Zaraki's golden eyes looked down at Shiryu, cold and tinged with the amused interest of a spectator.
"What's wrong, Shiryu?" His quiet voice struck Shiryu's heart like a hammer. "Have you spent so long in Impel Down that you've forgotten how to fight? Your sword, your Haki—rusted so badly they can't even withstand a tenth of my strength."
The words pierced Shiryu's shock like poisoned needles.
Rusty? Forgotten how to fight? He was Shiryu of the Rain, the former Head Jailer of Impel Down!
His brutal swordsmanship had been the nightmare of countless pirates, haunting the dreams of untold men.
"What… nonsense are you spouting?!"
Shiryu's face twisted as killing intent boiled in his eyes.
A beast-like roar tore from his throat, banishing his confusion to leave only frenzied resentment. He could not lose to a brat, much less allow him to trample his former glory.
Agony tore through his left shoulder, igniting every nerve.
The pain didn't weaken him; it awakened the bloodlust and madness buried deep in his bones.
"Bastard brat! I'll show you what despair means!"
Shiryu yanked Raiu from his chest, dragging a spray of hot blood with it.
Reversing his grip on the hilt, he lowered his body like a drawn bow.
"One-Sword Style… Purple Storm!"
He vanished before the words faded, dissolving into streaks of purple lightning.
Afterimages circled Zaraki at blinding speed, each carrying a lethal flash of steel. The shifting trajectories were impossible to track.
The shrieking blade carried the scent of blood.
This was swordsmanship forged for slaughter—vicious, sinister, and designed to sever a throat in a heartbeat.
In Zaraki's vision, countless purple points of light attacked from every direction, dense enough to devour him.
"Corrupt King! Heavy Drinker! What are you standing around for?!" Shiryu roared.
His voice blurred from his speed, but the underlying anxiety remained clear. In his wounded state, he knew risking his life wouldn't be enough to injure Zaraki.
He needed help.
"Oh-ho-ho-ho! Coming, coming!" Catarina Devon shrilled, her voice carrying a sick excitement.
Fixing her eyes on Zaraki, she licked her lips like a predator eyeing delicious prey.
Behind her, Avalo Pizarro and Vasco Shot snapped out of their shock.
Greed and brutality ignited in their eyes.
As vicious criminals by nature, witnessing Zaraki's strength didn't force a retreat; it provoked something deeper and uglier inside them.
"Hic… brat, taste my strength!" Vasco shouldered his massive wine gourd and charged like a tank, his heavy steps trembling the ground. Reeking of stale liquor, he rushed Zaraki's right flank.
On the opposite side, Pizarro swung his demon-headed saber with the momentum of a falling mountain.
Lacking Vasco's raw charging speed, his strikes made up for it in tremendous crushing power.
The howling blade aimed for Zaraki's left, completing a deadly pincer attack alongside Shiryu's Purple Storm.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The three legendary prisoners struck in unison.
Level Six erupted in violent energy and blinding flashes of steel.
Explosive shockwaves churned rubble and dust into a terrifying black storm, swallowing the center of the battlefield.
Deep within his cell, Douglas Bullet stared into the chaos, his scarlet pupils contracting.
Even behind reinforced bars, he felt the terrifying pressure.
In a neighboring cell, Patrick Redfield opened his aged eyes, a trace of astonishment breaking his calm facade.
At the core of the chaotic storm, a dazzling dark-gold light erupted.
The light gathered, transforming amid the dust and flashing blades into the enormous, tyrannical phantom of a skull.
Two clusters of golden flame flickered within its eye sockets like a gaze from hell.
Opening its jaws in a silent roar, the spectral construct blocked the combined assault of the three monsters.
Every flash of steel, every violent impact, and every explosion crashed against the golden frame with thunderous booms, yet nothing could break through.
"What is that…?" Bullet's breathing grew heavy.
He had seen countless powerful Devil Fruits, but never a defense this eerie. It wasn't an ordinary barrier, nor did it feel like Armament Haki.
It carried something rougher, heavier, and far more primitive.
The ferocity froze on the faces of Pizarro and Vasco. They stared blankly at the golden skull as cold sweat beaded on their foreheads.
"Scatter! Scatter!" Shiryu's voice screamed from the edge of the light, laced with unprecedented fear.
He could sense it.
The power contained within the golden light wasn't mere defense.
It was absolute suppression.
Though Pizarro and Vasco didn't understand why, they trusted Shiryu's combat instincts.
They pulled away, attempting to escape the range of that crushing skeletal pressure.
It was too late.
The instant Pizarro turned, his heavy saber sank, pinned by an invisible grip.
He jerked his head back to see a figure stepping from the golden skull.
Zaraki.
His left hand clamped over Pizarro's heavy blade. Wrapped in Armament Haki, his grip acted as an iron shackle, freezing the weapon in place.
"Running?" Zaraki's voice remained dead calm. "Did you ask me first?"
He held Murasame in his right hand.
Black Armament Haki flowed over the steel like ink, the edge emitting a low, heavy hum.
"What?!" Pizarro tried to rip his saber free, but the blade didn't budge. It had taken root in Zaraki's hand.
Slice!
Murasame slashed horizontally. Pizarro roared, coating his body in Armament Haki to tank the blow.
He believed in the strength of his own flesh, but that belief shattered the instant Zaraki's blade met his defense.
The slash didn't pause.
It tore through Pizarro's Haki, carving a wound across his chest deep enough to expose bone.
"Guaaah!" Pizarro screamed as blood sprayed like a fountain. Thrown by a tremendous force, he crashed into a prison cell like a broken doll.
In a single exchange, the Corrupt King was defeated.
Zaraki withdrew his blade, swept his gaze over the unconscious Pizarro, and looked toward the pale-faced Vasco Shot.
"Next… whose turn is it?"
The murmur sounded like a question, yet carried the weight of an execution order.
The voice plunged Eternal Hell into dead silence, sending tremors of fear through the legendary prisoners.
The monstrous Marine didn't pursue.
He merely stood there, his golden eyes devoid of ripples, acting as though he had just swatted a fly.
That utter disregard infuriated Shiryu more than any spoken mockery. The stiffness born of fear vanished, replaced by a towering rage.
He, Shiryu of the Rain, was a swordsman destined to shake the seas.
He was not a prisoner waiting for the slaughter!
"Catarina!" Shiryu's roar echoed through Eternal Hell with twisted urgency.
"Oh-ho-ho-ho… is it finally my turn?" Watching with sick delight from the corner, Catarina Devon let out a shrill laugh.
Her body twisted and swelled.
Her long black hair whipped without wind as strange patterns bloomed across her skin.
Amid the sickening crack of shifting bones, she transformed into a massive beast. A pure-white giant fox emerged, its nine enormous tails waving wildly.
At the tip of each tail burned a cluster of eerie purple flame.
Narrow fox eyes shone with red light, locking onto Zaraki.
The Inu Inu no Mi, Mythical Type, Model: Nine-Tailed Fox.
Buzz!
An invisible ripple spread outward from the fox. Zaraki felt his vision blur, the figure of Shiryu growing indistinct.
Then, one, two, three… Nine identical Shiryus fanned out, sealing off every direction.
Each illusion gripped Raiu, their eyes, auras, and killing intent perfectly replicated.
"Zaraki, watch out!" Magellan's voice carried real urgency. "That is the charm ability of a Mythical Zoan. Don't let the illusion confuse your mind!"
Before the warning finished, a sinister gleam flashed across Vasco Shot's drunken face.
Seizing the distraction, he lifted his massive gourd and sprayed a torrent of liquor from his mouth.
"Hic… die, brat! Liquor Dragon Bind!"
The pungent torrent strangely gathered in midair, forming a gigantic python made entirely of alcohol. Opening its wide jaws, it coiled toward Zaraki's waist.
Vasco had found his opening. Binding the monster for half a second would be enough for Shiryu's sword to finish the job.
The nine Shiryus erupted with savage killing intent. The instant the liquor python wrapped Zaraki, they moved in unison.
"One-Sword Style: Purple Rain Long River!"
Nine figures. Nine famed blades.
Striking from above, below, left, and right at nine tricky angles, they transformed into interwoven streaks of purple lightning, slashing toward their bound target.
The blades shrieked, the nine slashes connecting into a single purple river of steel intended to tear Zaraki apart.
The air of Eternal Hell froze.
Bullet's scarlet pupils contracted, and unprecedented seriousness marred Redfield's calm facade.
The synchronized assault—from illusion, to physical restraint, to the fatal strike—worked together flawlessly. Even the legends wouldn't dare claim they could tank it easily.
The blade light closed in.
At that critical instant, a lazy, hoarse voice rang out from the shadows, shattering the extreme tension.
"Hey, ." Crocodile leaned against his bars, chewing his cigar, and lifted his chin toward the battlefield.
"Your shadow's heavier than theirs."
The cryptic remark gave everyone pause.
Shadow?
Instinctively, Shiryu, Vasco, and Magellan shifted their focus.
Unnoticed, the dark-gold pressure surrounding Zaraki had condensed above his head into a small sphere no larger than a fist.
It released no violent energy and made no sound.
It hung in silence, a drop of night suspended in the faint green glow of Level Six.
The instant they noticed it, the sphere pulsed.
A halo of Reiatsu spread outward like ripples across water.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
Like pierced soap bubbles, the eight false Shiryus were crushed the moment the pressure washed over them.
The liquor python coiling Zaraki's waist hissed, rapidly thinning and dispersing into harmless droplets that splashed across the stone.
The illusions shattered. The restraints broke.
At the center of the battlefield, only the true Shiryu of the Rain remained, still charging forward with Raiu raised. His savage confidence hadn't even faded before utter shock replaced it.
He didn't understand what had happened.
Monster.
The word exploded in Shiryu's mind.
He met Zaraki's calm golden eyes.
The Marine's indifference remained absolute, as if their combined effort had merely brushed dust from his coat.
Fear and humiliation drove Shiryu mad.
He could lose.
He could bleed.
But he could not endure being ignored.
"AAAAAAH!"
A crazed roar tore from his throat.
His bloodless, pale face flushed a dark red. Survival instinct, swordsman's pride, and raw bloodlust ignited the last of his vitality.
The illusions were gone.
The restraints had failed
But his sword was still in his hand, and Zaraki stood right in front of him.
Only one target remained.
Shiryu blurred into a blood-red afterimage, pouring all his remaining Haki and strength into Raiu.
A purple-black aura coiled around the edge, shrieking as the blade stabbed straight for Zaraki's heart with mutual destruction in mind.
It was his strongest, fastest, and final strike.
The thrust sucked the air from Eternal Hell.
In the distance, Bullet and Redfield watched their pupils shrink.
The strike had surpassed Shiryu's limits; it was a peak blow released on the absolute verge of collapse.
Yet facing a fatal thrust capable of piercing a warship's hull, Zaraki merely raised his left hand.
No Armament Haki coated it this time.
Only flesh, blood, and a thin layer of pressure gathered around his palm.
He's insane!
The collective thought rippled through everyone watching.
Clang!
An eardrum-piercing metallic explosion rang out. Sparks scattered like fireworks across the dim prison level.
Shiryu's certain-kill thrust stopped dead. Zaraki's left hand caught the tip of the blade.
Five bare fingers clamped around Raiu like iron pincers, refusing to let the steel advance another fraction.
How… is that possible? Shiryu's eyes bulged, staring blankly at the impossible sight as his mind emptied completely.
Slice.
A faint cutting sound echoed. Blood. Shiryu's desperate strike ultimately broke the pressure shielding Zaraki's fingers.
The sharp blade bit through skin and muscle, cutting deep enough to scrape bone. Crimson blood slid down the steel and dripped from his hand.
Drip. Drip.
In the dead silence of hell, the sound chilled the heart. Sharp, distinct pain bloomed in his left hand. But Zaraki smiled.
It wasn't a savage grin meant to intimidate.
It was a genuine smile carrying unmistakable pleasure.
The corners of his mouth stretched to reveal a row of white teeth, his golden eyes burning with pure, terrifying excitement.
"Not bad," he murmured, praising a child whose performance barely passed.
That smile and evaluation shattered Shiryu's final psychological defense, sending a bone-deep chill through his soul.
The man standing before him was a complete madman—a monster who enjoyed battle, pain, and wounds as naturally as breathing.
Zaraki's fingers tightened around Raiu.
"The game ends here."