Kaski panted heavily, his chest heaving with each breath. The repeated use of his ability drained his stamina fast, but his crew's cheers fed his ego.
"As expected of Captain Kaski! With the Captain's flames, that Mostima must be dead by now!" one of the pirates shouted, pumping a fist. "After this, our bounties will skyrocket again!"
On the live broadcast screen, all anyone could see was a thick haze of smoke. The battlefield had vanished behind that veil.
Then something strange happened—the mist began to twist and scatter, as though repelled by an unseen wind. Feathers glimmered faintly in the air, spinning like blades of silver.
In the heart of that silver storm stood Mostima. Calm. Unburned. Unmoved.
He wasn't falling, he was standing in midair, weightless and serene, as if the sky itself was his domain.
"What—what's going on?!" a Marine officer shouted. "He's… standing on air?!"
Even Kaski froze mid-step, eyes wide. The man he thought he'd buried in flames stood untouched above him. All his attacks had hit nothing but smoke and shadow.
The pirates and bounty hunters who'd been ready to join the assault suddenly hesitated. A chill ran down their spines.
"How are we supposed to fight that?" someone whispered. "He can fly!"
Kaski's jaw clenched. "I don't care if you're in the air or in hell, you're still my target!" he roared, flames bursting from his arms as he launched another blazing jet skyward.
Gunfire followed. Rifles cracked, bullets arced through the air, cutting white lines across the smoke.
The sky lit up with orange flame and gunmetal light as every shot and blast converged on Mostima.
Watching from the shadows, Kairi's voice trembled. "Isn't he in danger? We have to help him, Captain Teach!" Her eyes were wide with worry, tears glinting in the corners.
Teach chuckled softly beside her. "No need. That won't touch him." His tone was easy, confident. "You've fallen for that boy's charm, huh? The hero saves the beauty, and the beauty never forgets. A classic trick, heh heh."
He leaned back, amused. "Don't worry, girl. Mostima's got this."
Up in the sky, just when everyone thought Mostima would be torn apart, the feathers swirling around him suddenly converged.
Whoosh!
A pair of massive wings unfurled from his back, pure white, each more than five meters across. Before the bullets reached him, the wings folded in tight, forming a radiant cocoon.
Gunfire hammered against the feathers, sparks scattering in all directions. The bullets bounced away uselessly. Kaski's flames roared and wrapped around the sphere of light, forming a fireball that blazed high above the ruined street.
But when the fire finally died down, Mostima remained untouched. His wings unfolded again, scattering the smoke and embers with a single beat.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Two razor-sharp feathers streaked down from the sky like silver lightning. Kaski barely saw them coming. He dodged left, but one feather grazed his cheek, slicing open a long, ten-centimeter wound. Blood splattered across his face. The other feather drove straight into his right shoulder, embedding deep into flesh.
He screamed in pain, staggering back, clutching the wound. The feathers were curved slightly, honed to perfection. Even a glancing blow tore through muscle like paper.
Mostima hovered above him, calm and composed. His wings glowed faintly, each feather shimmering with Armament Haki. Not a single burn marked them.
Below, the pirates stared in awe. "He looks like an angel…" one of them whispered.
And he did. His wings stretched wide behind him, his figure silhouetted against the smoke-filled sky. But his eyes—cold, sharp, unyielding—belonged to something far deadlier than an angel.
"Featherfall: Thousand Feather Slash," Mostima said quietly.
The air stilled. Then, hundreds—no, thousands—of feathers appeared above him, hanging suspended in the air like a second sky.
They froze, angled downwards. The silence before the storm.
Then he moved his hand.
The sky fell.
A rain of white blades sliced through the air, screaming down in torrents.
But they didn't fall on the pirates below. They streaked farther—toward the approaching Marines.
A thousand meters away, a dense formation of Marines advanced through the streets. At their head was Vice Admiral Harbel, his coat snapping in the wind.
"Mostima spotted us!" one soldier shouted, panic flashing in his eyes as he saw the glowing streaks descending from the clouds.
"Not good! Evade!" Harbel roared. He leapt high into the air, legs blurring as he kicked out. "Rankyaku!"
A crescent slash shot upward, cutting through dozens of feathers but it wasn't enough. Thousands rained down, relentless and fast as bullets.
The front ranks were torn apart instantly. Blood sprayed across the cobblestones.
Screams filled the streets. The once-ordered formation crumbled into chaos.
Within moments, more than half of Harbel's unit lay dead or dying. Those still standing were barely clinging to life, riddled with wounds.
The scene broadcast live shocked the world.
At Marine Headquarters, Sengoku slammed his palm onto the table hard enough to crack it. "That bastard!" he roared, veins bulging on his forehead.
Around him, officers seethed in fury but beneath their anger lay something else. Fear.
Mostima's ability wasn't just powerful—it was efficient. The speed, the reach, the devastation—it rivaled some of the strongest known Devil Fruits.
Back at the scene, pirates and bounty hunters gawked at the destruction. Relief washed over them—they'd been seconds from annihilation themselves.
"Good thing he didn't aim that at us," someone muttered, pale-faced.
Kaski gritted his teeth, half-kneeling, staring up at the sky. His earlier arrogance had vanished, replaced by disbelief.
Above, Harbel's fury boiled over. "You bastard!" he shouted, bloodshot eyes filled with rage. "How dare you slaughter my men like that?!"
"Heh," Mostima's lips curled into a small, taunting smile. "Why so serious, Vice Admiral?"
Teach laughed quietly in the distance. "There it is, that's his true nature. Mostima's got that wicked streak, that little twist of cruelty. He plays with his prey."
Hadena, beside him, nodded. "Captain, he's learning from the best."
"Zehahaha! Maybe so," Teach replied, amused.
In the air, Mostima raised his hand once more. The feathers that had pierced the Marines' bodies vanished, dissolving into mist.
Then they reappeared above him.
"Featherfall: Thousand Feather Slash," he repeated calmly.
Harbel's eyes widened. "No—!"
Feathers fell again, even denser this time, cutting through smoke, light, and sound. Harbel kicked and slashed, his Armament Haki flaring black across his limbs. But it wasn't enough. The onslaught was too much, too fast, too wide.
The street below became a massacre.
Marines fell one after another, screaming, then silenced. Within seconds, the entire unit was gone.
Harbel's desperate defenses couldn't protect anyone—not even himself.
"Ahhhh! You monster!" Harbel's roar cracked with fury and grief. His body trembled, blood dripping from his wounds.
Then... Mostima vanished.
"Where—?" Harbel spun, but too late.
Mostima appeared at his side, his voice low and cold. "White Bird Style: Sky Slash."
A blinding arc of light cut through the air.
Harbel's right arm flew off in a spray of blood.
He screamed but swung with his remaining hand, a desperate punch fueled by Armament Haki. Mostima slipped past it effortlessly, wings flicking once to carry him out of range.
Harbel's punch hit nothing but air—and feathers. His fist passed straight through Mostima's wing.
"What—?!"
His eyes widened in disbelief. The feathers weren't solid—they flowed like smoke, intangible when Mostima willed it.
And then, pain.
Blood exploded from his leg. His left thigh was gone, severed clean through.
Harbel collapsed, crashing to the ground in a heap. His right arm and left leg lay nearby, blood soaking into the dirt.
The crowd watching through the live broadcast fell silent.
Even the pirates who'd once mocked the Marines stared in stunned horror.
A Vice Admiral—one of the pillars of Marine strength—had been crushed in seconds.
Teach watched quietly, arms crossed, his grin fading into something more thoughtful. "That's how it's done," he murmured. "Fast, clean, psychological. He broke him before he cut him."
He knew exactly what he'd just witnessed. Mostima hadn't just been showing off his strength. He'd dismantled Harbel's mind first—using the massacre of his soldiers to fuel his rage, to blind him. Once Harbel lost control, his fate was sealed.
One step ahead, every step ahead.
Now, Harbel lay defeated, crippled, and broken. Even if he lived, his days as a Marine were over.
And above the battlefield, Mostima hovered silently, his wings gleaming under the fading light, feathers glinting like blades.
To the watching world, he looked like an avenging angel.
But to the Marines, he was the devil who ruled the sky.