Hyena

Moretti stepped out.

He did not run. He walked at an unhurried pace, his feet crunching over broken planks and shards of glass.

Moretti began to transform into a hyena. Zoan, Dog-Dog Fruit, Hyena Form.

He stood a head taller than an ordinary man, with broad shoulders, long, thick arms, prominent knuckles, and gray-black claws where his nails had been. The claw tips gleamed in the firelight. An old scar ran diagonally across his face, from his left brow to his right jaw, splitting his nose in two. His eyes were yellow-brown, their pupils vertical, reflecting the torchlight in the dark like two red-hot coals.

Blood coated his hands, with bits of flesh lodged beneath his claws. His mouth held two rows of serrated teeth, each one sharp as a dagger, with shreds of meat caught between them. He breathed heavily, every exhale dragging a low growl from his throat, like a beast warning its prey before the kill.

He looked at Jack and grinned, baring that mouthful of serrated teeth.

"So you're the one who killed the men on my ship? Who killed Doberman?"

His voice was rough and phlegmy, as though something were rolling in his throat. Laughter squeezed out of him in sharp, broken bursts, like a hyena calling in the night. Each burst carried an unsettling excitement. He tilted his head, and his neck cracked.

There was still blood on Jack's fists and bits of flesh on his body. His black coat was riddled with bullet holes and slashed by blades. He looked at Moretti and narrowed his eyes.

When luck came knocking, there was no stopping it. Another one had shown up to die.

Why had I spent the last few days fighting nothing but cats and dogs?

Moretti moved.

His speed was absurd. His body swayed from side to side as he ran, his steps following no pattern. He moved in an erratic zigzag; there was no telling whether he would appear on the left or the right the next second.

Jack shifted his weight half a degree to the left.

Moretti caught that tiny change. He darted right, circling from Jack's left side to his right, and raked his claws upward at Jack's ribs. The tips pierced his coat and scraped four white lines across his Hardened Skin. A thin layer of blood seeped from their edges, droplets running down the curve of his ribs.

Jack did not turn. His fist slammed toward where Moretti had dodged, but Moretti was already gone. The instant Jack threw the punch, Moretti doubled back, like a startled animal feinting one way before fleeing the other.

After landing the first hit, Moretti did not press his luck. He struck and retreated, leaping into the shadows deep inside the warehouse. He crouched behind a collapsed crate, only his yellow-brown eyes visible. He stuck out his tongue and licked the blood from his claws, then grinned, showing his serrated teeth.

"Your skin's tough, but what good does that do? You can't hit me."

His voice bounced between the warehouse walls like a hyena's cry in the night. He moved through the shadows, darting from crate to crate and pillar to pillar. He was not moving fast, but each time he appeared, it was somewhere different: a crate on the left, a pillar on the right, a beam overhead.

Jack stood in the center of the warehouse, the hem of his coat stirring in the night breeze. His gaze did not follow Moretti, his eyes, his claws, or his body. Jack's eyes narrowed slightly, his pupils fixed on nothing. It was as though he were watching the entire warehouse and nothing at all.

Moretti burst from the shadows on the left, his claws tracing an arc through the air toward Jack's left shoulder. Jack shifted slightly, and the claw tips grazed his Hardened Skin, leaving a faint white mark. Moretti struck and retreated, vanishing behind a pillar on the right.

None of Moretti's attacks was fatal, but every swipe added up. Dense white marks covered Jack's Hardened Skin under the repeated assault. The deepest had cut through its surface, exposing the dermis beneath. Blood seeped from a dozen wounds, soaking his black coat darker still and glinting dark red in the torchlight.

Moretti was faster and more cunning than Doberman. There was no pattern to his erratic movements, no warning before he leaped. He changed direction without shifting his weight, as though an invisible string could pull him anywhere at any moment.

Jack's Observation Haki had not awakened yet, but his battle instincts had already reached a conclusion. He could not catch Moretti, not because he lacked speed, but because Moretti gave him no chance. Every time Jack punched, Moretti was already gone. Every time Jack turned, Moretti had moved elsewhere. Jack's fists were always half a beat behind—not because he was slow, but because his predictions were.

When Moretti lunged again, Jack moved.

Moretti's claws swept in from the left, aimed at Jack's neck.

Jack did not step back or dodge right. He stepped forward.

Decay activated. Take a sip.

Moretti slowed.

Jack raised his left hand, spread his fingers, and clamped them around Moretti's right wrist. Moretti's pupils widened. He twisted his body in midair, trying to change the direction of his attack. But with nothing to push against, he could only turn so far. Jack caught his wrist anyway.

Jack's fingers dug into Moretti's wrist, his knuckles wedged between the ulna and radius. He tightened his grip. The crack of bone was faint, but Moretti heard it.

Moretti opened his mouth and screamed. His right claw thrashed in Jack's grip, his nails scraping wildly across the concrete and leaving white gouges amid flying sparks. He tried to claw Jack's face with his left hand, but his arm was too short. His claws flailed through empty air.

Jack's steps suddenly turned light. The gravel beneath his shoes did not scatter under his weight, and his body glided forward as though carried by the wind. His speed rose by thirty percent, and he ignored unit collision volume.

He raised his right fist from his side, its knuckles gleaming coldly in the moonlight. Colossal Consumption had finished charging.

His fist struck Moretti's chest.

The instant it hit, his sternum shattered down the middle. Bone fragments caved inward, piercing his heart and lungs. Blood sprayed from Moretti's mouth in an arc, splashing across the warehouse ceiling and leaving a dark red mist on the lightbulb. His feet lifted off the ground as he flew backward, his body bowed like a bug crushed underfoot.

Quickstep activated.

Jack charged after him. Moretti flew three or four meters before crashing into a stack of crates. They split apart, scattering planks and cargo across the floor. Moretti lay embedded in the wreckage, blood still bubbling from his mouth.

Jack planted a boot on his chest.

The tread pressed into Moretti's shattered sternum, driving the bone fragments deeper under Jack's weight. A muffled moan escaped Moretti's mouth. Bloody foam spilled from its corner and ran down his chin. His left claw scratched wildly at the concrete, leaving white marks, but each stroke grew weaker, each mark shallower.

Jack looked down at him. Moretti's eyes were still open, his slit pupils dilated into circles from the agony. Blood poured from his chest, pooling dark red beneath him and spreading outward.

Moretti's lips moved as he tried to speak, but his throat was full of blood. All that came out was a muffled, breathy sound, like something bubbling underwater.

Jack lifted his right foot and stamped down again.

This time, he crushed Moretti's throat. The iron plate in his boot sole pressed against the Adam's apple, crushing the thyroid cartilage beneath it. Moretti opened his mouth as wide as he could, trying to breathe, but shattered cartilage blocked his windpipe. His body convulsed twice, his limbs jerking up before falling still.

Jack dusted off his hands. "Nothing but fancy tricks."