Novel Chapter
"What's... different!?"
Mihawk's attack faltered.
Just for a second—blade freezing mid-swing—but it was enough.
Kai didn't answer.
Instead, he raised Ryūjin Jakka, holding it horizontal before him. His voice dropped to a whisper.
"All things in the universe—turn to ash."
A pause.
"Ryūjin Jakka."
WHOOOOOM.
The blade erupted.
Flames—massive, roaring, hungry—exploded from the steel like a volcanic detonation. They didn't just cover the sword.
They consumed the sky.
Fire surged outward in every direction, a tidal wave of heat and light that turned the ocean into an inferno. The flames stretched for miles—a wall of destruction that painted the horizon orange and gold.
The sea itself began to boil.
"The—the blade's on fire!"
"GET US OUT OF HERE!"
"RAISE ANCHOR! NOW!"
Panic swept through the Baratie like wildfire. Cooks abandoned their posts. Diners scrambled for the rails. Zeff gripped the wheel with white knuckles, spinning it hard, steering the restaurant ship away from the inferno as fast as the engines would carry them.
But even miles away, the heat was suffocating.
Mihawk stared at the flames.
His expression was grave.
But not surprised.
Shanks warned me about this.
Said Whitebeard told him.
Said Kai's sword could burn the world.
I thought it was an exaggeration.
His grip tightened on Yoru.
It wasn't.
Kai's smile was small. Almost apologetic.
"You don't look surprised." He tilted his head. "Shanks told you, didn't he?"
Mihawk didn't answer.
"Well." Kai's eyes gleamed. "Shikai would've been enough to beat you. But you're lucky, Hawkeye."
He looked down at the burning blade in his hands.
"I've been wanting to test the next level."
His smile widened.
"Terrifying power."
He met Mihawk's eyes.
"Try not to die."
Then he raised Ryūjin Jakka high.
And spoke.
"BANKAI."
The word echoed across the ocean like thunder.
"ZANKA NO TACHI!"
Everything changed.
The flames—those massive, world-consuming flames—
Vanished.
Not extinguished.
Absorbed.
Every tongue of fire, every spark, every ember—they all rushed back toward Kai's blade, spiraling inward like water down a drain, until the entire inferno had been swallowed by the thin strip of steel.
The sword looked... normal.
Plain, even.
No flames. No glow.
Just a blade.
But Mihawk's blood ran cold.
Because the temperature hadn't dropped.
It had skyrocketed.
His skin felt like parchment—dry, brittle, ready to crack. His lips split, blood welling at the corners of his mouth. Every breath burned his lungs.
What—
What kind of heat—
Then he felt it.
His Observation Haki screaming a warning his conscious mind couldn't quite process.
The ocean.
It's—
Dropping.
The sea level was falling.
Not just here. Not just in the East Blue.
Everywhere.
"No." The word came out as a whisper. "That's—that's impossible—"
All the world's oceans were connected. For the sea level to drop globally—
What kind of temperature would that require!?
His eyes locked on Kai.
On the blade in his hands.
He's affecting the entire world.
With one sword.
One. Sword.
Horror and awe warred in his chest.
"This is..." His voice cracked. "...too much."
Marineford.
Fleet Admiral's Office.
Sengoku set down his pen.
Frowned.
Loosened his collar.
Why is it so hot?
The door slammed open.
A Marine Captain stumbled in, face pale, uniform soaked with sweat.
"Fleet Admiral! Emergency report!"
Sengoku was on his feet instantly. "What happened?"
"Sir—" The Captain gulped air. "—reports from every branch. Four Blues, Grand Line, New World. All of them."
"Spit it out!"
"The sea level is dropping, sir!" The words tumbled out in a rush. "Visibly. Fast. Especially in the East Blue—"
"What!?"
Sengoku's mind raced.
Global sea level drop.
Centered in the East Blue.
That means—
His stomach sank.
"Where's Admiral White Dragon?" His voice was deadly quiet.
The Captain blinked. "Sir?"
"Where. Is. Kai."
"I—East Blue, sir. He's in the East Blue."
Sengoku closed his eyes.
Of course he is.
"Not a natural disaster," he muttered. "A man-made one."
He sank back into his chair.
Kai.
I thought I understood your power.
I thought I'd seen the limits.
But this—
You're affecting the entire world.
The entire world.
What kind of monster are you?
Mary Geoise.
World Government Headquarters.
"Is it just me, or is it boiling in here?"
The round-faced Elder scratched at his collar, scowling.
"It's not just here." The blonde Elder frowned. "Reports coming in from everywhere. Temperature spike. Global."
"Global!?" The scarred Elder's eyes narrowed. "That's not weather. That's—"
"Man-made."
Every head turned.
The flat-capped Elder—the one who usually kept his eyes closed—was staring at nothing, face pale.
"Boss?" The blonde Elder's voice was uncertain. "Even you couldn't do something like this. So who—"
His eyes widened.
"The Ancient Weapons? Did someone—"
"No."
The flat-capped Elder's jaw clenched.
"It's him."
Silence.
"Kai Mitarashi."
The name hung in the air like a curse.
"That boy..." The round-faced Elder's voice was quiet. Shaken. "He's becoming a problem."
"He is the problem." The flat-capped Elder's hands curled into fists. "The world is slipping out of our control. And it started the moment he appeared."
The Baratie.
Miles away from the battlefield.
And still burning.
"HOT!" Usopp was flat on the deck, tongue lolling. "Too hot! Can't—can't breathe—"
"The sea's evaporating!" Sanji pointed at the water with a shaking hand. "Look at the waterline! It's dropping!"
Zoro gripped the railing, sweat pouring down his face.
This power—
This is what I'm trying to reach?
Luffy was a puddle.
Literally.
His rubber body had gone limp, melted across the deck like warm taffy.
"Kai... brother..." His voice was barely audible. "...so... hot..."
Back at the battlefield.
Kai stood in midair.
And he was burning.
Not the blade this time.
Him.
Crimson-gold flames wreathed his body—a cloak of fire so bright it hurt to look at directly. The heat radiating off him was visible, warping the air into shimmering waves.
He looked like a sun.
A miniature star, hanging above the ocean.
"Zanka no Tachi." His voice was quiet. Almost gentle. "West: Zanjitsu Gokui."
He raised the blade.
Pointed it at Mihawk.
"Fifteen million degrees Celsius." His smile was terrifying. "The temperature of the sun's core. Concentrated in this blade."
He took a step forward.
The air screamed.
"Feel it, Hawkeye."
Another step.
The ocean beneath him didn't boil.
It vaporized.
Instantly.
"The power of the sun."
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