"Blade arcs—scatter!"
Sengoku barked, throwing both palms forward. Golden radiance flared, blinding and absolute.
Dimon's twin slashes crashed into the Buddha's hands—yet never actually touched them. Two torrents of Conqueror's Haki collided mid-air, wind howling as if a category-ten typhoon had been born on the spot. The backlash hurled several giant Vice Admirals clean off their feet.
"What is this level of battle…?" Gion pressed a hand to her bruised abdomen, stunned. "Anyone below Vice Admiral can't even step in."
Up above, Sengoku hooked his arms and guided the flying sword aura higher. Like slicing tofu, the slash shaved off a corner of Marineford's main keep.
At the same time, Kong blurred in, chest to chest, Armament-black fists aimed straight for Dimon's brow. The punch howled; black sparks crawled over the knuckles.
Dimon met it with crossed blades and a smirk. "Getting on in years? That punch is pouting at me."
"I'm plenty young."
Kong's face darkened. "Playtime's over!"
He chained blows—sharp, relentless—each one batted aside by Dimon's steel. Then Kong drew a breath, coiled, and fired a final drive: a blazing crimson sun bloomed on his fist and detonated, expanding into a devouring sphere. The pressure behind it went past Internal Destruction—this was pure, remote annihilation.
"That should peel a layer off him if it didn't finish him," someone muttered—
"No… look! The sky!"
Dimon hovered above the blast, serene, twin blades sliding back into their sheaths with a soft click. He hadn't counterattacked. He hadn't even flinched—just stared down at the Navy like a judge on high.
Vice Admiral Tsuru narrowed her eyes. "Untouched…?"
Rocks' remnants were immortal, yes—but this wasn't post-hit regeneration. He'd blocked Kong's finisher outright.
"Heh…" Dimon's smile ticked up. He touched thumb to middle finger—snap.
A five-pointed magic circle unfurled under his boots, lifting like an obsidian lift. From his soles upward, darkness swallowed him by degrees.
"Got what I came for. Thanks for the hospitality. See you around, Marines…"
He vanished before the whole plaza—only a few fraying curls of black smoke remained.
Silence weighed heavy. Even Sengoku couldn't find words. With that kind of teleportation, who could ever pin him down? He flipped through every catalogued Devil Fruit in his head—none matched.
"Fleet Admiral!" a Vice Admiral jogged up.
"I'm fine." Kong waved him off. "We lost a few Fruits. No fatalities—call it luck."
Orders snapped out; medics ran. Sengoku slipped away to the Fleet Admiral's office.
"The goods?" Kong asked.
Sengoku uncorked the Eternal Life Wine, tilting out two cups. The scent alone stroked the soul; both men stilled.
"A trap?" Kong murmured, eyeing the liquid.
"He's… absurdly honest," Sengoku said. "He even offered 'after-sales service.' He wants this ongoing. I'll test it first."
He downed the cup in one go.
"Well?"
"Even teetotalers would call this world-class." Sengoku's eyes widened. "It's—"
"I meant the immortality, not the bouquet," Kong grunted.
Back in Wano—Shogun's Residence.
Black light rippled over a floor-sigil; Dimon stepped out of the smoke, exhaling. "Those two together are a chore." One-on-one he feared no one; over time, his side always won. Two Admirals at once just made it annoying.
He sat, opened the newly acquired Devil Fruit Encyclopedia, and matched the three Fruits he'd taken:
Zoan — Human-Human Fruit (Hito Hito no Mi)
Paramecia — Fragrance-Fragrance Fruit
Ancient Zoan — Dragon-Dragon Fruit, Model: Pteranodon
"Oh? An Ancient Zoan." He lifted the pteranodon Fruit, turning it in his palm. In another timeline, Abel would've eaten this. Perfect—now his own man would.
The Human-Human series was its own odd lineage—the one Chopper would one day take was the "commoner" model.
As for the Fragrance-Fragrance Fruit, the entry was middling: combat via emitted scents; different aromas, different effects. Not bad, but not for him. And he didn't feel like burning it for Devil Points—he wasn't close to the next skill threshold anyway.
"Let's do something more… interesting."
He summoned Abel.
"You called, Lord Dimon?"
"That Ancient Zoan's yours. If you don't want it, return it." Dimon tossed the pteranodon Fruit over. "Now fetch me a prisoner—Kin'emon, Oden's retainer."
The Wano captives had already been moved from Kuri to the capital's gaol. Ten minutes later, Abel kicked Kin'emon to his knees.
"Damn pirates!"
Abel's boot pinned him. Dimon didn't bother replying—he simply tipped a cup of Eternal Life Wine into Kin'emon's mouth.
"Cough—what did you—" He froze. Gods, that was good. Was this a mercy cup before execution?
"The fun part starts now." Dimon smiled. "You're the Garb-Garb user, right? Though you call it 'sorcery'."
"What are you planning?!"
"Relax. Breathe. It'll be quick."
Dimon palmed the Human-Human Fruit and shoved it between Kin'emon's teeth. As the samurai gagged, Dimon explained almost kindly:
"Out on the seas they say you can only eat one Devil Fruit in your life. Try a second, and your body explodes. Let's test that. You don't mind, do you?"
He minds. He minded more than anything in his life. But the Fruit slid down in one shocked gulp.
Dimon stepped back and watched, eyes bright.
Would Kin'emon detonate?
Or would an immortal—freshly bound by Eternal Life Wine—take on a second Fruit?
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