Chapter 93: Fists of the Past
As dusk settled into evening, Cyriss appeared on the rocky, isolated shore as promised. He hadn't made any attempt to run.
"I thought you might try to escape," Satoru remarked, standing opposite him, the sea breeze tugging at his coat.
"Hah! Do I look like the kind of man who runs?" Cyriss scoffed, though his eyes held a serious glint. "You know... I was a Marine once. Served alongside Sengoku and Garp."
This time, genuine surprise flickered across Satoru's face. The intelligence dossier had contained no hint of a Marine past.
"Shocking, isn't it?" Cyriss continued, a dry, self-deprecating chuckle escaping him. "From the day I put on the uniform, I never imagined I'd take it off and become one of the 'notorious pirates' we hunted." He gazed out at the darkening sea. "But that's life. I joined the Navy... and I left it. If I'd stayed, I'd probably be a crusty old Vice Admiral by now, griping about my pension." His eyes grew distant, imagining that other, quieter path.
Satoru let the silence hang for a moment. "Are you going to come quietly?"
"Quietly?" Cyriss barked a laugh, turning back to face him. "Not a chance, you brat. Whatever else I am, I was a pirate who made the New World tremble. I won't surrender without a fight. If you want to take me, do it the proper way. Show me what the new generation of Admirals is made of!"
As he spoke, the fearsome, battle-hardened aura erupted from him again—even stronger than before, sharpened by resolve.
"Good," Satoru said, a smile touching his lips. "It would have been a disappointment otherwise."
His own fighting spirit surged in response, a tangible pressure clashing with Cyriss's ferocious will in the space between them. Both possessed Conqueror's Haki, and the collision of their auras churned the air, sending visible ripples through the sand and stirring the sea.
"Not bad," Cyriss grunted, a hint of approval in his tone. "Your presence has weight. Maybe you're the real deal after all."
"I earned this coat with my own hands," Satoru replied.
"Good. Then let's see if you can keep it." Cyriss's form blurred.
Shave!
He used Soru, the Navy's high-speed movement technique. It confirmed his story—this was a man trained by the Marines. His massive fist, sheathed in dense Armament Haki, materialized in front of Satoru's face.
So Garp's style runs in the family, Satoru mused, noting the preference for fists over weapons.
"Senior, you're not listening," Satoru said calmly. He didn't move.
Cyriss's Haki-coated fist slammed forward... and stopped. An inch from Satoru's nose, it met an immovable, invisible wall.
"What in the blazes...?" Cyriss's eyes widened. He pushed, strained, but his fist advanced not a millimeter.
"I told you. Armament Haki alone is useless against me. You need the infusion."
"Reversal Technique: Red."
A tiny crimson orb bloomed on Satoru's fingertip. It tapped gently against Cyriss's frozen fist.
FWUMP!
A concentrated blast of repulsive force erupted. Cyriss was thrown backward, but he twisted expertly in the air, landing in a crouch several yards away, unharmed. Satoru had controlled the force perfectly—a warning, not an attack.
"A troublesome power indeed," Cyriss growled, rising to his full height, his gaze now deadly serious.
"So, senior," Satoru said, his voice light but firm. "If you want this to be a real fight, you'll need to use Advanced Conqueror's Haki. Otherwise, you might as well put your hands out for the seastone cuffs now."
A fierce, almost feral grin spread across Cyriss's weathered face. "Is that so? Well then, don't blame this old man for going all out, Navy boy. Try not to get broken."
He took a breath, and his Conqueror's Haki exploded. It wasn't just a pressure; it was a tangible force that seemed to thicken the air, crackling with raw, kingly ambition. It was the most potent, densely concentrated Conqueror's Haki Satoru had ever felt—more refined and fierce than even Kaido's raging aura.
Now this... this is the real 'Tyrant's Fist,' Satoru thought, his own excitement soaring.
A matching, wild grin appeared on Satoru's face. "Much better!"
In response, his own Conqueror's Haki burst forth, a brilliant, crackling storm of will that met Cyriss's head-on. The two forces didn't cancel; they clashed, sending phantom lightning arcing into the sky above them.
In the same instant, both figures vanished.
They reappeared in mid-air, above the shore. Their fists, each wreathed in the crackling, invisible energy of Advanced Conqueror's infusion, drove toward each other.
BOOOOOM-CRACK!
The impact didn't produce a sound so much as a tearing of reality. A sphere of distorted space and blinding black-and-white lightning erupted where their fists met. The shockwave flattened the sand below and sent a visible ripple across the ocean's surface. Thunder, real and metaphorical, rolled across the suddenly bright-as-day sky, the clash of supreme Haki mimicking a violent storm.
In the peaceful village, windows rattled. Villagers jolted awake from their sleep, confused and frightened by the sudden celestial fury and the tremors in the ground.
On the distant Marine warship, the crew stared, faces pale in the eerie, flash-lit night. The Vice Admiral watched the horizon, where two small figures were outlined against bursts of terrifying energy.
"The Admiral's battle... has begun," he whispered, the words heavy with awe and dread. This was no mere arrest. This was a clash of eras, a testament to the monstrous power that now guarded—and challenged—the seas.
(End of Chapter)
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