Vice Admiral Darren’s arrogant grin lingered on every screen, a defiant slash of confidence etched across his face.
And in that instant, the world went silent.
A silence deeper than fear.
New World – Wano Country
Kuri Region, Military Factory District
Inside a traditional conference hall, the upper echelons of the Beast Pirates sat frozen in place.
The screen before them was still locked on Darren’s smirk. The silence in the room was absolute.
Queen’s cigar had burned to the nub, singeing his lower lip—but he didn’t notice. His jaw hung open, trembling.
"Th-th-this..." he stammered, voice cracked and dry.
Next to him, King’s face was grim, the blue flames on his wings flickering dimly. He said nothing.
Even Kaido—who minutes earlier had been slumped over, dead drunk—now sat ramrod straight, his bloodshot eyes locked on the screen.
He was completely sober.
The air in the room had turned heavy, suffocating.
"B-Boss Kaido..." Queen said, swallowing hard. "That brat Darren... he doesn’t know we’re in Wano, right?"
As soon as the words left his mouth, dread spread like a virus.
The pirates in the hall collectively paled. Cold sweat dripped down their backs. Every scalp prickled with a primal, gut-churning sense of terror.
Because deep down, they all knew—
If Darren did know... they were screwed.
He didn’t need an army.
He didn’t need a fleet.
With that flight speed, that absurd Demon Blade, and the sheer force he had just demonstrated on Snack Island...
He could end them with a single strike from the sky.
No warning. No buildup.
Just black light descending from the heavens, and their entire industrial base—years of labor—reduced to ash in seconds.
Just like what had happened in Totto Land.
Even if Kaido, King, and Queen survived such a blow, who else would? The rank-and-file Beast Pirates? The workers? The facilities?
And worst of all... there was no way to stop him.
The thought of enjoying a hotpot or relaxing after a raid—only for a towering black blade to come crashing down without warning—shattered any illusion of safety.
Several pirates glanced nervously upward, as if expecting death to fall through the ceiling at any moment.
Kaido’s brow furrowed.
"That brat..." he muttered. "He probably doesn’t know."
Queen’s lip twitched.
That didn’t sound reassuring.
Queen had no illusions. If Darren ever decided to pay back personal grievances, he’d be at the top of the list. He was proud of his "research methods," but they hadn’t earned him any forgiveness.
King said nothing, but his silence was heavy.
He slammed his fist into the tatami floor, shattering the entire foundation. Tiles cracked, furniture split, the walls trembled.
His Conqueror’s Haki surged like a tidal wave, flooding the hall.
Pirates collapsed where they stood, many foaming at the mouth, eyes rolling back as they passed out.
"DAMN THAT BASTARD SHIKI!!"
Kaido’s roar shook the mountains.
"That bastard SET ME UP!"
The Marineford raid had been glorious—but now, the price was becoming clear.
Shiki, the one who had slaughtered the most Marines, had vanished, leaving Kaido and Big Mom to bear the brunt of Darren’s wrath.
And Darren’s revenge didn’t come in speeches or speeches—it came from the sky, silent and deadly.
Now they had to live under the constant threat of his shadow.
"Find Orochi! Move up our plans!" Kaido barked.
His voice was thunder, filled with dread and fury.
"Seal Wano! Tighten every gate, every port! Kill anyone who tries to leave!"
King dropped to one knee. "Understood, Kaido-san."
But even behind his mask, his eyes flickered with unease.
Kaido had always radiated indomitable Haki, charging into battle against Whitebeard, Roger, even Golden Lion with reckless confidence.
But this wasn’t confidence.
King felt it in his bones.
Could it happen again?
Could Darren reduce Wano’s weapon factories to rubble like he did with Swollen Town?
That terrifying black sword—the moment it descended, there would be no escape.
New World – Somewhere on the Grand Line
Not a breath stirred among the Whitebeard Pirates.
The frozen screen still displayed Darren’s grin, the ruins of Swollen Town burning behind him.
Oden leaned on the railing, expression numb. The color had drained from his face.
Marco looked down, fists clenched.
"What a... madman," he whispered.
He wasn’t exaggerating.
Darren had promised to bring war to the New World—and before anyone could scoff, he’d already delivered.
And he hadn’t even formally taken command of G-5 yet.
Whitebeard said nothing. His face was unreadable. But his silence was heavy.
The Whitebeard Pirates, formidable as they were, didn’t fear Darren in a direct fight.
But their territory was vast. Their reach spanned countless islands, outposts, towns.
He didn’t need to win a war.
He only needed to strike—fast, precise, without warning.
A single flash of black light from above, and entire settlements would vanish.
The Demon Blade didn’t have to fall often.
It only needed to fall once.
That knowledge—that certainty—hung above them all.
Like the mythical Sword of Damocles.
Invisible. Silent. Always waiting to fall.
And with Darren’s warped sense of justice—intensely personal, deeply instinctual, utterly unpredictable—they had no idea when, or where, the next strike would come.
That kind of justice...
The justice born not of law, but of whim, was the most terrifying of all.