The standoff held for half a minute, tense and silent but for the low growl rumbling from the wolf's throat. Its hackles bristled, every muscle tight as it stood beside the torn remains of Mister Five's arm, silver eyes fixed on the enemies across the clearing. Its lips curled back, teeth bared, the faint glow of the runes along its fur pulsing in rhythm with each slow, deliberate breath.
Across from it, the Baroque Works agents kept their distance. None dared move. The air between them felt stretched thin, like a wire about to snap.
"So this is the other member of their crew," Mister Three said finally, voice calm but tight around the edges. "I'll admit, I expected my little trick to keep him distracted longer. But it appears the beast is just that, a beast. Feral and untamed."
The wolf's growl deepened at his words. It began to pace, slow and steady, cutting lines into the ground with each step. It didn't advance, just moved in lines, eyes locked on them, a living warning carved in muscle and fury.
"How do we kill it? It seems scared of us as a group, so it shouldn't be that hard if we work together," Miss Valentine said, her voice steadier than before but still carrying that faint edge of panic. Her parasol trembled slightly in her grip.
Mister 5 grimaced, clutching his ruined arm. "Miss Goldenweek, think you could use one of your traps on the thing?"
The small girl looked up from where she sat cross-legged, brush in hand, her tone flat and unbothered. "No."
Mister 5 blinked. "No?"
"Dogs are colorblind."
That stopped the group cold. Even Mister 3's smug composure faltered. The wolf's steady growl filled the silence between them, low and vibrating in their bones.
Miss Valentine's mouth twitched, torn between disbelief and the creeping realization that the child might be right. "So what, you're saying it wouldn't even see your paint?"
Goldenweek shrugged, dipping her brush in a new color anyway, unconcerned. "It wouldn't see the colors right. It might still feel it though… if it's smart enough."
Mister 3 scoffed, recovering his smirk. "Then perhaps we test it, hmm? If it's truly an animal, instinct will betray it. If it's more…" his gaze flicked toward the beast, "then it dies knowing it should've stayed hidden."
The wolf's hackles rose again. It wasn't moving closer, but its growl deepened, somehow conveying that it was less a threat now and more a promise.
Miss Valentine swallowed hard. "You sure it's not smart enough already?"
The wolf's silver eyes met hers, cold and unflinching. For a moment, it was impossible to tell which side of the line she'd just named it on. The beast lunged with no warning, just the abrupt silence where its growl had been a moment before. It cut through the air like a projectile, muscles coiling and releasing in a blur of motion too fast for any human eye to truly follow. The ground tore beneath its claws as it launched, the air split by the snap of its jaws opening wide, the glint of fangs made to tear through bone.
Miss Valentine screamed, barely managing to swing her parasol up like a shield. The reinforced steel shaft took the brunt of the wolf's weight, the impact ringing out with a sharp metallic crack that echoed across the clearing. For one fleeting instant, it held. Then the wolf's full mass crashed down, slamming her into the ground with the force of a mountain. The fabric ripped apart instantly, and the frame buckled like paper under a hammer.
Mister 5 reacted on pure instinct, his leg igniting with smoke as he kicked the wolf's ribs, detonating the air between them. The blast sent both combatants flying, Miss Valentine rolling away through the dust while the wolf hit the dirt with a snarl, claws gouging deep trenches as it slid to a stop.
For a moment, no one moved. Smoke and dust rose from the impact, curling around them like fog. Then Mister 5 exhaled sharply, shaking his scorched foot. "You're welcome," he hissed through his teeth, but his usual smirk was nowhere to be found.
Miss Valentine dragged herself up, coughing. She looked down at her parasol, or what was left of it. The once-pristine canopy hung in ribbons, the metal spine bent at unnatural angles. When she tried to open it, it snapped clean in half. Her expression twisted, half disbelief, half despair. "My… my parasol…"
Without it, she was grounded. Her Kilo-Kilo powers relied on that parasol to control her weight, to fly, to crush her targets. Now she was just a woman standing in front of a monster with her bare hands.
"Oh, brilliant," Mister 3 muttered from the back, voice dripping with disdain. "One of our agents reduced to a tourist."
Miss Valentine shot him a glare, clutching the broken parasol like a weapon even though both of them knew it wouldn't help. "You want to come stand in front of it next time?"
The wolf rose again, low to the ground, muscles rippling beneath its fur. Its breathing was steady now. It had taken the blast, recovered, and was already planning the next strike. The fur along its spine rose faintly in rhythm with its growl.
Goldenweek sat quietly, brush poised midair, eyes flicking from the beast to the ruined parasol. "It's not scared of the explosions anymore," she said softly. "It learned."
That landed heavier than any of the smoke still hanging in the air.
"This is the same drunkard from Whiskey Peak?" Mister 5 hissed, his face pale and drawn tight, eyes darting to the patch of dirt where his arm still lay, half-buried in mud and blood. The words came out low, almost disbelieving, like his mind couldn't quite match the creature before him to the man he'd fought. "Thought it was just because we were injured that he beat us… but it would seem I was wrong."
Miss Valentine swallowed, stepping back. "Maybe the alcohol made him duller? Tamed him?"
Mister 3 gave a stiff nod, arms crossed, but grip tightening around a half-made candle trap. "Seems so. The mask comes off, and the monster shows through."
The wolf's ears twitched, tail snapping once before its growl was drowned out by the sound of something crashing through the jungle. Branches snapped, leaves scattered, and from the undergrowth burst Luffy, Usopp, and Karoo, battered, bruised, but unbroken. Their clothes were torn, faces streaked with dirt and blood, yet the fire in their eyes burned fierce enough to challenge the sun.
"VARIN! WE'RE HERE TO HELP!" Luffy shouted from Karoo's back, voice carrying across the clearing. He scanned the scene, grin half-formed and breathless, until his eyes caught the dismembered arm lying in the dirt, the injured Baroque Works agents, and the massive wolf standing amid the wreckage.
"…Huh? Where is he?" Luffy muttered, blinking rapidly. His eyes flicked between the massive wolf and the devastation around it, confusion written across every line of his face. "What happened to you guys?"
"Wh-what's with the wolf?" Usopp asked, voice quivering but with a steady spark of determination behind it. His usual panic was tempered by the urgency of the moment, his gaze locked on the massive beast. Karoo, on the other hand, flapped frantically, wings beating so fast it barely stayed upright. The duck had reacted badly even when Varin was human; now, as a wolf of immense size and feral power, the poor bird teetered on the brink of sheer terror. Its eyes met the wolf's, and for a heartbeat, the predator's gaze flared with a hunger that froze Karoo in place, but then, almost imperceptibly, the wolf's focus snapped back toward the bound agents, leaving the new arrivals unscathed. Something in its instincts, or memory, recognized them as allies.
"YOU IDIOTS!" Nami's voice rang out, sharp and urgent, cutting through the chaos. "THE WOLF IS VARIN! Now help us out of here before we become statues!"
The warning galvanized Luffy, his expression hardening, muscles coiling with the promise of action. "Right! Let's move fast!" He leaped from Karoo's back, landing with a roll that sent a spray of dirt into the air, eyes never leaving the wolf or the trapped friends.
Usopp hesitated for a split second, glancing between the wolf and the frozen agents, but Nami's yell forced him into motion. "Okay, okay! Don't do anything stupid, just… just follow me!" He fired a few of his makeshift explosive slingshot pellets at the stone bindings, carefully aiming to chip away at the enchanted rock without drawing the wolf's attention fully.
Karoo finally gathered enough courage to flap closer, circling over the clearing with frantic, panicked movements. Every beat of its wings added to the storm of motion, and the wolf's ears twitched with each sound, but it didn't attack; its stance shifted into protective readiness. Varin's instincts, primal and sharp, recognized ally from enemy, an understanding deeper than words.
Nami wasted no time, shifting her weight and straining against the stone, hands clawing at the dust that was steadily covering them. "Hurry! The longer we wait, the worse it gets!"
The clearing throbbed with tension, the wolf pacing in measured circles, its massive frame taut with muscle, silver eyes glinting in the dappled sunlight. Luffy and Usopp worked frantically, prying, chipping, even hammering at the stone that bound their friends, but no matter what they did, the rock held firm. Not a single crack appeared. Dust rose in vain, puffing briefly only to settle again on the unyielding surface.
Varin, crouched low, growled a low, warning rumble at every twitch or movement from the agents, eyes never leaving them. Every instinct screamed threat, every hair on his ash-grey fur bristled with tension. Yet no matter how powerful or coordinated the efforts of Luffy and Usopp, the stone refused to yield.
Time stretched unbearably, the weight of helplessness pressing down on the clearing. Nami shouted, straining against her bindings, but the white rock refused even the smallest scratch. The wolf's growl deepened, a low, simmering warning, muscles coiling as if ready to launch into the air and rend anything that dared approach. Freedom was so close, yet impossibly out of reach.
"I suppose we'd better stop them, just to hurry things up for the boss," Mister 3 said, a faint grin tugging at his lips as he stepped forward. The calmness in his voice cut through the tension of the clearing like a knife, precise and chilling.
He paused mid-step, crouching to inspect the hardened wax around Nami's ankles. His fingers brushed the glossy surface like an artist admiring his own work. "Marvelous, isn't it?" he said lightly, the edge of pride curling through his tone. "People look at wax and see weakness. Something that melts, bends, breaks." He tapped it once with a knuckle; the sound was like stone striking iron. "Mine, though—mine's different. Refined to perfection. It cools denser than steel and doesn't so much as flinch against blades, bullets, or brawn. Truly, genius given form."
He straightened, brushing nonexistent dust from his gloves. "You can struggle all you like, but this is artistry. Resistance just ruins the symmetry." His eyes flicked toward the wolf, the grin returning, faint and self-assured.
"But," he said with a sigh, rolling his shoulders as if burdened by the inconvenience, "I suppose we'd better stop them, just to hurry things up for the boss."
"You all deal with the other three. I'll take care of the feral beast. I doubt even this thing can stand up to my Candle Champion technique."
In an instant, the transformation began. The wax clung and shifted, melting and folding, spreading across his body with a fluidity that seemed impossible. Within seconds, it hardened into armor that gleamed like flawless marble under the sunlight. His shoulders broadened, his chest swelled with unnatural strength, and his limbs sculpted themselves into rigid, immovable pillars of power. Every inch of him radiated control, precision, and deliberate menace. The Candle Champion now stood where Mister 3 had been, towering, untouchable, the glossy surface of his wax armor catching every flicker of light in the forest.
He flexed, and the grinding of wax echoed sharply, a sound like stone scraping against stone. His voice rumbled, deep and resonant, carrying across the clearing in waves. "Let's see if that wild dog can break this."
The wolf leapt, muscles coiling like springs, fur bristling with raw power, eyes blazing silver in anticipation. Its claws dug into the ground, and it lunged with terrifying speed, a streak of feral force aimed at the towering figure of the Candle Champion. But the instant it made contact, the wax absorbed, deflected, and held firm. Each strike of tooth and claw left nothing but a faint vibration through the wax, like a pebble hitting the side of a fortress.
The wolf skidded back, growling, frustration flashing in its glowing eyes, but the armor remained flawless, unyielding. Every attempt, every flurry of blows, simply bounced off the white shell, leaving the beast more bewildered than hurt. The Candle Champion didn't flinch; he barely shifted, standing tall and unshakable, a monolith of sculpted willpower against the raw ferocity of the wolf.
Mister 3 circled slowly, the wax plates moving with him in a seamless, living rhythm. "You see?" he said, voice low, carrying an edge of amusement. "You can fight all you want, but you won't leave so much as a scratch." His eyes glinted behind the glossy surface, reflecting both the sunlight and the wolf's frustrated, untamed fury.
The forest seemed to pulse with the tension of the encounter. Every snapped branch under the wolf's paws, every growl that rumbled from its throat, echoed against the calm immovability of the Candle Champion. The wolf lunged again, faster, sharper, instincts honed for killing, but each attack met the same result: nothing.
Mister 3 shifted his weight, moving slightly to the side, forcing the wolf to adjust midair, yet even these minor shifts seemed almost choreographed, designed to toy rather than challenge. The wolf's attacks became more desperate, more reckless, but still, the wax endured. It flexed, ground, and rippled under the blows, holding its shape perfectly, absorbing every ounce of the beast's fury without faltering.
"Interesting," Mister 3 murmured, almost to himself, stepping closer now, the sheer presence of the Candle Champion radiating dominance. "So much power… but no control. Instinct without strategy. Fascinating."
The wolf, for all its strength and speed, began to hesitate, muscles trembling with pent-up energy, a silent acknowledgment that this opponent could not be bested by force alone. And through it all, the Candle Champion remained a perfect pillar of unyielding wax, every strike tested, every attempt endured, and not a single dent, crack, or flaw appearing anywhere on his marble-like surface.
Time seemed to stretch. Dust settled from the wolf's furious movements, leaves quivered in the wake of the leaps, but the wax figure of Mister 3 did not move a hair out of place, a sentinel that had turned raw ferocity into an impotent display. Every growl, every snap of claws, every flash of silver eyes was met with the same silent, immovable reply: the Candle Champion could not be damaged, could not be hurt, and would not yield.
The two behemoths circled each other again, the air thick with heat and dust. The wolf's growls deepened into snarls, rough and guttural, its hackles standing like a ridge of knives down its spine. Muscles rippled beneath the fur as it prowled sideways, eyes locked on the towering white figure before it. Every breath came out in clouds of steam, hot with rage.
Then it lunged.
The ground tore apart under its claws as it shot forward, jaws wide and fangs gleaming like blades. Its teeth slammed into the wax armor with all the weight of its body behind the bite, yet the sound was dull, flat. No give. No blood. Just the hollow thud of teeth meeting unyielding stone.
The beast growled harder, refusing to relent. It dug its hind legs in and twisted, jaws grinding, muscles bunching as it tried to drive its fangs deeper, to force the wax to yield. The effort sent tremors down its spine. Its claws tore at the ground for leverage, shoulders flexing, neck straining, but the wax didn't crack, didn't even scratch.
For a heartbeat, nothing moved but the wolf's trembling jaws. Then a low vibration ran through its skull. Its teeth began to ache, the shock of its own force bouncing back through the unbreakable shell. The next second, a sharp yelp tore from its throat as pain flared through its jaw, right as a massive waxed fist slammed into its ribs with the weight of a hammer.
The impact echoed like a thunderclap.
The wolf's body twisted midair, the blow lifting it clean off the ground. It hit the dirt hard, sliding through grass and loose earth, carving a trench as it rolled to a stop. For a long moment, it just lay there, chest heaving, dust clinging to its fur. A faint shimmer of light ran along the runes etched into its hide, pulsing weakly, as if it was fighting to steady itself.
Across the clearing, the Candle Champion didn't move to follow. He stood where he'd struck, arm still extended, a faint mist of dust drifting from his knuckles. The gleam of his armor caught the light again, pristine, untouched. He flexed his hand once, as if testing the impact, then lowered it slowly.
"Predictable," his voice rumbled from within the wax shell, calm and level. "Raw strength, no precision. You might as well be gnawing on a wall."
The wolf pushed itself up, claws digging into the dirt. It snarled again, angrier now, but there was a flicker of hesitation in its eyes. The rhythm of the fight had shifted. The Candle Champion didn't chase, didn't need to. He simply stood, statuesque, daring the beast to try again.
The wolf paced in a slow half-circle, ribs shuddering from the blow, its ragged breathing in pace with its steps. It wasn't giving up. Its instincts screamed at it to keep going, to find a way through, no matter the cost.
Mister 3's faint grin returned behind the wax. "Good," he murmured, shifting his stance, one heavy step forward cracking the earth beneath his heel. "Show me that savagery again. Let's see how long it lasts against perfection."
The wolf growled again, blood dripping from its teeth like a macabre river. It hurt to move, to breathe, that punch gas done damage, a lot of it.
The beast's sides heaved, every breath pulling a wet rattle from its lungs. Blood matted its fur, thick and dark against the pale gray. Each exhale came with a low growl, half pain, half defiance. It dragged its claws through the dirt, carving trenches that steamed from the heat still radiating off its body.
Its ribs quivered beneath torn muscle, the spot where the waxed fist had landed caved slightly inward. Every motion made the wound pulse, spreading pain through its chest like a drumbeat. But it still moved.
Its eyes never left him.
Mister 3 stood silent, that faint grin unmoving. The wax covering his form gleamed smooth and unblemished, each curve of the armor reflecting the sunlight.
The contrast between them was stark, one creature battered and bleeding, the other flawless and still.
The wolf's lips curled back again, baring its teeth even as a trickle of blood ran down its jaw. A snarl ripped from its throat, hoarse but loud, echoing through the clearing like a challenge. The air trembled around it.
Then, despite the pain, it began to move faster. Step by step, dragging itself back into a run. The sound of claws striking earth built into a rhythm, broken but determined.
Mister 3 tilted his head slightly, the movement almost lazy. His grin didn't widen; it didn't need to. "Still crawling toward the fire," he said softly. "You really don't know when you've lost."
The wolf's answer came in motion, a sudden surge, a leap fueled by fury and stubborn will. Its jaws opened wide, aiming for the throat, the same spot that had defied it again and again.
The Candle Champion didn't bother to block. The blow landed, teeth slamming into wax, but again the result was the same. A hollow thud. No blood. No break. Just the beast's own strength recoiling against it.
Then, quietly, Mister 3 raised his arm once more. The air shifted as the wax around his forearm thickened, rippling like molten glass before hardening.
The wolf had just enough time to snarl before the next strike came down.