As Draco stepped closer to Kong's unconscious body, a hail of bullets rained down from afar. The projectiles, however, bounced harmlessly off his body, ricocheting away like pebbles striking steel. His near-impenetrable defense rendered the effort futile.
"Mhm," Draco muttered, acknowledging the assault without breaking stride. The corner of his mouth curled slightly in faint amusement, but he ignored the attackers entirely.
Reaching Kong's unconscious body, Draco knelt down, extending his hand to form a finger pistol aimed directly at Kong's head. His crimson eyes were cold and unfeeling as he whispered, "Goodbye, Fleet Admiral Kong."
Without any visible movement, Draco unleashed his technique,
{Normal Series: Normal Sniper}
A compact, concentrated air bullet erupted from his fingertip, piercing through Kong's skull in an instant. The shot continued through, carving a precise three-centimeter hole straight out the back of his head and disappearing into the icy sea beyond. Kong's body lay still, the finality of the attack undeniable.
"No! Fleet Admiral Kong!"
"Someone stop him! Kill him!"
"AHHH!!!"
"Shoot him!"
"Lets get him!"
The cries of the Marines rang out, filled with grief and panic. The death of their Fleet Admiral sent a wave of despair rippling through their ranks. Some turned and fled, their morale shattered. Others, driven by rage or desperation, charged forward with their blades raised, ready to avenge the late Fleet Admiral Kong.
"They should've done that before he died," Draco remarked flatly, rising to his full height. His voice, calm and devoid of sympathy, carried a weight of uncaringness.
He lifted his leg slowly, as if giving the world a moment to anticipate what was about to happen.
{Normal Series: Normal Stomp}
The moment his foot hit the ground, the battlefield erupted. The sheer force of his stomp sent shockwaves tearing through the ice, shattering the frozen terrain into countless fragments. Massive chunks of ice were hurled into the air, while the battlefield itself lifted and twisted under the force, before flipping entirely, the once-stable surface now an unrecognizable mess of jagged chaos.
The destruction was overwhelming. Even compared to the legendary battles of Roger and Garp, whose conqueror's haki had incapacitated those around them, Draco's raw physical power was unrivaled. This wasn't intimidation—it was obliteration.
Amid the chaos of cracking ice and panicked screams, Draco crouched down nonchalantly into a squat, observing the devastation with a detached expression. His crimson eyes flickered as they took in the scene, his face unreadable.
"Life... can sure be taken easily in any world," he murmured, almost to himself, his tone as cold as the frozen battlefield beneath him.
A brave Marine, trembling but resolute, snuck up behind him, screaming, "For Fleet Admiral Kong!" He swung his blade with all his might, aiming directly for Draco's neck.
Clang.
The blade stopped as if it had struck solid iron. Draco didn't flinch.
"Huh," Draco murmured, finally looking up at the bearded Marine who now stood frozen in terror.
The Marine stammered incoherently, his hands shaking so much that he dropped the blade. Before he could react, Draco casually grabbed him by the knee and tossed him into the sea like a discarded doll. His trajectory arced high before plunging deep into the ocean.
Draco watched him through his observation haki, following his descent into the abyss, where the crushing pressure of the sea began to take its toll. With a small sigh, Draco dusted himself off, noticing the bullet holes riddling the back of his clothing.
"Aw... what the hell, man~" Draco's complaint was interrupted by a familiar, shrill voice.
"Draco!! Was that you!?!?" Buggy screamed from afar, his voice cracking with panic. Enel followed close behind, limping but still moving.
"Eeek! The whole battlefield just got flipped!" Buggy yelled, clutching his head as he stumbled forward.
"Yeah," Draco replied simply, his expression unchanging.
Buggy froze mid-step, beads of sweat rolling down his face. Looking at Draco's unbothered demeanor, a shiver ran down Buggy's spine. "This guy… he really is the strongest," Buggy thought, his mind flashing back to Draco's earlier feats, including the destruction of Sky Island itself.
Beside Buggy, Enel panted heavily, blood still oozing from his wounds. He managed to ask weakly, "How… how did you get so strong?"
Draco turned, stepping closer to the pair. Without a word, he rested a hand on each of their shoulders, a faint glow emanating from his palm. In moments, their wounds began to heal, the pain subsiding.
"100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, 100 squa-" Draco began, a wide grin forming on his face.
"Don't lie," Buggy interrupted, his face deadpan and his tone almost annoyed.
The memory of Draco saying this exact phrase months ago, during one of their early training sessions, made Buggy roll his eyes. "You usually just drink booze and sleep all day!"
"You're right," Draco admitted with a smile before turning to Enel. "Just train."
Emboldened by the healing and the response, Enel perked up. "Then can you train m-"
"No," Draco cut him off, his tone final, not even sparing a glance as he began walking toward the battlefield once more.
Enel stood there, mouth agape, confusion plastered across his face. Buggy, shaking his head with a knowing smile, clapped a hand on Enel's shoulder. "Yeah, welcome to the club. You'll understand him, the more you hang around."
Draco continued walking, casually tossing a comment over his shoulder. "Oh, by the way, I killed Fleet Admiral Kong."
Buggy froze, his legs giving out beneath him. " Wha~Akk…!" he choked on his saliva, his knees weak as the weight of Draco's words sank in.
'I guess I don't know everything,' Buggy thought, tears welling in his eyes as he wept silently, the revelation shaking him to his core.
Enel, baffled by Buggy's reaction, jogged to catch up with Draco. "So… is it really true? You only need 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, 100 squats—"
"Maybe," Draco interrupted, shrugging casually. His nonchalant tone left Enel even more curious.
Behind them, Buggy sat on the ground, still processing the absurdity of Draco's overwhelming power.
[Rayleigh and Scopper]
On the other side of the battlefield roared, Rayleigh and Scopper stood back-to-back, fending off the relentless onslaught of Marines. Wave after wave of attackers surged toward them, armed with guns, blades, and devil fruits, their ranks seemingly endless.
"This is worse than that paper devil fruit fiasco…" Scopper muttered, his twin axes cleaving through several Marines who charged at him.
"Agreed," Rayleigh replied, parrying a strike and countering with a quick slash that sent his opponent sprawling. "These men are disciplined, and their wills are strong. They've come prepared."
Most of the Marines, despite their numbers, were fodder compared to the two powerhouses on Rogers Crew. However, these weren't ordinary soldiers, many were handpicked elites from Marine Headquarters. Conqueror's Haki, which would have incapacitated lesser men, barely scratched their resolve.
As they fought, Rayleigh caught a glimpse of Roger and Garp battling high above the battlefield, their monumental clash sending shockwaves that rippled through the air. A thunderous boom tore through the chaos, and both Rayleigh and Scopper instinctively turned toward its source.
Across the icy battlefield, they saw an enormous section of the frozen ground flip, shatter, and break apart in an awe-inspiring display of power.
"Draco…" Rayleigh muttered under his breath, recognizing the destructive force as none other than his friend's handiwork.
Before he could dwell on it, Rayleigh's Observation Haki flared, alerting him to danger. A Rear Admiral, his cutlass coated in Armament Haki, lunged forward with a bellowing cry.
"Dark King… RAYLEIGH!" the Marine roared, swinging for Rayleigh's midsection.
Rayleigh sidestepped with practiced ease, his smirk growing as he adjusted his glasses. "Stronger than the rest, huh?" he remarked casually, before delivering a lightning-fast counterattack. Their blades clashed, sparks flying as the Rear Admiral gritted his teeth against the immense pressure.
With a sudden burst of strength, Rayleigh pushed the Marine back, sending him skidding across the battlefield. As the Rear Admiral regained his footing, another Marine tried to flank Rayleigh, only to be cut in half with a single, fluid motion. Blood splattered the ice as Rayleigh turned his attention back to the Rear Admiral, who was already charging again.
Rayleigh's calm expression hardened as he took a stance.
{Dark… Cross}
He swung his sword in a calculated arc, unleashing a slashing projectile in the shape of a cross that flew toward the Marine.
"Huh?!" The Rear Admiral raised his arms, coating them in Armament Haki in a desperate attempt to block the attack. The force sent him reeling, his defense barely holding up.
Unbeknownst to him, Scopper had already moved into position. With his twin axes spinning furiously, generating immense kinetic energy, Scopper launched himself toward the distracted Marine.
{Copper Serpent!}
Scopper roared, his spiraling form slicing through the air like a drill. In a single devastating strike, he severed the Marine's arms, leaving him screaming in agony.
"AAAHHH!" the Marine cried out, staggering back.
Rayleigh, swift and precise, used Soru to close the gap. In one clean motion, he decapitated the armless Marine, ending his suffering in an instant. Blood sprayed as the lifeless body collapsed to the ground.
"Nice work, Rayleigh," Scopper said with a smirk, landing gracefully beside him. "Thought that scream was too loud"
Before they could revel in their victory, a sudden beam of light pierced through the air, striking Scopper's shoulder.
"Augh!" Scopper cried out, stumbling backward as he clutched the smoking wound, a clean, two-centimeter hole that had burned through his flesh. He quickly ducked behind a jagged chunk of ice for cover, assessing the injury.
"Watch out!" Scopper shouted.
Rayleigh, already prepared, moved with precision. He evaded one laser beam with fluid agility and deflected another with his sword, sending it harmlessly into the sky. His sharp gaze locked onto their assailant.
"Vice Admiral Kizaru," Rayleigh said, his tone steely as he straightened up.
Perched atop a towering shard of ice, Kizaru stood with his usual nonchalant demeanor, a faint, amused smile on his lips. The golden glow of his devil fruit illuminated his surroundings, casting long shadows across the fractured battlefield.
"My, my, Dark King Rayleigh… and Scopper Gaban," Kizaru said lazily. "You're both so terrifying. Killing that poor Rear Admiral so mercilessly…" His words carried an air of mockery, though his expression betrayed no genuine fear.
Scopper grit his teeth, blood trickling down his arm as he leaned out from cover. "Tch… this bastard's fast."
Rayleigh, unfazed, adjusted his stance, his eyes narrowing. "How nice of you to join us, I hope you're ready."
Kizaru chuckled, raising a glowing hand. "Well, I suppose we'll find out soon enough."
[At Night]
The battlefield was shrouded in darkness, the sun long set, leaving the moon to cast its pale glow over the frozen carnage below. The air was thick with the scent of blood and smoke, and the ceaseless echoes of combat rang out across the icy wasteland.
High above, Garp and Roger's monumental clash continued unabated, their powerful blows shaking the ground beneath them and illuminating the night with bursts of energy. Neither man showed any sign of yielding, their determination burning brighter than the moon itself.
On one of the distant battleships stationed near the edge of the battlefield, a grim scene played out among the surviving Marines. The deck, lit dimly by lanterns, was filled with an oppressive air.
Injured soldiers lay on bloodied stretchers, some groaning in pain, others eerily silent. The uninjured stood on guard or watched the battle from the rails, their faces pale and hollow, their hands gripping their weapons tightly, though their resolve faltered.
"This is... insane," one young Marine muttered, his voice trembling as his gaze swept across the battlefield. "So many of us have already died."
A grizzled Marine standing nearby exhaled a shaky breath, his rifle slung over his shoulder. "Look at the piles of bodies over there…" he murmured, pointing to the distant, shadowy heaps that littered the icy plain like broken monuments to their comrades.
"They're monsters…" another whispered, tears streaming down his face. "Those Roger Pirates never tire! Look at the Fishman~he's been fighting forever! And that swordsman over there hasn't stopped since the battle started!" His voice broke into a sob, his hand trembling as he pointed at the battlefield.
A sharp cry of anguish cut through the air, drawing the attention of the Marines on deck. One of their own had collapsed to his knees, clutching the lifeless body of another soldier.
"Brother!!! No!!!" the Marine wailed, his voice cracking as he rocked back and forth, grief consuming him.
A few of his comrades turned away, unable to bear the sight. Others gripped their weapons tighter, their faces grim with suppressed emotion.
"War…" an older Marine muttered from where he sat against a crate, his cigar trembling in his weathered fingers. "It just means death for us. That's all it's ever been." His voice was low, almost lost in the chaos of the distant battle, but those nearby heard him clearly.
"Yeah," another Marine said softly, his gaze fixed on the battlefield with hollow eyes. His expression was one of resignation, as if he knew that the moonlight shining down on them would likely be the last they'd ever see.
The cries of the wounded mixed with the sounds of swords clashing, cannon fire, and the occasional roar of a devil fruit attack from the distance. The deck seemed to vibrate under their feet as another massive shockwave rippled across the battlefield, likely from Garp and Roger's ongoing duel.
A younger Marine leaned against the rail, his knuckles white as he gripped it for support. "How can anyone fight against that?" he asked no one in particular, his voice barely above a whisper. "What can we even do? We're just... ants to them."
The older Marine took a long drag of his cigar, letting the smoke drift lazily upward. "We do what we've always done, kid," he said, his voice weary but steady.
"We stand. We fight. And we hope… that maybe we can make it out alive. But…" He looked down at the deck, his hands trembling again. "Hope doesn't mean much in a war like this."
The moonlight reflected off the icy battlefield, casting long shadows over the carnage. Among the chaos, the Roger Pirates' relentless presence was unmistakable. Each of them, from the monstrous strength of Roger to the unyielding blade of the Rayleigh, seemed more like forces of nature than men.
On the battleship, the Marines stood in silence, their spirits crushed, their fears palpable. As the cries of the wounded and dying echoed across the night, the weight of war bore down on them like a storm, threatening to swallow them whole.