Chapter 48: Two Pairs of Wings
It is said: "Since the dawn of the Great Pirate Age, countless strong men have emerged."
But what is "strength"?
For those trapped by the ring of fire, an answer was unfolding before them.
...
An island the size of a town, cleaved apart by a single stroke.
The aftermath churned the sea into a whirlpool, swallowing the fragments, churning massive waves.
Whoosh— CRASH!
Many ships capsized. Crews leapt overboard, swimming desperately for the few larger vessels still afloat.
"Careful!"
"Cough! Cough-cough-cough…"
"Over there! Grab them!"
"…"
Chaos eventually subsided. A young soldier, soaked, slumped against the mast, exhaling. "Finally… safe."
"No." A weary, hoarse voice corrected. It was Pell. He and Chaka had shielded Cobra at the last moment. King's blow hadn't been fatal; all three were wounded but alive. Cobra and Chaka were tending to others, leaving Pell, the most grievously hurt, resting on deck.
Pell looked at the soldier, a tired smile on his face. He raised his eyes to the two figures hovering in the sky.
"Until they decide the victor… we have no 'safety' at all."
...
Flap! Flap!
Flap! Flap!
Two pairs of wings beat the air. Two massive bodies, suspended, faced each other.
"…"
King's eyes narrowed, his breathing steadying. The crown-flame at the back of his head burned steadily—the mark of the Lunarian, granting him immense defense, survival in any environment.
Alvin Vergil's onslaught had been terrifying. Brutal, violent, yet each strike honed to the limits of speed and power, nearly inescapable. Without the flame's constant protection, the fight would already be over.
Next step…
Continue? No. Something more important demanded attention.
King's gaze sharpened as he studied his opponent anew. A flicker of shock crossed his eyes.
Was this truly Alvin Vergil?
The bulky, thick-limbed form was gone. Replaced by a leaner, more streamlined body. Skin a dull blue-gray, sharp fangs, pointed ears. The wings on his back were distinctly different from King's feathered Lunarian wings. These were standard membranous wings—joints extended, connected by light-gray webbing, strikingly similar to King's own pterosaur-form wings.
"…"
Even the stoic King couldn't help but acknowledge the World Government's label: [Demon]. Aberrant. Undeniably aberrant.
Most startling was Vergil's stance. The black blade held loosely, tip pointing toward the sea. If not for the monstrous visage, King might have been looking in a mirror.
As Vergil had said: "I'm learning from you."
"…"
King was silent. This wasn't mere "mimicry." It was learning. The "center line" of Vergil's posture was now straight, taut, devoid of its earlier looseness. That couldn't be faked.
"…"
"Tch."
After a long pause, King merely clicked his tongue. He'd known retrieving the Poneglyph would demand a brutal fight. He wouldn't retreat.
As he'd stated—this was Fate.
...
Whoosh!
King beat his wings, closing the distance in a flash, blade descending.
Clang!
Two black swords met, deadlocked.
King stared into Vergil's face. Within those crimson orbs, one pupil had morphed. The round iris was gone, replaced by three unbroken horizontal lines forming an isosceles trapezoid.
"Qian."
Demon of the Sky: Western Wind Form.
"…"
King exhaled, then shifted his focus to the wings beating behind Vergil. The membranes fluttered constantly, maintaining balance against the tremendous impacts.
"So that's it." King understood. He realized why Vergil hadn't used "flight" from the start. Not reluctance. Inability.
On these seas, few had wings. Fewer still could wield them in combat. That Alabastan Zoan user? Perhaps an inspiration, but far from enough to master aerial battle.
But now, after clashing with him, [The Demon] had grasped the fundamentals.
"But only the fundamentals." King increased the pressure. Vergil's wings trembled violently. A cold sneer touched King's lips. "With fledgling wings like these… can you keep up?"
"Hah!" Vergil's grin widened. His wings beat faster, matching the force. "Try me!"
"…"
A beat of silence.
Then—
Whoosh!
Both figures vanished.
Clang-clang-clang-clang! Dozens of blade collisions echoed through the air, unseen sparks erupting in their wake.
On the sea below, every witness held their breath, eyes straining skyward despite the sun's sting, tears streaming. A rare aerial duel upon the Grand Line. To miss a single moment would be a lifelong regret.
...
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
Metal and earthen stone, black blade against black blade, Haki against Haki. Collisions erupted in mid-air.
Clang! Another impact. King deliberately broke away, putting distance between them. He shifted his grip to one hand, his other arm morphing into a massive pterosaur wing. His back wings beat powerfully, propelling him into a high-speed dive.
"Learn this, [Demon]!"
The pterosaur wing, sheathed in Armament Haki, became a hardened hammer swinging toward Vergil.
Vergil mirrored the move, wrapping one wing in Ancient Armament, and lunged upward.
Up and down, they passed.
SCREEE—!
A violent, grating shriek tore across the sky. One move led to another.
King's entire form shifted into his full Ancient Pteranodon form. He yanked his head back, neck coiling like a loaded slingshot, aiming at Vergil above.
A seemingly bizarre move, yet it gathered lethal, beam-like force, nearly impossible to block.
"Watch closely, [Demon]! This is how ancient pterosaurs hunted!"
On the other side, Vergil arched his neck, body elongating. Emerald-green scales spread from his spine across the tops of his wings.
Earth Demon · Small Peak—Composite Form!
Jaws agape, air and power coalescing within.
...
Unleashed!
...
Vergil and King, one angled upward, one downward, released their ultimate strikes simultaneously.
The chaotic, roaring gale of the Composite Form—
ROAR!
And the colossal impact of the recoiled pterosaur strike—
Respectful Emperor!
BOOOOOOM!
The two forces collided mid-air. The shockwave slammed into the sea, kicking up even greater tidal waves!
CRASH!
As the waters calmed slightly, all eyes on the decks looked up. The two combatants still hovered, facing each other.
...
Both Vergil and King had reverted to their initial, blade-wielding stances. Each held a black sword of matching specifications, gazes locked.
Both knew: they had tested each other's limits. The next move would be the last.
Victory would be decided.
And what that move would be… both already knew.
...
In unison, Vergil and King sheathed their blades. They leaned forward, backs bowing, wings behind them beating a slow, rhythmic pulse.
King spoke, voice a low rumble. "One final cut."
Vergil nodded.
"Yeah. One more cut."
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