Chapter 83: Smoker vs Luffy (II)
Smoker's body dissolved.
Not in parts, not in pieces. All of him. His legs, his torso, his arms, his face. Everything became smoke. A white cloud that billowed outward, filling the space between them, expanding faster than Luffy could track. The square disappeared behind a wall of white.
Luffy threw himself backward. His hands found the stones of the execution platform, pulled him up, away from the smoke that rolled toward him like a wave. He landed on the platform's base, crouched, eyes scanning.
The smoke moved with purpose. It coiled around the lampposts, crept across the broken stones, climbed the walls of the buildings surrounding the square. It wasn't spreading randomly. It was hunting.
Luffy's fist came up, ready. His Haki flickered at the edge of his perception, there and gone, there and gone. He couldn't rely on it. Not consistently. Not yet.
The smoke surged.
A pillar of white shot toward him, fast as a bullet. Luffy dove sideways, the pillar crashing into the execution platform behind him. Wood splintered. Stone cracked. The platform shuddered but held.
Luffy hit the ground rolling, came up with his fists raised. The smoke was everywhere now. It filled the square, climbing the walls, blocking out the grey sky. He couldn't see the buildings. Couldn't see the streets. Couldn't see anything but white.
A fist formed in the smoke. Solid. Human. It swung at his head.
Luffy ducked, drove his shoulder into the smoke, felt resistance, felt flesh. His Haki held just long enough to connect. The fist dissolved, and the smoke swallowed him.
He couldn't breathe. The smoke was in his nose, his throat, his lungs. He staggered, coughing, and a knee drove into his stomach. He doubled over. An elbow cracked against his spine. He fell.
He hit the ground, rolled, stretched his arm toward a lamppost he couldn't see. His hand found something solid. He pulled.
He shot out of the smoke cloud, crashing into a building across the square. His back hit the wall, the impact knocking the breath from him. He slid down, gasping, his lungs burning.
The smoke followed.
It moved like water, pouring across the square, climbing the walls, reaching for him. Luffy pushed himself up, ran. His legs screamed. His ribs screamed. Everything screamed.
He leaped onto a market stall, then another, then the roof of a shop. The smoke was below him now, churning, searching. He had a moment. Just a moment.
His chest heaved. Blood dripped from a cut above his eye, ran down his cheek, fell into the smoke below. He watched it disappear, watched the smoke pulse where the blood landed.
It knew where he was.
The smoke shot upward.
Luffy jumped. His arm stretched, caught a chimney, pulled him onto the next roof. The smoke followed, a pillar of white that tore through the tiles behind him. He ran. The smoke was faster.
It caught his leg, wrapped around his ankle, pulled. He slammed into the roof, slid, caught himself on the edge. The smoke was dragging him down. He kicked, felt his Haki flicker, felt his leg go solid for a moment, and the smoke released him.
He rolled onto his back, gasping. The smoke was forming above him now, coalescing into something solid. Smoker's face emerged first, then his shoulders, then his chest. He was almost fully human again, standing on the roof, his jitte in his hand.
He looked down at Luffy. Blood dripped from his own wounds. His lip was still split. His cheek was bruising. But his eyes were hard, and his smoke was still pulsing around them, a wall of white that surrounded the roof.
"You can hit me," Smoker said. "Sometimes. Not always. But I can always hit you." He raised the jitte. "And every time I do, you get weaker."
Luffy pushed himself up. His arms shook. His legs shook. But he stood.
"Your crew is gone. Your ship is gone. Your power is fading." Smoker stepped forward. "Why are you still fighting?"
Luffy's lips cracked into something that might have been a smile. "Because you're still standing."
He lunged.
Smoker dissolved. Luffy's fist passed through smoke. The jitte came out of nowhere, caught him in the ribs. His strength drained, and Smoker's knee drove into his stomach, and his elbow cracked against Luffy's jaw.
Luffy flew backward, crashed through a chimney, rolled across the roof. He caught himself at the edge, barely.
Smoker was already there, his smoke reforming, his jitte swinging.
Luffy dropped off the roof.
He fell three stories, hit the ground, rolled, came up running. The smoke was above him, over him, around him. He ducked into an alley, ran between buildings, heard the smoke tearing through the space behind him.
He burst out into a street, saw the Going Merry's mast in the distance, saw his crew's ship slipping toward open water. They were safe. They were almost gone.
The smoke poured into the street behind him.
Luffy ran. His legs were heavy. His lungs were burning. He could feel the Sea Prism Stone's effect lingering, draining him, pulling at his strength. Every step was harder than the last.
He rounded a corner, found himself back in the square. The execution platform stood in the center, scarred from their battle but still standing. He ran toward it, heard the smoke behind him, felt it reaching for him.
He jumped.
His arm stretched, caught the top of the platform, pulled him up. He landed on the wooden stage, turned, fists raised.
The smoke poured into the square, filled it, rose to meet him. It climbed the platform's legs, crept across the wood, reached for his feet. He stomped, drove his heel into a plank, felt his Haki flicker, felt the wood splinter.
The smoke pulled back. Just for a moment.
Smoker reformed at the base of the platform. His chest was heaving. His coat was gone, lost somewhere in the battle. His arms were bare, covered in bruises and cuts. But his eyes were still clear. Still hard.
"You can run all night," he said. "But you can't escape."
Luffy stood on the platform where Roger had died, blood dripping from his face, his arms, his legs. He could feel the fight draining out of him. His Haki was barely there, flickering at the edge of his awareness, slipping away every time he reached for it.
He looked at Smoker. At the Marine who had never let a pirate escape. At the man who had hunted him across Loguetown, who had driven him to the edge of exhaustion, who was still standing, still fighting, still waiting.
Luffy smiled.
Smoker's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing?"
Luffy bent his knees. His right fist pressed against the wooden platform, knuckles down. His left hand gripped his thigh, holding steady. His body tensed.
Smoker's smoke pulsed around him, ready to strike. "Whatever you're planning, it won't work."
Luffy's voice was quiet. "You said I can't run forever."
He pressed.
His legs compressed, his calves flattening like springs, then snapping back. His body jerked. Steam rose from his skin, thin at first, then thicker. His face flushed pink, then red. His heart hammered in his chest, a drumbeat that echoed across the square.
Smoker's eyes widened. "What..."
Luffy straightened slowly. Steam rose from his shoulders, his arms, his head. His skin was flushed, his veins visible, his eyes sharp and focused. He was breathing, but it was different now. Controlled. Deliberate.
He raised his fists. Steam curled around his knuckles, drifted up into the grey sky.
Smoker's jitte came up, his smoke coiling around him. "What did you just do?"
Luffy's lips moved. Not quite a smile. "Gear Second."
The smoke surged.
And on a rooftop across the square, a dark figure watched from the shadows. His cloak was still, his hands were clasped behind his back, his eyes fixed on the platform where the boy stood. Steam rose from rubber skin. Blood dripped from wounds that should have ended any normal fighter. But the boy was still standing. Still fighting.
The figure's lips curved. Not quite a smile. Something older. Something waiting.
He watched. And the square held its breath.