Kizaru smashed another heavy fist into the belly of one of the colossal beasts.
The strike blew open a gaping hole more than two meters wide straight through the creature's abdomen. A chilling wind passed cleanly through the wound—through it, one could see the open sky behind.
Laughing heartily, he called back to Aokiji:
"Try it yourself—turn your body into pure element, then coat it in Armament Haki. You'll see soon enough what these so-called Devil Fruits really are!"
Kuzan stop for a moment, stunned. Then he dropped from midair, landing back upon the frozen battlefield.
Within moments, his feet had fused seamlessly with the ice below. Frost crept upward rapidly, spreading along his legs, his torso, and finally sealing over his head—until his entire figure became a statue of living ice.
In that frozen sculpture, not the faintest trace of vitality could be sensed.
Then suddenly—
A pulse of dark violet Armament Haki erupted from within, flooding outward. From the inside out, it dyed every inch of the icy body.
The humanoid ice statue moved. It lived.
Its mouth opened and closed, Kuzan's voice emerging from within:
"So that's it…! Devil Fruits? What utter nonsense—it's all a lie!"
"No wonder Lord Roya can so easily wield—or even replicate—other people's abilities. In the end, it's we ourselves who shackled our own power!"
"They've been using our bodies as nothing more than vessels to harvest life-force, stealing away ninety percent for themselves… then tossing us a pathetic little 'Fruit ability' like scraps to keep us quiet?!"
"To hell with these Fruits—I don't need them!"
The ice effigy shuddered violently. Shards of frost exploded outward in a flurry of crystalline fragments.
Kuzan's body emerged once more—but now transformed in essence.
Gone was the aura of cold detachment born of his Ice-Ice Fruit. Instead, he radiated an even heavier, overwhelming presence.
One could clearly sense that the energy within him had multiplied several times over.
He raised his right hand, slowly turning it back and forth before his eyes.
On his palm, powers flickered and shifted—ice, flame, lightning—abilities that should never coexist in a single body.
Then came the surge of Haki—colors layering upon one another. The tyrannical will of Conqueror's Haki. The unyielding strength of Armament Haki. The subtle, elusive flow of Observation Haki. One by one, they manifested.
At last, all elements and all Haki fused together as one.
Across the battlefield, Roya ripped the black stomach-core from another beast, then glanced back at Kuzan.
Borsalino had managed his breakthrough largely through desperate courage—reborn in the jaws of death—and from repeated exposure to the energy techniques Roya had demonstrated.
But Kuzan… Kuzan had done it with nothing more than a single, vague hint from Borsalino. That he could, through sheer brilliance, shatter the Fruit's shackles so cleanly—spoke of an astounding, peerless talent.
With these two Admirals breaking through on the spot, the Navy's line instantly became unshakable. There would be no more faltering here.
Roya's figure blurred and vanished from the battlefield.
Meanwhile, within Pangaea Castle—
Companies of Marines had sealed off every street with strict patrols.
CP squads prowled the city, each employing their own methods to scour every corner.
But as minute after minute passed without a single useful lead, Rob Lucci's calm expression masked a growing storm beneath.
A shadowy figure, flickering like a phantom, emerged silently at his side—Squard, long unseen.
The crushing weight pressing on Lucci's heart eased slightly.
Squard spoke:
"Kizaru and Aokiji have broken free of their Devil Fruit shackles in battle. They've stepped into the realm of true apex powerhouses. With them, the Navy's victory at the line is only a matter of time."
"McGuy and Magellan have already reached the joint defenses in the New World. It won't be long before the aberrant monsters there are eradicated as well."
Lucci gave a bitter smile.
"And yet… the task our master entrusted me—I still have no clue. Whatever scheme that traitor left hidden in Mary Geoise… there isn't the faintest trace of it."
Squard nodded coldly.
"That's why I came. Whatever his setup is, it will have to activate eventually. When it does—we'll kill them all."
Lucci's face darkened. He was about to speak further when—
A Marine Rear Admiral hurried toward them, saluted sharply, and reported breathlessly:
"Lucci-sama! We've discovered a large cache of explosives!"
Lucci's gaze sharpened instantly, cutting cold.
"Hmph. So it's still the same tired old tricks!"
As he spoke, he abruptly shifted a half-step forward and sideways—just enough to evade the Rear Admiral's right arm as it lowered from his salute.
For in that hand gleamed a weapon—a three-edged dagger, scarcely an inch long, its blade a sickly, unnatural green. Poisoned. A single cut from it would mean death—or at best, a wound beyond saving.
Almost simultaneously, black light burst forth from Squard's hand, a blade nearly two meters long slashing down at the would-be assassin.
Against the supreme reactions of Lucci and Squard, the Rear Admiral's assassination attempt was far too slow.
The dagger had only just begun to thrust forward when his right arm was cleanly severed—separated from his body in a flash of black.
At the same time, Lucci's half-step flowed into a graceful arc, carrying him to the assassin's flank. His left hand speared upward, claws fastening upon the man's skull.
Crack.
His five fingers sank mercilessly into the assassin's cranium. Even if the man lived, he would forever bear those five indelible marks.
Lucci's voice rang cold and sharp:
"Speak! Who sent you?!"
But at his words, the assassin's lips only curled into a chilling smile.
Too late, Lucci sensed something wrong.
From the stump of the severed wrist, strange threads began to spill out—twisting, writhing. They lashed upward, snaring the falling hand before it could hit the ground.
Worse still—more threads sprouted from the severed palm itself, connecting seamlessly with those from the wrist.
As if his arm had suddenly grown longer, the hand whipped around, dagger reversing course—lunging toward Lucci's exposed side!
It came at the precise instant his body had just finished its strike—old momentum spent, new strength yet to rise. His guard was lowest, his focus shifted from battle to interrogation.
In that heartbeat, Lucci felt the dreadful certainty—he could not evade. He would have to take the blade head-on.
With a roar, he braced every muscle in his body, hardening his frame to its utmost—hoping to blunt the strike before the poisoned edge could pierce too deep.
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