Death Ma... - 177 : The Ordeal Of Iron! White Barbed
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."
Zoro landed, the wires sagging behind him, sliced clean. Ohm gasped, a red line appearing across his chest. 177 : The Ordeal of Iron! White Barbed Death Ma...
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. Ohm didn't smile
The thick, sulfuric mist of the Ordeal of Iron didn't just obscure vision; it tasted like pennies and old blood. Your struggle is merely the sound of a
"I don't think," Zoro spat, blood trickling down his arm. He dropped into a low stance, three blades now drawn, the Wado Ichimonji clamped firmly in his teeth. The air around him seemed to thicken, not with mist, but with sheer intent. "I know."
"You call this an ordeal?" Zoro grunted, the hilt of Shusui heavy in his hand. He adjusted his bandana, his single eye tracking the slight shimmer of the wires. "Back home, we just call this a bad neighborhood."
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."
Zoro landed, the wires sagging behind him, sliced clean. Ohm gasped, a red line appearing across his chest.
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 thick, sulfuric mist of the Ordeal of Iron didn't just obscure vision; it tasted like pennies and old blood.
"I don't think," Zoro spat, blood trickling down his arm. He dropped into a low stance, three blades now drawn, the Wado Ichimonji clamped firmly in his teeth. The air around him seemed to thicken, not with mist, but with sheer intent. "I know."
"You call this an ordeal?" Zoro grunted, the hilt of Shusui heavy in his hand. He adjusted his bandana, his single eye tracking the slight shimmer of the wires. "Back home, we just call this a bad neighborhood."