The latter half of the New World.
Marco's expression was incomparably grim, his eyes locked tightly onto the figure flying ahead of him.
The chase had already gone on for more than a day.
That bastard King had no intention of stopping to fight him at all. He just kept running.
And as he fled, he hurled down flames, leaving the towns below in utter ruins.
Marco had forgotten how many times he had flown into a rage. He only knew that, by the end, he was nearly numb whenever he saw a town swallowed by fire.
But there was one thing he had never forgotten.
He had to catch that bastard!
And at this moment.
Up ahead.
King, who had been speeding forward, paused almost imperceptibly as the Den Den Mushi in his arms began to ring.
There was no need to answer it.
King looked back at Marco, who was rapidly pursuing him.
The game was over.
The flames behind his head vanished in the next instant. Then, with a whoosh, King became a black streak and shot forward.
What?
Marco froze.
How could he be so fast?
"Bastard! Don't run!!"
Marco practically screamed. Although he had yet to process what was happening, he instinctively felt that something very bad was about to happen.
But the gap in speed was too vast. Even as Marco beat his wings with all his strength, all he could do was watch helplessly as King flew farther and farther away, until he vanished beyond the horizon.
A surge of panic suddenly rose in Marco's heart.
Where was this guy going next?
This is bad! I have to notify Pops immediately!
The Whitebeard Pirates.
Marco's call came through at once.
"...Pops! That's what happened! I suspect that bastard King is on his way