The deck trembled beneath groans of the undead.
Corpses clawed at the wood like desperate shadows.
Yuro stood calm, katana in hand, center stage.
"…Idiots… You genuinely can't understand, can you?" he spat.
"This… is massacre."
Then he moved.
Not slowly. Not deliberately. Rapid-fire destruction.
Every swing decapitated two, sometimes three zombies.
The undead surged forward, sensing a fleeting opportunity.
But when he unleashed Ponytail RBV, a shockwave of power erupted.
Colors drained from the world, leaving only void.
Time froze. The ship remained still. Only Yuro moved.
"…Die."
A pressure wave blasted outward, obliterating every zombie instantly.
Silence fell like a tombstone.
"Now… only one remains… Sujo De Alvar—"
A slow clap echoed through the air.
Georniva Santos appeared. The infamous Brazil's Devil.
A predatory grin curved his lips.
"…Wasn't expecting you," Yuro said evenly.
Georniva laughed. "Funny. But I'm not here to assist."
Yuro didn't wait. His katana streaked through the air.
Georniva raised a hand, forming a pistol gesture.
Red flames erupted—bullets without a gun.
Yuro swung, sparks flying, flames searing near his blade.
No words. No hesitation. Only relentless action.
Yuro blurred, moving faster than thought itself.
"…Inhuman," Georniva whispered, eyes wide in shock.
Before he could react, Yuro was behind him.
Katana slashed across his back in a blink.
Georniva adapted, firing flame bullets to block.
Yuro unleashed a torrent of fake slashes, hundreds in succession.
One final precise slash followed, slower, deadly, calculated.
Georniva tried predicting, failed repeatedly, growing frustrated.
He flicked his wrist, igniting fire beneath his feet.
Yuro faltered slightly, just enough to react.
"Predictable…" Georniva muttered, a grin masking unease.
Suddenly, a voice rang from above.
"Hey… up here."
Shiro stood atop the mast, calm, radiating essence.
He raised a hand in a subtle gesture.
The world changed. Mist thickened, fog crawling like living shadows.
Flames sputtered, losing their edge within the water fog.
"Clever," Georniva muttered, unease creeping in.
Yuro exploited the opening, moving fluid, merciless, precise.
Each strike punished the Devil's mistakes relentlessly.
The fog restricted Georniva's movements, hiding Yuro's intentions.
The deck shuddered; the ship groaned like breathing.
Water vapor twisted into serpentine shapes, seeking Georniva.
"…What… is this?!" Georniva shouted, alarmed.
Shiro's calm voice cut through the chaos.
"Control the battlefield, or the battlefield controls you."
Yuro didn't need instructions. He struck again, faster, sharper.
Flames and blade clashed in a symphony of destruction.
Shadows of the dead stirred, creating false threats.
Georniva split focus, growing increasingly frustrated and cautious.
The stage was set: three-way battle of strategy, power, wit.
Who would falter first amidst the mist and chaos?