72
The lava pit kept expanding amid the tremors, spraying rubble like rain.
On the outskirts of the city, the dragons regrouped into a formation that blotted out the sky.
The wind pressure from their dives tore off the remaining rooftops.
The giants swung fallen stone pillars as javelins, their battle cries mingling with the crunch of breaking bones in a muddled surge.
Dragon corpses kept crashing into the streets like torn sacks, while some giants were reduced to charred skeletons by acid-but the living warriors stepped straight over their comrades' remains and plunged their weapons into the next target's eye sockets.
Life and death had become the cheapest stakes here, yet they were the only currency that could buy strength.
Every wound could give rise to a fist wreathed in Armament Haki; every dying gasp could awaken a perception that saw through all things.
This ritual watered with blood was the truth they all believed in.
Umit huddled behind a broken wall, his fingernails digging into the cracks between the bricks.
The shock waves from the bottom of the pit made his teeth chatter.
If that seven-headed monster were unleashed at sea, an entire fleet probably would not last half an hour under its flames; as for the giant king who could pin such a creature underground, Umit had only felt comparable pressure from an old man wearing a Marine coat whom he had seen years ago.
He stared at his trembling palms and began calculating the shortest route out of this hell.
As for that young man from the Donquixote Family, he moved so fast that he seemed capable of passing through space itself.
He wandered freely through the earth-shattering battlefield as though strolling through a courtyard at noon.
"What a fine deal."
Another figure appeared at the