The purple demon chi receded like a tide.
The churning purple vapor did not dissipate.
Instead, it contracted into his body, drawing inward and gathering like countless streams flowing backward to their source.
His form reshaped itself within that dim light.
Pale blue skin, blood-red eyes, purple-black hair longer than his body, red-and-purple Hanfu robes, four arms, massive arms growing from his shoulders, shorter limbs tucked beneath his armpits, pointed ears, and a long tongue.
Wangchuan? No!
Tso Lan hovered in midair.
His four arms slowly spread, his robes snapping in the wind.
He lowered his head to inspect his true form, then extended his long tongue to lick the corner of his mouth.
"This vessel is still..."
"Far finer, far more to my liking."
His voice had changed, deeper and more distant than before, carrying an echo from some ancient age.
Below the Execution Platform.
Sengoku stood in midair, his Golden Great Buddha form stiffening slightly.
His gaze remained fixed on Wangchuan, taking in his skin and eyes, his robes and four arms.
After several seconds of silence.
"With so many different powers, he really is a Zoan..."
"A Mythical Zoan."
His eyes narrowed slightly, as though he were rapidly comparing, analyzing, and judging.
"And no ordinary Mythical Zoan."
"That form..."
Sengoku's brows knitted tightly.
"It's the same type as my Buddha Form, a special form beyond the human shape."
"Could it be some kind of Ancient Zoan? Or..."
He did not finish.
Because Garp had climbed out of the ruins.
That burly figure emerged from the rubble, brushed the dust off his shoulders, and rolled his neck.
He walked over to Sengoku and looked up at the Four Arms figure in robes hovering in midair.
He fell silent for a moment.
Then he spoke.
"He's uglier than you."