A remarkable scene unfolded before their eyes.
The surviving members of the Slick Pirates were scattering like startled birds, their screams of terror echoing through the narrow streets as they fled in every direction. They didn't call for reinforcements or try to alert their allies, the raw fear etched into their faces spoke of only one desire: to escape Bona Island as quickly as possible.
Behind them lay the broken forms of their two strongest officers, abandoned without ceremony or honor.
Oboro paid no attention to the fleeing pirates. Instead, he approached the bodies of Zidar and Maipeng with calculated precision, his system interface materializing as he prepared to extract whatever resources their deaths might provide. The familiar energy patterns flowed through his consciousness as the conversion process began, transforming their accumulated combat experience and skills into tangible cards he could use.
One materialized as a skill card, probably related to Zidar's elegant fencing techniques. The other took the form of an Experience card, probably containing Maipeng's raw physical conditioning and street fighting instincts. In this higher world, he could only harvest these resources after his targets were completely eliminated.
The process confirmed his growing understanding of how the system worked within the One Piece reality. Unlike his experiences in the Demon Slayer world, where living subjects could be converted, this dimension required death as a prerequisite for resource extraction.
Once the harvest was complete, Oboro straightened up and surveyed the city with his heightened perception. Even without needing directions from the frightened locals, his destination was obvious: the tallest building in Bona Town, its distinctive architecture topped by a giant billboard and the serpentine flag of the Slick Pirates fluttering in the sea breeze.
The pirate captain would be there, no doubt making his own escape plans.
Dom fell in step beside him as they began their leisurely march toward the enemy stronghold. Fighting Maipeng had provided valuable insight into the unique physical dynamics of this world. Despite the giant's impressive musculature and intimidating presence, precise pressure point techniques had proven more effective than brute force. The weeks spent cultivating his Dantian method within the Sea King's digestive system had clearly improved his internal energy manipulation beyond his previous capabilities.
"Boss," Dom said quietly, his enhanced senses picking up movement in the surrounding streets. "The whole town is in chaos."
Indeed, what had been a shuttered, fearful community just minutes before had been transformed into a scene of frantic evacuation. Shop doors burst open to reveal fleeing merchants, their arms laden with hastily gathered possessions. Pirates who had been enjoying the local entertainment now rushed to the docks with desperate urgency, some still clutching bottles or abandoning gambling midstream.
The sight of Oboro walking openly through their territory had caused a mass exodus that spoke volumes about his growing reputation. Word of the "God Slayer" had apparently reached even remote places like Bona Island, carrying with it the understanding that his presence meant imminent death or worse.
Fear had a way of traveling faster than any Den Mushi transmission.
"They understand what my arrival means," Oboro observed with dark satisfaction. "Smart. The survivors might actually make it to safety if they move fast enough."
There was no malice in his tone towards the fleeing civilians, they were irrelevant to his goals here. The systematic oppression of Bona Island's inhabitants by the Slick Pirates had been a matter of convenience and profit, not personal grudge. Once he removed the source of that oppression, the survivors would be free to rebuild their lives as they chose.
But as they approached the last crossroads before the pirate stronghold, Oboro's heightened senses detected something that stopped him in his tracks.
"Interesting," he murmured, a predatory smile playing across his scarred features.
Without warning, he exploded into motion with preternatural speed, his form blurring as he shot toward a side street like an arrow released from a taut bowstring. Dom followed immediately, his own enhanced abilities allowing him to match Oboro's sudden burst of acceleration.
They rounded the corner to see a group of heavily laden figures struggling with several massive treasure chests, their movements hampered by the weight of their cargo and the obvious panic that had seized them. At their head stood a man whose long hair was slick with nervous sweat, his sharp features distorted with fear as he barked orders at his subordinates.
Captain "Two-Headed Snake" Slick Yogi of the Slick Pirates, caught in the act of fleeing like a common coward.
As Yogi's eyes fell on the approaching figures, his face turned ashen with recognition. The carefully planned escape that would have brought him and his accumulated wealth to safety had just turned into a nightmare.
"Halt!" he ordered his men, abandoning all pretense of stealth as the situation deteriorated beyond salvation. "Drop your packs and prepare for battle!"
His crew obeyed with the mechanical precision of criminals who understood that disobedience meant immediate death. Weapons appeared in their hands as they formed a defensive circle around their captain, though their faces betrayed little confidence in their chances of survival.
Yogi's mind raced through tactical calculations with the desperate speed of someone watching their life crumble. The appearance of the God Slayer on Bona Island was far more than a simple territorial dispute, it was a catastrophe that threatened to consume everyone within a hundred nautical miles.
Even if they somehow managed to capture or kill this legendary figure, the World Government's response would be swift and merciless. The death of a Celestial Dragon had elevated this man beyond normal criminal classifications to something approaching a force of nature. No one who had contact with him would be allowed to survive and spread tales of his capture.
Moreover, the short window of time between sending Maipeng and Zidar and receiving confirmation of their deaths told him everything he needed to know about his opponent's capabilities. This wasn't just another powerful pirate trying to claim territory, this was someone who could easily eliminate experienced officers as if they were untrained civilians.
All his connections with Sir Crocodile, all his carefully cultivated relationships with underground power brokers, all his accumulated influence meant nothing in the face of such overwhelming individual skill.
"The treasure is yours," Yogi shouted, his voice steady despite the beads of sweat on his brow. "Take it and go. I have no quarrel with your mission, whatever it may be."
His subordinates stepped aside to reveal the ornate chests, their surfaces gleaming with precious metals and jeweled inlays that spoke of years of accumulated plunder. The offering represented more wealth than most pirates would see in their entire careers.
Oboro continued his approach without slowing down, his expression remaining coldly neutral.
The meaning was unmistakable.
"Are you sure about that?" Yogi's tone changed, carrying new undertones of desperation and barely controlled anger. "I'm being generous here, offering you safe passage and compensation for your trouble. If I weren't concerned about the complications your identity might cause, I wouldn't be nearly so accommodating."
His hands moved to the weapons concealed beneath his dark robes, fingers finding familiar grips that had served him well throughout his criminal career.
"If you insist on forcing a confrontation, we'll all be trapped here when the Marine arrives!" Yogi continued, his voice rising in frustration. "Is this what you want? To take everyone down with you in a suicidal gesture?"
Oboro's silence was more eloquent than any verbal answer could have been.
"You want us all to die for your revenge, don't you?" Yogi finally snapped, his composure crumbling under the weight of impending doom.
The accusation hung in the air for a heartbeat before he gestured sharply to his remaining crew. Without further hesitation, they charged forward in a coordinated assault, their weapons glinting in the afternoon sunlight as they sought to overwhelm their target through sheer numbers and desperation.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
But Oboro continued his leisurely pace as if nothing had changed, his movements remaining relaxed and unhurried even as armed pirates closed the distance around him. His heightened perception tracked each approaching threat with clinical precision, while his body responded with the fluid grace of one who had mastered violence as an art form.
The first attacker never completed his sword stroke. The second collapsed before his sword could find its target. One by one, the charging pirates fell around Oboro's position like wheat before a scythe, their blood painting abstract patterns on the cobblestones.
To the untrained eye, it would have appeared as if the pirates were simply collapsing from exhaustion or terror. But Yogi's enhanced vision caught fragments of the truth, afterimages that spoke of inhuman speed, microscopic adjustments in stance and position that suggested supernatural awareness, the barely perceptible movements that preceded each devastating counterattack.
This was what it meant to face someone who had transcended normal human limitations through training, experience, and skills that defied conventional understanding.
"Impossible," Yogi breathed, his throat tightening with primal fear.
The circle of subordinates that had surrounded Oboro now lay motionless at his feet, their weapons scattered uselessly on the ground. Not one of them had managed to land even a glancing blow before succumbing to attacks they could not see, predict or defend against.
Hiss.
The sound that rose from Yogi's throat carried the unmistakable hiss of his nickname, the unmistakable warning call of a snake preparing to strike. His body language shifted dramatically as he shed his human mannerisms in favor of something far more primal and deadly.
Beneath his flowing black robes, his form seemed to expand and contract with unnatural flexibility. When he moved, it was with the sinuous grace of a predator who had spent years perfecting the art of killing through misdirection and poison.
The short blade that appeared in his hand shone with an oily sheen that spoke of chemical enhancements designed to ensure that even minor wounds would prove fatal. His entire fighting style had been built on the principle that a single successful strike could end any confrontation, regardless of his opponent's superior strength or speed.
"You should have taken the treasure," Yogi hissed, his voice carrying a new note of deadly confidence as he prepared to employ techniques that had served him well throughout his rise to power.
His body flowed across the floor with fluid grace, covering the distance between them in a zigzag pattern that made him nearly impossible to target. The poisoned blade struck at Oboro's raised arm with serpentine speed, seeking the vital arteries that would carry its poison to his victim's heart within seconds.
"Hmm," Oboro murmured in mild surprise, his heightened perception following Yogi's approach with analytical interest.
This pirate captain possessed abilities far beyond what his physical appearance would suggest. In the One Piece world, traditional measures of strength and speed based on muscle mass and body structure proved woefully inadequate for assessing true combat potential. Individuals like Yogi could display superhuman abilities despite appearing unremarkable by conventional standards.
This observation reinforced his growing understanding of the unique characteristics of this reality. Where other worlds maintained relatively predictable relationships between physical appearance and ability, One Piece operated on principles that defied rational analysis. The basic human potential here exceeded anything he'd encountered in previous dimensions.
As Yogi's poisoned blade came within inches of finding its mark, Oboro shifted his stance and changed tactics with fluid precision. His opponent's serpentine flexibility allowed him to slip away from the counterattack like smoke, his elongated form seeming to bend in ways that defied basic anatomy.
In an instant, Yogi had repositioned himself behind Oboro's defensive line, the poisoned blade rising toward the exposed flesh as his lips curled into a predatory smile.
"Done!" Yogi declared with cold satisfaction.
From his extensive experience hunting more powerful opponents, this moment represented victory. Once his "poison fangs" found their target, no amount of physical conditioning or fighting skill could overcome the chemical devastation that would follow. The venom he used had been refined through years of experimentation, designed to shut down nervous systems and vital organs within minutes of exposure.
Snap!
The sharp crack of impact preceded an explosion of blood from Yogi's ear as something struck him with devastating precision. The world fell silent as his eardrum ruptured, replaced by a disorienting buzzing that left him staggering and confused.
His weapon fell from his nerveless fingers as his body lost coordination, the carefully planned killing blow turning into a helpless collapse. Through the haze of shock and pain, he struggled to comprehend what had happened.
"I was hit?" he gasped, his voice distorted by the ringing in his damaged ear.
The mathematical precision of the attack defied comprehension. From his position behind Oboro's guard, with a clear line of attack to vital targets, how had he suddenly found himself disabled and defenseless?
But the scarred figure that turned to face him offered no explanations or theatrical monologues. Instead, Oboro simply lifted his foot and placed it over Yogi's head with the casual indifference of someone about to crush an insect.
Bang!
The captain of the Slick Pirates met his end in a spray of crimson and white matter, his skull collapsing under the tremendous force of the stomp that ended his reign over Bona Island forever. The serpentine grace that had defined his fighting style meant nothing once he lost the initiative, and his years of accumulated experience vanished in an instant of overwhelming violence.
As Yogi's life fled his shattered form, Oboro's system interface activated automatically. Two more cards materialized from the conversion process, one containing the dead captain's snake fighting techniques, the other preserving his knowledge of poisons and assassination methods.
The Slick Pirates were officially eliminated as a threat to the people of Bona Island, though the broader implications of Crocodile's involvement remained to be seen.
"That's all of them," Dom observed, surveying the carnage with professional appreciation for his boss's efficiency.
"For now," Oboro replied, though his tone suggested that this victory represented only the opening moves of a much larger game.
The death of the Slick Pirates would send ripples through Sir Crocodile's network of subordinate organizations, possibly drawing the attention of Baroque Works agents or even the Desert King himself. But such complications lay in the future; for now, Bona Island was free of its oppressors.
In the distance, the sound of ship engines indicated that the surviving inhabitants were indeed fleeing to whatever safety they could find. Their instincts had served them well; soon this remote island would be far too dangerous for civilians.
The Godkiller had won another victory, and his legend grew with each fallen enemy.