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Chapter 436: Despair! A Shotgun to the Forehead
Kizaru scrambled up from the ground, every bone in his aging body protesting. He quickly looked down and tapped the electronic map on his wrist locator. On the map, a massive white Safe Zone circle blinked directly in the center of the island. The small red dot representing his own location was resting right on the perilous edge of the Blue Zone. It was a full five kilometers away from that white Safe Zone!
Kizaru glanced back at the ghostly blue electric net in absolute terror. The light curtain was advancing at a pace slightly faster than his normal walking speed, rolling forward without a shred of mercy.
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?" Kizaru's voice cracked, revealing a level of genuine panic he rarely showed. "Five kilometers? I normally find even the two-step walk to the Headquarters' cafeteria exhausting!"
He didn't have his Glint-Glint Fruit anymore. Let alone transforming into photons to cross half the island in a single second, he couldn't even use the Marine's Soru technique right now. He was completely reduced to a little old man with slightly better stamina than an average civilian.
Kizaru violently kicked aside the heavy cast-iron Pan he had looted. To hell with a weapon. Carrying this piece of scrap iron would only slow down his escape! He stumbled and rolled out of the abandoned gas station, running straight onto the scorching asphalt road under the blinding midday sun.
The midday sun baked this hellish island mercilessly. The asphalt had grown soft under the intense heat, radiating a pungent, nauseating chemical stench. Wearing his impeccably crafted but entirely shock-absorbent-lacking yellow pointed leather shoes, Kizaru sprinted down the highway with all his might.
He had absolutely never run this fast in his entire life. His long legs churned like windmills as he desperately pushed himself forward. Normally, whenever he encountered trouble, a simple point of his finger would fire a laser, and if he couldn't win, he would just turn into light and fly away. But now, he could only rely on these mortal legs of flesh and blood.
Before he had even run five hundred meters, sweat had completely soaked through his expensive white shirt. The fabric clung tightly to his back, making him incredibly uncomfortable. The tie around his neck felt like a noose, suffocating him. He roughly tore the silk tie off and tossed it casually into the weeds by the roadside.
That old madman Garp... Kizaru cursed frantically in his mind as he ran. How on earth did he fight people in this godforsaken place?
His chest heaved like a broken bellows, emitting harsh, ragged gasps. Kizaru felt as if his lungs were genuinely about to explode. Every time he lifted his thighs, it felt as if hundreds of pounds of lead weights were strapped to them. Stripped of his supernatural powers, the severe shortcomings of a body lacking high-intensity daily physical conditioning were completely exposed.
He had relied far too much on his Devil Fruit. His current endurance was probably worse than any random Petty Officer pulled from the Marineford plaza. Sweat rolled down his forehead and seeped into his eyes, the stinging sensation forcing him to squint. A burning, fiery pain flared from the soles of his feet. Those custom-made pointed leather shoes were fundamentally not meant for running; he was certain several massive blisters had already formed on his soles.
"Hah... Hah..."
By the second kilometer, Kizaru could no longer feel his legs. He was dragging himself forward purely on a mechanical, primal instinct for survival. A faint, scalp-numbing static buzz echoed from behind him.
The flesh-devouring electric net had caught up. It stayed tightly clamped right at Kizaru's heels. If he slowed his pace by even a fraction, or tripped over a pebble on the road, that terrifying blue light would mercilessly lick his back and rear end. Every minor brush against it brought a cascading wave of bone-deep paralysis and tearing agony.
"OUCH!" Kizaru let out a bizarre yelp—completely unbecoming of an Admiral—as the electric net grazed his backside. Stimulated by the sharp pain, he forced himself to sprint forward another few meters.
"Hurry up... I still need to make it back to Headquarters to collect my pension..."
Kizaru gritted his teeth, tears mixing with the sweat rolling down his face. His vision began to darken, and severe oxygen deprivation sent terrifying waves of dizziness crashing through his brain. The surrounding trees, abandoned buildings, and road signs warped into twisted blocks of color in his sight. The only thing he could hear was the thunderous pounding of his own heart.
Third kilometer. Fourth kilometer.
Kizaru felt as if his soul had already left his body. He even felt a strong urge to just stop and let the Blue Zone electrocute him to death. It was simply too painful. Surviving the run to the Safe Zone felt like far more torture than facing a coordinated siege from the Four Emperors.
Just as his legs turned to jelly and he was about to face-plant onto the scorching asphalt, a dark silhouette emerged through the distorting heat waves at a bend in the road ahead. It was a dilapidated off-road Jeep parked by the curb.
The body of the vehicle was riddled with bullet holes and rust. However, the door was wide open, and the tires were still coated in fresh mud. This meant it was a functional, drivable vehicle!
Kizaru's cloudy, nearly rolled-back eyes suddenly flared with light. He looked like a traveler dying of thirst in a despairing desert who had just stumbled upon a clear spring.
"A car..." Kizaru's cracked lips parted slightly, squeezing out a hoarse, broken croak from his throat. "There's a car..."
As long as he could get into that driver's seat. As long as he could slam his foot on that damn gas pedal. He could instantly leave this ghostly, biting Blue Zone far behind in the dust.
Kizaru squeezed out the absolute last drop of hidden potential from his aging body. He used every ounce of strength he had since the day he was born—even the desperate adrenaline from when he was chased by dogs back in his hometown in the North Blue. In that split second, his speed miraculously surged.
Just one second before the blue high-voltage net completely swallowed him, he pushed off the ground with both feet and leaped through the air. He floundered like a dead fish, flopping onto the scorching hot hood of the Jeep and producing a heavy, muffled thud.
Saved... Ignoring the sharp pain in his ribs from the impact, he greedily gasped in the air, which was finally free of the ozone stench. Kizaru struggled to roll over on the hood, using all his remaining strength to prop up his upper torso. A large hand, covered in dirt and sweat, gripped the edge of the driver's side window tightly.
He was just about to reach out with his other hand to pull the door open. Right at that moment, a cylindrical metal tube silently slipped out from the open window.
It was the barrel of an old-fashioned double-barreled shotgun. The muzzle reeked of heavy gunpowder and the metallic tang of rust. Giving Kizaru absolutely no time to react, the crude barrel was pressed directly against his forehead, tight against his cold sweat and grime. It was pressed so firmly that there wasn't a millimeter of a gap.
Kizaru's hand froze mid-air, right as he reached for the door handle. The ecstatic joy on his face instantly solidified, and his pupils shrank to absolute pinpricks.
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