The dark-brown rocky ground had shattered into ruin. From the cracks rose choking columns of dust.
As far as the eye could see—
shredded vine fragments, thousands upon thousands of corpses—Marines and pirates alike—blood congealed into black sludge, broken swords, snapped rifles…
Everywhere.
God Valley, once wrapped in mystery, had become a living hell.
A sudden gust of wind swept through, dragging the stink of seawater, iron-blood, rot, and death across the battlefield.
Romu sniffed.
His brow creased.
He didn't like that smell.
It turned his stomach.
The next moment—
a thought flickered in his mind, and the sixty-four "Wood Avatars" behind him split into eight squads of eight.
This was a new technique born from his Fruit's awakening—
[Wood Clone].
He granted plants an overwhelming vitality—then used it to create solid, physical clones of himself.
They could move and fight just like the caster, with independent awareness and a certain level of durability. And once dismissed, their memories and combat experience returned to the main body.
With a series of sharp wind-splitting sounds—
the sixty-four figures flashed.
In an instant, they appeared in front of Kong and the others.
Each squad surrounded one person.
Silence.
A dead, suffocating silence.
The entire battlefield fell into stillness like a grave.
Staring at the eight Romus standing before them, Kong and the rest swallowed with extreme difficulty, faces drained of blood.
As for Roger—
the smug curve that had been rising at the corner of his mouth had frozen solid.
His wave-like mustache trembled.
Romu clicked his tongue, as if their reactions weren't satisfying enough.
Hands behind his back, he paced left and right on the plant stem like he owned the world.
"Now," he said casually, "I want to ask you a question too."
He paused.
"Will they use all three types of Haki?"
"Will they use my abilities?"
He stopped walking.
Then he looked down at them with open displeasure.
"Answer me."
"What's the answer?"
In the instant his voice fell—
Kong, Garp, Sengoku, Zephyr, Roger, Rayleigh, Gaban, Bullet…
all eight jolted in shock.
Their hearts slammed.
Cold sweat burst across their foreheads.
"What?"
"You don't dare say it out loud?"
Romu asked lazily.
They said nothing.
Only clenched jaws and burning eyes—locked on Romu standing above them.
Romu's eyebrows lifted.
"Then I'll answer for you."
And in the next heartbeat—
under eight pairs of horrified eyes—
the eight Romus in front of them each stepped forward once.
Extreme-black, double-layered Haki erupted across their entire bodies.
A violent flood of raw Haki poured out, forming savage, chaotic currents around them—
like an abyss.
Like hell.
Like black flames rising.
A brutal gale suddenly tore through the battlefield.
Even the ground seemed to "sense" something—
it trembled, groaning with a deep, rumbling howl.
And it still wasn't over.
Like an omen.
"Don't tell me…"
Zephyr's forehead veins bulged.
"Damn it!"
Sengoku forced his trembling arms up, bloodshot eyes flaring.
Kong and the others also tensed hard, teeth grinding as they stared at the eight Wood Clones boxing them in.
Romu watched them coldly, still standing on the plant like a flawless sculpture, the crystalline sheen on his body growing brighter and brighter.
"The answer is revealed."
He slowly closed his eyes.
The world fell into darkness.
A silent, boundless void.
But inside that void—
one green light flashed.
Then another.
Then another—
until sixty-four emerald lights pulsed in sequence.
They were his sixty-four Wood Clones—
condensed from his life energy.
Romu exhaled softly.
Those emerald lights blazed even brighter.
He could "see" the surging currents of energy inside each clone—
pulsing like raging rivers.
And then—
even though Romu's eyes still weren't open—
the world snapped back into clarity.
Dust. Rubble. Corpses.
Kong and the others.
Every detail.
He had linked to all sixty-four clones—
sharing their sight, hearing, even smell.
"So this is what it feels like…"
The sensation of holding control over everything.
Romu's lips curved.
His right arm, hanging naturally at his side, slowly rose.
His fingers formed a sharp, rigid hand-seal—
thumb and index crossing in a clean, controlled lock.
Snap!
A crisp finger-snap cut through the air.
"RUMBLE—RUMBLE—RUMBLE—"
The earth beneath all sixty-four clones shook violently.
Then—
with a cracking "hnng" like a turtle shell burning apart—
the ground split open into bottomless trenches several meters wide.
The next instant—
sixty-four vines roared upward, whipping into the sky.
And as they rose—
they changed.
As if the wind itself carved them into beasts—
they became dragons.
Dragon roars shook the heavens, stamping the hills into submission.
With sixty-four thunderous dragon cries—
storm clouds gathered again.
Like a stampeding herd of wild beasts, layer upon layer of black poured overhead.
Heavier.
Lower.
Lower still.
The sunset—
that stubborn ember hanging in the sky—
was crushed apart beneath that endless iron-hoof darkness.
Night.
Fell.
God Valley turned pitch-black.
Howling wind.
Chaos.
Kong and the eight stared upward in disbelief—
only to realize there was no "up" anymore.
No "down."
Heaven and earth had fused into one—
a boundless, murky void.
Lightning erupted.
One bolt—
then another—
zigzagging like the arm of a god clutching a radiant hammer.
And the drum it was about to strike—
was the blackened sky itself.
No—
it was the hearts of Kong, Garp, Sengoku, Zephyr, Roger, Rayleigh, Gaban, and Bullet.
Not just them.
Every person who witnessed this world-ending scene—
their hearts became drumheads too.
There was no time for preparation.
The impatient god swung the hammer.
BOOM—!!
A single thunderclap shattered the cloud-drum.
Countless hearts jerked violently.
Breaths hitched.
Terror surged.
And in that instant—
Romu's eyes snapped open.
Conqueror's Haki, darker than the storm clouds themselves, went berserk—
spiraling and compressing until it formed a black lightning bolt.
He ignored the eight who had gone slack with shock.
He was savoring it—
the feeling of nearly owning this patch of heaven and earth.
"Haa…"
He exhaled.
Then reached out—
and grabbed that black lightning in his palm.
His lips moved faintly.
"Justice?"
"I'd like to see what your 'justice' can do against my sky."
His pupils shifted—
black turned to vertical slit pupils.
Like a beast.
Like a god.
Romu drew his right arm back.
His wrist twisted.
And he hurled the black lightning into the heavens.
In that moment—
a blinding flash lit the entire sky.
Above—
sixty-four brown wood dragons coiled and circled.
Standing on each dragon's head—
a Wood Clone Romu, cold-eyed, unmoved.
And at the very front—
a blood-red flower bloomed like an omen.
Romu's true body stood there, arms folded, expression calm.
The cloud-drum cracked apart.
The hearts of everyone present cracked with it—
especially the eight closest to Romu.
Their faces went blank, as if their minds had been erased.
"What—?!!"
Deep within Pangaea Castle, upon the highest throne—
Imu's rippling eyes contracted violently.
He shouted in shock.
The shadowed, unreal body erupted with terrifying pressure—
and the butterfly dancing at his fingertip exploded into dust.
The casual calm from earlier was gone.
Threat.
The moment Romu's eyes became slit pupils—
Imu felt it clearly.
Not fatal.
But in eight hundred years…
he'd only felt a threat like that once—
from Joy Boy.
At the same time—
the Five Elders' bodies stiffened.
Imu's voice exploded in their minds.
"Extinguish Romu's life-lamp."
"Now."
"Immediately."
The five looked at each other, stunned.
"Imu-sama is…?"
The elder in the black suit's eyelid twitched.
He had never seen Imu's emotions swing this violently.
"What are you waiting for?! Move!!"
The kimono-clad elder led the way.
The other four hurried after him.
Out at sea—
the waters around God Valley surged and raged.
The wind screamed.
Hundreds-ton warships shook like they'd lost weight, tossed like toys by furious waves.
Seawater flooded the decks.
But the Marines were dazed—broken—unable to even process survival.
Borsalino's usually lazy face had turned deathly pale.
He raised a trembling hand.
A few specks of golden light appeared—
flickered—
then went out.
"…Too scary."
"We can't win…"
He shook his head.
Despair swallowed him.
Romu's Conqueror's pressure hadn't just crushed the clouds—
it crushed his pride.
Even his Devil Fruit power refused to answer him.
"This… isn't even the same level."
"I don't know what a god looks like…"
"But if a god exists…"
Beside him, Kuzan stared up at those sixty-four dragons, teeth chattering as his body shivered.
As an Ice Fruit user—
he felt physically ill under that pressure.
Between them—
Sakazuki's forehead veins bulged.
A heavy shadow covered his face.
His body trembled violently, sweat burning down his cheeks and smashing into the deck.
"Damn it… damn it…"
"Move…"
His heart pounded like it would explode.
But no matter what—
he couldn't move even a fraction.
Then—
a faint red magma shimmer appeared on his arm.
"I SAID MOVE!"
"DAMN IT, BODY!!!"
"AAAH!!"
SZZZT—!!
Scalding steam erupted all over him.
His stiff body slammed down to one knee.
His eyes bulged.
A thread of hot breath leaked from the corner of his mouth.
Then—
he moved.
He spun and roared at the shattered Marines.
"DAMN IT!"
"MOVE!! ALL OF YOU!! FULL EMERGENCY DAMAGE CONTROL!!!"
When they didn't respond—
he punched them again and again, physically forcing them awake.
"MARINES!"
"REMEMBER—YOU ARE MARINES!!"
The stunned soldiers jolted like they'd been struck.
Despite terror, they saluted shakily, grabbed buckets, and began bailing out the flooding seawater in frantic panic.
Sakazuki stared toward the sky.
"Romu!"
"One day…"
"I will surpass you!"
He pointed at the scorched flesh on his own arm.
Red light burned in his eyes like a vow.
On the barren island—
anyone even slightly weaker stood frozen like statues, eyes wide, mouths hanging open.
Kaido stared at the sixty-four dragons—
then looked down at himself.
He swallowed hard.
"…A guy like me…"
"…Captain's riding sixty-four at once."
A ridiculous image flashed in his mind:
Storm clouds.
Kaido as a blue dragon—
with sixty-four wooden dragons following behind him.
Kaido's eyes lit up.
"No."
"Later, I have to ask Captain…"
"…to lend me a few dozen dragons to play with!"
Beside him—
Whitebeard poked Shiki with the handle of Murakumogiri, grinning through his pain.
"Shiki."
"When are you going to fight Romu?"
"Don't forget to call me."
"I want front-row seats."
Shiki lifted his hand with effort and cursed back.
"Damn it—want to watch me die?!"
"Dream on!"
But his eyes still drifted upward—
to that sky-shattering scene.
Monster…
His gaze shifted, as if remembering something.
He took the cigar Romu had lit for him, pinched it out—
then pulled out his own cigar case and placed that lit cigar inside like a keepsake.
Whitebeard saw it.
And for once—
he didn't laugh.
Because everyone had the same thought in their hearts:
Romu stood above them all—
a god.
Nearby—
Red Count's eyes burned with feverish light.
"I, Lederfield…"
"…will join his crew."
In that moment—
the man who refused companionship vanished.
In his place stood a fanatic follower of Romu.
And under countless eyes—
the dragons in God Valley's sky…
moved.
"They…"
"…they're coming!!"
Rayleigh gripped his sword with both hands—his right arm trembling.
"Damn it!"
"One man fighting eight—?!"
Zephyr forced Armament over his body.
Roger's throat went dry.
The battle intent he had just forced back to life—
collapsed again like the last red glow of sunset, crushed under Romu's storm-hoof clouds.
Garp gritted his teeth.
"It's not eight versus one."
"It's sixty-four versus eight."
Kong, Sengoku, Zephyr, Roger—
all spoke at once, low and heavy.
Garp coughed out a thin strand of heated breath, ripped off his shredded white Marine vest, and said with absolute solemnity:
"Cover each other."
"Protect each other."
"Romu isn't a god—he's a man."
"And we are the strongest eight in the world!"
"It's just Conqueror's pressure!"
"So get your heads up!!"
His words warmed their rigid bodies like fire.
All eight shouted back—
"That's right!!"
Garp wiped his nose, eyes hard.
"Go!!"
They flashed upward together, charging into the sky.
Romu's true body casually brushed his hair back.
In the booming roar of cracking bones and the thunderous pumping of his heart—
those black slit pupils erupted with pure, cold light—
as if the world's vitality had been gathered inside them.
"You've got it wrong."
His voice was calm.
"It's sixty-five versus eight."
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