The falling island wasn't large—and under a storm of combined blows from Marines and pirates, it shattered in an instant.
Its remains became a rain of fiery meteors that streaked across half of Enies Lobby's sky.
"Another pain in the neck, Sengoku!"
Garp laughed and swore all at once, twisting through the air—one fist, one fireball.
Each chunk met a Haki-hardened punch and powdered to dust.
Sengoku was just as busy. If those smaller "stars" made landfall, the Marine casualties would be brutal.
"Shockwave!"
A fan of force blasted from the golden Buddha's palm, grinding a swath of meteors into grit.
Roger and Jabba, however, held back. Their goal had been to stop the island from crushing their ship, not to play whack-a-meteor forever.
"Jabba, Rayleigh—now. We're pulling out!"
Jabba chopped a boulder in half. "Really retreating?"
"Retreat," Rayleigh said, low and firm. "I doubt Shakky's even here. My Observation hasn't caught her signal once. Roger?"
Observation wasn't perfect; with so many presences milling around the island, signals slipped. Rayleigh couldn't be certain.
Roger didn't waste breath. He wanted Shakky out—but the plan had failed, the break was blocked, and if they kept wrestling here, they might be the ones left behind.
Decision made, the three vaulted back toward the Oro Jackson, moving like thrown spears.
Seeing them go, Dimon tossed out a token slash, as if to stop the escape—
—and Rayleigh swatted it aside like a mosquito.
In a blink, Roger's trio were back aboard. Helmsman Donchino spun the wheel; the prow knifed away from Enies Lobby.
"Farewell, Sengoku! Garp! Treat my Shakky well—I'll be back!"
Roger stood on the mermaid figurehead, grinning into the wind.
Sengoku's face darkened. "Damn—!"
Garp barked a laugh. "Running again, Roger?!"
Zephyr said nothing, pulverizing falling debris with grim focus. The Admiral who doesn't kill didn't intend to start now—and he'd be damned if he let Marines die to stray rocks.
The Marines' top guns were tied up, but the Holy Knights? They didn't care who was below them. They had one target.
"Leaving? Not on my watch."
Saint Somaz snorted, ignoring the Golden Lion overhead. Thorns bloomed from his hands into a sea of brambles.
Three Knights sprinted down a woven vine toward the pirates' ship.
In the clouds, Shiki stroked his chin, eyeing the chaos.
"Strange. Roger's running? Did he already snag Shakky?"
He cast Observation over the Oro Jackson—no trace of Shakky.
"Jiehahaha! Useless as ever, Roger—guess I'll do it myself!"
He flashed a grin. "Perfect timing. No one minding the store?"
Marines were occupied with flaming rubble. Roger's crew was fleeing. The Holy Knights were chasing Roger.
Which meant… the Courthouse was wide open.
Flying skiffs banked, angling straight for the courthouse.
Everything had come unhinged.
Dimon stood at the bridge edge, glancing Marine-ward, pirate-ward, then skyward.
Shiki's entrance had flipped the table; what had been a two-sided slugfest collapsed into spinning plates.
So—Roger might actually get out?
What a mess, Marines.
Dimon had to smother a laugh. Not because he wanted Roger captured—purely as a connoisseur of chaos, the tableau was art.
To be fair, the headcount told a story: four Marine elites—War–Gar–Ze–Sen.
But "Columbus" was already dead in Dimon's stomach, Garp wasn't exactly desperate to dogpile Roger, Zephyr played the good soldier, and Sengoku alone was sprinting like a man with too few hands.
Like Marineford—Akainu doing laps while everyone else argued with the camera.
Tradition, tradition.
"If not for me stirring the pot, the Marines might really have pinned Roger's crew. Maybe not a full sweep—but grabbing Roger? Very possible."
He watched the sea's far line. The Holy Knights had caught the Oro Jackson; blades crossed with the Roger Trio. As he'd remembered, Somaz was useless—Rayleigh took his arm off in a few exchanges.
The limb grew back. Undying bodies did that.
Roger's crew fought while falling back, no intention of digging in.
"Conqueror's coating above advanced level should bite through Imu's undying," Dimon mused. "But you'd need a step beyond standard 'baryu'—true supreme overlay…"
His thought snapped.
A presence behind him surged.
He turned—
The spike came from the Tower's peak.
No—not the Tower. Imu.
The realization hit—and a crushing Conqueror's pressure flooded the island.
Centered on Gunzi, black-red lightning veined the heavens.
Then, behind Gunzi—wings unfolded. A demon's pair.
Her right hand rose; a devil's trident clawed up from a glowing sigil.
A beat later, a black lance of light shot from the summit—Imu riding Gunzi's body—and streaked for the Oro Jackson.
Fast.
Faster than Dimon's devil form by a hair.
So Imu would personally ride Gunzi to the field.
Roger felt the chill before he saw the flash.
He reached for the future with Observation—
—nothing. A blank.
His gaze snapped to the snow-ogre Knight—
—and past him, a black glare cut the air.
It was the "overseer" Holy Knight—changed, and yet not.
No time to parse.
A trident stabbed for his heart.
Roger blew the snow ogre back with a single swordbeat and brought Ace up to guard—
—and the world lurched.
A force like a tidal wave plowed him off the Oro Jackson, dragging him away from the ship.
"Captain!" The crew cried out as one.
"Roger!" Rayleigh shouted.
"Damn it—more backup," Jabba growled.
Roger and Imu tore across the sea-skin like low-flying meteors, Conqueror's Haki clashing so hard that the air flashed in black-red pulses. Each pulse punched hundred-meter geysers out of the water.
The Island of Endless Daylight fell under thunderheads. Lightning drummed. Night without night.
Roger's voice flung back across the roar:
"Don't stop—go! I'll… catch up soon!!"
Dimon watched the trident's wake carve a black scar across the sky and tasted iron on his tongue.
Soon?
He had a very different feeling about that.
—To be continued…
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