Not just from fear — but from the sheer, crushing pressure of death.
It clung to him like a nightmare, fingers tight around his heart, squeezing until breath itself was a struggle.
The rain beat down, cold as ice, slapping across his face in harsh stings. He barely felt it.
Adrenaline surged like a flood, wringing every ounce of strength from his muscles, tendons, even his very cells.
His limbs screamed. His blood felt thin.
And yet, his mind was razor sharp.
Roger's face, fierce and untamed, bearing down like a god of war.
The tip of his sword — cloaked in black-red lightning — expanded with terrifying speed.
If I don't move... I die.
This wasn't a legend.
This wasn't a training exercise.
This was Gol D. Roger — the man who brought down Rocks D. Xebec.
The man who would stand atop the world.
Even Dragon — a monster among prodigies — had been nearly cut down by this one strike.
Just a sword swing that could end him in a heartbeat.
His instincts screamed it.
Something inside him snapped.
His pupils shrank into pinpricks, then dilated wide, blood vessels flooding with crimson madness.
From his chest, something darker than fear rose.
A defiance that didn't care about logic, strength, or odds.
A grin — twisted and unrelenting — broke across his face.
So many near-death fights.
So many days of hellish training.
All those years scraping by in North Blue — clawing for a spot in the officer's program.
He'd finally made it.
Finally reached the main stage of the world.
For this. Exactly this.
To clash with monsters.
And now — one of them stood before him.
"I'm not backing down!!"
Darren's roar tore through the sky.
Power exploded from his body — raw, chaotic, defiant.
His Conqueror's Haki surged outward like a hurricane, smashing against Roger's aura midair.
Two vortexes collided in the sky — Conqueror's clashing with Conqueror's, spiraling like storm-born titans.
For the first time, Darren's hidden force — long dormant, long smothered — erupted.
Lightning danced violently. The storm itself recoiled.
Roger's eyes narrowed. "Conqueror's Haki...?"
From below, Garp and Dragon both gasped.
"A Marine with the will of kings... rare indeed."
Roger's lips curled into a grin.
"Your will's still too weak!!"
He gripped his sword with both hands.
From a distance, it looked like a dragon made of lightning was diving toward earth.
And then— he brought it down.
Darren's aura shattered like glass.
His Haki collapsed under the weight of Roger's blade, crumbling into splinters of invisible pressure.
"Darren!!" Tokikake's voice cracked.
Gion's fists bled from how tightly she clenched them.
Garp cursed, skywalking upward, desperation on his face.
Dragon's stomach dropped.
Darren felt his heart seize.
He saw nothing — only flashes.
The fight with that monstrous pirate — every punch, every dodge — replayed in perfect clarity.
The way he anchored his foot before exploding forward.
The moment his punch crushed a warship hull like paper.
And suddenly — it clicked.
A bolt of light split through the darkness of Darren's mind.
That feeling — like standing atop a mountaintop with wind screaming past his ears.
Everything made sense.
Why hadn't he realized it earlier?
When Strength hits 60 — the body becomes unyielding, like steel.
When Agility passes 60 — movement explodes like Soru.
"Armament Haki... Hardening!"
His voice shook the rain.
Blood surged. Muscles locked.
His fist — his right hand — turned black.
An invisible armor bloomed across his knuckles.
He met Roger's blade with his fist.
The heavens screamed.
Waves blasted outward.
The sea rose in titanic walls.
Everyone stared — frozen.
His gauntlet shattered.
Then the bones in his hand.
Then the flesh of his forearm tore open, muscle ripping, nerves screaming.
Blood mist exploded around him.
Roger's blade struck him full-on.
From neck to hip, a savage diagonal cleave ripped Darren open.
His ribs showed through.
His blood splashed across Roger's face.
He crumpled in the air — his body folding like a broken doll.
The Oro Jackson's crew gasped as one.
"Roger, you son of a bitch!!"
Garp's fist came crashing down like a comet.
Roger moved to block—
Mid-fall, coughing blood, teeth gritted, he lifted a hand.
A crooked smile on his shredded face.
"Then take this... as interest."
Below — someone jumped.
A warm chest caught Darren before he hit the deck.
Fist and blade collided, sparks bursting like a rain of stars. Shockwaves rippled through the storm.
A cold, eerie draft kissed his legs.
His face twisted strangely — from fury to confusion to outright panic.
Slowly, fearfully, he looked down.
And nearly blacked out.
His metal-buckled belt — and with it, his black pants — had been yanked straight down.
Left exposed, standing proud atop the deck, was Roger the future Pirate King...
...in nothing but a blazing red pair of underpants.
YOUR PANTS FELL OFF!!"
Garp howled so loudly it nearly shattered the storm clouds.
Roger's face turned a shade of red that could've rivaled the crimson of his own underwear.