The Greatest Disgrace in Marine History-Chapter 116 - 18: I’m not backing down

And Darren knew.

If I don't move... I die.

Not metaphorically.

Not eventually.

I die. Right now.

This wasn't a legend.

This wasn't a training exercise.

This was Gol D. Roger — the man who brought down Rocks D. Xebec.

The man who would stand atop the world.

Even Dragon — a monster among prodigies — had been nearly cut down by this one strike.

And Darren?

No Armament Haki.

No Logia body.

No time to think.

Just a sword swing that could end him in a heartbeat.

Retreat.

His instincts screamed it.

His body wanted it.

Back away.

Get clear.

Live.

But—

No.

Something inside him snapped.

The tremors stopped.

His pupils shrank into pinpricks, then dilated wide, blood vessels flooding with crimson madness.

From his chest, something darker than fear rose.

Fury.

Will.

A defiance that didn't care about logic, strength, or odds.

A grin — twisted and unrelenting — broke across his face.

So many near-death fights.

So many days of hellish training.

All those years scraping by in North Blue — clawing for a spot in the officer's program.

He'd finally made it.

Finally reached the main stage of the world.

And for what?

For this. Exactly this.

To clash with monsters.

With Roger.

With Whitebeard.

With Shiki.

And now — one of them stood before him.

"I'm not backing down!!"

Darren's roar tore through the sky.

Power exploded from his body — raw, chaotic, defiant.

His Conqueror's Haki surged outward like a hurricane, smashing against Roger's aura midair.

Two vortexes collided in the sky — Conqueror's clashing with Conqueror's, spiraling like storm-born titans.

For the first time, Darren's hidden force — long dormant, long smothered — erupted.

CRACK!!

Lightning danced violently. The storm itself recoiled.

Roger's eyes narrowed. "Conqueror's Haki...?"

From below, Garp and Dragon both gasped.

"A Marine with the will of kings... rare indeed."

"But—"

Roger's lips curled into a grin.

"Your will's still too weak!!"

He gripped his sword with both hands.

From a distance, it looked like a dragon made of lightning was diving toward earth.

And then— he brought it down.

SHRAAK!!

Darren's aura shattered like glass.

His Haki collapsed under the weight of Roger's blade, crumbling into splinters of invisible pressure.

"Darren!!" Tokikake's voice cracked.

Gion's fists bled from how tightly she clenched them.

Garp cursed, skywalking upward, desperation on his face.

Dragon's stomach dropped.

Roger roared —

"This ends now!!"

Death was coming.

Darren felt his heart seize.

He saw nothing — only flashes.

Of power.

Of fists.

Of movement.

Byrnndi World.

The fight with that monstrous pirate — every punch, every dodge — replayed in perfect clarity.

His massive fists.

The way he anchored his foot before exploding forward.

The moment his punch crushed a warship hull like paper.

And suddenly — it clicked.

A bolt of light split through the darkness of Darren's mind.

That feeling — like standing atop a mountaintop with wind screaming past his ears.

That power.

Everything made sense.

Why hadn't he realized it earlier?

When Strength hits 60 — the body becomes unyielding, like steel.

When Agility passes 60 — movement explodes like Soru.

And when Power—

His eyes widened.

Of course.

"Armament Haki... Hardening!"

His voice shook the rain.

Blood surged. Muscles locked.

His fist — his right hand — turned black.

Glossy, metallic.

Impossibly dense.

An invisible armor bloomed across his knuckles.

No time to think.

No time to feel.

Just one choice.

He met Roger's blade with his fist.

BOOOOOM!!!

The heavens screamed.

Waves blasted outward.

The sea rose in titanic walls.

The wind howled.

Everyone stared — frozen.

CRACK.

His gauntlet shattered.

Then the bones in his hand.

Then his wrist.

Then the flesh of his forearm tore open, muscle ripping, nerves screaming.

Blood mist exploded around him.

And then—

"DIVINE DEPARTURE!!"

Roger's blade struck him full-on.

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From neck to hip, a savage diagonal cleave ripped Darren open.

His ribs showed through.

His blood splashed across Roger's face.

He crumpled in the air — his body folding like a broken doll.

The Oro Jackson's crew gasped as one.

He fell.

"Roger, you son of a bitch!!"

Garp's fist came crashing down like a comet.

Roger moved to block—

But then—

Darren moved.

Mid-fall, coughing blood, teeth gritted, he lifted a hand.

A crooked smile on his shredded face.

"Then take this... as interest."

He reached downward.

Below — someone jumped.

A tall figure.

Strong arms.

A warm chest caught Darren before he hit the deck.

Roger blinked.

And then — a tug.

At his waist.

Too late.

CLANG!!

BOOM!!

Fist and blade collided, sparks bursting like a rain of stars. Shockwaves rippled through the storm.

But Roger —

Roger froze.

A cold, eerie draft kissed his legs.

His face twisted strangely — from fury to confusion to outright panic.

Slowly, fearfully, he looked down.

And nearly blacked out.

His metal-buckled belt — and with it, his black pants — had been yanked straight down.

Left exposed, standing proud atop the deck, was Roger the future Pirate King...

...in nothing but a blazing red pair of underpants.

Silence —

then—

"WAHAHAHAHAHA!!

ROGER!!

YOUR PANTS FELL OFF!!"

Garp howled so loudly it nearly shattered the storm clouds.

Roger's face turned a shade of red that could've rivaled the crimson of his own underwear.

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To be continued...