Two colossal storms of Conqueror's Haki crashed together, black and crimson coils tearing at one another as if they meant to swallow the whole world.
The cloud sea overhead shattered and churned. The earth split into jagged fissures, rubble raining down.
CP members scattered in a blind panic, scrambling to get as far as possible from the center of that apocalyptic clash.
In their horrified eyes, the island itself seemed to groan under the pressure, on the verge of collapse. The world around them warped into a nightmare hellscape, a Purgatory made real.
And all of this chaos was being unleashed by just two men, recklessly letting their Conqueror's Haki run wild.
"Rogers Darren... his power has reached this level?!"
"Even His Excellency Saint Michael can't suppress him!"
"Excellency Saint Michael has served as Commander of the Knights of God for fifteen years—he's a true monster!"
"This is insane!"
"..."
Before they could finish processing their terror, a massive emerald tornado burst skyward, becoming a towering pillar of wind that bridged earth and sky. It swept across the battlefield with unstoppable force, swallowing everything in its path.
"Wind's Fury!"
With a cold, guttural roar, the raging vortex intensified. Vague silhouettes of CP agents were lifted into the air, ripped apart, and scattered as crimson mist that vanished into the storm.
Thunderous roars rolled on and on as the giant tempest devoured all before it, then surged outward across the island.
Under the assault of wind and lightning, the land split open, mountains were razed, and more than half the island's terrain was completely reshaped.
A heartbeat later, Dragon's figure stepped out of the storm's heart.
He took one look at Darren and Saint Michael already locked in brutal combat and was about to elementalize and join them when three ghostlike figures snapped into existence around him, cutting off every avenue of escape.
They wore stark white suits and strange patterned masks, a suffocating killing intent rolling off them in waves.
CP0—the World Government's top intelligence agency.
"Tch! Why do I always get stuck dealing with the small fry?" Dragon snarled, dropping into a Dragon Claw Fist stance. Without a word spoken, the surrounding gales condensed into dozens of compressed wind blades, spiraling around him.
Boom!
The phantom of a green Wind Dragon flashed over the ground. Dragon lunged like a raging tiger, and a dozen razor wind blades shrieked through the air toward the three assassins.
"As the man who carries the banner of freedom and equality, I'm supposed to be the protagonist here!"
---
Two streaks—one black, one white—flashed through the air, crossing paths in a blur.
Clang!
Sparks exploded where they met, and a shockwave of Haki burst outward in all directions.
Sword and claw locked, the spray of sparks lit their faces—two different styles of handsome, equally cold.
"So that's it," Saint Michael said softly. "You've pushed your physical speed and explosive power to such an extreme... No wonder you were so confident you could stop me."
Silver hair and pale World Noble robes whipped about in the gale as he stared at the black-haired youth before him, eyes like chips of ice.
"This method of forcing out your body's hidden potential... it's very similar to Kaido's."
"Oh?" Darren raised an eyebrow, suddenly more interested. "From the way you talk, sounds like you're quite familiar with Kaido."
"The World Government has ruled these seas for eight hundred years," Saint Michael replied slowly. "There is no ability, no bloodline that remains unknown to us... Don't forget—Kaido was once captured by the Marines."
His tone was utterly flat, as if he were mentioning something trivial.
But Darren could clearly taste the arrogance steeped into the Commander's every word—a scorn for the world itself, a lofty contempt for all things beneath him.
That unmistakable stench of human garbage, the kind no amount of noble upbringing or imported cologne could cover.
"He was once a Government test subject," Saint Michael went on. "However, Kaido's abilities and strength were too unique, lacking any general applicability. In the end, the Government abandoned research on him."
At those words, Darren instantly understood what he was really saying. He snorted.
"Let's be honest—you just couldn't reproduce his power, so you had no choice but to give up."
"Let me guess... that little genocide you carried out at God Valley wasn't just about a 'hunting festival,' was it? It was to erase the evidence of your illegal experiments on the Buccaneer race."
"And the Lunarians, who once thrived on the Red Line—were they driven to the brink of extinction because your Government coveted their bloodline as well?"
Saint Michael's eyes narrowed to deadly slits. "It seems you know quite a lot about the World Government."
Darren chuckled. "Unlike you lot—sitting on eight centuries of power and casually dismissing every enemy—a disgrace like me, who clawed his way up from the gutter, never underestimates anyone."
A faint, playful smile tugged at his lips.
"So, you've been treating the World Government as a hypothetical enemy for a very long time, is that it?" Saint Michael asked.
"What kind of true, resolute man could tolerate something looming overhead forever?" Darren shot back. He winked at the silver-haired Celestial Dragon. "Don't tell me you've never pictured yourself replacing that 'being' and sitting on the Empty Throne."
The instant those words left Darren's mouth, Saint Michael's elegant, composed façade—steady even when faced with the corpses of his two most trusted subordinates—finally cracked.
A subtle tremor ran through him. His face twisted into a mask of icy killing intent.
"You've signed your own death sentence."
His body warped in an instant.
He shot upward, his frame turning gaunt and elongated.
Silver fur burst across his skin. A pure white tail unfurled behind him, swaying with predatory grace.
His feet split his boots apart, reshaping into taloned claws that glinted with lethal cold.
His crimson, vertical pupils blazed with an eerie, otherworldly light, as if they could glimpse a future drenched in blood.
The silver-furred werewolf, sword in hand, stood against a backdrop of flickering crimson-black lightning, its silhouette lean and ghostlike.
BOOM!!
A savage, feral aura erupted as the werewolf loosed a piercing howl. Dragon-like white mist poured from its fanged jaws, the extreme cold freezing the air into shimmering frost.
Zoan-Type: Mythical Zoan—Frostshadow Silver Wolf!
"Must've hit a nerve. You're already panicking," Darren said, studying the upright werewolf before him with an amused snort.
"I knew something stank the moment I landed. I thought it was just some wild animal on the island."
"Turns out the biggest beast was you all along."
To be continued...