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The wind died.
The air itself seemed to crystallize, freezing the battlefield in a silent, suffocating stasis. From the heart of the dust, a ghastly white silhouette emerged. A jagged, sinister smile was carved into that bone-pale face, a grin that didn't just look wrong, it felt predatory.
Rojen's hand still partially obscured his face, but Kizaru didn't need to see his eyes to feel the shift. His heart hammered against his ribs, gripped by an invisible, icy hand. It was the feeling of being hunted by something that didn't belong in this world.
"Heh... heh..."
The voice was a layered, dissonant rasp. It carried the weight of an ancient, blood-stained throne, a kingly arrogance that viewed the world as a footstool.
"Humans," The voice sighed, dripping with a mixture of mockery and genuine pity. "Truly... you are such fragile things."
Rojen lowered his hand. The mask was complete now, a terrifying visage with two streaks of crimson light burning where his pupils should be. The sight was enough to make a seasoned veteran's blood turn to slush.
Kizaru's grip tightened on the Ama no Murakumo. The man, the thing, standing before him was no longer the boy he had been fighting. The aura was wrong. It was hollow, wretched, and infinitely more dangerous.
BOOM.
A spark of blood-red spiritual energy ignited. In an instant, crimson flames wreathed Rojen's black robes, licking the air like hungry tongues. He flicked his wrist, and Zangetsu tore through the air with a sound like shattering glass.
"Reason..." The hollow voice mused, almost a whisper. "Foolish humans cling to it like a shield, forgetting that the beast inside has much better eyes."
The masked head snapped up, the red orbs locking onto Kizaru. The Admiral felt his nerves catch fire.
"So... you're the one I'm supposed to kill?"
The black silhouette vanished.
"Then I'll do him the favor! After all... I've been starving for a real fight! Hahahahaha!"
A shrill, manic shriek tore through the air. A streak of obsidian light broke through the dimensions of space, thrusting toward Kizaru's throat with the force of a falling star.
CLANG!
The black blade scraped against the golden edge of Kizaru's light-sword, sending a spray of sparks across the ruins. Kizaru's jaw tightened. The weight behind that single thrust was immense, far heavier than anything Rojen had thrown at him minutes before.
He's stronger. Much stronger.
Before Kizaru could counter, the black blade vanished again. It didn't retract; it simply ceased to be in one spot and appeared in another, lunging for the Admiral's chest.
RIP.
The sound of rattling chains echoed in the void. Kizaru felt a sharp, searing bite across his skin and threw himself backward. He looked down to see a thin line of crimson blooming on his suit. He had been touched. He had been cut.
"That swordsmanship..." Kizaru's voice lost its playful lilt. "It's like fighting a wild animal."
It was exactly that. There was no form, no school of martial arts. Rojen was moving on pure, feral instinct, heavy breathing, eyes blazing with a bloodthirsty joy, swinging the blade as if it were an extension of his own claws.
"Come on! Do it again!"
"You're strong! I can feel your heart racing! It's making me... so... excited!"
The masked figure shrieked again, launching into a frenzied dance of slashes, thrusts, and cleaves. Each movement was erratic, defying human anatomy. Kizaru, despite his light-speed perception, found himself barely parrying the onslaught. The speed was ramping up with every passing second, the power behind the blade growing more frantic, more desperate.
"Hah!"
A bizarre, twisting lunge forced Kizaru to lurch aside.
SHUAA!
The moment the blade swung, a pitch-black Getsuga Tenshō was already born from the friction. Kizaru's light-body flickered into an afterimage, but the wave of black energy followed the curve of his movement, tracing an arc through the sky before detonating against a distant tower. The explosion leveled everything in a five-hundred-meter radius.
"Humans! You and him, both pathetically weak!"
The laughter was deafening. The masked Rojen raised a single finger, and a point of blinding red light condensed at the tip.
POP.
A dazzling red light shrieked through the air, aimed directly at Kizaru's head.
"Cero!"
Kizaru swept his light-blade upward, bracing for the impact as the crimson beam hammered into his guard. The Cero shrieked, a violent concentration of energy that ground against the golden steel for three agonizing breaths before detonating in a flash of blinding white.
The shockwave sent Kizaru spiraling through the air. He tumbled nearly a dozen times, his boots finally catching the air to stabilize his flight, but as he looked up to find his target, his breath hitched.
The sky above him was already empty. The boy was gone.
WHOOSH.
A vertical streak of obsidian appeared directly over his head. The sound of heavy, exhilarated breathing preceded the blade as it chopped down with a executioner's finality. Kizaru lurched backward, the tip of Zangetsu missing his throat by a hair's breadth, but the spiritual pressure alone carved a fresh, jagged line across his chest. Blood sprayed, staining his yellow suit.
"Tell me, Admiral... do you know the difference between a king and his horse?"
Rojen, or the thing wearing his face, let out a jagged, manic laugh. He was a blur of motion, swinging the black cleaver in a relentless sequence that forced Kizaru into a frantic, desperate retreat.
"It's instinct!"
With a savage horizontal slash, Kizaru's light-constructed body shattered into sparks, reforming several yards away. But space meant nothing to the beast. Rojen moved in jagged, parallel shifts through the void, appearing in Kizaru's blind spot before the Admiral could even settle his stance. He didn't use the sword this time; he swung his right arm like a massive, leaden club.
BANG!
The blow connected with the weight of a falling mountain. Kizaru's body buckled, sent plummeting toward the earth like a spent shell.
"You fight with logic! You seek victory through reason!" Rojen screamed, his voice a layered, hollow roar. He gripped Zangetsu with both hands, diving headlong after the falling Admiral. He overtook Kizaru in mid-air, looming over him like a dark omen.
He's too fast!
Kizaru's pupils shrank to pinpricks as he threw Ama no Murakumo up to parry.
"How can a blade cut anything when it's still wearing its sheath?!"
BOOM!
The impact leveled the ground. A pillar of dust shot hundreds of feet into the air as the two hit the earth. The impact crater swallowed everything within a hundred meters, the stone floor of the base shattering into a web of deep fissures.
Kizaru's face went pale, a spray of blood coughing from his lips as the pressure of the strike crushed his lungs.
"Weak! You're so damn weak!"
As Kizaru struggled to rise, the black blade swept upward in a vicious arc.
RIP.
Another crimson line opened across Kizaru's chest. It was shallow, a mere graze, but it was another mark on a man who was supposed to be untouchable. Ever since that mask had appeared, the Admiral had been bleeding.
In terms of raw speed and power, Kizaru knew he was still the superior combatant. But Rojen was fighting in a way that defied every rule of engagement the Marines taught. There was no Kenbunshoku Haki guiding these movements, no calculated prediction.
It was pure, unadulterated instinct.
Rojen had abandoned his humanity, throwing away the shackles of reason to move like a starving predator. He didn't think; he reacted. He didn't plan; he destroyed. To a rational fighter like Kizaru, this was a nightmare, a whirlwind of steel that didn't follow the rhythm of a duel.
The masked figure stood in the center of the crater, his chest heaving with a dark, euphoric joy. He loved this. The carnage, the lack of restraint, it made the blood in his veins sing. He felt like a god looking down from a height Kizaru couldn't even fathom.
He raised his blade to finish the job, the thrill reaching a fever pitch.
Then, a cold, familiar voice echoed inside his skull.
"Your power... is still not enough."
(End Of This Chapter)