"W-What kind of power is this...?"
Tokikake stood frozen, staring up at the artillery shells slowly turning in mid-air. Even his voice trembled.
"The ability to... control metal?" Gion murmured, equally stunned.
Beside them, Tokikake crossed his arms and lit a cigarette with a grin.
"Darren's control over magnetic fields is getting sharper by the day..."
Far in the distance, atop the Saint-Germain, Vinsmoke Judge clenched his teeth, his pupils trembling violently at the oppressive sight.
But the moment Darren's words rekindled the anger in his heart.
That Marine brat... what arrogance!
Did he really believe that just because he ate a Devil Fruit, he could stand against Germa 66—the Evil Army?
"Don't kid yourself!! If I can't even take out a brat like you, how could Germa 66 ever rule the North Blue?!"
Vinsmoke Judge roared, eyes bloodshot:
"All units—CHARGE!! Ram that warship to splinters!!"
With that command, Germa's fleet surged forward again, powered by massive snails, accelerating wildly toward Darren's solitary vessel.
Once again, he slowly raised his hand.
The motion was deliberate—eerily slow—completely out of sync with the thunderous charge of dozens of warships slicing through raging waves.
Tens of thousands of soldiers from the Yadis Kingdom, watching from the shore, saw it clearly.
Darren's long, powerful fingers spread into the air...
A high-pitched, almost mechanical whine filled the air.
Everyone widened their eyes in shock.
The barrage of suspended shells above Darren's ship suddenly trembled violently.
A magnetic storm erupted.
With terrifying speed—twice as fast as when they'd been launched—
the deathstorm of shells reversed course and shot straight toward the Germa fleet.
Judge's blood vessels burst in his eyes.
Like a rain of meteors, the stolen shells rained down upon Germa's war fortress.
Explosions bloomed in every direction, red mushroom clouds rising high into the sky.
Germa's cloned soldiers—engineered for war—couldn't even react.
They were engulfed in fire and shockwaves, annihilated where they stood.
Towering flames devoured the fortress that was Germa Kingdom, causing it to tremble like a leaf.
Wave after wave of blast-force rippled across the sea, creating tsunamis that reached even the Yadis coastline.
Thick, black smoke spiraled into the sky as the ground-shaking tremors turned every Marine pale.
On Darren's ship, everyone—including Gion and Kajii—clung to the mast or railing to avoid being thrown off.
And yet, Darren stood tall at the prow—unmoved, unshaken.
A lone man against a nation, with nothing but a cigar and a white cape.
In the light of Germa's burning wreckage, that cape looked almost blood-red.
It was then they understood:
Darren hadn't ruled the chaos of the North Blue through diplomacy alone.
He had the power of a monster.
The power to destroy an entire nation—alone.
The bombardment lasted a full minute.
When the sea breeze finally cleared the smoke, everyone gasped.
Germa was a wasteland.
Charred earth. Fires still burning. Craters everywhere.
The once-formidable fortress reduced to ash.
Bodies of cloned soldiers lay mangled and strewn across the ground—some unrecognizable.
Even the towering Saint-German's flag—the Crossed Falcon—had crumbled to ash.
Half of Germa Kingdom had been leveled.
"Cough... cough... Damn Marine... how dare you..."
From the rubble, a ragged figure stumbled to its feet.
His pride shattered. Bloodied. Barely standing.
The "66" cloak behind him fluttered like torn flesh.
"So... you've finished the first-generation battle suit," Darren murmured with interest.
Germa 66's battle suits—high-tech armor made from shape-memory alloy—were famously resistant, even to flame.
That cape had saved him from total incineration.
"Then let me test its limits."
Darren turned to his crew and said calmly:
Gion and Tokikake blinked.
Tokikake and the others immediately gripped the railings.
Following their lead, Gion and Tokikake braced themselves too.
Darren took a deep breath.
The cigar in his mouth burned halfway in an instant.
His eyes locked on the distant wreckage of the Saint-Germain.
Cape flaring. Muscles tensed like coiled steel.
A predator ready to pounce.
"No way..." Tokikake's face twitched.
And then Darren smiled.
The bow smashed into the sea. The stern lifted high—deck tilted at a 45-degree angle.
The ship shifted several meters from the force alone.
And Darren? He launched like a cannonball.
A white trail slashed across the sea—the waves split by the speed of one man.