Since Dracule Mihawk dared to flaunt himself in front of Roya, he naturally had the confidence to back it up.
With a flick of his wrist, another blade of sword aura burst forth from his fingertips.
But this time, instead of striking at the giant skeletal soldier's increasingly fortified shell, the sword aura slashed directly toward his own previously unleashed torrent of sword energy.
This new blade was clearly different—far sharper, far more refined, and far more flexible.
In the blink of an eye, it splintered into countless strands of fine sword aura, each thread twining itself around one of the innumerable sword blades he had previously unleashed.
And with this infusion of energy, those blades underwent a complete transformation.
Where once they had clashed uselessly against the bio-metal shell, now they cut as though freshly honed, slicing through iron like soft clay!
With each pass of the interweaving sword streams, chunks of bio-metal were sheared off and stripped away, while the low-level sentience infused within them was annihilated, leaving behind nothing but inert, lifeless alloy.
Yet Mihawk did not allow these fragments to fall into the sea. Instead, with precise control, he had his blades cradle them like serving trays—each shard suspended atop a sword aura—gathering into a massive heap off to the side, no longer participating in the fight.
This was sheer, naked showmanship.
Such vast-scale, pinpoint control over sword aura was dazzling enough to silence an entire battlefield—even without Roya's precedent as a benchmark, Mihawk's technique alone was enough to shock the world.
Even Squard couldn't help but sneer with a mocking laugh:
"No wonder he's strutting like that. After being beaten half to death by the Lord, hiding away for so long, he finally grasped the fusion of Haki."
Haki, that force existing between willpower and spirit—when fused, it marked the beginning of consciousness itself becoming energy. From that moment, the form and strength of one's attacks ascended into another dimension entirely.
And against these skeletal soldiers—mere cannon fodder cobbled together from bio-metal—it was nothing less than a dimensional collapse, a strike from a higher plane.
It didn't take long before the hulking giant skeleton was forced into withering submission.
From towering brute to shriveled husk, its body was cut down piece by piece, until all that remained was little more than a single staff-like frame.
Naturally, it could no longer muster any resistance—let alone a counterattack. Only two flickering green flames remained, dancing more frantically than ever within its eye sockets.
Mihawk's voice was icy, smug to the extreme:
"Enemies of this level… they don't even stir the faintest thrill. Let's end this."
As he spoke, the remaining sword aura coalesced, merging once more into a colossal greatsword, nearly three meters long, which came crashing down toward the last remnant of bio-metal.
But at that very moment—
The blue particles pulsing within Imu's eyes suddenly flared to their peak.
As if beholding some unimaginable terror, the green fire within the skull's sockets suddenly contracted, its body convulsed violently, and it raised its hand in a desperate roar:
"Stop! Don't strike it!"
But the warning came too late.
Mihawk's blade, his pinnacle strike, had already descended upon the target.
The green flames surged skyward with the blow—and instead of being destroyed, they devoured his remaining sword aura wholesale, swallowing it into the blaze!
Mihawk's expression shifted drastically—he had lost all control of his sword aura!
Even Whitebeard turned in astonishment toward Roya, for the energy radiating from those flames was already beyond anything he could comprehend.
And in that single moment of distraction, the fire spread out in full.
The last of the bio-metal fueling it was utterly consumed, and the flame itself warped into something far more sinister.
Gradually, it stretched into a vast emerald membrane of light, endlessly expanding outward.
And within that light, a colossal shadow loomed—a predator biding its time, staring hungrily into their world.
Imu dropped down beside Roya, unease etched into every word:
"Lord Roya, is this… some kind of portal?"
Roya nodded calmly.
"Your analysis is correct. This is an Astral Gateway."
His steady composure instantly steadied Whitebeard and Imu, who both quieted to listen.
Roya continued:
"That shadow… is the Pyramid Ship I mentioned before."
"Once this gateway expands to a sufficient size, it will be able to cross into our world."
The invisible pressure radiating from the shadow made even Whitebeard draw a sharp breath.
"So soon? Are we about to fight the alien armada now? We aren't ready for that yet!"
Roya shook his head.
"Of course not. We are far from ready."
"I only wanted everyone to see with their own eyes the true nature of our enemy. To understand just how overwhelming they are, so that all of us may finally unite, gathering the strength of the entire world to resist their invasion."
As he spoke, the green membrane of light stretched ever wider.
And the shadow within finally revealed the tip of its immense form—a mere fragment of its whole—yet that alone was enough to suffocate the battlefield, crushing breath from lungs and hope from hearts.
Imu's eye-sockets blazed, the blue particles nearly bursting apart as he cried out in terror:
"Lord Roya! If the Green Bull's intelligence is accurate, then there are at least six more of these Pyramid Ships!"
"Just this one already leaves me feeling powerless to resist. Even if we somehow fend it off, how are we supposed to stand against six more at once?!"
One by one, the fleets instinctively steered toward Roya's position.
Only behind the strongest man alive could they cling to even a shred of courage.
And those unable to witness the gateway directly were still shaken to their cores, their very genes screaming under the crushing weight of a creator's presence.
This pressure was ten times greater than what the skeletal squads had radiated before!
Under its might, countless people collapsed to their knees, praying desperately for mercy.
Many whose wills faltered fell into hallucinations and madness.
Some lost all reason, turning on their allies in savage frenzy.
Others muttered endlessly of "the Creator" or "the God of Genesis," before killing themselves in sacrificial delirium.
Chaos erupted across every kingdom and island in the world.
And as the gateway widened further, even the warriors on the frontlines—those who had already broken free of genetic shackles—found themselves staggering beneath the gulf in existence pressing down on them.
Only by flooding their bodies with martial energy, forcing every ounce of their will into resisting, could they barely keep from collapsing outright—managing, at least, not to kneel in abject despair before this far greater foe.
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