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Chapter 428: Brick vs. Red-Haired!
A standard, single-person parachute bearing the weight of two fully grown men caused their descent speed to nearly double compared to normal. The canopy fabric shrieked near its breaking point. Utterly unable to control their direction, they were entirely at the mercy of the sea breeze, plummeting diagonally toward the highly complex terrain of the container yard.
Directly below them, atop a three-story stack of red shipping containers, Garp was currently cracking his thick neck, producing a series of teeth-gritting pops. This old man had been the most decisive jumper and was the very first person to land in this area.
By now, he had already ripped off his shirt. Bare-chested with rippling muscles, he was currently scouring the surroundings for a handy melee weapon. But this container yard was poor as dirt. Aside from a few abandoned metal barrels, he couldn't even find a rusty iron pipe.
Garp cursed under his breath. Bending his broad back, he began rummaging through a pile of construction debris. Quickly, he managed to pry an object loose from the rubble at his feet.
It was a palm-sized, dark red brick. The edges were still caked with pale, hardened cement.
Garp weighed it in his hand, tossing it up and down a few times. It was solid through and through, packing a very decent heft. Using this to smash a skull would absolutely result in a satisfying crack every single time.
Just then, the sound of a parachute canopy catching the wind echoed overhead. Garp looked up, squinting at the sky. Recognizing the incoming figures, his mouth split into a terrifyingly cruel grin.
"Oh? What incredible luck. Red-haired brats delivering themselves to my door right after I land? Bwahahaha!"
Garp tossed the brick high into the air and caught it securely. Spreading his legs slightly, he anchored his stance firmly onto the metal roof. Gripping the brick in his right hand, he leaned back, settling into a textbook-perfect baseball pitcher's stance.
Though his eyes no longer possessed the enhancement of Armament Haki, they still radiated the vicious glint of a peerless beast. It was the pure excitement of spotting prey.
The shadow overhead grew larger, blocking out the sun. Suspended in midair, Shanks and Beckman stared down at the primed and ready figure below, their scalps tingling.
"THAT'S GARP!" Shanks yelled at the top of his lungs.
"Damn it, what the hell is that stance for? What is that in his hand!?" Beckman squinted intensely. They were still too high up to clearly see exactly what that dark red object was. But judging by the tension in the old man's muscles, he was absolutely aiming for a lethal strike.
The parachute was descending too fast, and both of their hands were occupied, leaving them no way to alter their landing trajectory. Even if there was a mountain of blades or a sea of fire below, they had no choice but to brace themselves and crash right into it.
Bang! A massive crash resounded as their feet slammed heavily onto the roof of a rusty blue container. The immense momentum sent them rolling ungracefully across the sheet metal, tearing their clothes and scraping their elbows.
The moment Shanks stabilized his body, completely ignoring the pain in his limbs, he immediately reached out with both hands to unfasten the complex metal buckles on his chest.
Just as he was frantically tugging at it, the wind abruptly shifted. The sound of a hard object brutally tearing through the air rushed straight for his skull, sharp and ear-piercing.
A brick trailing a dark red blur shrieked across a dozen meters of open air. Backed by Garp's terrifying baseline arm strength, it hurtled viciously straight for Shanks's face. The cement residue clinging to the bottom of the brick peeled off from the extreme air friction, emitting a deathly whistle.
Thud. A muffled sound echoed.
The dark red brick did not smash into Shanks's face. In the nick of time, Beckman had thrust out his right arm, forcefully using his forearm to block the projectile right in front of Shanks.
The dull crunch of a bone contusion made their teeth ache. Beckman let out a muffled groan, his entire right arm going completely numb from the pain.
The two of them tumbled down the sloping roof of the container, the massive white parachute collapsing over them, covering them completely.
Standing on a container not far away, Garp burst into boisterous laughter. Stepping forward with his thick, hairy legs, he leaped directly off the three-story-high metal box. This old man hadn't even bothered looking for a real weapon; he clearly intended to beat these two pirates to death barehanded.
Ignoring the agonizing pain in his arm, Beckman used his good left hand to draw a paratrooper knife he had snagged from the plane. With a flick of the blade, he severed the main parachute cords tangled around Shanks.
"Run." Beckman was concise.
Shanks knew full well this was no time to play hero. The two world-renowned pirate bosses scrambled into the maze of stacked shipping containers, crawling and tumbling like street punks who had just started a bar fight.
"STOP! LET THIS OLD MAN GIVE YOU EACH A PUNCH!" Garp roared in his gruff voice, cursing as he gave chase.
Meanwhile, on the outskirts of Georgopol, a few kilometers away from the container yard, several rows of two-story houses with red roofs and white walls stood silently amidst overgrown weeds.
Akainu raised his right foot, clad in a black leather shoe. Bang. The dilapidated wooden door was kicked wide open. The hinges let out a teeth-gritting creak, and a choking cloud of dust assaulted his face. This place had been abandoned for who knows how long; the air was thick with the smell of mildew.
Stepping inside, Akainu closed the broken wooden door behind him. Instinctively, he tried to clench his fist, willing scorching magma to surge from his palm to light up the dim living room. But his palm was only coated in a layer of ordinary sweat, secreted from tension and discomfort.
He truly was just an ordinary middle-aged man right now. This extreme sense of emptiness fueled a nameless rage in his chest. He desperately needed a weapon. Even a metal rod capable of piercing a throat would do.
Akainu flipped over all the torn sofa cushions in the living room and pulled open several rotting wooden drawers. Nothing but useless scrap paper and rusted cans. He dropped to the floor, reaching into the hidden compartment beneath the coffee table, feeling around for a long time.
Finally, his fingers brushed against cold metal. Akainu gave a hard tug. A rusted sickle with a long wooden handle was pulled out, still tangled with a few dry weeds. The edge of the blade even had several chips in it; it looked like it couldn't even cut through a thick rope.
Akainu stared at the dilapidated farming tool with utter disgust. "This garbage can be a weapon?" He spat, his tone filled with contempt.
Despite his complaints, he still dutifully gripped the sickle in his right hand. He even found a strip of cloth and wrapped it around the wooden handle a few times to prevent it from slipping due to sweat.
Just then, an incredibly heavy footstep sounded from the ceiling above.
Thump. The old floorboards groaned under the unbearable weight. A large shower of dust cascaded from the cracks, landing squarely on Akainu's shoulder.
He instantly froze, slowing his breathing to the absolute limit. Pressing himself tightly against the peeling walls of the living room, Akainu became like a stone devoid of any vital signs. With his Observation Haki completely disabled, he could now only rely on his mortal ears to pinpoint the enemy's location.
The footsteps on the ceiling continued. That was definitely not the weight of a normal human. With every step, the second-floor floorboards let out a scream, sounding as if they were about to snap. A conservative estimate placed the guy upstairs at well over three hundred pounds. It was a massive brute.
Akainu tightened his grip on the rusted sickle. Tiptoeing, he inched his way toward the wooden staircase leading to the second floor. Years of bloody Marine combat experience told him that in this dungeon devoid of supernatural powers, striking first was the only absolute truth.
He hid his tall frame entirely within the blind spot of the shadows beneath the stairs. Blade pointing outward, he was ready to deliver a fatal blow to whoever came down.
At that moment, on the second floor of the little red house, Kaido furiously kicked over the mattress of a double bed. The bedframe instantly collapsed. Even without his indestructible demon dragon physique, his massive frame, standing over three meters tall, felt suffocatingly oppressive crammed into such an ordinary civilian house.
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