Golden Lion Attacks, Trying to Swallow Me

Shiki's wild laughter made the glass in the throne room hum.

Several bulletproof panes already riddled with cracks could not withstand the sound waves. With a series of sharp cracks, they shattered across the floor. Shards of glass sprayed like rain onto the pitch-black iron floor.

Some struck the edges of Rektol's military boots, making faint tinkling sounds.

Rektol slowly raised his head.

Through the enormous skylight shattered by the sound waves, dozens of massive earthen islands loomed directly above the steel city walls.

The once-bright hall instantly fell into darkness. The afternoon sun was completely blocked out.

Thick sludge clung to the roots of the upside-down giant trees. Yellow-brown mudwater dripped down from the broken branches.

"Plop, plop."

The mudwater struck the fortress's sheet-iron roof, producing dull thuds. The rock layers beneath the islands ground against one another, and huge chunks of granite broke loose and crashed onto the steel breakwater below with ear-splitting booms.

Two golden sword energies cleaved through the dust in midair above the hall.

Shiki descended slowly through the hole in the dome, standing atop the famous swords Oto and Kogarashi.

He wore no shoes. The soles of his callused feet rested directly on the cold sword blades, while his loose black-and-yellow kimono snapped in the wind.

Shiki stopped in midair and looked down condescendingly at Rektol on the throne.

Dark-red scabs covered the burn scars on the right half of his face. They had been left by the lightning sword energy Rektol had scorched him with during the God Valley Battle.

The newly regrown flesh was bunched together like an ugly centipede lying across his cheek. It writhed violently as he laughed maniacally.

"Brat, your good days are over!"

Shiki exhaled a thick cloud of cigar smoke. The bluish smoke dispersed through the chilly air, carrying the fermented stench of cheap tobacco.

He pointed down with the hand holding his cigar.

"That old lunatic Rocks died in God Valley—that was his bad luck. But as for what he left behind, it's not for some brat who hasn't even grown his hair out to swallow up."

Shiki spread his arms.

The dozens of floating islands overhead descended ten meters in perfect unison with his movement.

The air pressure in the hall plummeted. A heavy weight pressed against everyone's lungs, making breathing extremely difficult.

"I'm the true heir of Rocks!"

A beast-like growl rumbled from Shiki's throat. His vocal cords rasped, and the vibration made him cough twice.

He coughed up a glob of yellow phlegm and spat it into the air beneath his feet.

"This New World is my territory now."

He pointed at Rektol with the fingers holding his cigar, then pointed toward the harbor outside the hall.

"Hand over the Pure Gold stolen from the Celestial Dragons' treasury, along with those pitch-black steel warships outside. Hand over every last one to me."

The veins in Shiki's neck bulged one after another. Droplets of saliva sprayed through the air.

"Put on my Flying Pirate Flag obediently. If I'm in a good mood, I might even reward you with a seat as a top officer."

The hall fell deathly silent.

Rektol sat upon a throne forged from hundreds of famous blades.

He did not stand. He did not even shift his posture.

He merely propped up his chin with one hand while fiddling with a loose thread on the hem of his clothes with the other.

He looked as though he were watching a clown perform desperately onstage.

Beside the throne, Katakuri strode forward.

His military boot slammed onto the iron floor, sending a tremendous echo through the hall.

Every muscle in his face was drawn taut. His chest heaved violently, and a stream of scorching white breath burst from his mouth.

Beneath his skin, patches of hard blue dragon scales forcibly broke through and flipped outward. Their edges glimmered with a cold blue light as they tore straight through his sleeve cuffs.

His bones cracked like popping beans.

The muscles in his legs swelled, bursting through his black military trousers. The fabric became strips of rag hanging from his thighs.

His toes transformed into sharp black dragon claws. The tips gouged five deep white marks into the floor, sending iron filings curling upward.

Katakuri was preparing to transform into a dragon. He intended to burn the loudmouthed loser above to death with a single breath.

A small hand reached over.

It pressed against Katakuri's bulging right shoulder.

Rektol leaned forward slightly in his chair. There was not much force in his palm.

Yet Katakuri's swelling body halted abruptly.

He turned his head and looked at his elder brother.

"Stand down." Rektol's voice was calm, as if he were discussing some trivial matter.

Katakuri clenched his teeth. His upper and lower rows of sharp teeth scraped together, producing an ear-piercing grinding sound.

But he did not disobey.

The blue scales slowly withdrew beneath his skin, and his protruding bones shrank back into place. He retreated to the side of the throne, glaring at Shiki in midair, his fists clenched until his knuckles turned white.

Shiki grinned broadly at the sight.

The centipede-like scar on his face twisted with it, the wound oozing a little fresh blood. He looked especially ferocious.

He thought Rektol was afraid.

Facing dozens of earthen islands overhead that could come crashing down at any moment, a brat this young would already have been scared witless.

Even if he had gained the advantage in God Valley, it had only been good luck. When faced with true absolute violence, he still had to restrain his subordinate and bow his head like a dog.

"At least you know your place." Shiki tossed the half-smoked cigar from his hand into the air.

The cigar was held up by an invisible force and floated motionlessly, its ember flickering.

"However, I've changed my mind."

Shiki threw both hands open. His fingers curled into claws.

"This lousy iron-shell fortress is pretty good. I'm taking it myself!"

He roared and swung both arms upward.

He pushed the power of the Float-Float Fruit to its limit.

The sleeves of his clothes stretched tight over his arm muscles. The seams gave tiny snapping sounds.

He sucked in a deep breath. Air flooded his lungs, swelling his chest like a bellows.

"Rise!"

Shiki's voice thundered back and forth through the spacious steel hall.

The gravitational field inside the hall instantly fell into chaos. Several loose screws on the iron floor floated upward against all reason.

He unleashed the greatest output of his awakened Devil Fruit ability. He intended to uproot this steel fortress, built from tens of thousands of tons of Wapometal.

An invisible repulsive force surged from his palms like a tsunami and slammed into the foundation of the entire fortress.

The air let out a muffled groan under the strain. Dust in the hall was forcibly pressed to the ground, then suddenly churned upward.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds passed.

The wind beside Shiki's ears stopped.

He lowered his head in shock, his dead-fish eyes widening.

The pitch-black steel tiles beneath his feet did not have even a single crack.

The entire fortress was terrifyingly quiet. Nothing broke, nothing rose, and not even the faintest creaking of movement could be heard.

It was as though roots had grown from it, pinning it firmly to the coast of Totto Land.

Shiki refused to believe it. He exerted himself again, and the two famous swords beneath his feet vibrated violently in response to his will.

The blades emitted a high-frequency hum.

His face flushed the color of pig liver. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto the sword hilts.

The veins on his thick arms bulged like little blue snakes, while his wrists shook like sieves.

It was useless.

The steel city walls, weighing tens of thousands of tons, seemed to have been pinned to the ground by a force even more savage and unreasonable than his own.

Rektol sat upon the throne.

Watching Shiki strain like a clown in midair, he let out a cold chuckle.

He raised his right hand.

His small palm opened and hovered in midair.

Then, with his palm facing downward, he gently pressed down half an inch.