There was no blood, no wound, not even... pain!
But a cold, hollow, terrifying sensation, as though his very "existence" was being forcibly erased and stripped away,
surged along the tendril and flooded the depths of his soul!
Gern hung pinned in midair, utterly rigid, unable to move!
The thunderous tremors that had battered the island for so long stopped abruptly, leaving deathly silence.
Below, the repeatedly battered Horse Bones stopped struggling and reverted to Saint Nusjuro's kimono-clad human form.
Before Gern, Imu followed the black tendrils piercing his body,
"walking" along them until it stopped in midair, mere inches from him, almost face-to-face, and gazed calmly at him.
Then two more black tendrils emerged from Imu's silhouette.
One curled around Black Blade: Eight Desolations, which stood embedded at an angle in the rubble below, and slowly presented it to the restrained Gern.
But Gern could not move so much as a finger.
Seemingly amused, Imu deliberately loosened the tendril.
Clang.
Eight Desolations fell again, standing alone amid the broken stones, humming faintly.
A voice tinged with contempt and boredom rang directly inside Gern's mind.
It still carried that inhuman, overlapping tone, but now held a trace of laughter.
"Heh. Not a 'D,' not a descendant of 'Davy'..."
"Clutching a failure's relic..."
"And dreaming of challenging Mu."
"How utterly laughable."
Imu sounded as though it were appraising a failed work of art.
Then, however, a subtle note seemed to enter its voice, as though it had made an "unexpected discovery":
"Still, your 'Devil Fruit ability'... did surprise Mu somewhat."
"No wonder you made it this far."
Then the voice turned icy.
"But your 'choice'...
has cost you everything."
Gern remained bound, unable even to move his eyes, but his lingering consciousness fought madly against the erosion that was "erasing his