"Ittōryū Iai: Mikazuki…!"
"Nitō Ichi Ryū: Toragiri…!"
Their voices cut through the jungle air like steel. Kuina and Zoro launched forward in the same instant, feet vanishing from the ground as Soru cracked the earth beneath them. The air screamed as they tore through it, two streaks of killing intent aimed at the same point.
Before them loomed the bladed mantis—a nightmare of chitin and steel, towering over ten meters tall. Its scythe-like arms gleamed like forged weapons, each edge honed enough to cleave stone. For a week, this monster had crushed them again and again, swatting them aside like insects, reminding them of their place on this cursed island.
But not today. Today, they would kill it. The mantis reacted instantly, crossing its massive blades in front of its body, chitin plates shifting as it braced to intercept the strike—too slow.
Kuina's blade was drawn in a single, flawless motion. Her Mikazuki traced a pale crescent through the air, the slash carrying an unnatural chill. The moment it struck, frost bloomed along the mantis's armor, the sound of cracking ice echoing as cold seeped inward, locking joints and slowing muscle.
At the same time, Zoro's Toragiri tore through the frozen opening like a thunderbolt. His blades crossed in a savage X, the impact detonating with a concussive boom. Rippling jolts of raw force surged through the mantis's body, violent currents exploding beneath its shell. The beast convulsed as paralysis raced through its limbs, its massive frame frozen between ice and shock.
The combined strike bypassed its defense entirely. Steel met flesh.
A deep, brutal cross-shaped gash split the mantis's abdomen open, chitin cracking apart as dark ichor spilled out, steaming against the cold. The force drove the monster backward, its shriek ripping through the jungle canopy as trees shook and birds fled in terror.
Zoro and Kuina skidded to a halt, breathing hard, blades low. They had done it. They had to have done it. But the mantis did not fall. Instead, it screamed—no longer in pain alone, but in rage.
Its blades trembled… then darkened, a slick black sheen crawling across their surface like spilled ink. The air around it grew heavy, oppressive, as though the island itself had drawn closer to watch. Zoro's eyes widened.
"…No way."
Kuina's grip tightened on her sword, cold realization sinking into her bones.
"Haki…"
The mantis roared and swung. The impact shattered the frozen layer instantly, sending shockwaves through the ground. Trees splintered as the beast's blackened blades tore through the air, the strike carrying weight far beyond raw strength.
It was crude. Unrefined. But unmistakable. Haki. They had heard of it from their masters—whispers of rare beasts in the wild that learned to harness it through endless battle and survival. Rare. Exceptions. They had never expected to face one.
Not like this. Not on the lowest rung of the island's hierarchy. The mantis staggered, ichor still pouring from its open abdomen, yet it stood its ground, blades raised, eyes burning with murderous intent.
If this thing could use Haki… Zoro swallowed, a cold knot forming in his gut.
"…Then what about the overlords?"
The jungle seemed to close in around them, the distant roars and unseen movements suddenly taking on a far more terrifying meaning. Kuina exhaled slowly, her breath misting in the air.
"So this is what Mihawk sensei meant."
Zoro bared his teeth in a grim grin, adrenaline roaring in his veins.
"Yeah."
This island was not a training ground. It was an executioner. And only now did they truly understand— If they wanted to leave this place alive, they would have to overcome death itself.
The mantis charged again, black blades screaming. And neither of them took a step back.
Before Zoro could fully steady his stance, the mantis vanished. Not leapt. Not dodged. It simply ceased to be where it stood. The forest floor exploded as something tore through the air at impossible speed.
Zoro's instincts screamed. His Observation Haki flared, a sharp premonition clawing at the edge of his mind. He twisted, dragging Wado Ichimonji up just in time—
"CLANG—!"
Haki met Haki. The mantis's bone scythe slammed down against the great-grade blade, the impact detonating in a shower of sparks. The sound rang like a struck bell, echoing through the jungle as the ground beneath Zoro's feet cracked and sank.
Any other child would have been launched. But Zoro held. His sandals dug into the forest floor, roots snapping beneath the pressure as his legs trembled under the sheer momentum. The mantis loomed over him, screeching in disbelief, its rage feeding the black sheen crawling thicker along its scythe.
The pressure intensified. Wado Ichimonji creaked in his grip. Zoro felt it—felt the strain ripple through the blade, the terrifying sensation that if he yielded even slightly, the edge would chip.
And then—a voice echoed in his mind.
"A swordsman who allows his blade to chip… " Mihawk's golden eyes, cold and merciless. "…has insulted both his weapon and himself."
He remembered the words spoken without cruelty, only truth. "Once you begin to learn Haki, a nicked blade is proof of weakness. It means your will failed before your sword did."
The memory sharpened. He had seen it later—seen Mihawk stand before Pica, his blade untouched despite cleaving mountains of stone. A true swordsman did not protect his blade.
He dominated the clash. Zoro bared his teeth.
"…I won't let you break it."
His Armament Haki surged. Black lightning-like cracks raced along Wado Ichimonji as Zoro pushed back—not with muscle, but with sheer will. The air shuddered as his haki overwhelmed the mantis's crude coating.
CRACK—!
The bone scythe splintered. The mantis shrieked as its weapon was forced aside, the backlash ripping it off balance. Before it could recover, its second scythe came crashing down—only to be intercepted in a flash of steel. Kuina was already there.
Her movement was fluid, precise, and almost serene as her blade met the strike, redirecting it with elegance rather than force. The massive limb slid aside, the mantis stumbling as its center of gravity collapsed.
"Now!" she snapped.
Zoro didn't hesitate. He lunged forward, blades flashing.
"Toragiri—!"
Steel tore through flesh. Two of the mantis's limbs were severed in a single brutal arc, the cut so clean the pieces didn't fall until a heartbeat later. The beast screeched as its own weight betrayed it, its massive body crashing to one side, chitin cracking against the ground.
The mantis panicked. With a violent beat, its wings unfurled, tattered membranes straining as it attempted to take flight—to flee. Too late. Kuina stepped forward, eyes cold.
"Ittōryū Iai…" Her blade flashed, carrying that same unnatural chill. "—Gekkō Issen."
A crescent of frozen steel ripped through the air, shearing through the mantis's wings. Ice spread instantly, locking the membranes before shattering them completely. The beast slammed back into the ground, the impact shaking the jungle as trees bent and snapped.
It tried to rise. Zoro was already moving. He drove forward through the dust and debris, muscles screaming, blades roaring as his haki burned hotter than ever before. The mantis lashed out blindly, but Kuina danced between its strikes, redirecting, creating openings—each movement a lesson drilled into her bones.
Zoro leapt. All his weight. All his resolve. All his fury. "ONI GIRI—!" The world seemed to slow. His blades crossed.
And then—SCHLK.
The mantis's head left its body. The massive corpse collapsed, twitching once before going still, blackened scythes clattering uselessly against the forest floor. Silence followed. Zoro landed heavily, chest heaving, blood and ichor dripping from his blades. Kuina stood beside him, equally breathless, eyes fixed on the fallen giant.
They had done it. They had killed a monster that wielded Haki. And yet—neither of them smiled. Because somewhere deeper in the island, something much worse waited, and this was simply their first step.
Zoro dropped to the ground unceremoniously, landing flat on his back with a heavy thud, arms spread wide as he stared up at the canopy above.
"…I'm dead," he muttered, chest heaving.
Kuina, meanwhile, was already moving. She stepped over the fallen mantis without ceremony and drove her blade down again, slicing cleanly through chitin and sinew with practiced precision. "We should scavenge as much meat as possible," she said briskly, carving into the beast. "Before the blood attracts every other nightmare on this island."
This, too, was training. Victory meant nothing if you starved afterward.
Zoro groaned but forced himself upright, blades still in hand, eyes never leaving the shadows between the trees. On this island, lowering one's guard—even for a second—was an invitation to die. Especially when half the monsters here could erase their presence like ghosts.
"…You're really going to eat that?" he asked warily. Kuina paused mid-cut and slowly turned her head. Her glare could have peeled paint.
"If not this," she snapped, "what exactly do you suggest we eat? The berries you brought back last time?" She emphasized the word like it was a personal insult.
Zoro scratched his cheek. "I mean… they looked fine?"
"They were poisonous, Zoro!" she roared, exasperation echoing through the clearing. "So were the mushrooms. And the ones before that. And the ones before those." She resumed cutting with vicious efficiency. "I'm starting to think you just grab whatever looks vaguely edible and hope your body figures it out."
"…Doesn't it?" Zoro asked honestly.
Kuina nearly stabbed him. It wasn't that she disliked berries or mushrooms. On any other island, she'd have welcomed them. But here? Half the flora was toxic, hallucinogenic, or actively predatory. Even the weaker beasts relied on venom and toxins to survive. If Zoro had been alone, he would've poisoned himself to death within the first week.
Probably while saying, "Huh. Tastes funny."
She shook her head. "You know," she muttered, "this is exactly why my master always said a sharp blade means nothing without a sharp mind."
She smirked despite herself, pride creeping into her voice. "My master drilled it into me—learn everything. Foraging, tracking, poison signs, edible anatomy. Even the trivial things."
Zoro blinked. "…Your master sounds crazy."
Kuina snorted. "Compared to yours? Please."
She paused, then huffed, glancing toward the jungle. "Honestly, I'm starting to think Mihawk sensei is exactly like you."
"What?!" Zoro protested.
"He never said a word about poisonous plants," she continued, unimpressed. "Didn't warn us. Didn't leave notes. Just 'survive' and left."
She crossed her arms, chin lifted. "Which means he probably eats whatever doesn't kill him on the first bite and calls it training."
Zoro grinned. "See? Sounds efficient." Kuina shot him a look of pure disbelief.
"If I die because you mistake glowing purple mushrooms for food again," she said flatly, "I'm haunting you."
Zoro laughed, then winced and rubbed his ribs. "Relax. We've got mantis meat now."
Kuina sliced free another slab and tossed it aside to cool. "Exactly. Safe. Nutritious. And significantly less likely to melt your insides."
She glanced back at him. "…You're still on watch, right?"
Zoro nodded, already alert, eyes scanning the shadows. Despite everything—the blood, the danger, the island that wanted them dead—they shared a brief, quiet moment of normalcy.
Two exhausted kids. One monster down. And dinner secured. On an island where tomorrow might kill them anyway, that counted as a win.
****
Elbaf, New World
"Prince Loki—stop this madness!" The roar came from a veteran giant warrior whose very presence spoke of an age long past. His body was massive even by Elbaph's standards—nearly forty meters tall, his frame thick with ancient giant blood, scars etched across his skin like the history of a hundred wars. In his hands, he raised a colossal Viking shield, its surface layered with runes and coated in hardened Armament Haki, blackened and gleaming like obsidian.
Yet even he was dwarfed. Loki towered over him—more than sixty meters tall, a colossus among colossi. His shadow swallowed the battlefield, blotting out firelight and moon alike. Lightning crawled across his skin in violent arcs, illuminating his face in flashes—eyes burning, jaw clenched, teeth bared not in a roar, but in a snarl so full of hatred it seemed to bend the air itself.
The veteran planted his feet, bracing.
"BOOM—!"
The sound was not merely an impact. It was an explosion. Ragnir—Loki's warhammer—came crashing down like a falling star. Lightning lanced through the weapon at the moment of impact, thunder detonating outward in a shockwave that tore through the village.
The shield met the hammer. And lost.
The Armament-coated metal splintered apart as though struck by divine judgment. The runes shattered. The shield collapsed inward, the force traveling straight through it and into the giant's arm. Bone cracked with a sickening sound that echoed over the screams of the village.
The giant warrior was launched backward. He flew like a broken doll, his massive body smashing through two longhouses before finally crashing into the third, reducing it to kindling and stone. Fires flared higher, embers spiraling into the night. Silence followed—for half a heartbeat.
Then chaos.
Nearly a dozen elite guards of Elbaph lay scattered across Brewer's Village. Each one was a veteran. Each one had survived wars against pirates, beasts, and rival giants. Shields lay shattered. Weapons were bent, buried, or broken in half. Some stirred, groaning. Others did not move at all. Before Loki's fury, their strength had proven fragile.
Loki did not even look at them. His gaze shifted—slow, deliberate—toward the heart of the burning village. Toward the clan of Queen Estrid. His birth mother's blood. Lightning cracked across the sky as if answering him.
The clouds above twisted and churned, drawn together by Loki's will. Thunder rolled low and furious, the sound deep enough to be felt in the bones. Loki raised Ragnir high, one massive hand gripping the haft as the other clenched into a fist. The lightning answered.
Bolts descended from the heavens, not striking him—but being claimed.
They wrapped around his colossal frame, coursing across his arms, his shoulders, and his chest. His hair lifted as if caught in a storm, eyes glowing white-blue as thunder was channeled through his body and into the hammer. Ragnir became a beacon. A conduit. A divine instrument of destruction. With a roar that shook the World Tree itself, Loki brought the hammer down.
The strike nearly split the branch of the World Tree upon which Brewer's Village stood. The ground ruptured. Entire buildings were thrown into the air, shattered by the impact. Lightning exploded outward, tearing through rooftops, igniting fires, and blasting giants off their feet. The village screamed.
Loki strode forward through the destruction, each step cracking the earth, his presence alone bending the air. He was no longer a prince. He was wrath incarnate. Ida's face burned in his mind. Her quiet smile. Her gentle scolding.
The way she had looked at him—not as a weapon, not as a failed son of a queen—but as family. She had been the closest thing he had ever known to a mother. And now she lay dying. Poisoned. Not by accident. By design. By a crime committed years ago, buried beneath tradition, silence, and bloodlines—only now resurfacing to claim her life when she no longer had the strength to fight back. Loki's rage boiled over.
"These… bastards," he snarled, voice reverberating like thunder through the ruins. "You lived. You prospered. You watched her suffer—and said nothing."
Giants from Queen Estrid's clan fled in terror, some dropping weapons, others begging, voices lost beneath the roar of fire and storm. Loki did not slow. He did not hesitate. He swung Ragnir again. Lightning followed.
A line of houses vanished in a blinding flash, reduced to splinters and ash. The shockwave threw bodies through the air. Those who tried to fight were crushed, blasted aside, or struck down before they could even raise their weapons.
Elite warriors rushed him—ten, twenty at once—forming ranks, shields locked, haki flaring. Loki smashed through them like a tidal wave. Shields crumpled. Spears snapped. Giants were sent flying, colliding with one another, crashing into the burning remnants of their own homes.
He was unstoppable. Every strike carried the weight of betrayal. Every bolt of lightning was judgment. Every step screamed of a god who had finally decided to answer prayer with annihilation.
"I don't care about blood," Loki roared, swinging Ragnir in a wide arc that flattened an entire street. "I don't care about clan. You tried to kill her."
Another strike. Another explosion. "And now," he continued, voice shaking the heavens, "I will erase you."
Somewhere deep beneath the World Tree, ancient roots groaned. This was not merely a battle.
It was an execution. And as Loki raised Ragnir once more—lightning coiling, thunder screaming—there was only one truth left standing amid the flames: No warrior of Elbaph could stop him.
No clan could withstand him. Only one being on this island still possessed the strength—and the authority—to stand before Loki's wrath. And if Harald did not arrive soon— Brewer's Village would be wiped from the face of the world.
"You monster…!" The voice tore through the storm, sharp and venomous. Loki paused.
From the ruins of a collapsed longhouse, an elderly giant dragged himself upright, one knee bent at an impossible angle, bone jutting grotesquely beneath torn flesh. Blood pooled beneath him, steaming where it touched the scorched ground. Yet despite the pain—despite the shattered leg—his eyes burned with unrepentant fury.
He was no common elder. He was the clan head of Queen Estrid's bloodline.
"You spill the blood of your own kin," the old giant snarled, voice cracking yet loud enough to carry across the burning village, "for that worthless wretch?"
Lightning flickered, illuminating the twisted grin spreading across the elder's face.
"You would let that filth take the place your mother held?" he continued. "You would allow a nameless outsider—some mongrel giantess of unknown blood—to sit on Elbaph's throne?"
Loki turned slowly. Each step toward the elder made the ground tremble. The old giant laughed—a wet, rasping sound filled with scorn.
"You should be thanking us, boy," he spat. "If not for us, that woman would have become Harald's wife. You would have never been born."
The words struck like poisoned arrows. The elder leaned back against broken stone, eyes gleaming with malicious pride.
"Back then, the king was not the soft ruler he is now," the elder went on. "He was a butcher. A conqueror. Had anyone laid a hand on that woman openly, he would have slaughtered us all."
His grin widened. "So we were… careful." Loki's grip on Ragnir tightened.
"We could not assassinate her," the elder said. "Too obvious. Too risky. So we chose something quieter. Something slower. Something that could be dismissed as fate."
His voice dropped to a whisper thick with satisfaction.
"Poison." The storm above growled. "Ergot," the elder continued, savoring the word. "A patient toxin. It seeps into the bones, into the marrow. It does not kill quickly. It waits." He laughed again.
"For years, we believed it had failed. She lived. Harald married Estrid. You were born. Even after the queen's death, that wretch still breathed."
His gaze sharpened. "But poison is patient," he said. "And now—after decades—it has finally claimed its due." The elder's broken body shook with mirth. "She endured for so long," he sneered. "But even endurance has limits."
Loki stopped a few steps away. The lightning around him intensified, crawling across his arms, his chest, his face. His expression was no longer rage alone—it was something colder. Something deeper.
"You destroyed my clan…your own clan," the elder hissed, baring bloodstained teeth, "for a stranger. For a woman who was never meant to belong here." He spat blood onto the ground. "She was nothing," he declared. "And we made sure of it."
Silence fell. Not peace. But judgment. Loki's voice came low, trembling—not with doubt, but with barely restrained annihilation.
"She fed me when I starved," he said. "She shielded me when I was weak. She loved me when bloodlines told you I should not exist. She was the only person who cared for me and didn't think of me as a monster…!"
The elder scoffed. "She was a filthy whore—"
The world broke. An invisible pressure exploded outward as Loki's Conqueror's Haki erupted unchecked, a tyrannical will unleashed without restraint. The air screamed. The ground buckled. Even the flames recoiled as if in terror. The elder's words died in his throat.
His knees slammed into the shattered stone beneath him as though the very world had rejected his existence. Blood burst from his nose and ears as his consciousness flickered, crushed beneath a will so overwhelming it felt like standing before an enraged god. Ragnir struck the earth beside him.
BOOM.
Lightning detonated outward in a blinding sphere, vaporizing snow, stone, and wood alike. The crater smoked and hissed, molten glass forming where the hammer had kissed the ground. The shockwave alone tore the breath from the elder's lungs, snapping ribs and rupturing organs as he was hurled backward—yet Loki was already there.
Towering. Unmoving. A colossus wreathed in storm and judgment.
"Say that one more time," Loki said, his voice impossibly calm, each word descending like a collapsing mountain. "I dare you." Lightning crawled across his skin, illuminating eyes that burned white with divine fury. "I swear upon her name," Loki continued, raising Ragnir slowly, deliberately, "before you utter that word again, I will crush your skull to dust."
The elder coughed violently, blood spilling from his lips. For a moment—just a moment—fear flickered across his face. Then he laughed. A broken, wheezing sound filled with arrogance and hatred.
"You won't," the elder rasped, lifting his chin despite the agony racking his body. "You won't dare." His eyes glittered with cruel certainty. "Look around you, boy," he sneered. "All this destruction—yet you haven't killed a single giant. Crippled, broken, humiliated… but alive."
The elder's grin widened, emboldened by his own twisted logic. "You bark like a god," he spat, "but you're still Harald's son…a prince. Still bound by weakness. Still afraid to cross that line." He inhaled, gathering saliva and venom alike.
"That fil—" The sky split open. Lightning descended in blinding fury, not from the heavens—but from Loki himself. It wrapped around Ragnir, coiled along his arms, and surged through his colossal frame until he stood like a living embodiment of annihilation—a god carved from storm and hate.
The hammer came down. There was no scream. No time. Ragnir struck with absolute finality, shattering the elder's skull in a single, thunderous blow. Bone, blood, and hatred ceased to exist in the same instant, erased as completely as if the world itself had rejected him.
The storm fell silent. Loki stood over the corpse, unmoved. "And now," he said, his voice echoing through the ruined village, heavy with irrevocable judgment, "I will erase the price of your tradition."
"LOKIIII—!"
The roar tore through Elbaph like a warhorn of despair. King Harald charged through the devastated village, his massive form cutting through smoke and flame, his blade already raised—blackened with Armament, crowned with his own Haoshoku.
He arrived just in time to see Ragnir withdraw from the elder's shattered remains. For a heartbeat, the world froze. Father and son locked eyes. Loki felt no shame. Only disdain. Disdain for the king who spoke of progress yet failed to protect the woman who had given Loki warmth when bloodlines offered only cold tradition.
Disdain for the man who knew the hatred these people carried—and did nothing to end it. Harald roared and swung. Loki didn't hesitate. Ragnir swept upward, its surface blazing with Conqueror's Haki. The weapons never touched.
Instead, their wills collided.
The impact tore the air apart, a shockwave of pure dominance exploding outward. The ground split for miles. The World Tree groaned in agony as its massive branch trembled beneath the weight of two ancient giants born of the same bloodline.
The heavens themselves split open. Black lightning tore across the sky, spiraling where the king and prince stood locked in an impossible clash, neither yielding, neither retreating. Elbaph shook. And the world held its breath.