In the blink of an eye, Arlan slipped behind Iman without a sound.
Though Iman's mind was clearly unraveling, his danger instincts and battle reflexes hadn't dulled. He twisted his waist sharply, bringing his sword around in a fierce backward slash, aiming to bisect the figure at his back.
But his blade struck nothing but air.
Arlan had leaned back at the last instant, the tip of the blade grazing the space just above his nose. Then, with a sudden surge of strength from his core, he launched upward, spinning, and with that momentum, drove a fist toward Iman's spine, a bloodthirsty grin warping his otherwise handsome features.
His suit sleeve had been shredded by the pressure of his own motion, revealing the rippling muscle of his right arm, surging like crashing waves. The skin over his fist flushed red, and steam hissed from it like a pressure vent.
Bomb-Bomb Fist Style: Fracturing Detonation!!
A flicker of awareness sparked in Iman's eyes, a raw, animal panic clawing its way to the surface. Half his face twisted in mania, the other in sheer terror. He let out a broken, unwilling scream—
—and then the world exploded.
A deafening blast erupted where Arlan's punch struck. Blinding light flared outward, and a thunderous explosion rocked the earth. Black smoke and infernal flame engulfed both men in an instant, expanding in a blazing wave that scorched everything it touched.
Even from over ten paces away, Oliver felt the searing heat curl his hair into singed coils. The shockwave slammed into him like a gale, flinging up a sandstorm that roared in all directions. Without hesitation, he turned and sprinted away at full speed.
Only after putting a hundred meters between himself and the blast zone did Oliver dare glance back.
A massive crater, easily over ten meters wide, now scarred the desert floor. The center of it shimmered under the sun's glare, partially glassed by the sheer heat.
Arlan stood at its heart, alone.
Iman was no longer there.
His scorched body lay sprawled several meters outside the crater, face-down in the sand. Charred black from head to toe, his once-brown hair completely incinerated. A gaping hole had been blasted through his back, nearly puncturing through his torso. Yet no blood spilled—it had all been cauterized by the heat.
His massive greatsword now lay cracked and smoking at Arlan's feet, its surface webbed with fractures. The weapon looked one breath from crumbling into dust.
"Hahh..." Arlan's face had gone pale. Bent forward with hands braced on his knees, his breath came heavy and ragged. That single strike had clearly drained him. It was the most powerful move he had developed using the Bomb-Bomb Fruit—a recently conceived finisher that concentrated explosive energy and brute force into a single, catastrophic point of impact.
Today had been its first field test.
"Whoa... new technique?" Oliver arched a brow, sauntering over with his blade resting on his shoulder. "Not bad at all."
After all, anyone hit that hard shouldn't be getting up anytime soon, if ever.
But halfway there, Iman's charred corpse suddenly twitched.
Then, he pushed himself up.
Arlan and Oliver froze in place, every hair on their bodies standing on end.
The hell is this guy made of!?
"You... can't kill me."
That voice, rasping, high-pitched, like fingernails dragging across glass, came from the blackened husk of a man who should've been dead. His lips were nearly gone, but the ruined face was unmistakably still Iman's.
Even more disturbing—his muscles were still moving, pulsing and writhing. Flesh buds burst forth from his wounds. Even the gaping hole in his back began to close at an unnatural speed.
"This regeneration..." Arlan's brow broke into a cold sweat.
He knew exactly how much damage that punch dealt. That kind of hit could obliterate a Sea King the size of a warship. And it hadn't been enough.
"This is beyond terrifying... how the hell do we even fight something like that?"
"Oi, oi... the black market never sold anything ," Oliver muttered, stomach turning. "What the hell did he inject himself with, some kind of experimental drug?"
Those wriggling flesh buds, just looking at them made his skin crawl.
"We wait it out," Arlan said grimly. "No way a drug that strong doesn't have a time limit. Once it—"
"AHHHH—MY BODY—NO—STOOOOOP!!"
Before he could finish, Iman let out a bone-chilling scream and collapsed to his knees.
Both Arlan and Oliver watched, stunned, as Iman began convulsing uncontrollably. Drool poured from his mouth, and his hair suddenly regrew, only to fall out again in patches. Muscles swelled grotesquely and then deflated, as if his body couldn't decide what shape it wanted.
Wounds tore open, closed, then tore again. Blood spurted from every inch of him like a geyser, soaking the sand in a growing red pool.
"N-No—my strength... my body...!"
Iman's arms went limp. He collapsed fully, face to the dirt. Reaching out with trembling hands, he looked up at Arlan with eyes clouded in panic.
"Help me... I can't... I can't see..."
The wounds finally stopped reopening. But his skin now crawled and bulged like it was infested with insects. His whole form twisted and writhed, no longer even remotely human.
"My... ambition... why is it still... here...?"
The horrific voice fractured, hoarse one moment, high-pitched the next, alternating in erratic spasms, until it fell silent.
Iman convulsed for a few minutes more, then stopped.
He never moved again.
Arlan and Oliver stood in silence, staring at what was left of him: a twitching pile of molten meat that might once have been a man. Even under the blazing desert sun, both of them felt a deep, unnatural chill crawling up their spines.
"So this... this is the side effect?" Arlan swallowed. "That's... beyond brutal."
"He had no idea," Oliver said darkly, sheathing his blade. "Whatever that drug was... he didn't know what it'd do to him."
His voice turned grave.
"And then there's the matter of that Marine fleet. Something's not adding up."
Without a word, Arlan picked up the shattered remains of the massive sword, his gaze hardening.
"Let's go. We need to report to the captain."
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