Pizarro's pupils suddenly contracted.
Crackle—
Thunder shadows grew denser and denser, rolling peals of thunder pressed down as the clear sky turned dark in an instant.
Dark clouds blanketed the heavens, lightning serpents darting back and forth. Each flash bleached the entire island white for a moment.
The flask in Shot's hand hit the ground with a clatter. Liquor spilled through the cracks between the stones, yet he did not even dare lower his head for a glance.
The mocking smile on Devon's face froze completely as she slowly raised her head toward the sky.
Thunderstorms were not uncommon in the New World, but one on this scale, coupled with that terrifying pressure from before that had made it hard to breathe...
There were hardly any people capable of doing this. No—!!!
More precisely, there was only one.
Pizarro's neck was as stiff as iron as he slowly raised his head.
The blue-white sphere of light at the center of the clouds grew brighter and brighter, painfully dazzling.
The corner of his mouth twitched uncontrollably, and even his voice changed pitch. "No way..."
The disaster from a month ago was still vivid in his mind. Those two retired old monsters, Garp and Sengoku, had descended from the sky and smashed the Blackbeard Pirates to pieces.
Lafitte and Doc Q had died on the spot, while the three of them had been completely separated from their main ship.
They had finally escaped, only to be chased by Cipher Pol agents for an entire month. They had only just shaken off their pursuers today when they ran into a few rookie brats who had just entered the New World.
They had planned to steal a ship and casually slaughter a few newcomers for fun, but that hat-wearing brat had suddenly gone mad.