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Chapter 435: Garp Wields a Gun, Kizaru Cries from the Electricity
Crack! The sickening, distinct sound of bone fracturing echoed loudly.
"AAAARGH—!" Teach shrieked like a slaughtered pig, his right wrist bent at a grotesque angle. The agonizing nerve pain caused him to instantly lose all muscle control. The Micro UZI and the unslotted magazine tumbled into the mud.
Tears sprang to Teach's eyes. In this world, pain wasn't mitigated in the slightest. He instinctively tried to scramble backward, but Garp offered no chance to breathe.
Succeeding in his first strike, Garp dropped the crowbar. Both hands shot forward, gripping Teach tightly by the collar and viciously yanking him down. Simultaneously, Garp bent his uninjured left leg and drove a devastating, heavyweight knee strike squarely into Teach's lowered jaw.
Bang! The muffled impact made the scalp tingle. A series of cracks echoed from inside Teach's mouth as several blood-soaked, shattered teeth sprayed into the air. His massive, bloated body was hoisted entirely off the ground by the sheer kinetic force, flying backward with a face completely covered in blood. He slammed heavily into the mud behind the mound, twitched twice, and went completely still. If the system hadn't forcibly left him with a sliver of health, that brutal combo would have eliminated him on the spot.
Garp stood exactly where he was, panting heavily. The wound on his right ankle had torn completely open again from the violent exertion, the fresh blood running down his shoe and soaking into the soil. He didn't even spare it a glance.
Bending down with his calloused hands, he scooped up the Micro UZI. He grabbed the fallen magazine and smoothly slotted it into the chamber. Clack. He pulled the bolt back, loading a round with the fluid grace of a veteran soldier. Weighing the heavy chunk of iron in his hand, Garp's mouth stretched into another wild, unrestrained grin.
He didn't immediately rush to loot the red-smoking airdrop. Instead, he slowly turned his head. His gaze swept over the wheat field until it locked onto a large tree dozens of meters away. Hidden within the dense canopy, the faint silhouette of a pineapple head could be seen.
Marco was perched on a branch, holding a fully drawn Crossbow. The arrow had originally been trained on the airdrop. Now, a layer of fine, cold sweat coated Marco's forehead. He had just witnessed Garp physically decimate a fully armed man using nothing but pure, unadulterated violence—no Haki required. The bone-deep oppressive aura the old man radiated was somehow even more terrifying.
Garp raised the Micro UZI, intentionally aiming the muzzle toward Marco in the tree. He raised his voice, letting it carry across the field.
"Little firebird." Garp's grin widened. "You wanna come down and take a few hits too?"
Marco swallowed hard and silently pulled the Crossbow back behind the trunk. This game is not meant for humans.
Meanwhile, far from the war-torn Georgopol and the blood-soaked wheat fields, the air inside an abandoned gas station on the edge of the island was so quiet you could hear the wind rustling the leaves.
Marine Admiral Borsalino lay spread-eagle on a dusty checkout counter. He had taken off his signature yellow-striped suit jacket, haphazardly folded it, and shoved it under his head as a makeshift pillow. His tinted sunglasses rested crookedly on his nose as he opened his mouth wide in a long, luxurious yawn.
Near his feet lay a random pan he had looted from some kitchen, alongside a few rolls of dusty bandages. That was the entirety of his spoils after thirty full minutes on the ground. While everyone else was fighting tooth and nail, bleeding for airdrops and firearms, the Navy's highest military asset had turned this cruel survival game into a retirement vacation.
He rolled over, finding a more comfortable position.
"The youngsters out there have far too much fire," Kizaru muttered, looking thoroughly disgusted by the distant gunfire. "What's the point of all that killing? I don't want to go out there and risk my life with those lunatics."
He patted his pocket for the half-finished cigar he'd saved, feeling a pang of regret that he'd lost his lighter during the drop.
"Whatever. As long as I lie here quietly, I can just outlive them all."
In his eyes, this was the smartest corporate survival tactic. Sweating was completely against his policy. As long as everyone else died, he'd win by doing absolutely nothing.
Bzzzt. Just as Kizaru was drifting off into his dreams of an effortless victory, the electronic locator on his wrist emitted a faint burst of static. Instantly, the sky outside the gas station underwent a massive transformation.
A ghostly blue electric net rose slowly from the distant horizon. Reaching from the earth to the sky, it looked like an insurmountable wall of light, advancing steadily toward the center of the island. Wherever the light passed, a sharp, pungent smell of ozone filled the air. Even the weeds by the roadside instantly withered and turned a sickly yellow the moment they touched the blue glow.
Kizaru glanced out the shattered window with a nonchalant expression.
"So this is that 'Blue Zone' thing?" He sat up slowly, scratching his stubbly chin. "The color looks quite intimidating, but it's probably just a bluff. What's the worst it can do? Make you dizzy or nauseous, I suppose."
He leaned back on his hands, showing no intention of moving. He actually planned to lie right back down and go back to sleep.
The blue net passed silently through the moss-covered walls of the gas station and swept directly over Kizaru's body.
There was no warning. No transition period.
An indescribable, agonizingly sharp pain instantly pierced through his limbs and bones. It felt as if tens of thousands of red-hot steel needles had been driven into every single pore of his body simultaneously, traveling through his bloodstream and striking directly at his brain's nerves.
Kizaru's old face—forever locked in that sleazy, mocking smile—twisted violently into a knot of pure agony. His mouth hung wide open, his eyes practically bulging out of his skull, yet he couldn't even force a scream from his throat. His lungs felt as though he had inhaled a massive gulp of boiling acid. Every breath brought a tearing, scorching pain to his windpipe, accompanied by the thick, cloying taste of blood.
"IT HURTS!"
Kizaru tumbled straight off the half-meter-high counter in sheer agony, slamming heavily onto the concrete floor coated in old machine oil and grime. His expensive white shirt was instantly ruined by the black sludge.
He finally realized the true horror of the Blue Zone. "This thing can actually kill you!"
His proud body—the physique of a Marine Admiral—was more fragile than wet paper against this blue net. Usually, when he was attacked, he either evaded using elementalization or tanked the hit with advanced Armament Haki. In his entire life, he had never suffered such pure, barbaric, and utterly uncompromising physical torture.
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