The battlefield stretched out on the shattered cliffs beyond the eastern walls of Dressrosa, where the sea wind howled and was thick with blood and salt scent. Blazes burned distant. Faulty cannons and fallen banners scarred the ground, a grim reminder that this was not an easy battle — it was a clash between emerging powers and the established power structure.
Itachi alone stood atop a ridge, his dark cloak billowing in the turbulent air. Before him, two Vice Admirals — Onigumo and Doberman — advanced with grim determination. Their coats billowed behind them, sabers and rifles shining in the waning light of the sun.
Onigumo's spider-arms trembled with eagerness, and Doberman's scarred face twisted into a scowl. Both men radiated hardened killing intent — veterans who had survived hundreds of wars.
And yet, his gaze was cold. Distant. Almost. reflective.
He unclenched his fingers, feeling the familiar ache of the Storm-Storm Fruit powers pulsating through him, flowing around him in invisible streams. But above all, he sensed the extra heaviness on his limbs — the heavy, formless barrier of Armament Haki that he had just brought back to life.
It still felt awkward. Unstable. Like forging a sword that was still warm from the heat.
Perfect, Itachi believed.
This would be a good forge.
Onigumo moved first, leaping with unnatural speed, his multiple arms aiming to pin Itachi down in a flurry of brutal strikes. At the same moment, Doberman came in low, sword slicing for Itachi's legs, aiming to cripple.
Itachi didn't move for a heartbeat.
When he did, it was with fluid grace, almost lazy — sidestepping Onigumo's descending blades by a hair's breadth, his left arm flashing out to meet Doberman's sword with a clean, solid clash of steel against hardened flesh.
Sparks erupted.
Itachi's skin shimmered faintly black — Armament Haki.
But the force behind Doberman's swing made his arm tingle uncomfortably, a reminder that raw power still mattered.
He squinted, changing his stance halfway through the movement.
Doberman snarled. "You think you can beat us with half-baked Haki, boy?"
Itachi did not answer. Words would not do him any good here.
Instead, he twisted his body, letting the stormwinds pick him up in a spiral — a miniature cyclone forming under his feet. For a moment, the battlefield was filled with churning dust and broken stones, blinding both Vice Admirals.
From within the storm, Itachi struck.
First a huge hand on Doberman's shoulder — Haki-boosted, sending him reeling back. Then a low kick to the side of Onigumo, swatting away half a dozen spider-arms with one stroke.
Each impact was measured.
Each strike, a stress test.
How far would his Haki reach before breaking? How much force could he channel before the flow burst?
The Vice Admirals fought back viciously, wounded pride adding fire to their strikes. But no matter how hard they swung, how quickly they adapted, they found themselves reacting rather than leading.
Itachi's eyes glowed faintly red as he guided the battle, reading their moves before they made them.
In the distance, below the cliffs, another fight raged.
Kael gritted his teeth as he sidestepped under Rear Admiral Lonz's giant warhammer, the impact destroying the ground where he had been a moment ago. Kael's explosives burst from his gloves, showering shrapnel into the Rear Admiral's face — not to kill, but to slow, to irritate, to wear him down.
His own breath seared in his lungs, fingers streaming blood from repeated explosions, but he refused to give way. Each moment he bought here was one more moment Dressrosa remained alive.
By his side, Vance roared like an animal, punching fist-first into Rear Admiral Halford's shield with such power that the air trembled. Blood streamed down Vance's temple, but he smiled through it, wild and unyielding.
The World Government troops were finding that spirit was as strong as strength.
And on the ridge, Itachi realized it was time to push harder.
He danced between the joint attack of Onigumo and Doberman, letting their swords scrape futilely against whirling shields of storm-forged gust. Then he focused inward, drawing on the raw reservoirs of will he had accumulated over months of dark quiet.
The dark gleam of Armament Haki coursed from his fists onto his forearms, stiffening like black steel.
When Onigumo attacked again, Itachi did not step aside.
He used two fingers to pinch the Vice Admiral's spider-blade, the jolt of impact shattering the stones beneath him. Onigumo's eyes widened — astonishment crossing his face.
With a nonchalant flick, Itachi snapped the blade, sending fragments scattering.
Doberman came thundering with a body blow — and this time, Itachi held firm head-on, fist to blade.
The air ripped apart.
Doberman was sent flying backward, tumbling across the floor like a rag doll.
Both Vice Admirals paused for the first time during the battle.
Itachi gradually exhaled his breath, mist curling off his skin. His Armament Haki had held out. Made stronger.
He curled his fingers again, feeling the added weight — burnished, perfected.
"This is enough," Itachi said quietly, almost to himself.
And then, without mercy, he stepped forward to end it.
The storm overhead darkened, winds screaming like a living thing. Thunder cracked across the sky. Tiny sparks danced along Itachi's skin, the Storm-Storm Fruit resonating with his will.
Onigumo and Doberman braced themselves, grimly aware that they had awakened a demon they could no longer contain.