"Magma Dragon Fist!"
Ashveil unleashed the technique with a motion like a conductor bringing down a final beat, but what formed in front of him was far from mimicry, it was creation. Where Akainu's Dark Hound had been a living inferno, Thorne Ashveil called forth a colossal dragon of molten rock and fire, a living torrent of magma that coiled and roared as it hurtled toward Sakazuki.
The effect was immediate. Bartholomew Kuma, watching from the edge of the field, felt the battle intent around the two combatants and leapt back dozens of meters without hesitation. He landed, glassy lenses flashing in the sun, and breathed out a single curt observation.
"Terrifying, even from here. The aftershocks alone would injure anyone caught by them," Kuma said, his voice level but edged with a hint of awe.
Above them, the floating news roost vibrated, dozens of lenses trained on the fight. The branch manager barked the obvious through clenched teeth, eyes fixed on the unfolding spectacle.
"Keep filming, every frame matters, this is absolute headline material."
Roux snapped her ultra-clear camera into place, fingers moving in a frenzy. Click, click, click, the shutters fired like rain, each flash trying to imprison a moment that already felt impossibly large.
Then the two techniques met.
The collision detonated like a small star. The shockwave rolled outward in concentric rings, the earth itself splintering beneath their feet. Fissures raced from the point of impact, cleaving the Sabaody Archipelago in trembling lines. A buzzing like a thousand bees filled the air as hot air pushed outward, and for a heartbeat the whole island felt as if it were in the eye of an earthquake.
On the coastline, Urouge stirred, propped up by his own stubborn resilience, and then sat upright in stunned silence. He stared toward the battle, lips trembling with an expression that was half fear, half a hungry, respectful shock.
"Akainu fighting a pirate at this level?" Urouge muttered, incredulity plain on his face. "Who could that be?"
When the smoke finally cleared, the shape of the scene became cruelly simple. Sakazuki lay on the ground, his uniform scorched into an ashen map of burns, white steam rising from wounds that would, for almost anyone else, have been fatal. The Admiral gritted his teeth, sweat driving down his face, and each breath he drew rattled.
Kuma did not move. He simply watched, pupils small behind his glasses, as a realization settled like a weight.
Sakazuki, an Admiral whose name had commanded fear through whole crews and entire seas, had been overwhelmed by flames, and those flames had come from the hands of a young pirate.
A murmur rose from the reporters above, a chorus of stunned voices echoed by sailors and civilians who had no frame for what they had witnessed.
"A man who ate the Magma Fruit, cut down by someone with magma stronger than his own? It cannot be."
Sakazuki, voice ragged with the effort of each syllable, managed to croak out the question that any soldier of the Navy would have asked in his position.
"Why… you… you have magma power, and it is stronger than mine?"
Ashveil cocked an eyebrow, annoyance and pity flickering across his features. He could have invented any number of lies, an artificial devil fruit, a borrowed power, some trick to sate Sakazuki's pride. He could have spun a story that would let the Admiral die baffled. For a man who had made a career of enforcing Absolute Justice without question, confusion would be a small mercy.
But Ashveil did not owe Sakazuki answers.
"You have the blood of those you have slaughtered under the name of justice to answer for," Ashveil said, his tone cold and unadorned, every syllable delivered like a stone. "I am only returning balance."
He did not wait for a rebuttal. Flames concentrated in his palm, seething and alive, and as he shaped them the dragon that had borne down on Sakazuki reared and unleashed a roar that rolled the hot air into waves. The temperature jumped, moisture in the air vaporizing instantly, steam hissing like a thousand whispers around the combatants.
Sakazuki tried to rise, anger burning bright, rage flaring faster than the burns across his body. He spat out accusations, the old litany of justice and duty, but his voice had the brittle edge of someone clinging to honor by the last thread.
"I am an Admiral of the Marines," he bellowed, the declaration half challenge, half plea. "If you kill me, your allies will pay the price."
Ashveil's lips tightened into a thin line. The man on the ground was still clinging to a world where threats and threats alone maintained order. It made Ashveil's jaw ache with a contempt he could not hide.
He took a step forward, measured, unhurried, letting the tremor underfoot remind everyone who dared stand close enough that they were witnessing more than a duel, they were seeing a judgement pass.
Around them, the island tried to steady itself. The World Economic Journal crew, cameras still booming, found the task of pulling images from the chaos both thrilling and grotesque. Roux's hands were steady, and in each click her eyes shone with that professional hunger for a story that could never be unmade.
It was clear now that the clash between the Magma Dragon and Dark Hound had decided the immediate outcome. Sakazuki's arms lay limp, and every motion he made to gather strength was met with a fresh wave of pain. The steam that rose from his clothes smelled of scorched fabric and a kind of old, iron regret.
Kuma finally broke the silence, voice quiet but certain. "This boy's command of magma is not only raw power, it is discipline. There is a difference."
Discipline, and a purpose. Ashveil had not sought out this battle for glory, and that made his victory colder, more final.
When the smoke had cleared and things settled enough for onlookers to move without their ears ringing, Ashveil stood at the center, a silhouette edged in heat, hands still flickering with ember. He did not celebrate. He only looked down at Sakazuki, and in his gaze there was neither triumph nor mercy, only the resolve of a man who had set himself to correcting a ledger of pain.
Above, the cameras kept their records, and the floating roost rose a little higher, trying to escape the aftershocks. Below, the islanders and the survivors of the clash counted the cost. The New World had changed in a single breath, and everyone who had watched knew they had seen the emergence of something new and terribly potent.
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