"Take down the Roger Pirates!!"
The roars tore through the rain, thick with righteous fury. The Marines surged forward without hesitation, grappling hooks clamped tight, scaling the sides of the Oro Jackson with fearless speed.
Some officers, masters of the Moonwalk technique, kicked against the very air itself, vaulting ahead to cover their comrades, leading the charge with unwavering resolve.
These weren't ordinary soldiers. Every Marine under Garp's command was an elite of the Headquarters, warriors fierce enough to survive even in the ruthless waters of the New World.
They knew better than anyone: in a typical battle, the best way for the Marines to minimize casualties was to rely on superior firepower and sink the enemy from a distance.
But the Roger Pirates... were anything but typical.
Against such a crew, cannon fire was almost useless.
If they wanted victory — real victory — they would have to board.
They would have to fight, blade against blade, flesh against flesh.
There was no other way.
And worse still — to close the distance and give chase, they had already thrown their heavy artillery into the sea.
"Intercept them!! Stop them from boarding!"
Rayleigh's face darkened. He barked the order and moved to act — but the shriek of incoming death split the air behind him.
A crimson flash caught the corner of his eye. He spun, blade slicing out in a brilliant arc.
Silver moonlight blazed from his sword.
Several emerald wind blades were deflected cleanly, shearing away into the distant sea, leaving razor-thin cuts across the waves.
"Dark King Silvers Rayleigh, keep your eyes on me!!"
A gloved claw, coiled in screaming wind, plunged down toward Rayleigh's face — sharp enough to tear the very air into three ragged scars.
The blast of compressed wind sent a shockwave rippling across the deck, forcing nearby Roger Pirates to stumble back, shielding themselves from the fury.
From within the swirling gale, a figure emerged — a young man clad in the uniform of a Marine, his face momentarily flashing with surprise.
But his claw — his attack — had been stopped dead.
A single finger, coated in gleaming black Armament Haki, pressed immovably against the center of his strike.
"Not bad, Marine boy," Rayleigh said, calm as ever. "Garp must be proud to have a son like you."
Dragon cursed, twisting away just before Rayleigh's sword slashed down in retaliation.
He vanished into the wind, his body dissolving into a raging cyclone. Fast, fluid, unpredictable — he harried Rayleigh from every angle, a storm with no center, no form.
In a pure contest of strength, he couldn't win.
Not against the Dark King, Roger's right hand, one of the greatest pirates to ever sail these seas.
But that didn't matter.
All he needed to do was buy time.
Delay Rayleigh long enough for the Marines to establish their foothold on the ship.
Rayleigh's frown deepened. His blade swept out again and again, parrying Dragon's endless assault, but even he could see the boy's intent.
Using his head in a fight.
Not very much like Garp at all.
"Gaban!" Rayleigh barked. "Get it ready!"
"Already on it!" came a raspy voice from beyond the maelstrom.
In less than ten seconds, dozens of Marines had stormed aboard the Oro Jackson, clashing with Roger's crew in a chaotic whirlwind of battle.
The clash of steel, the cries of war — they filled the rain-soaked sky.
"BWAHAHAHA!! With me, boys!!"
Atop the Marine battleship, Garp bellowed with laughter.
His spirit blazed like a towering mountain, unstoppable and growing stronger by the second.
His gaze locked onto Roger across the gap — a collision of wills, visible even through the storm.
At that moment, there was no one else.
"Vice Admiral Garp, sinking the Oro Jackson should be our priority," Darren muttered from behind, his sharp eyes scanning the battlefield. "If we cripple their ship, we gain full control."
From his vantage point, he saw it clearly — the Marine battleship and the pirate ship were lashed together now.
The battle was only growing bloodier.
"Leave that to you," Garp said, waving him off with a grin. "This ship's under your command now."
"I've waited long enough for this bastard.
This time — I fight him for real!!"
With a booming laugh, Garp stomped down on the ship's bow, cracking the wood beneath his boots.
And then — he was airborne, a human cannonball hurtling straight toward Roger.
Darren's forehead twitched violently.
Stupid reckless old man...
He couldn't help but curse internally.
But then — the world changed.
The sea itself seemed to shudder.
Two titanic figures leapt from their ships — one shrouded in crimson, the other in gleaming white.
Lightning ripped the heavens apart.
Torrents of rain turned into curtains of blinding light.
The black skies flashed into a temporary day.
Darren's pupils shrank to pinpoints.
Two monstrous auras erupted — clashing, colliding, roaring.
The ocean churned, the world darkened — and everywhere, the Marines and pirates alike slowed.
They all lifted their heads instinctively — eyes wide in awe.
Above them, two figures shattered the storm — kings among men, their Conqueror's Haki unleashed in full fury.
Black-red lightning streaked across Roger's blade.
Dark violet lightning wreathed Garp's massive fist.
The crimson captain's coat and the white Justice cloak twisted and flared against the storm, both refusing to bow.
Their roars collided like thunderclaps. Their killing intent reached its peak.
And then — they struck.
Haki exploded between them in a churning sphere of raw power, expanding and contracting, tearing the sky asunder.
Black lightning lashed outward, twisting around them like a living cage.
"ROGER!!" Garp howled with laughter.
"GARP!!" Roger's hair whipped around his face.
The heavens shattered.
Clouds were torn to ribbons.
The sea rose in walls of water over a hundred meters high.
Both the Marine battleship and the Oro Jackson rocked violently, tiny boats tossed in a merciless storm.
On deck, Gion, Tokikake, and dozens of Marines dropped to one knee, faces twisted in pain, struggling to withstand the tidal wave of Haki.
Some, less fortunate, simply blacked out where they stood.
Gripping the mast tightly, Darren's face paled slightly — but his eyes never wavered.
He stared up at the clash in the sky, drinking in every detail, burning it into his memory.
Deep within his gaze, something blazed to life — ambition, raw and burning hot.
this was the battle of the strongest in the world!