"No... impossible..." Kizaru reached out desperately and grabbed Atticus's foot, his face coated in blood, contorted with rage and disbelief.
He could not believe he had lost so quickly.
"It doesn't matter whether you believe it or not, because this is the truth." Atticus, now returned to his human form, blood trickling from his mouth, wore exhaustion on his sculpted features. More tellingly, his right foot — pressed against Kizaru's chest — was drenched in blood, the stench of iron and scorched flesh filling the air.
To defeat Kizaru, Atticus had paid a heavy price.
In that moment, he unleashed multiple recent techniques: the boundless fire domain to trap his enemy, the suffocating withdrawal of oxygen inside that domain, the activation of his full-beast form, and finally, bursts of extreme speed.
The display marked his limits — and yet, the result was undeniable: he had bested Kizaru.
"It's a pity you haven't fully mastered your Devil Fruit," Atticus said quietly, "or else catching you would be as difficult as reaching the heavens." His voice was calm, almost pitiless.
If Kizaru had been the later, more experienced version of himself, Atticus admitted he might have surrendered without a fight.
But that was not the case now.
He believed—and was confident—that as time passed and powers grew, he would remain strong enough to suppress him.
"Do you have anything else to say?" Atticus's eyes were cold, empty of mercy.
In his right hand, a flaming spear materialized, its tip pitch black with scorching heat.
Kizaru's pupils shrank.
His face went pale.
His voice quivered as he questioned, "What are you going to do?"
Atticus shifted his grip and raised the spear deliberately.
His eyes glinted with merciless resolve.
"I don't want a trouble-maker beside me in the future. Someone as powerful and uncertain as you only leads to danger."
He paused.
Then he added quietly, "No matter the reason, what's done is done. I might once have considered cooperation... but now... goodbye."
With no hesitation, he thrust the spear directly at Kizaru's heart.
"No!" Kizaru's roar echoed through the arena, desperate and broken.
Fear coursed through him — for the first time, he truly believed death was near.
He still had ambition, dreams of climbing the ranks, of roaming the seas as an Admiral, but now... he watched those hopes vanish in a red flame.
But then things moved so fast the crowd gasped.
Sengoku and the others on the platform turned pale.
Their gazes fixed on the blazing dome of fire surrounding Atticus and Kizaru.
Through their own advanced Observation Haki, they heard Kizaru's terror and unwillingness.
"This is bad," Sengoku muttered, dread creasing his face.
"He's going to kill Kizaru."
"Stop him! Kizaru cannot die."
"Such madness." Tsuru whispered.
At once, four powerful figures appeared inside the arena: Sengoku, Garp, Zephyr, and Akainu.
Their auras soared like sea storms, stirring wind and cloud above the battlefield.
Cracks split the fiery barrier.
The flames balked under their combined strength.
The blazing dome shattered, revealing Atticus drenched in blood, spear in hand, his boot pressed onto Kizaru's chest.
Kizaru lay beneath him, terrified and barely alive.
Shock spread across every face.
The smell of fire and iron hung heavy.
"Stop!" Sengoku's voice roared.
Zephyr and Garp rushed forward as well.
"You guys..." Atticus sneered, turning his head toward Garp, contempt clear in his eyes.
Garp stiffened — a bitter chill traveled down his spine.
He realized just how unpredictable Atticus had become.
Then Sengoku flicked a subtle signal toward Zephyr: only Zephyr could calm him down.
"Atticus, you cannot kill Kizaru," Zephyr said firmly, his words heavy with concern and care.
Atticus hesitated.
Memories flickered behind his eyes.
"Master," Zephyr continued softly, "remember your goal."
That voice struck him like a blow.
In that instant, Atticus recognized how far he had nearly gone — how close he had come to crossing a line he could never return from.
He exhaled slowly — a breath that tasted of regret and pain.
The spear vanished.
He lowered his foot.
With tired eyes, he addressed Zephyr. "Thank you, Master. I was wrong this time."
A faint, somewhat sad smile quivered on his lips.
Zephyr stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder gently.
"It's fine. You pushed too hard. But I'm glad you didn't let impulse ruin your future."
Atticus bowed his head slightly, composed now.
"Medic! Medic!" Sengoku barked, his face dark, anger simmering beneath control.
Kizaru was carried away from the battlefield, bloodied but alive.
Atticus turned toward Sengoku.
"Fleet Admiral Sengoku, I also need treatment," he said, pointing to his bleeding, bone-deep wounds.
Without a word, Sengoku waved dismissively, accustomed to harshness with this kind of soldier.
Zephyr nodded at Atticus.
"I will inform you when your next match is scheduled."
"I await your word, Master." Atticus replied, and limped away under escort.
Some trainees shook their heads, pity in their eyes.
Others looked on with awe and admiration.
"Zephyr truly gained a strong disciple," someone murmured.
Sengoku glared in Zephyr's direction but said nothing else.
With the match against Kizaru concluded, the next battle began: Akainu vs. Aokiji.
Atticus stayed off to treat his wounds, leaving the arena early.
As dusk fell, Zephyr visited him in the infirmary and spoke softly.
The fight had ended: Akainu narrowly defeated Aokiji.
Both sustained serious injuries.
Because all four top contenders were wounded, the organizers postponed the final rounds for half a month.
Next up: Kizaru vs. Aokiji, and Atticus vs. Akainu — then the two survivors would fight to decide who would be first.
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