Kozuki Oden charged like a runaway bull, eyes burning with pure battle lust, utterly ignoring the Roger Pirates' collective what-on-earth look.
A few quick-handed crewmen roared and drew steel to block him, but his twin blades flicked out in a lazy backhand and swept them aside. His edges did not draw blood, yet the brute force numbed bone and tendon alike. They pinwheeled through the air and crashed into sand piles, groaning and unable to rise.
"Gun. Tōki."
Laughing, Oden spun Ame no Habakiri and Enma until they flashed like twin bolts of black lightning. He did not even check who stood before him. He simply wanted to crush everything in his path and make off with the loot.
"Is that guy a monster." Buggy cowered behind a boulder, his red nose a shade paler.
Jabba hefted his twin axes and glanced at the man at his side. "We need to stop him, Rayleigh. If he keeps this up, people are going to get hurt."
"You are right." Silvers Rayleigh pushed up his glasses, right hand already resting on his hilt. A shard of cold light slid across the lenses.
Just as the two prepared to subdue their uninvited guest, a third figure tore past them faster still, kicking up a hard gust.
"Rayleigh, Jabba, leave him to me." Roger bounded in front of them and flashed a full grin over his shoulder. "Can't have you two getting hurt."
Rayleigh's fingers eased off his hilt. The corner of his mouth twitched. So you just want to fight, Roger.
He sighed inwardly and stepped back.
Seeing another big target in his way, Oden only grew more excited. He lifted both swords, his fighting spirit climbing again, ready to flatten the one who looked the strongest.
"Hello there, samurai."
In the next breath, Roger drew Ace and cut forward.
"Kamusari."
A visible stroke wrapped in black-red Conqueror's lightning ripped out faster than thought. It was not merely a slash. It was a flood of will, refined to its cruelest purity.
"What…"
Oden's wild grin froze. His pupils snapped tight. There was not even time to cross his blades. That destructive force smashed square into his chest.
Boom.
He took it like a giant invisible mallet to the sternum and flew like a severed kite. He shattered the first palm on the beach, kept going, then mowed down seven or eight thicker giants behind it before he hit a boulder deep in the treeline and buried himself there with an earthshaking crack.
Dust geysered. Splinters rained.
Kael Grylls lounged under a coconut, sunglasses slid to the bridge of his nose. He nudged them back into place, thoughts tumbling.
Good. Keep that Kozuki pride up. Kamusari I don't dodge. Oden dodges the sand.
In the jungle, something writhed loose from the cracked stone.
Oden staggered out, a bright thread of blood at the corner of his mouth. He stared down at his chest, disbelieving, then lifted his eyes to Roger far away.
"You have got to be kidding."
One strike, and this wrecked.
The pain did not breed fear. It poured oil on the samurai's blaze.
"Ooooooh."
He roared like a beast, ignored his wounds, and drove his legs, sprinting for Roger again.
"Oden." Marco and the others shouted in alarm.
A larger shadow fell across the entire beach.
Gurararara.
A thunderclap laugh dropped from the sky as Edward Newgate fell like a meteor. He did not spare his reckless little brother a glance. Hawk eyes locked on Roger alone.
No extra words. He gripped Murakumogiri in both hands, muscles bunching, and brought it down for Roger's head.
That cut carried the weight to halve the island.
"Newgate."
Roger's grin turned feral, the joy of meeting a true equal boiling up from his soul.
He did not flinch. He stepped in.
Crack.
Webbed fissures spidered from his heel. He swung up into Whitebeard's downward stroke.
Two Supreme Grade blades met in the air.
No. They did not meet.
They stopped with inches to spare.
Something far uglier exploded in the space between. Black-red lightning from two sovereign wills braided and collided, swelling into a visible sphere that screamed like a torn sky.
The heavens split.
Krakoom.
The blast that followed was a wall. Air heaved out from the two men in a single devouring ring. Sand furrowed open into a canyon under their feet. Trees tore up by the roots and spun into the sky.
Roger and Whitebeard crews alike went tumbling. The weaker were simply picked up and thrown.
I should sit up for this.
Kael pushed upright, eyes locked on the storm's eye. Gales hit him and went to pieces, a clean circle of still air holding around him.
Ahem. The hair stays perfect.
The aftershock finally bled away. The torn canopy of sky hung like ripped cloth, slow to mend. The earth looked as if a giant spoon had gouged out a bowl.
Every fighter on both sides stood grim and tight-fisted, weapons ready, stares fixed on the two at the center.
One blow, then they split. Roger and Whitebeard stood with blades in hand over a crazed web of cracks.
"Gurararara." Whitebeard's crescent mustache tilted up as he grinned. "You are lively as ever, Roger."
Roger hiked Ace up on his shoulder, grin just as lawless. "How many years has it been, Newgate."
As if on cue, both men burst into roaring laughter.
"Kūhahaha."
"Gurarara."
It was reunion joy and the highest tribute to one another's strength. Not an enemy's standoff, but two old friends trading the most direct, most savage greeting they knew.
The laughter cut.
In the same instant, both emperors of the sea spoke in the same hard tone, the ultimate pirate's hello hurled at the other.
"Hand over everything you are carrying."
"Hand over everything you are carrying."
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