On the warship, Sengoku's expression changed drastically.
He watched as a terrifying transformation overtook Sakazuki's body. Exceeding Kaio-ken Times Three was a brutal test of a god-tier martial art on a mortal body.
Fine cracks began appearing on the surface of Sakazuki's bronze skin. It looked like an overheated porcelain vase. Crimson blood sprayed from the fissures.
The blood didn't even have time to leave a trace in the air before the terrifying heat radiating from his skin flash-vaporized it into a red mist.
He looked entirely like an evil spirit that had just crawled out of Asura's Hell.
At that moment, a super-massive Sea King—over five thousand meters long—was awakened by the commotion. It possessed a body resembling typical Sea Kings with a grotesque crocodile head. It breached the surface, opening a bloody maw wide enough to swallow a warship whole, and roared furiously at the barren island.
Sakazuki slowly turned his head. His crimson eyes locked onto the foolish creature that didn't know the meaning of death.
He didn't use Haki. He didn't summon magma.
He simply raised his right fist, now completely engulfed in red energy, and threw a punch through the air at the Sea King miles away.
There were no complex techniques, only the purest, most violent physical kinetic energy.
The mass of dark red energy tore away from his fist. It carved a blinding red beam through the air. Everywhere the beam passed, space emitted a shrill wail, completely unable to bear this destructive force that did not belong to this world.
The sea surface was forcefully cleaved apart by this invisible shockwave. And it wasn't a normal cleaving—the seawater within this several-thousand-meter-long trench was instantly vaporized the moment it touched the edge of the energy. The silt and rock layers of the seabed were exposed to the air, ground to dust by the residual might.
The colossal Sea King didn't even have time to scream. The red light pierced its body. Its upper half was instantly vaporized, leaving not a single drop of flesh or blood. Only its lower half collapsed with a resounding crash into the boiling seawater.
Violent steam rocketed into the sky, forming a terrifying mushroom cloud over the Calm Belt that blotted out the sun.
This single strike completely drained every ounce of strength from Sakazuki's body. The red aura of the Kaio-ken Times Three extinguished instantly, like a disconnected light bulb. The world-ending oppressive force dissipated with it.
Sakazuki's legs gave out, and he crashed heavily to his knees in a crater burned into the rock. Every muscle in his body twitched violently and uncontrollably. The tearing agony was harder to endure than being sliced by a thousand knives.
"Gah..." He violently lurched forward, opening his mouth and vomiting profusely. What came up wasn't stomach acid, but viscous fluids mixed with dark purple blood clots. This was the internal bleeding from his organs being damaged under the severe overload. Every breath felt like swallowing broken glass into his lungs.
Sengoku's frantic roar—his voice cracking with desperation—blared through the loudspeaker Den Den Mushi on the warship.
"Sakazuki! Stop this immediately!" Sengoku's voice echoed across the open sea, carrying an incredibly rare sense of anxiety. "The medical officer just observed via your Vivre Card—your heart rate has completely surpassed the absolute limits of human endurance! Your blood vessels are going to be blown out by your own power!"
Sengoku slammed his hand heavily against the wooden railing, sending splinters flying. "This is just a test! There's no need for you to do something so self-destructive out here!"
The Marines could ill afford to lose an Admiral in his prime. Especially right now, at a critical juncture where the world order was about to be completely upended by that tavern in Foosha Village.
On the barren island.
Sakazuki turned a deaf ear to Sengoku's roaring. He dug his torn, cracked hands deep into the scorched rock. Inch by inch, with excruciating effort, he propped up his upper body.
His ruptured wounds tore open again with his movements, blood streaming down the contours of his bronze muscles, quickly forming a small puddle beneath him.
He paid it no mind. Instead, his lips curled into a highly twisted, insanely savage smirk. He raised his head, his gaze sweeping across the churning sea to accurately lock onto a specific figure on the warship.
"Where's that ice block Kuzan, the one who always looks half-asleep?" Sakazuki's voice transmitted back to the warship through the island's receiver snail. It was weak, yet carried a condescending arrogance.
"Tell him to get his ass over here... Let him get a good look at this heat—heat enough to vaporize his glaciers right along with his bones."
Those words landed like a sledgehammer on the hearts of every Marine officer on the deck. No one thought he was bragging. Because the massive, lingering gorge still spanning the sea surface—refusing to be filled by the surrounding waters—was the ultimate proof.
Atop the highest mast of the warship.
A tall, indolent figure had appeared at some unknown point. Marine Admiral Aokiji.
The sleep mask he usually wore on his forehead had now slipped down to his neck. Kuzan exhaled a breath of white frost—the unconscious leakage of his Devil Fruit ability caused by his emotional fluctuation. He wasn't cracking jokes like he normally did. Those eyes that usually looked so careless were now as deep as a dry well, gazing out at his bloodied colleague on the desolate island.
"Arara..." Kuzan scratched his messy curly hair, his voice frighteningly low. "This kind of completely unreasonable, monster-level oppressive force..."
He looked down at his own palms. In the face of this Ki, his proud Ice-Ice Fruit ability was actually experiencing an incredibly rare, instinctual flinching.
"You bastard. You've walked too far ahead of me now, Sakazuki." Kuzan's voice held no jealousy, only a profound dread and helplessness.
He knew very well that if they were to fight right now on Punk Hazard over the Fleet Admiral position or their conflicting ideals, he absolutely wouldn't last ten days. In fact, he might just be vaporized into steam by that pure violence within the first few minutes of Sakazuki activating the Kaio-ken.
This was the chasm between those who had visited high-dimensional dungeons and normal natives.
On the deserted island, Sakazuki spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva. He didn't respond to Kuzan. Or rather, his sights were no longer set on this colleague who felt tired if he didn't sleep for a few days.
He staggered to his feet. The sea breeze blew against his broken body, bringing waves of biting pain. But those crimson eyes were frighteningly bright. He turned his head and looked toward the distant east.
The direction of Foosha Village.
There stood a seemingly unremarkable tavern. Inside sat a God who could wholesale this world-rule-breaking power like cheap goods.
"Not enough..." Sakazuki clenched his still-dripping fists, his nails digging deeply into his flesh. "Nowhere near enough."
The destructive power he had just displayed was enough to force the Yonko into retreat and make the world's underworld and pirates tremble in terror. But to him, it was still far from sufficient.
"In the Store Manager's eyes, this level of power..."
The image of Blake sitting lazily in his chair, seemingly capable of crushing the void itself, reappeared in Sakazuki's mind. A bitter smile crept onto his lips, but it was quickly replaced by a fanatic thirst for battle.
"It probably wouldn't even be enough to blow out a candle for him."
In this new era that had completely run out of control, to thoroughly purge the trash from the seas and execute the absolute justice in the depths of his heart, he had to go back to that tavern. He had to use more Beri to exchange for even greater power.
Even if the price was burning this body to ashes, he would never look back.
----
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