Iron Fist Garp.
The name didn't explode through Level Six the way Rocks had; it spread more quietly, striking different prisoners in different ways.
Some gazes sharpened with sheer hatred, others retreated slightly, and a few old monsters who had been watching with detached interest suddenly remembered enough pain to sour their expressions without warning.
Zaraki felt every subtle shift around him.
The fear attached to Rocks belonged to an era that had nearly swallowed the world.
The reaction to Garp was far more personal—it carried the weight of broken jaws, shattered ambitions, collapsed crews, and the visceral memory of fists that struck like falling mountains.
Redfield smiled from the darkness of his cell. "So he walks with a shadow that reminds me of Rocks, yet stands beneath Garp's protection. The world has a talent for ugly jokes."
He stepped backward, allowing the shadows to swallow most of his figure once more.
"Very well, boy. I will keep watching this stage."
The old vampire's presence faded deeper into his cell, though his attention never truly left.
The other prisoners also withdrew, not from disinterest, but because the initial probe had already given them plenty to chew on.
Then, a slurred voice broke the tense quiet.
"Hey… Garp's brat."
Zaraki smelled the alcohol before he registered the sound.
Vasco Shot had dragged himself to the bars, hugging a massive wine gourd to his chest.
The stench pouring from his cell was potent enough to make Tashigi wrinkle her nose, and even Smoker's cigars struggled to compete.
"That old bastard…" Vasco hiccuped loudly, his eyes swimming with drunken resentment. "He punched over the rum I'd been aging for thirty years. Thirty years! Hic…" He shoved the gourd toward the bars.
"If you can drink from my Unfading Drunk without falling over, I'll admit you're a little stronger than that damned old man."
Magellan's expression tightened. "Do not accept anything from prisoners."
Zaraki had already walked over. Smoker simply closed his eyes, entirely unsurprised.
Under the collective gaze of Level Six, Zaraki took the gourd through the bars.
It was nearly half the size of a person and heavy enough that an ordinary Marine would need both arms just to lift it. Zaraki hoisted it with one hand and drank.
The liquor hit his throat like fire poured over a blade. It burned straight to his stomach before spreading through his body in a violent wave of heat.
For a brief moment, even the oppressive cold of Level Six retreated beneath the strength of that alcohol.
Zaraki's eyes brightened.
He drank several more mouthfuls before tossing the gourd back.
"Not bad." He wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. "But your idea of strength is pretty cheap."
Vasco caught the gourd in a daze.
Noticing how much had vanished, his drunken haze cleared slightly.
A brief silence followed, broken by Shiryu's cold laughter sliding through the corridor.
"How pathetic, Magellan."
The former Head Jailer sat behind his bars with a cigar clamped between his teeth, both hands hidden in his sleeves.
He looked at Magellan the way a butcher looks at an animal wandering too close to the chopping block.
"This is the Impel Down you're so proud of? Your order, your justice, your perfect cage… and in the end, you need Garp's brat to keep your monsters quiet."
Magellan turned slowly. "Shiryu."
Shiryu's smile widened. "What? Did I say something wrong? You guard these cells every day, pretending your restraint is honor, pretending this prison is justice. Yet whenever one of these monsters looks too dangerous, you hide behind the rules instead of cutting their throats yourself."
Purple venom began rolling over Magellan's broad shoulders. "Shut your mouth."
"Or what?" Shiryu leaned forward, smoke curling around his face. "You'll throw me into prison? Too late. You already did."
The corridor grew noticeably colder.
Behind them, Hannyabal swallowed hard and began edging backward, desperately trying to reduce his presence to that of a decorative pillar.
Shiryu's gaze drifted to Zaraki. "And you. Marine Headquarters' new pet monster, Garp's little disaster, whatever title they dress you in… strip all that away, and what remains? A brat standing in a prison he doesn't understand, surrounded by men who have buried more lives than he has years."
Zaraki looked at him.
For the first time since entering Level Six, his feral grin faded into something much quieter.
"You talk like someone who wants to be cut."
Shiryu's eyes gleamed.
Magellan stepped toward the cell.
It was the moment Shiryu had been waiting for. His right hand moved in a blur so fast that even several veteran prisoners only caught the afterimage.
A thin key appeared between his fingers, drawn from a hollow space hidden inside the cigar case at his sleeve.
Before Magellan could fully react, Shiryu slid it into the lock.
Click.
The cell door opened.
Magellan's pupils shrank. "You kept a key?"
"I helped build half the procedures you trust," Shiryu murmured. "Did you truly think I entered this cell with nothing prepared?"
He moved before the final word dropped.
The former Head Jailer crossed the distance in a blur, aiming not for Magellan's throat, but for his wrist.
A pair of compact, cruelly precise Seastone restraints snapped open in his hand.
Clang!
One cuff locked around Magellan's left wrist.
The effect was instantaneous. The venom boiling across Magellan's body broke apart violently.
He didn't collapse, but the deadly poison output that had filled the corridor scattered into ragged streams, and a massive wave of weakness washed over his frame.
Shiryu's hidden dagger flashed toward him.
Magellan twisted backward at the last possible instant.
He avoided a fatal cut, but the blade still tore a deep line across his arm, splashing blood across the stone floor.
His roar shook Level Six. "Hannyabal! Lock down Level Six! Notify Fleet Admiral Sengoku! Impel Down is under Level One alert!"
Hannyabal jolted as if struck by lightning. Terror and raw ambition warred across his face for half a second before pure survival won out.
He turned and scrambled down the passage as fast as his legs could carry him.
Shiryu didn't chase him.
Instead, he walked to the golden Den Den Mushi mounted on the wall and severed the connection line with a single casual stroke.
Shiryu turned back, holding up the key ring stained with Magellan's blood.
His smile turned sickly with pleasure.
"Now then…"
He walked to the nearest cell.
Click.
Catarina Devon's door swung open.
"Oh-ho-ho-ho… finally, some air." She stepped out slowly, stretching her long limbs as though waking from a comfortable nap rather than escaping the world's greatest prison.
Click.
Avalo Pizarro's cell opened next.
"Meow-hahahaha! I was getting tired of this cage."
Click.
Vasco Shot stumbled out, hugging his gourd to his chest.
"Hic… I need better liquor."
Shiryu didn't open every cell.
Even in his madness, he understood that releasing the entire floor at once would bury his game beneath a chaos too massive to control.
Sanjuan Wolf's restraints were tied to mechanisms that couldn't be undone with a simple key.
Bullet remained inside his reinforced cell, watching the events unfold with a grin that promised absolute violence later.
Three monsters were enough to turn Level Six into a slaughterhouse.
Magellan clutched his bleeding arm, his face pale from the Seastone cuff and the sudden event.
"Shiryu… you've lost your mind. You'll destroy everything."
"Destroy?" Shiryu turned slowly.
Behind him, Devon, Pizarro, and Vasco fanned out with twisted smiles, their oppressive auras surging now that they were no longer confined.
"No, Magellan."
Shiryu reached toward the restraint mechanism beside his open cell. A metallic clamp popped open, releasing his famed blade.
Raiu slid into his waiting hand.
The dim green light of Seastone reflected along the blade's edge, gathering into a cold, unbroken line of pure killing intent.
"I am creating a new world."
From the beginning, Zaraki hadn't moved.
His gaze passed over the freed prisoners, over Magellan's weakened body, over Smoker and Zoro preparing for a fight, and finally settled on the sword in Shiryu's hand.
The way Raiu sat in Shiryu's grip was different from the weapons of ordinary killers. T
he blade had tasted far too much blood, and the man holding it wanted nothing more than to feed it endlessly.
Zaraki's grin returned. "So that's your sword."
Shiryu looked at him.
Zaraki's fingers clamped around Murasame's hilt. "Good. I was starting to think this prison would only let me look."