"Quick! Use fire! Use salt!"
The man in sunglasses barked orders. "Legend says Moria's zombies fear salt! Get to the warehouse and haul it out!"
A few quick-witted lackeys sprinted to the nearby storeroom, dragged out several sacks of coarse salt, and without caring if it worked shoved handfuls into the mouths of the oncoming undead.
"Eat salt, you freak!"
One thug crammed a fistful into a zombie's maw.
The creature froze.
The thug brightened: "It's working?"
The next second
Crunch!
The zombie bit off his hand, salt and all, and swallowed.
Then it let out a salty burp.
"Aaaargh! It's useless! Salt's useless!"
Clutching his bleeding stump, the thug rolled on the ground and was quickly swallowed by the tide of corpses.
The man in sunglasses stood dumbstruck.
Not afraid of salt?
Impossible.
Was it bad intel?
Just then, a mocking voice sounded beside him.
"Moria? That fat, spring-onion-looking bastard?"
Deadpool popped onto the container next to him, legs swinging, casually tossing a grenade.
"Don't lump me in with that low-rent clown. It's an insult to my artistry."
He yanked the pin but didn't throw it; instead, he flipped it like a coin.
"That fatty plays with shadows child's stuff."
"Me, though…"
Deadpool pointed at Buck, who was busy slaughtering.
The giant was clutching two pirates, smashing their skulls together like overripe tomatoes.
Red and white sprayed everywhere.
"I play with viruses, evolution life's great upgrade."
Deadpool shoved the grenade into his own mouth, mumbling:
"Admittedly, the upgrade's a bit… people-intensive."
Boom!
The grenade detonated inside his head.
Smoke poured from every orifice; his face became mincemeat.
The man in sunglasses collapsed on his rear.
What maniac was this?!
Blowing himself up?
Yet the shredded face wriggled, the flesh knitting back together in seconds.
Deadpool exhaled a puff of soot, straightened his crooked jaw, and grinned:
"What, stunned by my good looks?"
"Since you love riddles, here's a hint."
He stood, arms wide as if to embrace the reeking, gunpowder-stained battlefield.
"Remember this name it'll be your ghost-story fodder in the next life."
"I'm Deadpool. Call me Lord Deadpool if you're feeling fancy."
"And these adorable little guys "
He indicated the zombies everywhere.
" you can call them my fan club."
"Now the meet-and-greet begins. If you don't want autographs, leave your brains."
The moment the words left his lips, Deadpool vanished.
At the same instant, the titan Buck, who'd stood guard by the ship, moved.
Each footstep rattled the pier as he lumbered toward the town gate at the island's center.
"Stop him! Close the gate! Don't let that monster in!"
The man in sunglasses screamed, scrambling away.
If those things breached the town, the whole of Iron Fang Island would become a necropolis.
Deadpool sighed at the fleeing crowd.
"Why run? I haven't even shown you how to dice an onion with two blades yet."
He glanced at the mountain of powder kegs nearby Galen's munitions, ready for export.
"Heh-heh-heh…"
An eerie chuckle leaked from under his mask.
Deadpool drew twin Desert Eagles and struck a cool pose.
"Art is "
Bang! Bang!
The bullets ignited the fuses.
" Patrick Star!"
KABOOM!!!
A pillar of fire devoured half the pier, flinging pirates into the sea and lighting the grand finale for the zombie carnival.
In the crimson glow, the figures shambling from the flames looked even more hideous.
The gates of hell yawned wide.
Smoke spiraled like a black dragon above Iron Fang Island, the sky turning half-crimson.
The air reeked of gunpowder, roasted meat, and a sickly sweet tang.
The man in sunglasses crawled backward; his fine suit was in tatters, his status-symbol shades down to one defiant arm.
Watching the red freak stride from the inferno, his heart clenched.
"D-do you know what you're doing?"
He swallowed, trying to squeeze out some authority.
"This is the turf of the 'Heavenly Yaksha' a key stronghold of the Donquixote Family!"
He shrieked louder, as though volume alone could banish fear.
"Are you declaring war on him? On the entire Underworld?"
Deadpool paused.
He tilted his head, dug at nonexistent earwax, and wiped his hand on his suit.
"Heavenly Yaksha?"
He gasped theatrically, cupping his face.
"You mean the guy in the pink feather boa who tap-dances and giggles 'Fuffuffu'? The shades-wearing perv?"
The man in sunglasses froze.
How dare he describe the Young Master like that?!
"Oh yeah, I heard he's a love-starved man-child throwing global tantrums?"
Deadpool shrugged.
"Honestly, string-bondage isn't really my kink. I like red too, but his shade is a bit too pastel for my rugged brand."
"Bastard!"
Trembling, the man in sunglasses raised his flintlock and fired.
Click.
Empty.
"Awkward."
Deadpool flashed in front of him; the gun was still raised when a red-gloved hand blocked the barrel.
"Your little peashooter's spent. Need a recommendation for blue pills?"
The man tried to scramble back, but his legs felt anchored and not just by fear.
He looked down.
A severed hand clutched his ankle, black filaments burrowing in like parasites.
"W-what is this…?"
He slashed frantically with a dagger.
Clang!
Steel met metal.
It wasn't just a dead hand it was a petri dish for the virus.
"Gift from your chubby buddy."
Deadpool pointed at Captain Galen's half-eaten corpse.
"No need to thank me family looks after family."
"Aaaargh!"
Black tendrils raced up his veins, a burning tide rushing toward his heart.
He felt his body betraying his brain.
"No! I'm an officer, Doflamingo's man! There must be an antidote "
He thrashed, clawing at his skin until his nails tore and black goo, not blood, began to ooze out.
"Antidote?"
Deadpool crouched beside him, kindly offering a knife.
"Chop your head off the pain stops. It's the only known cure. Side effects are a bitch, though."