BOOM! BOOM BOOM—BOOM!!
RUMBLE—!!
A thunderous collision rocked the ground, deafening and violent. At the center of the impact, the earth caved in under the force of two clashing powers. A shockwave of white air erupted outward in all directions, lifting rubble and dust into a storm. The very air trembled, forming visible ripples from the reverberating force—power that shook the entire Sandstone Basin to its core. Cracks burst open along the ground, spiderwebbing chaotically outward like a shattered mirror.
In the heart of the crater, the backlash drove Aeridar's legs knee-deep into the earth.
Syrons fared no better—sent flying by the recoil, his body slammed into the ground and rolled for several meters before skidding to a halt, leaving behind a long trail carved into the dirt.
"Huff..."
"That's more like it," Aeridar grunted, his chest tight with residual shock. He trembled slightly as he pulled his legs from the crater with effort. "Good hit. Let's go again."
Brushing off dust and shattered stone, his body, sheened in Armament Haki, still gleamed with a metallic luster.
Unscathed, Syrons rose to his feet and scoffed. "Hmph."
With a low growl of discontent, Aeridar threw a palm forward, causing the air itself to ripple.
Vacuum Cannon!!!
Syrons' brow twitched as he disappeared in a blur.
POP—
A sharp, compressed bang echoed as a deep, circular pit appeared where Syrons had just stood.
"Hmm?"
Aeridar's eyes narrowed.
He instinctively tilted his head, just in time to see a massive hammer whip past his ear. Instantly, he drove a fist sideways.
CLANG—!!
His punch met Syrons' hammer in midair. The impact created a tangible shockwave, a visible distortion rippling out from the collision point.
Locked in a test of strength, Aeridar grinned, his teeth bared with bloodlust. "You sly old fossil… Word is you're from the same era as Fleet Admiral Sengoku and Vice Admiral Garp. Tell me, if I kill you, would those fossils shed a tear?"
"Brat," Syrons growled, voice grating against grit and age. "Say that again after you manage to kill me. Once I drag you into Impel Down like a mangy mutt, we'll see if you still talk that big."
They broke apart, and the next moment exploded into a storm of fists and kicks. Their movements blurred past the eye, each strike trailing sonic booms. Observation Haki surged between them, locking into a dance of prediction and reaction. Air detonated with every near-miss, rippling outward with visible force.
CLANG—CLANG—!!
Their battle sounded like giant gongs crashing together.
Syrons swung his hammer in a devastating arc, sending Aeridar skidding back. In a flash, he pivoted, leg snapping forward with lethal precision. Muscle coiled, detonating raw energy—
A massive, blue-white crescent of compressed wind surged forth.
Rokushiki—Rankyaku!!!
"Let's see whose Rankyaku reigns supreme."
Just as Aeridar regained his footing, he raised his leg and lashed out. In a flash, a matching blue-white slash burst forth, screaming through the air to meet Syrons' attack.
SHING—!!
The two vacuum blades collided midair with a sharp metallic shriek, canceling each other out. The surrounding air trembled violently.
"Not bad, brat. Who taught you that Rankyaku?" Syrons' pitch-black beard shifted slightly, though the Haki across his face made his expression unreadable.
"No one," Aeridar replied coolly, lowering his leg. "Found some notes in an old pirate's journal. Picked it up myself."
Before crossing over into this world, Aeridar had always been obsessed with Rokushiki. Learning it had been a dream, and now, through sheer luck, he'd found manuals for three of its techniques. Though he lacked the full set, he'd trained relentlessly on Kukos Island, honing body and spirit until his form was forged by combat. For a time, he'd become so consumed with mastering Rokushiki, he'd even neglected his Impact-Impact Fruit.
"A damn shame… You're a genius, but you chose to be a pirate." Syrons' voice carried clear regret, even if his face betrayed none.
To have mastered Rankyaku and Soru to such a level from a mere pirate's notes, most CP agents wouldn't match that without formal training. The talent was undeniable. And for Syrons, that made Aeridar all the more dangerous.
"Marine or pirate, it's all the same in the end," Aeridar sneered. "The Marines don't represent true justice, and pirates aren't pure evil. You've lived decades, don't tell me you're still blind to that."
Syrons was silent for a moment. His eyes, heavy with something unreadable, met Aeridar's.
"Only the Marines… have the right to call themselves justice."
Aeridar laughed. "I've been at sea for over half a year now. You guys must've dug into my file."
He stared Syrons down, voice laced with derision. "Before I set sail, I ran a syndicate on Shiga Island, right under the nose of the Marine branch stationed there."
"One time, a child trafficking ring showed up. They kidnapped dozens of civilians. Their families went straight to the Marines for help. And you know what your so-called 'justice' did? Kicked them out."
"I led my own men and wiped those bastards out."
"Only later did I learn the truth, your branch had been bought off. Sat back while the traffickers did as they pleased."
Syrons' expression barely changed. "That group… They were under Crimson Man-Eating Flower, weren't they?"
"Right again. So tell me, what does it say when a former gangster like me takes down child traffickers while your Marine pals are in bed with them?"
He stared Syrons down, face twisted with contempt.
That operation had lasted three months. Aeridar's forces had dismantled the entire Crimson Man-Eating Flower presence in the East Blue, thousands of enemies killed. But the Chris Syndicate paid a heavy price. Of nearly a thousand core members, barely four hundred remained. Many were maimed or killed.
So when he finally set sail, he only brought about three hundred men, not for lack of loyalty, but because the rest were either dead or too wounded to go on.
After all, back on Shiga Island, becoming a core member of the Chris Syndicate required more than just skill, you needed to be a killer. Blood on your hands. At least one life taken.
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