"The Flame–Flame Fruit— even a dog wouldn't eat it."
Babel's face froze for a heartbeat.
He'd regretted it before—being a fish–man who ate a Devil Fruit and threw away his birthright in the sea—yet Logia were rare, and when he'd been young and stupid he'd gulped the power down with shaking hands.
"You're the old fossil who beat Wang Zhi…!"
Rage boiled up. His eyes went bloodshot; fire exploded from his skin and began to spin, a blistering cyclone that set Shakky's bar ablaze and dragged every gawker into the inferno. The ring of flame howled skyward and twisted into a thousand–meter tornado. From beyond Hachinosu's cliffs, it looked like a red sun had blossomed on the island.
"Hey— we're bystanders!"
"Hot—hot—HOT!"
"Run! Get caught in this and you're done!"
Nine–figure pirates scattered, cursing. Babel didn't spare them a glance. His world had narrowed to one man.
In the roaring heat, an invisible shell of Armament clung to Dimon's frame. He stood there and let the flames break on him.
"At this temperature you couldn't finish a steak," he chuckled. "I once saw a Flame–Flame user take a fist through the chest."
He slid his sword away. "Let's make this a fistfight."
Truth be told, Crocodile's trade–fair idea was paying off already: ran into the Red Count, then an old era leftover. Perfect timing. He hadn't had a good meal out of a prison in a while.
What is this old man…? Babel's gut went cold. The firestorm that should melt an iceberg hadn't so much as singed a hair.
Damn it— the Flame–Flame isn't that useless!
"Fish–Man Karate: Flame Taiko!"
He drove forward with a straight right. The fire around him compressed, plating his knuckles in gold. On impact, the compressed flames detonated, a shock–blast plowing a burning gouge across the town like a dragon tunneling through earth.
"—What?!"
His fist had stopped—caught by another fist.
Dimon's silhouette wavered in the blaze. "The old man knows a trick or two with his hands."
Armament sighed out from him like a black wall and burst, throwing Babel backward. The fish–man tumbled, carved a trench, and when he looked up the old man was already dropping from above.
The punch landed like a piledriver.
The ground caved. Internal destruction crawled through Babel's body; he spat blood as if a bomb had gone off in his gut. Each time Dimon's fist fell, the crater widened; each time Babel's immortality tugged him toward whole, another hammer blow shoved him back toward pieces.
"Immortal, is it?" Dimon spoke between blows. "I'll beat you faster than you can regenerate."
Impossible— his Armament is miles above mine! Babel's vision rattled. Wang Zhi… it was this old man—!
Cold clarity cut the fury. He'd been headhunted in a blink, then blundered in anger and paid for it. Underestimating the man who beat Wang Zhi was suicidal.
"Don't look down on me!"
He caught a gap, burst into flame and scattered. A half–formed body reknit above the pit, legs still fire as jets that hurled him away at lightning speed.
A red silhouette stood ahead, parasol tilted, wine cupped, watching the fight like a painting. Babel squinted.
"The Red Count— from the bar."
He needed thirty seconds—no more—to put himself back together. With immortality, wounds that would kill any other man were trivial. He would not provoke Redfield now.
He veered to pass behind him.
"Pity," Redfield murmured, sipping. "You chose the wrong line. Your future is fixed."
What? The pass was too quick for Babel to parse the words—then he understood.
The air in front of him shivered. The old man was simply there.
"You're late," Dimon said mildly. "Kept me waiting three seconds."
Babel tried to kill his speed; momentum betrayed him and carried him in.
"Do you know what three seconds buys?" Dimon's right forearm turned to magma. "Enough to kill you three times."
The lava fist lanced forward and ran him through. Elementalization came too late; the molten spike pinned him like an octopus ball on a skewer. Blood fountained; terror widened his eyes.
"You— you're a Devil Fruit user?!"
Wasn't he a swordsman? Fine, a brawler too— but this?
"You should know this part," Dimon said. "Abilities have tiers. And inconveniently for you—" he withdrew his arm; Babel dropped to his knees, a smoking hole yawning in his belly— "the old man is your superior element."
Babel hacked, blood splattering his chest. He wasn't afraid of a fatal wound. When you couldn't die, fear dulled.
Being beaten like a drum still grated. Shouldn't have come to Hachinosu… Need a way out—
"This power shouldn't be yours," he snarled. "Your real Fruit is mag—"
Another blow. Babel's head vanished in a hiss of lava.
A headless body swayed and toppled. Immortality scraped what pieces it could into motion, straining to stitch.
Dimon watched him coolly. "Think immortality makes you untouchable? Without half a day, you're not coming back together."
Above the crater, the firestorm guttered, and the crowd—pirates, killers, would–be kings—held very, very still.
Out on the harbor, a ship's bell rang twice.
More monsters had smelled the wine.
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