The warm, convivial atmosphere in Shakky's bar slowly dissipated, replaced by the grim purpose that always clung to the Vortex Pirates like a second skin.
The laughter and shared stories faded into the background as Ragnar drained the last of his wine, the deep red liquid vanishing like a final toast to the brief respite. He set the glass down with a definitive clink and his gaze swept over his assembled crew.
His eyes cataloged them, his pillars of strength and chaos: Zoro, a contained storm of green hair and sharpened steel; Kuro, a shadow given human form; Bartolomeo, a fanatic whose devotion was a weapon in itself; Wyper, a warrior whose very bloodline thrummed with electric potential.
Then his women, Nami, her intellect as sharp as her clima-tact; Robin, a historian who could unravel the world with her hands; Nojiko, steady and resilient; Isabella, whose gentle light held untold power; and now Bonney, a child-empress clinging to a new hope. They were ready. They were his crew.
Rayleigh, observing the shift, took a slow sip from his own glass. "Do you need any help getting off this archipelago?" he said, the offer genuine. "The Admiral is likely to throw everything they have at the gates now."
"We are not planning to stay and play with them for long, and we will be leaving sooner than they can possibly anticipate," Ragnar said as he offered a confident smile.
"How will you do that, though?" Shakky asked, her curiosity piqued. Escaping Sabaody with two Admirals and a fleet blockading it was supposed to be impossible.
"We have our ways," Ragnar said cryptically. He walked over to the corner where the unconscious form of X Drake lay, grabbed him by the scruff of his armor, and with a casual flick of his wrist, tossed the massive man into the shimmering aperture of his Heaven's Dimension.
The Supernova vanished without a sound, swallowed by the pocket reality.
With a final nod to Rayleigh and Shakky, Ragnar led his crew out of the bar and back into the chaotic groves of Sabaody.
Behind them, Luffy made a lunge to follow, shouting about adventure, but was instantly tackled by a panicked Usopp and a scowling Sanji.
"Are you insane, you rubber-brained idiot?! They're heading straight for the Admirals!" Sanji yelled, holding him back. Even Rayleigh added his voice low and serious.
"Stay here, boy. Following them now would be throwing your life away for nothing. Your time will come, but not today, facing that."
On Ragnar's side, they moved with purpose through the wreckage-littered groves, heading not for the coast, but deeper inland, towards Grove 1.
After a couple of minutes, the air itself seemed to grow heavy, the distant sounds of marine battleships cutting through the mangroves becoming a deafening roar.
They emerged into a large, relatively clear area just as the vanguard of the Marine fleet arrived, their hulls scraping against the roots of the giant trees.
At the bow of the lead ship stood two figures that radiated absolute power. On one side was Kuzan, Aokiji, his tall frame slouched in a posture of lazy apathy that belied the freezing death he commanded.
On the other hand, having returned from his fruitless chase, was Borsalino, Kizaru, his lips drawn into a thin, displeased line, his yellow pinstripe suit immaculate despite the earlier humiliation.
Ragnar stopped, his crew fanning out behind him in a practiced, deadly formation. He smiled first, a wide, mocking grin directed at Aokiji.
"Kuzan! Still working for the dogs that let your friend die? Some justice." The barb landed with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel, and Aokiji's lazy demeanor sharpened, his eyes narrowing.
He himself knew that he hadn't killed Saul, but it still irritated him to be mocked like this by Ragnar.
Then Ragnar turned his gaze to Kizaru. "And you, Yellow Monkey. Did you enjoy your little light show earlier? Or did you just come back for another lesson in humility?"
Kizaru's affected nonchalance was shattered. "You… insolent brat," he hissed, the words uncharacteristically sharp. The memory of his powers being so effortlessly invalidated was a fresh, festering wound on his pride.
Irritated beyond measure, the two Admirals decided to end the farce. In a simultaneous burst of motion, Aokiji became a blur of freezing mist, shooting directly towards Ragnar, while Kizaru dissolved into a stream of golden light, aiming to bypass the captain and decimate his crew.
Only Aokiji made it to Ragnar. The ground between them flash-froze into a sheet of solid ice, the very air crystallizing. The fight between the Sea Scourge and the Cold Emperor began anew, a cataclysm of opposing wills.
Kizaru, however, found his path abruptly and violently blocked.
He rematerialized, expecting to be amidst panicking pirates, only to find himself facing a wall of unwavering resolve.
Before him stood Zoro, Wyper, Bartolomeo, and Kuro. Behind them, forming a second line, were Nami, Robin, Isabella, Nojiko, and Bonney.
"Out of my way, rabble," Kizaru intoned, completely abandoning his usual way of speaking, that's how much Ragnar had gotten under his skin today. Then he raised a hand that began to glow with nuclear intensity.
It was then that he felt it. A familiar, terrifying sensation. The connection to his Pika Pika no Mi, the very source of his identity and power, suddenly felt… distant, again.
The light gathering at his fingertips sputtered and died. His eyes widened in shock and darted to Ragnar, who was locked in combat with Aokiji, clearly not the source.
Then his gaze fell on Isabella, standing calmly in the back line. On her wrist, he saw it, a bracelet identical to the one Ragnar wore, glowing with a soft, counterintuitive luminescence.
Realization dawned, it was a cold and horrifying one. It wasn't just Ragnar. This woman, whoever she was, possessed the same ability to negate his Devil Fruit!
A feeling of profound helplessness, a ghost of the one he'd felt against Ragnar, threatened to swamp him. But he was an Admiral.
He crushed the feeling. So what if he couldn't turn into light? His Observation and Armament Haki were still top-tier. He could still crush these "punks" with sheer physical supremacy.
He was wrong.
The battle that ensued was not a fight; it was a symphony of coordinated annihilation, and Kizaru was the sole instrument being played.
Zoro moved first. He didn't draw his swords. Instead, he closed his eyes, and when he opened them, his iris glowed with an ethereal green-white light.
A halo, intricate like a navigator's compass, materialized behind his head, its needle pointing unerringly at Kizaru's core. This was the Eyes of the North Star.
To Zoro, the world transformed. Kizaru was no longer a man, but a nexus of violent intent and spiritual pressure, his every potential movement visible as shimmering, directional flows.
Zoro could see the micro-shift in Kizaru's weight that presaged a kick, the tensing of his shoulder before a punch. It was flawless awareness, turning his already preternatural instinct into near-omniscient combat sense.
"Left leg, low sweep," Zoro grunted.
As if on cue, Bartolomeo screamed, "FOR RAGNAR!!" A massive, unbreakable golden barrier, shaped like a stylized, winged spear, the symbol of their captain, erupted from the ground exactly where Zoro had indicated.
Kizaru's powerful kick, meant to shatter Bartolomeo's ribs, connected with the barrier instead.
A sound like a cathedral bell being struck echoed through the grove, and Kizaru felt the vibration shoot painfully up his leg. Bartolomeo's aura flared, casting a shimmering, protective shield over his nearby allies.
His barriers were no longer just defensive; they were extensions of his faith, becoming battering rams, cages, and giant, grasping hands that harried the Admiral from all sides.
While Bartolomeo occupied Kizaru's front, Kuro acted. He didn't seem to move. One moment he was ten feet away, the next, Kizaru felt a presence directly behind him. It was the Shakushi: Void Step.
Kuro's ability didn't rely on speed, but on bending space itself. Observers saw only a faint afterimage where he had been. When he struck, the world "snapped" back into sync.
His claws, coated in jet-black Armament Haki, raked across Kizaru's back. There was no sound of impact at first, only the whisper of cutting air. Then, a half-second later, a delayed shockwave of force exploded outwards, tearing Kizaru's pristine suit and drawing first blood.
Kizaru spun, lashing out with a Haki-infused palm, but Kuro was already gone, having phased through the attack, reappearing on his flank.
And then there was Wyper, With a roar, the Shandian warrior unleashed his true power. His body erupted not in flame, but in raw, crackling Lightning Logia energy.
He became a being of pure, white-hot voltage. He didn't shoot lightning; he was the lightning. He moved in blinding, unpredictable arcs, his attacks not punches or kicks, but localized thunderclaps and searing electrical discharges.
When Kizaru managed to block one of Bartolomeo's golden fists, Wyper materialized inside his guard, his fist connecting with the Admiral's jaw in an explosion of light and sound that sent Kizaru stumbling back, his face smoking, the taste of copper filling his mouth.
Kizaru was horrified. He was a mouse in a cage, being attacked from all angles by predators he couldn't properly track.
Zoro's pre-cognitive guidance made their coordination perfect. Bartolomeo's unbreakable faith formed an ever-shifting fortress around them. Kuro's spatial phasing made him an untouchable phantom. And Wyper's logia-level lightning was a relentless, elemental hammer.
He was forced to rely entirely on his Haki. His Observation Haki was strained to its limit trying to predict four different, perfectly synchronized assault patterns.
His Armament Haki was in constant, desperate use, hardening his skin against Wyper's lightning, reinforcing his limbs to parry Kuro's shockwave-delayed strikes, and empowering his own attacks to even hope of cracking Bartolomeo's barriers.
A golden hand from Bartolomeo slammed into his side. He hardened his ribs, but the force still knocked the wind from him.
A fraction of a second of distraction, and Zoro was there, not with a sword, but with a fist clad in green-hued Haki, driving into his kidney. Kizaru gasped, and in that moment, Kuro's claws left three deep gashes across his chest.
He tried to create distance with a swift Soru, but Wyper was already there, a living Tesla coil, meeting him with a discharge that sent him crashing to the ground.
He pushed himself up, his suit in tatters, blood dripping from a dozen wounds. His breath came in ragged pants. The constant, high-level use of Haki was draining him at an alarming rate.
He felt his reserves, once thought bottomless, dipping dangerously low. He looked at the faces surrounding him. Zoro's eyes were cold and analytical behind the green halo. Bartolomeo's manic, worshipful glee. Kuro's emotionless mask. Wyper's blazing, righteous fury.
For the first time in decades, Admiral Kizaru, the embodiment of unrivaled speed and light, felt slow. He felt heavy.
He felt… fear. He was not fighting a crew. He was fighting a single, multi-limbed organism of destruction, and he was losing. Badly.
The "punks" were systematically dismantling a legend, and they weren't even breathing hard. The epic fight was a masterclass in tactical butchery, and Kizaru was the sole student, failing every test.