Monsters are not defined by a single strength.
They are forged from overwhelming dominance in every realm of battle—physique, speed, strength, endurance, Devil Fruit mastery, Haki, instinct, and experience. Any one of these could make a warrior formidable. But to a true monster, such traits are merely baseline requirements.
Darren was that kind of monster.
Even among the freaks who roamed the Grand Line, few could match his raw physical power. His strength didn’t come from lineage or titles. It came from pain—years of blood-soaked battles, brutal training, and surviving hell when most would have crumbled.
Charlotte Oven might have been hailed as a "monster" within the Big Mom Pirates, but standing before Darren, he was a child trying to wrestle a storm.
The crack of rupturing muscle and snapping bone echoed across the battlefield.
Oven’s arm, twisted grotesquely in Darren’s vice grip, dangled like a broken branch.
Across the world, countless viewers watching through Visual Den Den Mushi winced in unison, clutching their arms involuntarily. The pain was almost contagious.
"D-Damn you... This is Totto Land!" Oven choked out, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. "I won’t... lose to you here...!"
Darren looked down at him with a scoff, his smile cold and cruel. "Totto Land?" His fingers tightened around Oven’s arm. "One day, the flag of justice will fly here too."
A grotesque splash of crimson followed.
Oven’s scream ripped through the air as Darren tore his arm clean off.
Blood erupted like a geyser, arcing into the sky as the mangled limb dropped to the ground with a sickening wet thud.
The pirate staggered back, reeling, gasping for air—but Darren didn’t give him the luxury of pain.
He was already moving.
A flash of motion—knee raised, Armament Haki surging—and crack!
The blow struck Oven’s gut like a cannonball. The air exploded from his lungs as his ribs shattered and black veins of Haki spread across his back, ripping his clothes to shreds.
He bent in half, mouth open in a soundless gasp, blood and foam bubbling up his throat. His eyes bulged, unfocused and glassy.
"Kill that Marine bastard!"
The pirates roared as they finally snapped out of their daze. Dozens charged at once, weapons gleaming, their faces twisted with rage.
They struck from every direction—swords, axes, bullets, cannonballs—all crashing into Darren like a storm.
But nothing pierced him.
Blades sparked and shattered. Haki-infused attacks rebounded with metallic clangs. He didn’t flinch.
Darren ignored them all.
He grabbed Oven by his ridiculous triple-styled hair and casually checked his watch.
"Hm. Fifteen seconds left."
"Perfect. Civilians should be nearly clear by now... and the rats have all gathered."
And then the air shifted.
A pulse of invisible force erupted from Darren’s body—like a tidal wave, crashing outward in every direction.
The streets shook. Roof tiles exploded off buildings. Loose stones and debris went airborne. The wind howled through the town like a banshee’s scream.
Color seemed to vanish from the world.
Dozens of pirates dropped like puppets with cut strings, unconscious before they even hit the ground. The rest stumbled, dazed, their eyes rolling back, their bodies wracked by invisible pressure.
And at the center of it all stood Darren.
He stood atop a field of blood and corpses, bathed in the eerie glow of fires and smoke. One hand gripped Oven by the throat, hoisting him high.
Behind him, the word "Justice" was written in blood across the back of his white coat, fluttering like a flag in hell.
Oven dangled like a ragdoll.
"Y-you..." he gasped, barely conscious. "What... do you want...?"
He was beyond broken. His body ruined, blood pouring from every hole, eyes barely able to focus.
Darren tilted his head. "Didn’t I say?"
"I’m here to erase every last pirate on this island."
Oven stiffened. Somewhere in the haze of agony and fading light, realization sparked.
That blade... that demonic weapon...
His eyes widened. He turned his head slowly, his gaze lifting toward the sky.
And then he understood.
Why this man had come down personally.
Why he fought in the streets, exposing himself to their full force.
It had never been about the battle.
Darren was baiting them.
Drawing every pirate on Snack Island into one place.
Now they were all here.
The "three minutes"... it had never referred to the time it would take to defeat them.
It was the grace period Darren had given the civilians to escape.
"No..." Oven breathed, dread filling every inch of his broken body. "No... I won’t let this happen...!"
His mind flashed with images—his siblings. The other Charlotte children stationed across Snack Island. Dozens, maybe hundreds.
With one final roar, he erupted in a blaze of crimson heat. His entire form ignited like a living furnace.
He threw his arms wide—blood pumping, fire raging—a suicide strike born of desperation.
"Heat Sea Myriad Waves: Furnace!!"
A blinding inferno surged toward Darren.
Oven had turned himself into a bomb, a final act of defiance, ready to drag Darren into death with him.
Darren’s voice was calm. Cold. Final.
"Enma... obliterate it."
He pressed two fingers to his ear.
"Momo—Thirty-Fold Amplification—Islandfall."
A jet-black beam of light tore through the clouds like a divine judgment, howling toward the earth.
The world held its breath.
White light devoured the Den Den Mushi screens.
For a moment, the world went blind.
A crater the size of a city bloomed across Snack Island, and Swollen Town ceased to exist.
From a bird’s-eye view, the town was simply gone. Vaporized. Reduced to rubble and ash.
The Visual Den Den Mushi flickered back to life.
Smoke. Flames. Rubble.
The camera caught the edge of a broken street—once part of Swollen Town—now a hellscape of craters and fire.
And through the swirling smoke, a figure emerged.
A Marine Vice Admiral.
Darren walked through the wreckage like a god among ruins, Haki withdrawing from his body like a tide receding. His white justice coat was unblemished, its crimson trim glowing faintly in the firelight.
Behind him, another explosion rocked the earth. The camera trembled.
He reached into his coat.
Took a long, slow drag.
Then lifted a military Den Den Mushi to his ear.
A voice crackled through. "This is Sengoku."
Darren exhaled smoke, the embers in his cigar glowing in the darkness.
"Admiral Sengoku," he said, eyes fixed on the horizon. "This is Vice Admiral Rogers Darren. Mission complete."
He looked directly into the Visual Den Den Mushi, a sharp, arrogant grin playing at his lips.
On islands. In kingdoms. On warships and back-alley screens. Every Den Den Mushi feed went still.
The enemy disappeared.