Flames chased Shadow. Ash darted through the east wing, smoke stinging his lungs. Shelves toppled behind him, pages swirling like white moths. The steady thud of magma‑shod boots echoed close—Admiral Sakazuki never hurried; he advanced like the tide, certain the shore could not run.
Skeyth's twin handles pulsed in Ash's grasp.
Codex flashes screamed:
WRP 63/100 | Fatigue high | Conqueror burst spent.
Ash coughed, mind racing. Can't out‑punch lava. Outsmart him.
Ahead, a side stair spiralled to the herbarium balcony. He vaulted the railing, landing amid planters fed by rooftop rain barrels. Thick copper pipes snaked along the walls—ancient fire‑suppression lines never used.
Stone cracked below. Sakazuki stepped into view, right fist glowing scarlet. The air shimmered around him.
"Cornered rat," he growled. "Yield the weapon."
Ash forced a grin. "Which one? Library's full of sharp objects."
Lava dripped, hissing through slats. Wood sparked. Ash flicked open a valve wheel; water gushed from overhead pipes, soaking them both. Steam exploded off the admiral's arm—brief, but enough.
Ash hurled a planter box; magma punched it mid‑air—soil turned glass in a red flash. But the split‑second bought Ash momentum. He spun Skeyth staff‑form in a windmill arc, aiming not for flesh but for the copper line. Blade sliced; high‑pressure water blasted Sakazuki's face, veiling vision in boiling fog.
Ash vaulted again, racing along a loft catwalk. Beneath, the main atrium burned. Scholars fled out side doors. One saw Ash and pointed—fear and awe mingled—then vanished in the smoke.
Sakazuki emerged from steam like a molten god, coat in cinders. "Toys slow nothing." He slammed a palm into the balcony post; lava pooled, wood incinerated. Catwalk sagged.
Ash jumped, landing on the Tree's interior root buttress jutting through the floor. He sprinted along the gnarled surface toward the open reading courtyard. Behind, the loft collapsed in a roar.
Ash skidded into the courtyard—the island's heart. Statues of old scholars crumbled under falling embers. Wind howled through broken windows. He gulped air, mind mapping exits. The south cloister led to the sea cliffs—escape route.
Skeyth's voice whispered: "Magma slows in water; draw him seaward."
Ash nodded, wiped soot from eyes. "Lead him, bleed him."
Sakazuki strode in, cloak aflame but undamaged. Columns cracked at his aura of heat. "Enough games." With a sweep of his arm, magma fists shot like meteors—Ryusei Kazan in miniature. Ash flipped behind a marble plinth; molten balls shattered stone, sending streams of red rock.
Ash merged with Skeyth's guidance—split the staff, two hand‑scythes gleaming. He used the plinth fragments as stepping stones, rebounding, carving arcs that deflected smaller globs. Each parry sprayed sparks but diverted lethal heat.
He closed distance, feinted high, then hooked low, slicing the admiral's boot. Obsidian bark where molten hardened, but Sakazuki barely flinched. A backhand of lava‑coated knuckles clipped Ash's shoulder—blistering pain flared.
Ash rolled, shoulder screaming, and kicked over an oil lamp. Fire whooshed between them—magma drank flames harmlessly, but thick smoke veiled Ash's next move. He dashed left, grabbed a length of chandelier chain fallen from above, looped it around a pillar.
Sakazuki advanced through smoke. Ash yanked the chain taut across the admiral's shins. Heat sheared links instantly, yet momentum faltered—precious half‑second. Ash leapt, blades crossing in scissor strike aimed at Sakazuki's eyes.
A magma wall erupted—Ash's blades hissed, metal edges glowing orange but holding. He rebounded, every nerve on fire.
"Brief shift," the scythe offered. "Grim mantle will endure heat."
Ash nodded once. His white hair silver‑glowed; sable mist coiled around him. For three heartbeats he became a pale Reaper—durable, quick. He dashed straight through magma droplets, searing pain dulled.
He aimed for Sakazuki's belt—blade tip flicked, cutting the admiral's den‑den mushi transceiver clean off, sending it skidding into fire. Communication severed.
The mantle slipped away, leaving Ash gasping.
He bolted into the south cloister, a colonnade open to pounding surf thirty feet below. Stone arches framed stormy sea. Salt wind cooled his burns.
Sakazuki followed, eyes molten. "Running?"
"Guided tour," Ash shot back, pointing to the waves. "Good view."
Ash hacked at two arch bases. Weakened by fire, the stone cracked. He sheathed one scythe, drew a throwing knife kept for camping. With a precise toss he cut a hanging beam cord; loose slate tiles crashed behind Sakazuki.
The admiral raised an arm—roof debris melted on contact—but dust blinded briefly. Ash slashed final support; a section of arch toppled, pushing both combatants toward the edge.
Ash kicked off falling debris, flipping onto a lower balcony that jutted like a shelf. Sakazuki landed amid rubble above, lava carving footholds. Ash sprinted along the narrow ledge toward a root‑framed stair spiralling to the beach.
Shellfire still rang distant. Civilians screamed near dock lanes. Ash's heart pounded: reach the sea, disappear.
He reached beach stairs when a roar thundered. Akainu, atop cliff, thrust both fists down: "Meigō!" Twin magma fists blasted seaward. Flaming boulders of molten rock arced. One struck shoreline, sending steam clouds. Second punched the wooden stair where Ash stood.
A burst of white heat. Wood exploded. Ash flew, instinct curling into a ball. Skeyth shielded some, but liquid fire splashed across his back. Flesh seared; a scream tore from him, cut off by saltwater shock as he hit the sea.
Pain blotted vision. The world roared muffled. He kicked, half‑faint, forcing arms to move. Magma cooled into heavy stone chunks that sank beside him. Blood streamed from blistered skin, dyeing water pink.
He forced calm. Salt cools; keep moving. He swam under a kelp overhang where cliff roots created caves. Skeyth guided: "Left chamber connects to tide tunnel." Ash followed feel rather than sight, lungs burning.
He surfaced inside a narrow cavern lit by cracks of daylight. Pain flared anew; skin bubbled like charred parchment across his back. He bit a scream, tore off burned cloak, and dunked himself again.
On cliff top, Akainu scanned boiling surf. Bubbles rose where magma cooled. No corpse. He snarled. "Coward sinks." He signalled artillery: "Purge coastline." Cannons pivoted, firing incendiaries. Trees along beach burst like torches.
In the cave, Ash tore cloth strips, soaked them, pressed to wounds. Agony fogged thought. Codex popped: WRP 38/100 → emergency transfer 20 pts for tissue seal? He confirmed. Cool numbness spread; blisters wept but edges knit just enough.
Skeyth's voice gentle: "Scar marks prey; also marks survival."
Ash coughed weak laugh. "Thanks for poetry."
Meanwhile, on higher ground, Kuzan re‑evaluated shell paths. He saw the dome of ice shielding Robin near the jetty's ruins. Marine squads avoided the area, wary of his chill. He whispered apology and tipped his cap. Secretly he formed an ice ramp leading from dome to an unmanned cutter bobbing at a private pier. With a tap, cracks formed—dome split like petals.
Robin stumbled out, eyes wide. She saw the path, the cutter, and—far off—Kuzan's silhouette turning away. She fled along the ice, boarded, cut rope, and drifted north on coastal currents.
Ash crawled through the tide tunnel toward a seaward exit—but magma dripped from ceiling; Sakazuki forced his way inside, arm glowing.
"Persistent brat," he rumbled, stooping in cramped space. Heat boiled water.
Ash, half‑kneeling, raised one scythe. "Persistent bastard."
They clashed in sparks and steam. Ash used low ceiling—Sakazuki couldn't swing full lava hammers. Ash slashed pipes of cold seep water, dousing molten strikes, turning tunnel into sauna. He struck rocks, causing collapses that forced admiral to kneel.
Sakazuki roared, punched floor—steam explosion tossed both. Ash seized moment, dove through a crack into open sea. The admiral lunged but the gap narrowed.
Currents dragged Ash seaward. He clutched a drift beam, gasping. The scythe folded to handles, easier to grip.
Behind, the Tree's crown exploded in fiery collapse, ashes swirling into dawn sky.
Akainu, back on cliff, watched a lone silhouette float away. Cannons ready, but distance too great. He turned toward town ruins—mission focus.
Kuzan approached. "Island secured. Survivors captured."
Akainu grunted. "Finish cleansing."
Kuzan's gaze lingered on horizon—hoping the small dot was a stubborn boy still breathing.
Ash lashed himself to the wreck beam. Pain ebbed to dull fire. The Codex scrolled:
Conqueror Awakening: latent—flare detected.
Serious injury: back burns (Grade II).
Survival chance: 62 % (pending rescue or landfall).
He croaked, "Robin, live," then passed into restless fever dreams while waves bore him south, away from blazing O'Hara.