Magneto Cracker Is Here

Cracker lay at the edge of the carpet, crying so hard he could barely breathe. A transparent bubble of snot puffed from his nose before bursting against his lips with a pop.

He clutched his bleeding knee, dust covering his purplish-red short hair.

"Big brother... I'm scared of pain!"

Rektol stopped. Pebbles beneath his military boots ground white marks into the bluestone paving.

He walked over and crouched down.

His rough fingers gripped Cracker's collar and lifted him slightly off the ground. He casually wiped a hand across Cracker's face, cleaning away the snot.

He used too much force, rubbing a red mark onto the chubby face.

Cracker shrank his neck from the pain. His cries caught in his throat, followed by a loud sobbing hiccup.

"Scared of pain?"

Rektol looked at the tear-streaked face. A feverish zeal churned in his eyes like boiling water.

The Biscuit-Biscuit Fruit.

That useless ability that turned soft as mud at the slightest touch of rain would only bring shame upon the Charlotte Family.

"Then Big Brother will give you the hardest defense in the world."

Rektol rose to his feet.

He closed his eyes. A layer of ghostly blue radiance shone from beneath his eyelids.

The All-Knowing Eye, activated over a wide area.

Rektol's consciousness spread like an invisible giant net, instantly crossing the sea and radiating toward the depths of the New World.

Three hearts pumped blood at their limits. The thunder of heartbeats rumbled beside his eardrums.

The thoughts of tens of thousands of people poured into his mind.

"That woman's waist is really thin..."

"Send me fewer of those damn guns. I want twenty percent of this shipment..."

Trash. All useless junk.

Rektol's brows knotted together. He forcibly blocked out the noise and narrowed his search terms to "fruit" and "black market."

He found the coordinates.

Speranza Island. An underground auction house on the west coast.

An auctioneer wearing a half-high silk top hat stood on a redwood platform. He held a small ivory gavel in his hand.

"Everyone, today's finale." The auctioneer's voice echoed clearly through Rektol's mind. "The Paramecia-type Magnet-Magnet Fruit."

Rektol opened his eyes. The blue light receded.

Several cracks suddenly burst across the stone slabs beneath his feet. Blue-white arcs of electricity crawled up his trouser legs.

Without wasting another word, he transformed into a dazzling pillar of lightning and blasted through the stone house's ceiling.

Chunks of rubble clattered down onto the carpet.

Half the sky was dyed a ghastly white. Thunder rolled as the lightning crashed toward the distant sea.

Speranza Island.

The auction house on the third underground level had been built inside a natural cavern. More than a dozen gas lamps hung from the ceiling, casting a dim yellow light.

The air was thick with cheap cigars, sour sweat, and inexpensive perfume.

Hundreds of pirates and gang members sat below the stage, staring intently at the silver platter on the auction block.

A gray-brown Devil Fruit lay on the platter. Its skin was covered in rings of metal-like protrusions, making it resemble a rusted lump of iron.

"Opening bid, two hundred million Beli!" The auctioneer brought down his gavel.

The moment he finished speaking,

the thick rock above the cavern suddenly gave off a teeth-grating cracking sound.

"Boom—"

A two-meter-thick bolt of blue lightning pierced straight through thirty meters of rock and slammed directly into the auction stage.

Several tons of rubble rained down on the audience.

Screams erupted. Several unlucky pirates had their heads crushed by falling rocks, their blood and brains splashing across the chairs beside them.

The intense smell of ozone instantly drove away the cigar smoke.

The lightning faded.

Rektol stood atop the ruins of the redwood platform.

More than half the platform had collapsed. The shock wave had sent the auctioneer flying, and he had slammed headfirst into the cavern wall. Two front teeth had broken off, leaving his mouth full of blood.

Rektol bent down and reached for the gray fruit on the silver platter.

"Where did this brat come from? Looking to die?"

Two Mafia enforcers in the front row drew flintlock pistols from their waists and aimed them at Rektol.

Before their fingers could touch the triggers,

Rektol turned his head and snapped the fingers of his left hand.

"Crackle."

Two arm-thick arcs of electricity shot from his fingertips and struck the men directly in the chest.

The smell of charred flesh spread through the air. The two enforcers did not even have time to scream before half their bodies carbonized and they collapsed stiffly to the ground.

All the pirates who had drawn their blades froze. Their hands trembled around their weapons like sieves.

Rektol picked up the fruit that looked like a lump of iron.

The static electricity at his fingertips melted a hole through the silver platter. Molten silver dripped onto the broken planks, sending up white smoke.

He shook the dust from the fruit.

He bent his legs, and another mass of lightning erupted beneath his feet. His entire body shot upward through the opening in the cavern ceiling, following the route he had taken in.

The whole trip had taken less than ten seconds.

All that remained was a ground littered with charred corpses and the terrified gasps filling the auction house.

Totto Land's main base. Stone house.

Cracker was still sniffling as he stared at the huge hole smashed through the ceiling.

A bolt of lightning struck down precisely through the opening.

Rektol landed on both feet. His leather boots left two black marks on the stone floor.

The high-temperature static electricity he had brought back made a patch of bark on the doorframe curl and scorch.

He took a few steps toward Cracker, seized his chubby younger brother by the chin, and forced his mouth open.

With his right hand, he shoved the gray fruit straight inside.

The fruit was fairly large, and its surface was covered in hard spikes.

A strange "glug" came from Cracker's throat as his eyes rolled upward.

He nearly choked to death.

He clawed wildly at the air with both hands, kicking desperately against the floor. Large tears rolled down his cheeks.

"Swallow it." Rektol released him.

Cracker gasped for breath, his teeth closing instinctively.

"Crack."

The sound was less like someone eating fruit and more like someone chewing a piece of raw iron slag.

The foul stench of motor oil mixed with rust exploded in his mouth. Cracker's stomach convulsed. He bent over, clutching his belly as he retched dryly.

He vomited several times but brought nothing up.

The next second, a sudden transformation occurred.

In the corner of the stone house, the iron basin the maid used to carry hot water began to vibrate with a buzzing hum.

The water inside spilled all over the floor.

The iron basin tore free from the maid's hands, whistled into the air, and hovered above Cracker's head.

Then came the iron nails embedded in the walls.

"Clink, clink."

Dozens of rusty nails ripped themselves out and streaked through the air, spinning rapidly around Cracker's body.

Even a brass belt buckle Linlin had dropped outside the door was dragged inside by an invisible force.

All kinds of metal objects formed an airtight shell around Cracker.

The metals collided with one another, producing dull clanging sounds.

Magneto was beginning to take shape.

Tears still hanging from his eyes, Cracker stared blankly at the iron basin floating before him.

He burped. The smell of rust puffed from his mouth.

Rektol looked at the iron shell barrier and clapped the dust from his hands.

At the same time.

Speranza Island, a street above the underground black market.

Most of the buildings had shaken from the lightning strike that had just pierced through the layers of earth. Several cracks as wide as palms had split across the road.

A tavern with an oak sign stood at the street corner.

The window glass lay shattered across the floor. Dust sifted down from the roof.

On a round wooden table by the window, an amber-colored glass of rum had spilled more than half its contents.

The liquor dripped over the edge of the table and splashed onto the floor.

A thick arm reached over and firmly held down the shaking glass.

The muscles on the arm bulged, veins standing out like tree roots.

Beneath golden hair was a young, sharply defined face. The distinctive crescent-shaped white beard on his chin was particularly striking.

Edward Newgate.

He lifted the rum, now only half full, tilted back his head, and drained it in one gulp.

He set the glass down, its base striking the wooden table with a heavy thud.

He rose to his feet. His towering body nearly touched the tavern ceiling.

Newgate reached down and picked up the enormous bisento leaning beside the chair—Murakumogiri.

The blade scraped across the chair's back, shaving off a piece of wood.

He pushed open the tavern's half-detached spring door and stepped onto the street littered with broken glass.

His gaze crossed the ruins and settled on the remnants of thunderclouds dispersing along the distant horizon.