The Greatest Disgrace in Marine History-Chapter 111 - 13: Now You Can’t Even Run

The sea writhed like a living beast, its surface torn apart by a storm beyond nature.

The massive waterspout continued to expand, its twisting column now stretching from the clouds above to the churning sea below. Winds screamed as though the heavens themselves were howling. Waves surged in every direction, breaking and folding into each other, creating a rift in the ocean wide enough to swallow fleets whole.

From afar, the view was apocalyptic.

The black spiral of storm clouds overhead had become a yawning vortex, swirling with such force it pulled even the light from the sky. It looked like a fortress of darkness collapsing inward. An invisible pressure weighed down on everything—the sea, the ship, the air in their lungs.

And in the eyes of the Roger Pirates, it felt as if space itself were warping around them.

"Wh-what the hell is that?! Is that climate manipulation?! That shouldn't be possible!!"

"No—it's a Logia-type! Wind control! A storm elemental!!"

"Damn it, if we get so much as clipped by that thing, the Oro Jackson is gone!"

The crew stared, transfixed and terrified. None of them had anticipated that the Marines might wield such a weapon—a Devil Fruit user who could bring nature to heel on such a terrifying scale.

The towering cyclone advanced like a god of destruction, grinding the sea beneath it to froth, pulling enormous waves in its wake, the likes of which could dash even warships to pieces.

"No, even Logias can't just alter the weather like this—not this fast!"

Spencer, the Oro Jackson's navigator, clung to the rigging. His hair was plastered to his face with seawater, and his drenched uniform clung to his frame. He shouted over the howling winds, knuckles white on the rigging.

"This whole sector was already loaded with storm clouds! And now, with those tropical pressure currents—his Devil Fruit's power is being supercharged! It's feeding off the environment!"

Lightning arced across the sky like cracks in glass. The entire crew was bathed in stark white light. Fear etched itself into their faces—but not panic. Not yet.

"HA HA HA HA!! Roger!! You're mine this time!!"

Garp's voice echoed from behind, barely distinguishable through the ongoing barrage of cannonfire.

The explosions never ceased. Shells kept falling like black rain from the heavens, forcing the crew into a constant dance for survival.

"AAAAAAHHH!! We're done for! We're really done for this time! Captain Roger, do something!!"

Buggy curled into himself, eyes wide and manic, arms shielding his head.

Shanks, beside him, had gone pale. He gripped his tiny dagger with both trembling hands, sweat and rain running down his cheeks.

In front: the cyclone. Behind: the Marine demon.

They were completely surrounded.

No exit. No hope.

The crew, almost as one, turned their eyes to the center of their world—the man standing at the bow.

Their captain.

Their hearts pounded. The salt in the wind stung their eyes, but the chill in their veins wasn't from the storm.

But no one broke.

They waited.

Rain hammered the deck. Thunder rippled through the sky. Lightning strobed. The shadows danced.

Behind them, the cannonfire came closer. Before them, the storm swallowed the sea.

And Roger... didn't move.

"Who said we were running?"

His voice cut clean through the storm.

A grin spread across his face. Bold. Wild. Familiar.

Rayleigh chuckled from where he leaned against the mast.

THUMP.

Roger stepped forward and placed a boot atop the prow of the Oro Jackson.

His hand settled on the hilt of his sword.

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His head rose. Black hair whipped back. His eyes lit with fire.

The storm howled louder.

"If that's how it is..."

Then, the man who would be Pirate King moved.

With a roar, he launched himself into the air. The wind buckled around him.

His crimson captain's coat snapped in the gale like a battle flag.

The sword left its sheath, singing with power.

Black and red lightning crackled down the blade, coiling like serpents around his arm, his shoulder, his spine.

They weren't lightning bolts—they were shackles broken free.

Roger's aura exploded.

"THEN WE'LL TEAR THEM DOWN!!!"

He dived headfirst into the vortex.

Time stopped.

Then:

SHRRAAAAK!

A wave of sword energy—vast, violent, shaped like a crescent moon—exploded from the cyclone's center.

BOOOOOOM!!!

It ripped the storm apart.

Lightning detonated in every direction. Thunder split the heavens. The dark clouds shattered like glass. The sky screamed.

The winds died.

The sea calmed.

And Roger stood at the heart of the vanishing storm, his sword resting on his shoulder, his coat soaked in rain, his presence swallowing the world.

"HAHAHAHA!! Is that it? A storm? Please."

"ROGER!! ABOVE YOU!!"

Someone shouted.

A hand—gloved in black leather—emerged from the remnants of the whirlwind. Fingers curved like claws. A blade of compressed wind in the shape of a hurricane spun down toward Roger's skull.

The timing was perfect.

Dragon.

He had waited for Roger to commit.

He had attacked in the blind spot.

This was a strike meant to end the fight before it began.

Roger didn't even look.

He grinned.

"I've been waiting for you, Garp's little brat."

Dragon's heart skipped.

Roger moved.

One slash.

No wind-up.

No hesitation.

Just violence.

From hip to sky.

The blade, surrounded by black-red lightning, screamed upward.

SHING!!!

Dragon saw nothing.

Only light. Pain. And the chill of death.

He raised his arm. Armament Haki flooded his hand.

CLAAANG!

The sword met skin. Steel. Will.

It wasn't enough.

"Shit!! I can't—!!"

Blood exploded from his chest.

"Divine Departure!!"

KRAKOOOOOM!!

Dragon shot backward like a missile, smashing through the sky, leaving sonic booms behind.

The Marine warship responded instantly.

Metal rose from the deck—Darren's magnetic field kicking in.

Steel plates assembled in layers.

Dragon crashed through them all.

BOOM!!

The deck cracked. Wood splinters flew.

He lay embedded in the hull, groaning.

Darren walked over.

Smiling.

"Called it. You owe me 100,000 Berries."

Dragon wheezed. "Put it on my tab."

He winced, hand pressing to the bleeding wound on his chest.

"Guess it still takes the old man, huh."

Darren didn't argue. His gaze turned.

Toward the Oro Jackson.

Toward the sail...

Which suddenly split in two.

Gasps rang out from the pirate crew.

The sail tore down the middle. Fell to the deck.

And hovering in the air...

A dagger. Gleaming.

Its blade shone cold.

It bobbed slightly, as if nodding.

As if mocking.

Like a knight, bowing with elegance.

The crew paled.

Darren grinned, cruel and cold.

Blue sparks danced around his raised finger.

"Now... let's see you run."

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To be continued...