Sabo grinned. "Ha! Dragon Claw!" One hand held the steel pipe Luffy had known so well as a child, while the other turned pitch-black and collided with Sengoku's golden Buddha palm.
Sengoku now stood seven or eight meters tall, every bit a little giant. This form preserved both his agility and strength, and more importantly, allowed him to block a wider range of large-scale attacks.
Sengoku's combat experience was incredibly rich. After all, he was one of the men who, alongside Tsuru and Garp, had chased Pirate King Roger across heaven and earth. He was, after all, the Fleet Admiral.
With him guarding the execution platform, the Marines' final stronghold was absolutely secure. Even a Logia Devil Fruit user would find it meaningless to try to break through his defenses.
Sabo's hurricane-wreathed Dragon Claw did not strike Sengoku directly. Instead, it locked against him in midair, violent ripples spreading in every direction. Before the cameras, the relaxed smile on the scarred young man's face formed a stark contrast with Sengoku's grim expression.
The two of them were like the Revolutionary Army and the Marines themselves: a rising young man facing a dying old man.
Though that old man still possessed considerable strength, strength ordinary people could not defy, time—the greatest ally of all—stood on the young man's side.
And this young man could hardly wait any longer.
That overwhelming sense of déjà vu made even Sengoku sigh inwardly.
Had the Marines truly grown old? Had they truly become unfit for the times?
New-generation Marines such as Smoker and Hina had either betrayed the Marines to join the Revolutionary Army, or, like Koby and Momotaro, had come to sympathize with the Revolutionary Army's ideals.
Young people did not want to be dogs. They wanted to stand up and live as people.