Darren paid no attention to the flickers of doubt behind Tokikake's exaggerated expression or the flickering tension in Gion's eyes.
He stood silently at the prow of the lead warship like a monolith carved by wind and war, eyes narrowed against the salt-laced breeze. Below him stretched the harbor, the air thick with the brine of sea spray and the metallic tang of cannon oil. Ten warships gleamed like sharks in formation, their decks bristling with freshly sharpened armaments and ranks of North Blue Marines standing stiff and silent.
But Darren—he wasn't calm. Beneath the surface, his heart beat steady but hard, like the countdown of a ticking fuse.
He knew who he was going after.
Byrnndi World—the World Destroyer. A pirate whose legend eclipsed most. A madman with power vast enough to shatter cities. One wrong step in this operation, and not only would this fleet perish—so would Darren's name, his plan, his future.
"Darren, all ships are fully prepped."
The voice came from behind—grounded, clear. Darren turned his head slightly to see Momonga approaching with military precision, his expression shadowed with a rare heaviness.
Darren gave a single nod. "Excellent work."
Momonga lingered. For a moment, he seemed torn between protocol and unease. Finally, he spoke.
"We made it in time. All ten warships selected for the mission have undergone complete refitting through Germa 66. Light alloy keels, magnetic-stabilized reinforcements..."
"But why spend so much to retrofit? You could have built new ships for the same cost—or more ships, even."
Darren chuckled under his breath, eyes never leaving the harbor.
"Ships aren't about numbers."
"You'll understand soon."
He turned. "What's the latest from Doflamingo?"
"No change. The meeting is still on schedule. No indication that the World Pirates suspect a trap."
"Each ship is armed with ten heavy cannons. Germa has mounted supplementary ballistic launchers onto the hulls. Infantry are geared with standard sabers and rifles—but also stun guns, compact artillery, flamethrowers."
Darren's lips curled upward.
"Hey! Darren! Are we even going to make it in time?!" Tokikake ran up, breathless, clutching a wrinkled sea chart. His voice cracked with genuine panic. "We're way more than three hours away—"
"—Far more," Gion said, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
Their concern hung in the air like mist.
But Darren didn't answer.
Instead, he raised one hand.
From the watchtowers, bugle calls erupted—short, rapid-fire blasts that reverberated across the harbor like flares of tension.
Momonga, Gion, and Tokikake turned sharply.
The sails across all ten ships were retracting.
Darren's voice was low.
Then—blue lightning crackled along his fingers.
In the blink of an eye, a powerful, invisible wave burst from his body—pulsing like a heartbeat of raw magnetic force.
The ships shuddered violently beneath their feet, as if awakening from slumber. Tokikake stumbled, grabbing for the railing.
"No way..." he gasped, staring down.
Momonga's face paled as realization struck.
Darren turned to them, the wind howling around his cloak like a beast.
"I never said the North Blue Fleet's power was bound to the sea."
The very hull beneath them roared like a living thing. The ocean swelled, vortexes tearing open beneath the ships. Then—
No, the sea did not fall.
The ships had taken flight.
Jets of seawater erupted skyward as the North Blue Fleet broke through the surface, ten warships ascending in tight formation, dragged into the sky by a magnetic force bordering on divine.
Tokikake screamed as wind ripped across the deck. His face warped under the pressure, eyes bulging in disbelief. He clutched at the mast like a drowning man.
The realization hit like thunder.
Gion stood frozen, knuckles white on the railing. The icy shock in her chest gave way to something else—something molten. Awe. Fury. Excitement.
The strategic value was immeasurable.
Mobility. Surprise. Detachment from the ocean's chains. They could strike from angles no enemy could predict.
Above them, the clouds thickened.
She could already imagine Sengoku's face when he saw this.
Beside her, Momonga gave a helpless, wry laugh.
This was what Darren had built.
This was the secret he'd poured resources into—quietly, deliberately.
Using the power of the Magnet-Magnet Fruit, Darren had transformed ten warships into airborne titans—levitating not by wind, but by force.
His voice pierced the sky.
Darren stood tall, hands behind his back, the wind biting at his black suit and white cloak. His gaze swept across his fleet like a hawk surveying its dominion.
His smile was cold, radiant.
"We have one objective."
"—To hunt down Byrnndi World."
The roar of ten ships and a thousand voices shook the heavens.
Back at the Marine 321st Branch, thousands of stationed soldiers watched in silence, eyes shining with shock and burning pride.
They raised their arms and saluted in unison, water raining down from the sky like a storm of consecration.
No matter how this battle ended, the world would remember the day the North Blue bared its fangs—and took to the skies.