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The wind tore through the sky, and thunder shook the heavens.
Bastille's eyes widened as he stared up at the apex of the sky, at that colossal presence.
A swirling mass of black clouds had formed into a perfect sphere, like a giant black orb, its surface flickering with countless tiny sparks, veins of blue lightning snaking across it in a dense web.
It was impossible to gauge how much power this sphere held—or the destruction it could unleash.
But Bastille knew one thing for certain: this was no natural phenomenon.
Everything about it originated from that young Vice Admiral.
His gaze shifted toward the center of the island, but Kyle's figure was gone. Only after a moment did he notice, beneath that massive dark orb, a figure crackling with lightning.
"Rumble—!"
A chorus of thunder rolled together, deep and terrifying, like the voice of the heavens themselves.
The wind roared violently. Ripples of energy radiated outward, twisting the air itself.
"This is the harbinger of a natural disaster!"
Bastille muttered, stunned, staring at the gigantic ball of lightning in the sky.
Behind him, the Marines craned their necks to look up, while the civilians huddled together, trembling with fear.
Boom!
Suddenly, a deafening sound shattered the air.
The black orb exploded with thousands of lightning arcs, then, as if activated, blazed with searing, blinding light.
It fell from the sky, slowly but impossibly fast, straight toward Baterilla Island.
In what seemed like seconds—maybe a breath or two—the orb slammed into the island.
Everyone went blind for a moment, ears filled with a sound that could shatter the soul.
Lightning exploded outward, stretching tens of thousands of meters, a frenzy of cold, destructive energy that swept across the island.
Buildings disintegrated. Trees turned to dust. Flames roared up. The ground became scorched earth.
Everything was annihilated, consumed by the dazzling storm, twisted into nothingness.
Bastille shivered uncontrollably, staring blankly at the scene.
He couldn't even describe the awe that gripped him, a mix of fear and reverence for the young Vice Admiral's power.
A shockwave slammed through, tearing at his clothes and tossing the warship farther away.
Space itself seemed to bend. Baterilla Island had become a burning sun, radiating blinding, searing light in all directions.
Time became meaningless. When the glow finally receded, the Marines opened their eyes, pain stabbing their vision, tears streaming.
When they saw the island, their mouths fell open.
"Wh—!"
"Baterilla Island…?"
"It's gone!"
"All of it… it was just a thriving island, now it's completely scorched."
Gasps and fearful murmurs filled the air.
The island's surface was nothing but blackened remnants. Buildings, trees, flowers, rivers—everything was gone. Only blue arcs of lightning flickered sporadically, sparking and crackling.
Crack!
A bolt of lightning shot across the sky, arriving before them in an instant.
And from that flash, a figure stepped forward.
"Vice Admiral Kyle!"
Shouts rang out.
Bastille tensed, instinctively bowing slightly.
Hovering above the scorched land, surrounded by crackling lightning, Kyle said nothing. He merely nodded once before vanishing in another flash of electric light.
Bastille took a deep breath, staring at the island turned to ash, his heart hammering.
"Raijin…"
He muttered the name reverently, turning his head with a grave expression.
The evacuation of the island's civilians had to be done right.
He had decided: he was sticking with this powerhouse.
To hell with the World Government.
About half an hour later, at the temporary South Sea base:
"What did you say?"
Sengoku shot upright, shock plastered across his face.
"Vice Admiral Kyle… wiped Baterilla Island off the map half an hour ago?"
The Marine officer in front of him confirmed, eyes wide.
"Countless bolts of lightning rained from the sky, reducing everything on the island to scorched earth."
"We've already sent teams to survey the island."
"But reports indicate the temperature around the island has soared past 100 degrees Celsius. Normal soldiers can't even approach."
He paused, then added,
"Even the terrain itself—thanks to his Devil Fruit power—is constantly flashing with violent lightning. In other words, Baterilla Island has become a lightning island. No one can survive there."
Sengoku's expression flickered.
After a long pause, he slammed the table with a loud thud.
"That brat… what on earth is he trying to do?"
An order to protect pregnant women, and yet he destroyed an entire island?
Was this a warning? A show of force?
"What about the people on the island?"
Sengoku asked, calming himself.
"We contacted Colonel Bastille," the officer said. "He's already evacuated the civilians to other areas—pregnant women included. He acted under Vice Admiral Kyle's orders."
Sengoku fell silent, absorbing the words. After a long while, he let out a heavy sigh, his face a mixture of frustration and admiration.
"That brat…"
"His mind is more complicated than I thought."
The sequence of events quickly became clear. Sengoku realized immediately what Kyle's act meant:
A silent protest. A subtle rebellion.
"Those five old men aren't easy to fool," he muttered, eyes sharp.
In the shining palaces of Mariejois, the Holy Land of the Red Line continent:
"One strike, an entire island erased, its geography and climate forever altered."
"His Logia-type Devil Fruit has reached its peak."
"By power alone, Kyle has already reached the world's top tier. He's qualified to be an Admiral."
A frail, authoritative voice rumbled.
"But add in what he said… his heart is unforgivable!"
"He can only be a blade in our hands, never fully trusted."
"And if necessary…"
The words trailed off, but the meaning was clear. The five elders' eyes gleamed coldly.
After a moment, the elder with a sword at his waist spoke calmly:
"First, he killed the witnesses against Roger."
"Then he relocated the island's 'criminals,' scattering them worldwide so we lost every lead."
"If he hadn't captured Roger personally, we could have charged him with secretly aiding the enemy."
Another elder chimed in:
"This is a total, utter defiance of our orders!"
"And then…"
"…the island erased in a single strike."
The elder fell silent, the sheer destructive power demanding respect and caution.
"It's a show of force," another said.
"He's expressing dissatisfaction with our orders."
Silence followed. After a long moment, one elder finally spoke:
"Patience. It's not yet time to confront him. This blade still needs sharpening."
He paused, eyes narrowing with cold intent.
"According to his records, he was born in the West Sea… Ohara!"
"..."
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