Raidon, having just climbed out of the crater, looked at Garp with a wide, toothy grin. His mind raced, replaying the countless exchanges they had already shared. Without a word, he charged again. Garp met him head-on, their fists colliding in a brutal rhythm—blow for blow, neither yielding. This time, they relied solely on Armament Haki in its hardened form, each strike testing the limits of their endurance and physical resilience.
Their battle raged on for an entire day. The ground beneath them shattered and scarred under their relentless assault. Eventually, Raidon's Haki reserves gave out, forcing him to continue fighting with nothing but raw fists. Yet even then, he didn't falter. Garp, recognizing his resolve, chose to fight back using only hardening as well—deliberately avoiding Haki emission as a self-imposed handicap, in return for Raidon not using his Devil Fruit abilities.
Raidon's knuckles were torn, blood dripping from every punch. His breath came in ragged gasps, his vision blurring at the edges. But still—he didn't stop. Every strike he landed, even without Haki, came from somewhere deeper than flesh: his will. A will that refused to bow, even before a legend like Garp.
Garp noticed. The boy's fists may have lost their coating, but his spirit still blazed. With every punch, that presence—his Haoshoku—began to stir. Faintly at first, then stronger, crackling like static in the air.
"Hah… still swinging?" Garp muttered, blocking a punch with his forearm. "Most would've passed out hours ago."
Raidon staggered but didn't fall. "I'm not most… old man."
Then it happened.
As Raidon raised his fist again, something shifted. The air warped around it, recoiling from an unseen force. His pupils sharpened, and the ink on his body pulsed violently—then exploded outward in a wave of pressure.
CRACK!
The ground split beneath his feet. A black bolt, laced with violet lightning, danced across his arm. The next punch connected with Garp's guard—and for the first time, Garp's body moved.
Garp's eyes widened slightly. "…Heh. There it is."
Raidon blinked, hardly believing what he felt.
"I understand it now. About damn time," Raidon muttered, looking down at his arm, now wreathed in dark lightning. His breath caught—but his grin widened, mad and proud.
"Now let's see how it feels to punch you."
Garp's laugh thundered once more, full of delight and challenge. "Bring it on, brat."
And with fists wrapped in will, they clashed again—this time, as true kings.
The moment Raidon's Advanced Conqueror's Haki-laced fist struck Garp's forearm, the very air screamed. Black lightning erupted, arcing skyward as concentric shockwaves flattened the jungle. The crater deepened, spiderweb cracks racing outward across the island.
"GYAAAHHH!!" Raidon roared, giving everything he had. His body was battered and bleeding, but now he was matching Garp's intensity—no handicaps, no restraints. Their battle surged until a final clash: fists stopping inches apart, yet unleashing a shockwave so powerful that even their bodies were shoved back by the force of spirit alone.
Unyielding. Unwavering.
Each wore a smile that only a madman could bear.
Now this is a challenge. This brat's reminding me of my younger days... when I fought the strongest monsters to ever sail the seas, Garp thought, throwing a punch at Raidon's face.
Raidon countered with a spinning elbow to Garp's shoulder. Garp retaliated with a body blow that sent Raidon skidding, gouging a trench into the dirt. But Raidon caught himself with one hand, flipped upright, and charged again.
Each clash came with a silence—then thunder.
Trees vaporized. The sky darkened from the sheer weight of their wills.
Their spirits now clashed not just in strength, but in legacy.
Garp—the symbol of righteous might.
Raidon—the rising storm meant to challenge the world's thrones.
Then came the final charge.
Their figures became blurs of fury, fists clashing mid-air again and again. Lightning streaked the heavens, clouds tearing apart from their Haki. On the ships offshore, seasoned Marines dropped to their knees, sweat pouring down their faces. The Conqueror's Haki presence was suffocating—even from a distance.
Then, both pulled back.
A heartbeat of silence.
Then—
"GALAXY—""IMPACT—!"
"RAAAAAAAHHHH!!!"
They struck.
The resulting blast dwarfed everything before. A dome of pure force erupted outward, flattening the last of the trees. The ocean pulled back before crashing forward in towering waves.
When the dust cleared, both warriors were standing—but barely.
Raidon's knees buckled. His fists hung limp. Blood covered half his face. But he refused to fall.
Garp exhaled slowly, sweat dripping from his brow. "Not bad, brat… Not bad at all."
Raidon coughed, then laughed through the pain. "Old man… are you still standing?"
"I should be asking you that."
They grinned—bloodied and broken, but alive, and with more respect for each other than ever before. As they laughed, exhaustion finally caught up to Raidon. He fainted, a smile still on his face. Garp caught him just in time, preventing his face from hitting the dirt.
Looking at Raidon, Garp couldn't help but be reminded of his grandsons. He wanted them to be strong, no matter what path they chose. Bringing Raidon back to his home village felt right—perhaps Raidon could help them grow stronger too, just in case their paths opposed his. Garp didn't know if he could ever choose between duty and family.
Later
Garp was preparing to leave with Raidon slung over his shoulder when he noticed an odd-looking dog behind the trees, watching the fight's end. If Raidon had been conscious, he would have recognized it as one of the animals he'd befriended—a massive Cane Corso with fur black as pitch, like a hellhound.
The beast should have still been asleep. Raidon had fed it a massive Sea King carcass the day before meeting Garp. The creature only left its cave when hungry.
Now, it approached Raidon's unconscious body, sniffing at the blood. Realizing Garp had hurt Raidon, it growled and leapt forward protectively.
"I'm not hurting him. If you want to come, you can," Garp said, calm and matter-of-fact.
The dog hesitated, then slowly followed as Garp made his way to the shore—where Bogard was already waiting.
"You still manage to keep up with the youngsters, Garp-san," Bogard said, noting the state of both Garp and Raidon.
"I'm getting old. I can't believe it took me this long to put down a brat," Garp chuckled, boarding the ship. "But he's strong. Stronger than his age has any right to be… and getting stronger fast."
"Where to now, Garp-san?" Bogard asked, though he already knew the answer.
"Foosha Island... I miss my grandsons. And I want to introduce them to this kid—give them someone to look up to. Maybe I can even convince them to become Marines."
Bogard gave him a side glance, the look of a man watching someone entertain impossible hopes.
He knew exactly the kind of grandsons Garp had.
As the ship pulled away from the ruined island, Garp let out a long sigh and looked out toward the sea. Ahead lay East Blue—and Foosha Village.