Zoro landed, the wires sagging behind him, sliced clean. Ohm gasped, a red line appearing across his chest.
Ohm didn't smile. He raised his hilt, and the Eisen Whip—a blade of shapeshifting iron—extended like a living snake. "The sky is a place of judgment, Blue Sea dweller. Your struggle is merely the sound of a bird flapping its wings before the cage closes."
"The thing about iron," Zoro said, sheathing his swords as the Priest of Skypiea collapsed into the clouds, "is that it eventually meets someone harder."
The compressed air from his blades tore through the mist, colliding with the iron fan. The force didn't just deflect the metal; it shattered the "Mantra" of the priest. For a split second, the predator became the prey.
The sparks lit up the fog like dying stars. Zoro felt the bite of the barbs—thin, stinging slices across his shoulders. The iron was fast, guided by Ohm’s "Mantra," predicting Zoro’s every breath.
Zoro didn't retreat. He couldn't. To move backward was to be shredded by the "White Barbed" perimeter. Instead, he spun, a whirlwind of steel meeting iron. Clang!
The fog began to lift, revealing the path forward. The ordeal was over, but the war for the sky had only just begun.
Zoro stood at the center of the Milky Road, his boots crunching on the strange, frozen clouds. Before him stood Ohm, the Sky Breeder, his presence as cold and unyielding as the iron he commanded. Between them lay the "White Barbed Death Match"—a chaotic web of invisible, razor-sharp iron wires that hummed with a low, predatory vibration.
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