"Oh, you're back, Blackbeard. You were too slow. A little slower and it would've been perfect—I could've finished them all off."
Werther tossed Blackbeard a severed head. Its tongue hung out, and its face was twisted with pain and resentment.
That was Big Barrel Vasco Shot's head.
The Blackbeard Pirates' three remaining officers were in terrible shape too.
Jesus Burgess, the Champion, had more than a dozen sword wounds across his chest, exposing his pale ribs. With his arm already injured, he now sat on the ground, gasping for breath.
Corrupt King Avalo Pizarro was no better off. One of the two white horns on his head had been severed. One of his massive arms was gone as well, its ragged stump suggesting Jin Hu had shot it off by force.
Doc Q, the Death God, was in the best condition, but he still spat up great mouthfuls of blood. This was nothing like his earlier coughing. A dead horse lay beside him, cut cleanly in two. The mirror-smooth wound looked like Werther's work.
The Blackbeard Pirates were a sorry sight, but Werther had paid a price for trying to end the fight quickly. He stood bare-chested with a sword in each hand, a broad patch of flesh on his chest torn and bloody, apparently by something spinning at high speed. One arm had turned bluish-black from a potent poison.
Werther had already used a powerful antivenom serum made by Tuski. The Lightning within him was also destroying and expelling the toxins, and the discoloration was slowly fading.
"Hah... hah..." Blackbeard breathed heavily. He no longer felt like shouting threats. There was no point.
All Blackbeard felt now was regret. He had fallen into Werther's trap.
And that was exactly what had happened. During their earlier fight, Werther had held