The Kryptonian Cells, once inside Damon's body, triggered a frenzy. A fierce battle between the new cells and his Gourmet Cells raged within his marrow, eventually reaching a delicate balance under the dominant suppression of the Dragon Bloodline.
Damon stood still, a series of crackling sounds echoing from his joints like popping beans. As the internal transformation settled, a booming voice erupted:
"Who dares disturb the peace of Enies Lobby!"
Seeing the guard dogs fall, the presiding judge of the Courthouse could no longer sit still. He emerged with the Guilty Jury—burly guards with "Guilty" tattooed on their arms, wielding massive iron balls chained to their wrists.
"You are guilty!" they roared, hurling the pitch-black spheres.
The iron balls whistled through the air with crushing weight, but their speed was manageable. Damonand his five companions dodged them with calculated precision.
The judge, a towering figure known as Three-Headed Baskerville, lunged forward. In reality, he was three men sharing one oversized cloak: Bas on the left, Kerville on the right, and the middle one calling "herself" Princess. Despite the absurdity, their coordination was seamless, wielding six blades in a lethal, interlocking dance.
The judge identified Damon as the leader. Six swords drew sharp arcs, aiming for his head, heart, and limbs simultaneously.
Damon's eyes narrowed. He drew his sword, and flames flowed like liquid gold along the steel.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
In seconds, sparks flew as Damon parried the six-fold assault. The judge was stunned. Is this boy really only seven? Does he possess the strength of a seasoned vice-admiral?
Taking advantage of their lapse, Damon gripped his hilt with both hands, raising the glowing blade high.
"Fifth Form! Flame Tiger!"
A roaring tiger of white-hot flame erupted from the blade. The heat was so intense the judge's hair began to singe. In desperation, the three men crossed their six swords to block the pounce.
BOOM!
The impact shattered their stance. The surge of power cracked the bones in their hands. The Flame Tiger tore through their defense, turning the judge into a human torch. The three men scrambled out of their shared cloak, rolling on the ground to extinguish the fire.
"Should we... keep chasing?" Bas panted, charred and exhausted.
Kerville flopped onto his back, tongue lolling out. "Forget it. Spandam brought this on himself. We did our best. Let the CP9 deal with it."
Smoker used his Moku Moku no Mi powers to transform into a surge of white smoke, carrying Damonand the others across the waterfall chasm to the Tower of Justice.
Waiting for them at the entrance was a group of elite agents. The man in the lead wore a black top hat with a white pigeon, Hattori, perched on his shoulder. His cold eyes landed on Damon.
"Someone like you is called a genius?" Rob Lucci said, his voice laced with disappointment.
"CP9..." Damon frowned. He knew these weren't ordinary guards. They were masters of the Rokushiki(Six Powers), the World Government's ultimate human weapons.
"Lucci, take a break," Jabra stepped forward, a cruel smirk on his face as he flexed his dark-skinned wrists. "I can handle these little sailors myself!"
Smoker, never one to take an insult, erupted into smoke and lunged. But Jabra was ready. He rose on his tiptoes, using his leg as a fulcrum, and delivered a sharp, crescent-shaped air kick.
"Rankyaku!" (Tempest Kick)
Smoker attempted to let the attack pass through his elemental body, but Jabra's strike connected with a sickening thud. Smoker was sent flying, crashing into the tower wall and leaving a trail of blood.
Smoker struggled up, clutching a broken rib. Jabra proudly swung his leg, revealing that his boot was inlaid with Sea-Prism Stone (Kairouseki).
"Just another rookie relying too much on his Logia fruit," Jabra spat. "I've killed five like you already."
Seeing Smoker downed, Rob Lucci lost interest and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes as if to nap.
"You're underestimating us," Jonathan growled, stripping his jacket to reveal a powerhouse physique and donning brass knuckles. Drake toyed with his blades, his eyes reflecting a cold battle-lust.
Daddy Masterson, the veteran sniper, remained silent. He pulled out a custom-modified flintlock—a high-capacity burst-fire pistol. He loaded orange-yellow explosive rounds and fired three shots in a perfect triangle at Jabra's vitals.
"Tekkai!" (Iron Body) Jabra barked, tensing his muscles to the density of steel.
BOOM!
The explosion was far beyond a normal bullet. Jabra's nonchalant expression shattered as he felt like he'd caught three cannonballs with his bare skin. His sleeves were shredded, and his arms hung limp, bloodied and scorched.
Through the rising smoke, Jabra heard footsteps. "One on the left, one on the right," he hissed, his eyes flashing. "You think numbers will save you? Naive!"
He vanished in a blur of speed—Soru (Shave).
Do not!