The battlefield was a maelstrom of chaos, black lightning crackling violently in the air as my blades tore through the void, slicing toward the massive bat-like entity soaring above.
The sheer power of the strikes split the ground beneath me, sending shockwaves that obliterated what little remained of the once-vibrant snow-peaked mountain range of Elsar.
Redfield, with his grotesque wings spread wide, let out an ear-piercing screech as my attack cleaved through one of his membranous wings. The flesh sizzled, scorched by the raw energy of my Conqueror's Haki-infused slash.
Yet, before I could revel in the strike, the wing began to regenerate, tendrils of flesh knitting back together at a terrifying pace.
It was maddening. Every blow I landed was undone in moments. The deep wounds, the devastating strikes—they should have crippled any other opponent. But Patrick Redfield wasn't just any opponent. The swirling purple fog that blanketed the kingdom was his lifeline, a grotesque siphon draining the life force of every soul on the island to fuel his regeneration.
I gritted my teeth as I watched the fog churn and pulse, funneling vitality into him. "So that's how you survived Garp for seven days straight, you bloodsucking bastard," I muttered. His ability, akin to the healing powers of Mansherry's Chiyu Chiyu no Mi, was twisted into a nightmarish mockery. Where Mansherry gave life, Redfield stole it.
But I wasn't going to stop. Regenerating endlessly didn't make him invincible—it only made him an opponent worth pushing my limits against.
I charged forward, both blades glowing with an intense aura as I poured everything I had into them. Each step shook the ground, the sheer force of my haki causing the air around me to ripple.
Redfield's crimson eyes glinted, a predatory smirk forming on his bloodied lips as he dove toward me with terrifying speed, his clawed hands crackling with a sickly violet energy.
Our clash was like the meeting of two storms.
The first strike sent shockwaves rippling outward, leveling what little remained of the kingdom's structures. My twin blades met his claws, the sheer force of the collision creating a deafening boom that echoed across the battlefield.
Sparks flew as his claws scraped against my haki-coated steel, each swing of my swords countered by his monstrous agility and power.
I spun on my heel, my crimson blade cutting an arc through the air. Redfield darted to the side, his wings propelling him with unnatural speed, but I followed through, slashing upward with my second blade. The strike connected, tearing through his side, black lightning exploding outward as blood sprayed across the battlefield.
For a moment, I thought I had him, but then it happened again—his flesh began to mend, the purple fog thickening as it funneled more life into him.
My chest heaved, sweat dripping from my brow as I tightened my grip on the blades. This was what I had been craving—the thrill of a battle that pushed me beyond my limits. My haki pulsed with every swing, each strike carving deeper into the world around us.
Redfield roared in fury, his claws glowing with malevolent energy as he lunged toward me. I met his charge head-on, my blades igniting with the combined force of my haki and the will that burned within me. Each swing of my blades was sharper, faster, more devastating than the last.
My feet dug into the earth as I lunged forward, both blades slicing through the air with a blinding speed that tore apart the space between us. One blade arced upward, striking his shoulder, while the other cleaved across his abdomen. Black lightning erupted from each strike, carving deep, sizzling wounds into his form.
Redfield roared, a guttural cry that shook the battlefield. His claws swung downward, massive and razor-sharp, crashing against my blades in a collision that sent sparks flying. The ground beneath us crumbled, and I was forced back a step, but I planted my foot firmly, spinning on my heel to deliver another devastating slash.
The crimson blade connected, cutting into his torso. Black lightning crackled, spreading through his body like a wildfire, but even as his flesh burned and smoked, the wounds began to mend. His regeneration was monstrous, the purple fog thickening as if in defiance, funneling more stolen life into his battered form.
The air grew heavier with each clash. My body screamed for respite, muscles straining under the relentless onslaught. But I ignored the fatigue, the pain, focusing only on the rhythm of the fight.
Each swing of my blade grew sharper, faster, more precise. My haki surged, wrapping my weapons in a crackling aura of power that carved through the battlefield with devastating precision.
Redfield's monstrous form darted through the skies, his movements a blur as he rained down slashes of his claws. I evaded, weaving through his assault with razor-thin precision, countering each attack with an upward slash or a parry that sent shockwaves rippling through the air.
Then, he lunged. His massive form crashed toward me like a meteor, claws extended to rip me apart. I met him head-on, both blades slashing upward in a devastating cross-strike. The collision shattered the ground beneath us, a deafening boom echoing across the battlefield as black lightning erupted in a dome of destruction.
For a moment, the dust settled, revealing Redfield's battered form, rapidly healing. His chest was heaving, wings trembling as his wounds caused by Akatsuki struggled to close. The purple fog churned frantically, desperately funneling vitality into him, but something was different now. His regeneration was slower, the once-immediate healing delayed by precious seconds.
I pressed the advantage.
Both blades streaked through the air in a blur of motion, carving into him with unrelenting ferocity. Each strike was a crescendo of power, my haki flaring brighter with every swing. One slash tore through his wing, another ripped across his torso, and a third shattered the clawed hand he raised to block me.
The black lightning coursing through my blades began to spread, latching onto him like chains. It pulsed and crackled, tearing into his form, consuming the purple fog that sustained him. The once-untouchable vampire staggered, his monstrous body faltering under the relentless assault.
The battlefield had devolved into chaos, the line between predator and prey blurred beyond recognition. What had begun as an elegant duel of blades and calculated strikes had degenerated into a primal, savage brawl—two forces of nature colliding with reckless abandon.
The air was a storm of raw power and intent, the ground beneath us shattered into craters from the sheer intensity of our clash.
Each swing of my blades came with an unrelenting ferocity, cutting through the haze of purple fog as I pressed forward, unyielding. Redfield met my every attack with an equal force, his monstrous claws swiping through the air with terrifying precision.
Our movements were too fast for the naked eye, leaving only afterimages and the sound of steel meeting claws. To anyone watching, we were nothing more than flashes of motion, our presence marked only by the shockwaves that radiated from every collision.
It was only the mastery of observation haki that allowed us to keep track of one another. I could feel the faint vibrations in the air, the subtle shift in Redfield's aura as he prepared each counterattack.
He was relentless, a blur of claws, fangs, and bat-like wings tearing through the battlefield with monstrous speed. But I was no less feral, meeting his strikes head-on with a resolve that burned like wildfire.
I had abandoned caution entirely. Against an opponent like Redfield—whose very essence thrived on the lives he drained—there was no room for hesitation. Every attack I took was a calculated risk, my body accepting each clawed slash and crushing blow as the price for carving deeper into his monstrous form.
For every gash that Redfield inflicted on me, I countered with two. My blades flashed through the air, black lightning crackling with every strike. One blade tore across his torso, sending a spray of blackened ichor into the air, while the other carved into his shoulder, the force of the blow severing one of his wings.
But the bastard didn't falter. His regeneration was monstrous, the purple fog swirling faster, mending his wounds almost as quickly as I could inflict them. Flesh knit itself back together in grotesque displays, his form seemingly untouched even after enduring what should have been mortal wounds.
And yet, even as I hacked away at him, I realized something. I wasn't faltering either.
It was only in the briefest of moments—between the clash of steel and claws—that I became aware of the truth. My body, too, was healing. Deep gashes that should have left me crippled were closing rapidly, my flesh stitching itself back together without my notice.
I had been so consumed by the fight, so utterly focused on the thrill of battle, that I hadn't realized the limits of my body were breaking apart like shackles.
My heart thundered in my chest, pumping not just blood but raw, untapped power. Adrenaline surged through me like an unending tide, and with each passing second, I felt my strength growing. Wounds that should have slowed me down only seemed to fuel my resolve.
Redfield lunged at me, his claws glinting like steel as they tore through the air. I ducked low, feeling the razor-sharp edge graze my shoulder, but I spun on my heel, using the momentum to drive both blades into his side. Black lightning erupted from the strike, sending him hurtling backward with a roar of fury.
He retaliated in an instant, his monstrous form darting forward with unnatural speed. His claws came down in a crushing arc, forcing me to raise my blades in a cross to block. The impact sent shockwaves through my arms, the ground beneath my feet shattering into a crater, but I held firm.
With a surge of power, I shoved him back, dashing forward with renewed ferocity. My blades moved like extensions of my will, slashing through the fog and carving into his regenerating body. Each strike was wild and unrelenting, the calculated finesse of our earlier duel replaced by the raw, primal instinct to overwhelm and dominate.
The air around us crackled with energy, black lightning and purple fog colliding in a storm of power. The land itself seemed to recoil, craters forming beneath our feet as our relentless onslaught tore the battlefield apart.
****
The once-pristine plains of the Elsar Kingdom, blanketed in ice and snow, now resembled the grotesque canvas of a nightmare. Smoke choked the air, mingling with the stench of blood and burning flesh.
The battlefield was strewn with bodies, a harrowing mix of civilians in tattered rags and soldiers clad in the once-proud armor of the kingdom's elite forces. Where once a majestic landscape had stood, there was now only carnage—a vision of war's unfiltered brutality.
The snowy ground was soaked with crimson, frozen blood pooling around lifeless corpses. Some lay still, their faces twisted in eternal horror, while others, though still alive, writhed in agony amidst the wreckage. What had begun as a planned defense against the invading pirates had devolved into an unthinkable slaughter.
The Donquixote Pirates, though vastly outnumbered, cut through the kingdom's million-strong army like a blade through parchment.
Each pirate was an elite, honed by years of battle, and their unrelenting ferocity had turned the tides of war. The kingdom's soldiers, once the pride of Elsar, now cowered in despair, their pleas for mercy drowned out by the ceaseless roar of battle.
Among the wreckage of men and arms stood the Supreme Commander of the Elsar Kingdom, a figure who once inspired awe and fear in equal measure. His towering frame, clad in blackened armor now torn and battered, was a shadow of its former glory.
His tower shield lay discarded on the blood-soaked ground, and his massive greatsword trembled in his hands as he tried to lift it.
"Huff... huff…" He gasped for breath, each heave of his chest a testament to the sheer physical toll the battle had taken. His vision blurred as sweat and blood dripped into his eyes, but he couldn't tear his gaze away from his opponent.
Standing across from him was a teenager—a mere boy by all appearances, though his presence exuded the raw menace of a seasoned predator. The young pirate's body shimmered faintly with the telltale signs of a Logia user, smoke curling around him like an ethereal cloak. He was relentless, his mastery of haki far beyond anything the commander could comprehend.
The commander's spine tingled with dread as he analyzed his foe. This was no ordinary pirate. The boy wielded haki not in its basic forms, but with a mastery that bordered on the supernatural.
His blows were infused with haki hardening, turning simple strikes into devastating attacks capable of crushing even the strongest defenses. Worse yet, there were flashes of something far more advanced—haki emission.
The commander had only heard whispers of such techniques, the kind of power that bypassed physical armor and struck directly at one's core. It was the stuff of legends, used by the most formidable warriors in history.
Yet here it was, wielded by someone barely past his adolescence.
The commander staggered, coughing up blood as he clutched his shield. His battered body screamed for respite, but he refused to surrender. He tried to steady himself, gripping his greatsword with trembling hands. The weight of the blade—a symbol of his authority and might—now felt like a cruel burden.
Around him, the battlefield was a symphony of despair. His observation haki painted a grim picture of the devastation. Pockets of his army were breaking ranks, laying down their weapons in surrender. His men—once proud and unyielding—were now reduced to frightened, broken husks.
His fury bubbled to the surface, but it was tempered by a sobering realization. He was no longer in control. The boy stalking him now wasn't just a pirate—he was an abomination.
The boy moved with the precision of a seasoned hunter, his steps deliberate, his presence suffocating. Smoke curled around his form, a dark haze that seemed to sap the very air from the commander's lungs. The battlefield felt smaller, the oppressive aura of the young warrior shrinking the world around them.
The commander's haki flared desperately, trying to anticipate the next move. But the boy was beyond prediction, his attacks coming from every angle with an unpredictability that left the commander reeling.
A sharp swipe of the teen's blade sent a shockwave of haki-infused smoke hurtling toward the commander. He raised his shield just in time, the force of the impact sending him skidding backward across the icy ground. His arms ached from the blow, the shield buckling under the sheer intensity.
The boy didn't relent. He was a whirlwind of smoke and steel, each strike tearing through the commander's defenses with brutal efficiency. The air crackled with energy, the clash of their combat leaving deep scars in the land itself.
The Supreme Commander, once the unyielding bulwark of the Elsar Kingdom, now knelt in the blood-soaked snow. His armor hung in tatters, his shield splintered, and his greatsword lay abandoned by his side. The weight of the battle pressed down on him, the cold bite of reality sharper than any blade.
His gaze locked onto the boy once more, a mix of awe and despair in his bloodshot eyes. This was no mere foe. This was evolution personified—strength born of an era that would leave men like him behind.
As the boy's blade shimmered with haki once more, the commander's lips moved, barely audible above the roar of the battlefield.
"So young… yet a monster," he whispered, his voice trembling.
The boy didn't respond. He didn't need to. The silent judgment in his eyes spoke volumes. This was the end of an era, and the commander knew it.
As Smoker infused his seastone weapon with armament haki, ready to deliver the decisive blow to his opponent, a piercing screech tore through the sky.
The sound was deafening, primal, and foreboding. Instinctively, Smoker's observation haki flared, warning him of impending danger. Without hesitation, he leaped back, retreating just as a massive shadow tore through the smoke and soot above.
A moment later, the battlefield trembled violently. A colossal form hurtled from the heavens like a meteor, slamming into the ground with an earth-shattering impact. The resulting shockwave tore through the battlefield, shaking the very island and throwing debris and bodies alike into the air.
Smoker landed in a crouch, his eyes narrowing as he focused through the chaos. What he saw stole his breath. A massive crystalline bird—the legendary ice phoenix—lay crumpled in a smoldering crater. The once-majestic creature, a mythical zoan renowned for its beauty and regenerative powers, was now a shadow of its former self.
Countless lacerations marred the ice phoenix's shimmering body, its once-pristine crystalline plumage cracked and jagged. Shards of ice fell from its torn and shattered wing, now nothing more than a useless stump. Its labored breaths produced a ghostly mist that swirled weakly in the cold air.
The phoenix attempted to rise, its talons clawing at the pulverized earth beneath it. But before it could lift itself, a fiery crimson beam of energy roared through the sky. It slammed into the phoenix with the force of a divine judgment, burying the mythical creature deeper into the ground.
The already massive crater widened further, the earth splitting apart like fragile glass under the sheer power of the attack.
Smoker shielded his face from the searing heat and force of the blast. His mind raced as he processed the devastation. There was no mistaking it—this was the handiwork of Lucci.
The battlefield quaked violently as the colossal ice phoenix, its body battered and torn, crashed further into the ground with an earth-shaking impact. Shards of glittering ice flew in all directions, mixing with the dust and smoke already saturating the air.
The land trembled beneath the weight of the dragon's attack, a crater sprawling hundreds of meters wide and marking the end of the once-proud bird's flight.
Smoker, perched on a nearby rise, had retreated just in time, his observation haki warning him of the incoming devastation. His usual stoicism wavered as he watched the scene unfold—Lucci's dragon form descending from the heavens like an avenging deity.
The ice phoenix, a magnificent mythical zoan said to embody resilience and renewal, now lay shattered. Its crystalline scales, once gleaming with icy brilliance, were fractured, lacerations crisscrossing its body. One wing, a splintered stump of jagged ice, hung uselessly.
Before the phoenix could rise, another fiery crimson beam of energy erupted from the skies, tearing through the heavens like a lance of divine wrath. The attack slammed into the phoenix, driving it further into the crater and widening it to monstrous proportions.
Smoker's breath caught as he beheld the dragon's descent. Lucci. The crimson behemoth landed with a thunderous crash, its enormous form dwarfing the broken bird beneath it.
Smoke and soot swirled in a violent vortex around the battlefield as the dragon roared, and its massive claws punctured the phoenix's chest. The ground split further under the dragon's immense weight, the clash of mythical beasts turning the island into a landscape of ruin.
Theron's cry of agony echoed through the battlefield as Lucci's claws dug deep into his chest, shattering the icy scales like fragile glass. The famed regenerative powers of the ice phoenix, revered even among mythical zoans, seemed futile against the sheer might of Lucci's haki-infused strikes. The phoenix struggled, but it was like a fish floundering in the jaws of a shark.
Theron's mind raced with desperation as he gazed into the terrifying eyes of his enemy—a crimson dragon, its form eerily reminiscent of the mythical beast said to be Kaido's legendary devil fruit. Yet this dragon was different. Its crimson scales shimmered like molten lava, and the air around it pulsed with an oppressive aura of bloodlust and domination.
With a heaven-shaking roar, Lucci slammed the phoenix's head into the ground again and again, his claws gripping its beak with merciless precision. Each impact sent tremors rippling through the earth, blood and ice mingling with the dirt as the phoenix's head was driven deeper into the crater.
Theron's attempts to summon spears of ice were laughably ineffective. The moment they struck Lucci's scales, they shattered into harmless shards, as though striking an impenetrable fortress. Theron's despair deepened with every passing second.
Pinned under the dragon's overwhelming might, Theron was left with no room for dignity or pride. Blood dripped from his torn beak as his heart pounded in his chest. His phoenix instincts screamed at him to flee, but there was nowhere to go. His kingdom's defenses lay in ruins, and even the support of his infamous uncle, Patrick Redfield, was proving insufficient to stem the tide of destruction.
As Lucci's claws tightened around his throat, crushing his windpipe and cutting off his cries, Theron made a choice. Survival trumped pride. If he could live, even as a servant, there was still a chance to reclaim his throne and rebuild his legacy.
The ice phoenix's body shimmered weakly as Theron shifted back into his human form, his battered frame now exposed. He raised a trembling hand, his face a mask of desperation and submission.
"Wait!" Theron choked out, his voice hoarse from pain and fear. "Spare me; I'm willing to surrender... I can be of use to you!"
Lucci's dragon eyes narrowed, the crimson glow intensifying as he tilted his massive head. His claws paused their crushing grip but didn't release, leaving Theron gasping for breath.
"I'll yield," Theron rasped, blood dripping from his lips. "My kingdom... my resources... they're yours. You've proven your strength... stronger than any I've faced. But kill me now, and you gain nothing but a corpse. Let me live... and I'll serve the Donquixote Pirates."
The battlefield fell eerily silent, save for the crackling of ice and fire that still danced around the crater. Theron's plea hung in the air like a fragile thread, the weight of his submission palpable.
Lucci's dragon form shifted slightly, his massive frame casting a shadow over the broken king. His claws flexed, testing the fragility of Theron's human neck. The crimson beast exuded dominance, his haki suffocating the very air. For a moment, it seemed as though Theron's words would fall on deaf ears.
"You had your chance when we offered you a deal," came the guttural whisper of Lucci, his voice an ominous rasp that seemed to emanate from the very depths of the crimson dragon's massive frame. The words reverberated like the toll of a funeral bell in Theron's ears, each syllable carrying the weight of finality, a promise of death.
Theron, pinned and broken beneath the overwhelming force of Lucci's claws, tried to muster a response. His crystal beak opened as if to plead, to offer something—anything—but the words died in his throat, drowned by the suffocating pressure of the dragon's presence. His legendary ice phoenix form, once revered as a symbol of unyielding resilience, was now reduced to a trembling, shattered shell.
Lucci's fiery amber eyes narrowed, unyielding and cold. No mercy lingered within them.
Without hesitation, the massive dragon's maw descended with terrifying speed, its razor-sharp fangs snapping shut around the phoenix's crystalline neck. There was no elegance, no showmanship—only raw, primal savagery. The sickening crunch of shattering crystal echoed across the battlefield as Lucci's teeth sank deep, and with a violent, bloody yank, he tore the phoenix's head clean from its body.
Theron's body convulsed one final time, the glow of life fading from the torn, majestic form. Blood, tinged with shards of icy crystal, cascaded from the gruesome wound like a crimson waterfall, staining the battlefield in stark contrast to the once-pristine white snow. The severed phoenix's head, still faintly glimmering with its mythical aura, was hurled with monstrous strength.
The massive head hurtled through the air, crashing with a thunderous thud mere feet away from Smoker. The ground shook beneath its weight, splinters of ice scattering outward like shrapnel.
Smoker stood frozen, his steely composure momentarily shaken as he stared at the lifeless visage of the phoenix. Its once-proud beak hung open, the faint trace of its mythical vitality now nothing but a dim, fading glow.
Lucci, towering in his dragon form, turned his attention to the sky. His colossal body shifted with deliberate menace, scales shimmering like molten lava in the dim light. He opened his massive jaws, and from deep within his chest came a roar—a sound so immense and primal that it seemed to split the heavens themselves.
The earth beneath the dragon trembled as the roar echoed across the ruined battlefield, rolling through the once-proud Elsar Kingdom like a harbinger of doom. Buildings quaked and collapsed under the sheer force of it, their fragile structures crumbling to dust. The sky seemed to darken further, as if bowing to the dominance of the crimson dragon.
Every living being across the battlefield—soldiers, civilians, and pirates alike—froze in place. For the soldiers of Elsar, the roar was a deafening proclamation of their defeat, a sound that crushed the last vestiges of hope. For the pirates, it was a symphony of victory, a terrifying yet awe-inspiring reminder of Lucci's unmatched might.