The slope of Mount Merlot had become a field of paper.
Marines screamed as Ozul Crow moved through them like a ghost through fog. His iridescent black skin shimmered under the grey sky, each step carrying him deeper into the white-coated ranks. Aetherius sang in his hand—the katana's blade tracing arcs that left no blood, only the sharp SHRRRRT of the Kami Kami no Mi's power.
Another soldier lunged. Ozul touched his shoulder.
The man folded. His body compressed, flattened, transformed into a two-dimensional Fludd-Doll—a living anatomical diagram that fluttered to the ground like a fallen leaf. Ozul stepped over him and kept walking.
"The Moon sits in the house of Mars," he murmured, consulting the star-charted compass in his palm. "Violence is permitted. Mercy is not written."
A lieutenant fired a pistol. Ozul turned the bullet into a paper butterfly mid-flight. It landed on a rock and crinkled into dust.
"You cannot stop the alignment," Ozul said. "The stars have already decided."
He raised Aetherius and brought it down.
SHRRRRT.
Three more Marines became paper dolls, their astonished faces frozen in two-dimensional terror.
Then the world went silent.
Not the silence of distance. The silence of absence. The kind of silence that followed an executioner's blade.
Ozul stopped. His gold-flecked eyes narrowed.
A figure stood at the edge of the clearing.
White porcelain mask. Sorrowful, expressionless face. Ancient scales of justice etched into the forehead. Black-and-gold robes that billowed even though no wind blew. Rusted iron shackles around the wrists and neck—fused shut, immovable.
Karma's chain hung from the figure's waist, the scythe blade gleaming with a dull, hungry sheen.
Guillotine Gereon tilted his head. A slow, unnatural angle, like a bird of prey studying a mouse.
"Devil's transmutation," Gereon whispered, his dry voice scraping out from behind the mask. "Ineffective. The file on your fruit is incomplete. I am correcting it."
Ozul raised Aetherius. "The stars do not care about your files, executioner. They burn for no one."
He reached out with his free hand—toward Gereon's chest.
The flattening power surged. Ozul's fingers brushed the fabric of the black-and-gold robe.
Nothing happened.
Gereon stood unchanged, unchained, unmoved.
"The devil's process requires impurity," Gereon said. "I have no impurities. I have been... rectified."
Ozul's eyes widened—the first crack in his celestial calm. "The Space inside you. It eats the alteration."
"Yes."
Gereon moved.
No sound. No displaced air. No warning. The chain whipped from his waist, Karma's scythe blade slicing toward Ozul's throat.
Ozul parried.
Aetherius met the chain, sparks flying. The katana's edge caught the Seastone links, and for a moment, they hung there—locked together, two killers testing each other's strength.
"Your blade sings," Gereon whispered. "It will be silent soon."
He yanked the chain.
Ozul stumbled forward, off balance, and Gereon drove the scythe's pommel into his stomach.
The air left Ozul's lungs. He staggered back, gasping, and Gereon pressed the advantage—the chain wrapping around a tree trunk, pulling taut, launching him into a spinning kick that caught Ozul across the jaw.
Ozul crashed into a boulder. The stone cracked.
"Kelley's False Gold," he gasped, and his body dissolved into paper.
The paper swirled—scripted circles inscribed on every sheet—and exploded outward. Fragments of burning vellum filled the air, obscuring vision.
Gereon did not flinch.
He closed his eyes. His Kenbunshoku Haki reached out, reading the killing intent in Ozul's soul. The paper was a distraction. The real attack came from above.
Aetherius descended.
Gereon raised Karma's chain. The blade caught the katana mid-swing, and the impact drove him to one knee. Stone cracked beneath his boots.
"You are loud," Gereon said. "Your spirit screams."
Ozul landed on a branch, his chest heaving, his dreadlocks scattered across his shoulders. Blood dripped from his lip where the kick had split it.
"The stars say you are empty," Ozul replied. "A void in human shape. A weapon that forgot it was once a man."
Gereon stood. He brushed dust from his robe.
"The stars are inefficient data. I trust only the file."
He launched himself forward—Soru carrying him across the clearing in a heartbeat. Karma's chain extended, the scythe blade detaching, flying independently toward Ozul's head.
Ozul dropped from the branch, rolled under the blade, and swept Aetherius toward Gereon's legs.
Gereon jumped. The katana passed under him, and he landed on a higher branch, looking down at Ozul.
"Atalanta's Fugue," Ozul whispered.
Paper dolls erupted from his sleeves—dozens of them, each one a flattened Marine, each one seeking its original. But Gereon had no original. He had no paper. He had no soul to bind.
The dolls swarmed around him, confused, lost.
Gereon reached out and caught one. He tore it in half.
A Marine a hundred meters away screamed as his arm vanished.
"Your power is interesting," Gereon said. "But it requires touch. I will not be touched."
He dropped from the branch, Karma's chain whipping around him in a spiral. The scythe blade returned to his hand, and he drove it toward Ozul's chest.
Ozul blocked with Aetherius. The impact shook his arms, sent pain shooting through his wrists.
"The Rosy Cross Bind," he gasped.
Paper erupted from the ground—sheets of vellum rising like walls, wrapping around Gereon, trying to flatten him into a drawing.
Gereon flexed. His Busoshoku Haki coated his body in invisible armor, and the paper tore against his skin like tissue.
"Ineffective," he said.
He stepped through the paper wall, Karma's chain dragging behind him.
Ozul backed away. His hand found the onyx crystal on Aetherius's pommel—stroking it for luck.
"The stars did not predict you," he said.
"The stars are not efficient." Gereon raised the scythe. "I am."
He struck.
Ozul parried. They traded blows—chain against katana, scythe against blade, each strike sending shockwaves through the clearing. Trees fell. Rocks shattered. The ground beneath them cratered.
Ozul's devil power was useless. Every time he tried to touch Gereon, the executioner's Haki or his cursed weapon or his empty soul rejected the shift.
"Your fruit is a crutch," Gereon said, blocking a thrust. "You rely on it. Without it, you are just a swordsman."
"A swordsman is enough," Ozul replied.
He drove Aetherius forward, and the blade pierced Gereon's robe.
The tip stopped at the iron shackle around his wrist. Seastone met Seastone. Sparks flew.
"Not enough," Gereon whispered.
He swept Karma's chain around Ozul's legs and pulled.
Ozul crashed to the ground, his katana spinning from his grip. Gereon stood over him, the scythe blade hovering above his throat.
"The file on Ozul Crow will now read: 'Terminated,'" Gereon said. "Close the file."
Ozul looked up at the white porcelain mask. The empty eye slits. The sorrowful expression.
"The stars," he said, "have one more alignment."
He reached out and touched Gereon's mask.
Nothing happened. The flattening failed again.
But Ozul's fingers found the edge of the mask—the seam where porcelain met skin—and he pulled.
Gereon's head snapped back. The mask didn't come off, but the executioner stumbled, off balance, his concentration broken.
Ozul rolled, grabbed Aetherius, and drove the katana into the chain.
The blade didn't cut the Seastone—nothing could—but the impact sent a vibration through Karma that made Gereon's fingers spasm.
The scythe dropped.
Gereon stared at his empty hand.
"...Karma," he whispered.
Ozul rose to his feet, Aetherius ready.
"Your weapon is not the only thing that can be disarmed, executioner. The stars can be patient."
Gereon looked at him. For a moment, behind the mask, something flickered—a memory, maybe, or a ghost of emotion.
Then it was gone.
"Karma," he said again, and the chain slithered across the ground, returning to his grip.
They stood facing each other, bleeding, breathing, neither willing to take the next step.
In the distance, the Red Hair flag climbed higher toward the summit.
If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider giving Dracule Marya Zaleska a Power Stone! It helps the novel climb the rankings and get more eyes on our story!
Thank you for sailing with us! 🏴☠️ Your support means so much!
Want to see the Dreadnought Thalassa blueprints? Or unlock the true power of Goddess Achlys?
Join the Dracule Marya Zaleska crew on Patreon to get exclusive concept art, deep-dive lore notes, and access to our private Discord community! You make the New World adventure possible.
Become a Crewmate and Unlock the Lore:
https://patreon.com/An1m3N3rd?utm_medium=unknown&utm_source=join_link&utm_campaign=creatorshare_creator&utm_content=copyLink
Thanks so much for your support and loving this story as much as I do!