"I'll show you... despair."
As Commodore Darren spoke those words, a suffocating pressure swept across the field. Every Marine present felt a chill crawl up their spines.
The smooth, metallic spheres hovered around Darren, orbiting him with eerie precision. In the sunlight, their polished surfaces reflected the stunned faces of the onlookers.
"What kind of ability is that...?"
"Is he manipulating metal?"
"A Paramecia-type Devil Fruit...?"
Unease rippled through the ranks of the Marines. Even though they knew Darren wasn't targeting them, those hovering orbs gave off a visceral, skin-crawling dread.
Not far away, Zephyr's eyes narrowed behind his dark sunglasses. His muscles instinctively tensed.
He remembered what Sengoku had reported about Darren's Devil Fruit.
If that was the move he had in mind... then even he would need to stay sharp.
Darren looked calmly toward Yamakaji, who stood several dozen meters away, both hands gripping his blade.
"Come at me, Captain Yamakaji."
Yamakaji clenched his jaw. His "Justice" coat flared behind him as he kicked off the ground, launching forward like a white arrow loosed from a bow.
The pressure Darren radiated was nearly suffocating—but that's exactly why Yamakaji had to strike first.
If he hesitated, if he gave in to fear for even a second, his courage would be swallowed whole.
But the moment he charged—
The dust at his feet exploded into the air.
A roaring pressure tore across the field like a whirlwind.
Yamakaji's eyes widened. Every pore on his body screamed with alarm.
Pure instinct and survival reflexes took over.
He swung his blade forward with everything he had!
It was like slamming into a cannonball. The impact echoed across the field, unleashing a shockwave that sent him flying like a ragdoll.
His coat shredded. Shrapnel flew.
Gasps erupted from the watching Marines.
No one even saw what hit him—one moment he was charging, and the next he was violently flung back by an invisible force.
Midair, he barely stabilized his body, then skidded across the ground, his boots carving twin trenches into the training field.
He dropped to one knee, breathing raggedly. Sweat dripped down his dust-smeared face. His eyes were bloodshot.
A single drop of blood fell from his trembling hand.
Everyone could see it—his palm was torn open. His grip faltered.
One hit—crippling damage.
Their eyes slowly shifted—
A meter-wide gouge stretched across the battlefield, from Yamakaji's feet all the way to Darren's. It was a perfect line etched into the earth.
The silver sphere returned.
It glided back through the air and calmly resumed its orbit, joining the other two in their steady, ominous rotation.
The Marines collectively gasped.
That crater—had been carved by a single sphere... just from the pressure of its flight.
How fast did that thing move!?
"Still want to continue?" Darren asked, expression flat.
"If that had been a direct hit... you wouldn't be kneeling."
He stood there, shirtless under the blazing sun, sculpted muscles casting sharp shadows across his form.
The three silver spheres floated beside him like silent ghosts, their mirrored surfaces glinting with an icy sheen.
Each one looked like it could tear through a warship.
And if he fired all three at once...?
Add that to the countless scars, the black, bottomless eyes, the sheer aura of war and bloodshed...
From a distance, Rogers Darren looked like a war god risen from the underworld.
Elegant. Cold. Merciless. Commanding.
Meanwhile, Yamakaji knelt on the ground, his uniform in tatters, caked in dirt and ash. His arm trembled. Blood dripped from his hand.
They were like two figures from different worlds—a war god and a broken soldier.
Yamakaji took a long drag from his cigar.
He tore off what remained of his jacket and tossed it aside.
Beneath it was a body just as scarred—built from the same iron discipline.
He ripped a strip from the uniform, tied it tight around his injured wrist, and bit down on the knot to fasten it.
His eyes burned like wildfire.
"Of course I'll continue."
Darren stared at him a moment.
He raised his hand again.
Another silver orb launched with terrifying speed, slicing through the air with hurricane force.
Yamakaji's pupils contracted. That crushing pressure returned, like an ocean wave threatening to drown him in place.
He forced his eyes open, desperately trying to trace the incoming projectile.
No... it's too fast...
He caught the glint of silver.
His body moved on reflex, drawing on countless hours of training and sparring.
The impact exploded in front of him.
The trajectory... deflected!
Pain screamed in his ears as the sphere tore past his shoulder, slicing flesh and spraying blood into the air.
The deflected sphere crashed into a nearby training cannon—obliterating it.
A fireball bloomed behind them. Shrapnel rained down.
The Marines watching held their breath.
If that thing had hit directly, even a warship wouldn't have survived.
Wind howled. Dust swirled.
Pain flared across his right shoulder—but Yamakaji didn't stop.
Staying still would mean death.
He could maybe block once... twice. But three? Four? Six?
The only way forward—
He was going to reach Darren.