Clang!!
Their teeth gritted, muscles screaming, and at last the two supreme blades collided with uncompromising force.
Sparks erupted in a blinding explosion between Bushinkiri and Hakkai. The metallic roar of clashing steel was no longer merely a sound—it had become a wail of pain, a testament to the unrelenting power behind the strike.
Black-and-red lightning tangled with dark-purple Conqueror's Haki, writhing like furious serpents, scattering violently in all directions. The shockwave radiated outward in concentric circles, ripping up the ground beneath them.
Gern felt a crushing force surge up from the hilt. Instantly, his sleeves shredded under the strain, his fingers went numb, and the ground beneath him sank half a foot.
"So… last time's injuries…" Gern muttered, eyes narrowing, "they really don't affect you at all!"
"Whitebeard!!" he roared, his gaze sharpening. Muscles in his right arm tensed instantly, and the flow of advanced-level Armament Haki surged up from his forearm, holding back the cataclysmic strike that could split mountains and shatter seas.
"Because…" A flicker of red light glinted in Whitebeard's eyes. Spinning Bushinkiri, he slammed down with both arms.
"I'm not about to let some Navy brat like you pin me down!"
Gern instinctively pulled back, creating space—but only for a fleeting moment. The two clashed again, unstoppable, relentless.
"Kurararara! You little Navy brat! I knew decades ago that you possess the same raw strength I do!" Whitebeard bellowed, pressing down with crushing force.
Cracks fanned out under Gern's feet, yet a sharp curve formed at the corner of his mouth.
In the brief instant when Whitebeard's old force faded and new power hadn't yet fully surged, Gern's voice cut ice-cold through the tension:
"Is that so? Then I'm… lucky, really lucky."
Before Whitebeard could react, Gern's left hand shot forward—not to grasp the hilt, but with fingers splayed wide. High-density vibration particles instantly coalesced in his palm, forming a deadly, twisting vortex aimed squarely at Whitebeard's chest.
"Tenjin: White Vortex!"
A pulse of invisible, compressed vibration shot outward, spinning like a miniature tornado. Air compressed violently, giving off a low, bone-rattling hum that made teeth ache.
This was no ordinary impact—it was a penetrating, visceral vibration, designed to rattle organs and shatter defenses.
"You're not the only one who can see the future, brat!"
Whitebeard's pupils contracted sharply. Instinctively, he released one hand from the hilt, his massive palm shrouded in Armament Haki smashing back.
"Kuuzan!"
Snap! The air before his hand cracked like glass, colliding with Gern's particle vortex. There was no thunderous boom, only the terrifying sensation of space itself twisting and contorting.
Two forces, born of the same origin but with opposing natures, collided and eroded each other, eventually detonating in a sudden, uncontrolled shockwave. Both men were flung backward, carving deep trenches into the earth beneath them.
This was why Gern had told Sengoku that he could never truly "win" against Whitebeard. Forces of the same origin could counter each other perfectly: Tenjin could subdue Goro Goro, but Goro Goro could equally disrupt Tenjin.
Whitebeard shook his tingling left hand, eyes narrowing at Gern with heightened battle intent.
"You can even imitate—or oppose—vibrations… your Devil Fruit is just as troublesome as ever."
"Imitate?" Gern said, voice calm, stance unshaken. He twirled Hakkai, the black blade tracing a graceful arc toward the ground. A low, resonant hum spread from his body, the air around him rippling and distorting under high-frequency vibrations. "I don't imitate… I master."
Before the words faded, he vanished again—not teleporting, but rocketing off the ground with pure vibration force, reaching near-instantaneous speed. Only a crater and a ripple of dispersing energy marked where he had been.
Whitebeard swung Bushinkiri in a wide arc—only to hit empty air.
The next instant, Gern appeared like a specter in Whitebeard's blind spot. Hakkai shrieked, slicing the air with an ear-splitting scream. Conqueror's Haki coiled around the blade, and high-frequency vibrations, almost tangible, raced along its edge.
"Tenjin: Rift!"
The blade tore through space itself, leaving a trembling black trail in its wake.
Whitebeard's massive body, though caught off-guard, moved with astonishing agility. He twisted Bushinkiri just in time, parrying with uncanny precision.
Clang!! Another deafening impact! Rocks surrounding them shattered into dust under the force.
Yet Gern's blade, laced with peculiar vibration energy, penetrated subtly through Whitebeard's Haki, trying to destabilize his defense.
Heh. Whitebeard grunted, encasing Bushinkiri in a milky-white energy sphere.
"Shinretsu!" The blade erupted, violently pushing back Hakkai!
Gern spun with the momentum, carving a perfect arc that avoided the sphere's core. His blade tip struck at the slight opening on Whitebeard's right shoulder.
Shhhk!
The tip was deflected, but the concentrated vibrational energy sliced through his coat, leaving a clean cut across Whitebeard's chest.
At the same moment, Bushinkiri, knocked aside, wasn't withdrawn. Whitebeard swung the massive hilt like a war hammer, unadorned, raw, honed through decades of battle.
"Too inexperienced!!"
Bam!! The brutal swing, infused with overwhelming Haki, slammed into Gern's side.
A force beyond resistance tore through him. Organs shifted violently, agony threatening to choke him. He was flung like a high-speed train, crashing into ruins dozens of meters away, raising clouds of dust.
Crash! Gern braced with one hand, rubble flying off him, blood dripping from his lips.
He wiped it away and spat. "Hah… thought I had you."
Whitebeard glanced at the slash on his chest—not with anger, but with a booming, hearty laugh.
"Kurararara! Trading wounds? Excellent! Just like this!" His thrill at danger, at life on the edge, shone in his eyes.
Gern had not only matched his strength and Haki, but melded his Devil Fruit with swordsmanship and physical technique to craft bizarre, unpredictable, and piercing attacks.
"Then, how about this!?" Whitebeard roared, muscles swelling, lifting Bushinkiri overhead. A milky-white sphere of energy condensed along the blade, the destructive force to level an island coiled within. Black-and-red Conqueror's Haki writhed around it like living lightning.
The sky darkened as the earth trembled under the sheer power. Gern's expression hardened. He could feel the cataclysmic potential of that strike.
He inhaled sharply and gripped Hakkai with both hands, holding it vertically before him. Deep purple Haki interwove with the almost tangible high-frequency vibrations, buzzing like a million wings. The air around him warped, his figure seeming unreal, distorted.
"Haaaah!!!" Whitebeard bellowed, bringing Bushinkiri down.
The immense milky-white shockwave surged like a tsunami, tearing and vibrating through everything in its path. Rocks weren't just shattered—they were ground into the finest dust.
Gern steadied himself, suppressing the roar of blood in his veins, raising Hakkai vertically.
Vvvvrrr—vrrrr—! His blade sang like a billion hummingbirds, dark-purple Haki twisting with high-frequency vibrational energy.
"Tenjin…" He lunged from above, driving the blade down. Eight-directional shockwaves erupted, cracks spreading like petals, consuming everything within reach.
"Hakkai Annihilation!"
From the blade's point of impact, a violent, fan-shaped vibrational wave tore outward. Gern had channeled the full potential of his Devil Fruit through Hakkai, imbuing it with cutting, tearing, and obliterating properties—a strike of absolute destruction.
And at that moment, two forces—the zeniths of "vibration"—collided.
The unimaginable roar swallowed all sound. At the collision's core, space itself twisted and collapsed, forming a fleeting black void.
Dust swirled, turbulent energy raged, and the exact state at the center was nearly impossible to discern. Only the black-and-red and dark-purple lightning wove furiously through the chaos, a testament to the unyielding wills of the two men.
Far away, anyone attempting to approach—Marines, Whitebeard's captains—had no chance. The residual shockwave tore them from the ground like leaves in a storm. Those lucky enough to avoid being swept away were dragged back by their comrades, their faces etched with terror and disbelief.
This… was the battle of kings. Its might, infernal. Its presence, overwhelming.
No one could come close.