Oboro stood gracefully in the midnight darkness, his silhouette cutting through the shadows like a dancer frozen in the middle of a performance. The approaching threat did not disturb his composure; instead, Smoker's aggressive advance drew something almost nostalgic from the young man's lips.
A low, appreciative chuckle echoed through the night air.
"How fascinating..." Oboro murmured, his voice carrying a strange mixture of amusement and melancholy. "This brings back memories."
The billowing smoke reminded him of techniques from another world, the Ghost Mist he'd once used in the bloody conflicts of the Hunters' Association. Same principles, different reality. The parallel was almost poetic.
"You think you caught me?" Oboro's tone changed, taking on a predatory edge that would have sent shivers down the spine of most opponents. "I'm afraid you have it backwards, Marine. "Lie down and surrender!"
Smoker's harsh voice cut through the darkness as his imposing form materialized from the swirling white clouds. His jitte, the distinctive weapon forged from pure sea stone, sliced through the air with deadly precision. The passage of the weapon created an ominous hum that spoke of its devastating potential.
Whoosh!
But Oboro flowed backwards like water, his movement so fluid it seemed choreographed. The deadly blow struck nothing but empty air.
Almost instantly, the 'Smoker' before him disintegrated into wisps of white vapor, a feint, as expected. The real attack came from behind, where the captain's massive form condensed out of the smoke like a materialized nightmare. His outstretched hand aimed directly at Oboro's hat, trying to make contact and end this dance.
Bang!
Oboro spun with inhuman grace, his elbow snapping out like a released spring. The blow should have landed with devastating force, shattering ribs and collapsing lungs against any normal opponent. Instead, his blow scattered nothing but smoke and vapor.
"Interesting texture," Oboro observed with genuine curiosity, examining his unmarked fist. His analytical mind was already processing the implications. "That strike was perfectly aimed and timed. Against a physical target, it would have caused severe internal damage."
His gaze swept the area as white mist began to thicken around him. "Complete immunity to physical attacks? How wonderfully inconvenient."
The smoke continued to expand, creating an artificial bank of fog that completely obscured visibility. In Oboro's heightened perception, the smoker's spiritual essence scattered like dispersed ions throughout the growing cloud. Each particle maintained some connection to the others, a distributed consciousness that defied conventional understanding.
Devil Fruits store their power in soul inheritance... Oboro remembered the cryptic hints from the deeper lore of this world. The Gorosei had mentioned this principle, especially in regard to Zoan types. But it seems that Logia fruits follow similar rules.
The suffocating white mass pressed closer, clearly designed to restrict his breathing and gradually weaken his physical abilities. A good strategy against most opponents.
Oboro simply held his breath and activated his internal energy circulation, a technique that temporarily made conventional oxygen requirements irrelevant.
"White Vine!"
Smoker's cold command rang out through the artificial fog bank. Immediately, the solidified smoke formed into chain-like appendages that struck like snakes from multiple directions. The attack pattern blocked every conceivable escape route, front, back, left, right, even diagonal angles of retreat.
Most opponents would have been overwhelmed by the geometric impossibility of the trap.
Oboro moved like liquid lightning.
His body flowed through the compressed space with impossible grace, gliding between attacks with movements that seemed to defy physics. Within heartbeats, he'd traced the sound to its source and appeared directly in front of Smoker's materialized form.
Boom!
Another perfectly placed blow scattered smoke and steam, dissipating Smoker's elemental body once again.
"Observation Haki?"
There was real surprise in Smoker's voice now. His thick white mist should have completely blinded any normal opponent. The ability to track his position through such interference suggested advanced sensory abilities that only seasoned warriors possessed.
"White Fist!"
The Marine's counterattack came instantly, both arms extended far beyond normal human reach through smoke manipulation. The technique resembled remote-controlled missiles, curving and weaving through the air as they sought their target with relentless precision.
At the same time, Smoker's main body surged forward with his White Gale technique, closing the distance as his outstretched limbs wreaked havoc.
The coordinated attack would have overwhelmed most pirates.
But as the battle wore on, Smoker felt his initial confidence replaced by growing frustration. Every attack he launched, no matter how perfectly positioned or cleverly disguised, was met with nothing but empty air. His opponent moved with preternatural awareness, seeming to anticipate not only his actions, but his very intentions.
Meanwhile, Oboro's counterstrikes continued to find their mark. Each blow dissipated Smoker's elemental form, forcing the Marine to reform elsewhere while taking minimal but mounting damage.
Minutes stretched into an eternity of one-sided combat until Smoker finally retreated, rising like a white rocket into the night sky. Only then did Oboro realize his situation; during their prolonged battle, walls of solidified smoke had risen around him on all sides. The trap was closing from above as well, creating an inescapable prison.
"Impressive tactical thinking," Oboro admitted with genuine respect. "Using hand-to-hand combat as a diversion while constructing the real threat. I underestimated your strategic abilities, Captain."
Smoker's natural smoke could indeed solidify into tangible matter, no mere illusion, but real physical barriers with real substance. The compressing walls held enough force to crush steel, while the descending ceiling promised to complete his imprisonment.
"Too late for regrets now," Smoker declared from his aerial position, his gray eyes gleaming with anticipated victory. "Logue Town isn't some backwater port where criminals come and go as they please. You chose the wrong place to make trouble."
The smoke prison contracted with thunderous force, walls colliding with earth-shattering impact.
BOOM!
The explosion that followed sent shockwaves through the surrounding area. But instead of crushing their target, the solidified barriers erupted outward as Oboro's enhanced martial techniques, his Magic Fist style, shattered the containment with overwhelming force.
A dark silhouette burst through the dissipating clouds of smoke and landed gracefully in open space.
"Nice try," Oboro acknowledged as he straightened up to his full height, his hands slipping casually into his pants pockets. His relaxed posture suggested that the fight held little interest for him anymore. "But smoke condensation has its limits. Your logia development is simply not advanced enough to contain someone of my abilities."
The criticism was accurate, if brutal. Compared to the Navy's three Admirals, monsters that could reshape entire islands with their elemental control, Smoker's abilities remained frustratingly limited. His natural fruit powers worked well against typical pirates, but when faced with a truly exceptional opponent, the gaps in his development became painfully obvious.
"Natural Devil Fruits are really problematic," Oboro continued in an almost academic tone. "Without Haki to provide solid contact, people like you enjoy near-perfect defenses. Quite a cheat, from a certain point of view."
Having made his assessment, Oboro turned and began to walk away, clearly intending to disengage from the conflict entirely.
This casual dismissal triggered Smoker's pride like a lit fuse.
Flash!
The sea captain appeared beside Oboro in an instant, moving faster than his White Gale technique should have allowed. This wasn't fruit-enhanced locomotion, this was pure physical skill.
Bang!
Oboro's hand whipped out of his pocket like a pounding viper, fingers extended like bladed weapons ready to rip through anything they encountered. He expected the attack to pass harmlessly through another elemental form.
Instead, his fingers met resistance as if they had struck reinforced steel. The harsh scraping sound of metal against hardened surface filled the air.
"Ah," Oboro's eyes lit up with understanding and approval. "Marine Six Styles, shave for speed and iron body for defense. Clever misdirection, Captain."
Smoker had deliberately created the impression that he relied entirely on Logia intangibility, conditioning his opponent to expect elemental evasion. The sudden shift to pure physical enhancement had created a perfect opening for retaliation.
In that split-second window, Smoker's jitte thrust forward like a spear, its seastone tip aimed directly at Oboro's skull. The weapon had enough power to pierce reinforced steel, certainly enough to penetrate flesh and bone.
"Accept judgment for your crimes!" Smoker growled, putting all his strength behind the potentially fatal blow.
Snap.
The unmistakable sound of impact echoed through the night, but not the wet crunch Smoker had expected. Instead, Oboro's free hand had caught the tip of the jitte inches from his face, his palm absorbing the full force of the weapon.
Blood gushed between his fingers where the sea stone had torn flesh, but the potentially fatal blow had been completely neutralized.
Smoker's eyes widened in shock. Even allowing for the possible observation of Haki, the reaction time required for such a block bordered on the superhuman. His shaving technique had closed the distance in a fraction of a second, normal human reflexes shouldn't have been able to react.
"How did you,?"
Oboro's wounded hand gripped the jitte's shaft with iron strength, initiating a contest of raw physical strength. Despite the loss of blood and the obvious pain, his grip remained absolutely firm.
"You made a critical mistake," Oboro observed with an almost conversational calm. "Your Logia fruit is an overwhelming advantage over someone like me. Your natural invulnerability should make you virtually untouchable. But you willingly surrendered that advantage for the sake of a single decisive strike."
The muscles in Oboro's arm swelled visibly as he slowly began to push the weapon aside, overwhelming Smoker's desperate attempts to maintain control. The Marine's face flushed with exertion, his veins clearly visible as he struggled to regain his weapon.
"Poor tactical decisions," Oboro continued, almost conversational. "Letting emotions override sound strategy."
His bloodied palm suddenly shifted, releasing the jitte to deliver a deceptively gentle slap to Smoker's chest, little more than a friendly tap.
"Guh!"
The effect was instantaneous and devastating. Smoker's body convulsed as if struck by lightning, his mouth opening to release an uncontrolled spray of blood. His eyes rolled back, consciousness flickering as incomprehensible agony flooded his nervous system.
"I'm... actually injured?" he gasped, staring down at his chest in disbelief.
The soft touch had somehow bypassed all his defensive techniques, his iron body, his natural durability, even his subconscious haki enhancement. Whatever technique Oboro had just used, it worked on principles that Smoker's combat experience couldn't begin to explain.
The realization was terrifying in its implications.
As darkness crept around the edges of his vision, Smoker understood with perfect clarity that he had been toying with forces far beyond his current comprehension. The young man he'd dismissed as just another pirate had demonstrated abilities that defied all assumptions about the extent of power in the first half of the Grand Line.
What kind of monster is he?" was Smoker's last coherent thought before unconsciousness claimed him.
Oboro watched the marine captain collapse with something approaching pity. Smoker was clearly a competent fighter, with solid tactical instincts and respectable physical skills. Under normal circumstances, he would have posed a real challenge to most opponents.
But these circumstances were anything but normal.
"Sleep well, Captain," Oboro murmured, turning back to the shadowed streets of Logue City. "When you awaken, you may have learned something valuable about the nature of true power."
His footsteps faded into the darkness, leaving only the unconscious Marine and the lingering scent of dissipating smoke to mark their encounter.