the dust cleared, Roger climbed out of the crater—face smudged, sword still in hand.
Dimon stood ahead, right arm already reattached, calm as ever.
Roger stared at him for a beat—then suddenly tossed Ace aside.
"Fine! You can fly, I'll drop my sword. Let's settle this with our fists!"
Dimon chuckled. This guy's got the nerve of a sea king.
"Sure. One more thing—you don't use Conqueror's Haki either."
"Deal!" Roger barked, already charging forward.
Dimon's eyes flashed—he charged too.
Their steps quickened, running, sprinting—until both fists met halfway, wrapped in black and red sparks.
And then—
"Stop fighting, both of you!"
A sharp feminine cry broke through the air.
Both froze mid-swing, fists hovering inches apart.
They turned—and saw Gloriosa, hands clasped dramatically.
"Please! Don't fight over me! You two can be friends!"
Dimon blinked. What?
Roger blinked too—then shrugged, grin snapping back.
"Dimon—eat this!"
"Roger—you're going down!"
Their fists collided again.
One powered by demonic energy, the other by refined Armament Haki.
Both men slid back a step—then lunged again, trading blow for blow.
Gloriosa sighed dreamily, hands over her cheeks.
"Oh, they're fighting for me again… so romantic."
Charlotte Linlin beside her groaned. "Or maybe—just maybe—it's got nothing to do with you, you narcissist."
"But if one wins and proposes, should I say yes?" Gloriosa murmured dreamily. "It would be rude to deny the victor's reward~"
Linlin's knuckles cracked audibly. "Win'll be Dimon—he literally can't die."
Later — Shakky's Bar
"Ahahahaha! Not bad, Dimon! Didn't expect you to keep up with me that long!"
Roger laughed, arm around Dimon's shoulder as they downed drinks together.
Dimon's tone was calm. "Keep up? I won."
Roger sputtered. "What are you talking about? I landed three hundred seventy-three punches!"
"True. But I'm uninjured. So clearly, I won."
"I hit you five times more than you hit me—that's victory!"
Dimon shrugged. "Reality disagrees."
Running out of arguments, Roger looked to Shakky behind the counter. "Shakky, you saw! I won, right?"
Shakky hid a smile. From under the bar, she set a mirror in front of him.
"See for yourself, Roger."
He leaned in—and froze.
His face was swollen, mottled in purple and blue.
"Ahaha… this one doesn't count," he said quickly. "I was holding back. Call it a draw!"
But deep down, his pride was bleeding out faster than his bruises.
No way he'd admit it—but he'd been beaten at his own game.
Damn it, he thought bitterly. The kid heals too fast. Even when I win, I look like I lost!
Roger slammed his mug down. "Oi, Dimon—what's your ability, really?"
Dimon raised his glass, smirking.
"It's simple, Roger. My wine—the Immortality Brew."
And somewhere in the corner, Gloriosa sighed again, "Ah… so that's the taste of eternal love~"
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