Back when news spread that the Pirate King, Gol D. Roger, had been captured by the Marines, the Golden Lion, Shiki, refused to believe it. Enraged and unconvinced, he flew solo into Marineford, the Marine Headquarters, to confirm the truth himself.
On the way, he just happened to run into Syrons, who was returning to base.
Shiki spotted him and saw an opportunity, what better way to make a statement than by defeating a powerful Marine officer? Without a word, he swooped down from the sky and challenged Syrons to a duel.
At the time, Syrons felt a shadow loom overhead. When he looked up—"Holy crap, the Golden Lion!"—he didn't hesitate. For justice, he had to apprehend the man.
He shot into the sky with Geppo, colliding with Shiki mid-air, and the battle was on.
But who was Shiki? Known as the Golden Lion, the Flying Pirate, and even Pirate Admiral, he was one of the legendary titans of the sea, a peer of Whitebeard, Edward Newgate, and Gol D. Roger himself.
If not for the freak storm during the Battle of Edd War, it might not have been Roger who earned the title of Pirate King, but Shiki. Fate just hadn't favored him.
In comparison, Syrons, even in his prime, was an absolute monster of a fighter, but still fell short against someone of Shiki's caliber.
After a brutal battle, Syrons was crushed. He was left on the brink of death, and more than half his fleet was annihilated in the process. Despite his monstrous physique, it took him over a year to fully recover, and even then, he was left with severe internal injuries and lasting damage.
Most days, these old wounds didn't flare up. But in prolonged high-intensity combat or after sustaining serious damage, they could erupt without warning. And today, after taking grave internal hits, coughing up blood laced with shredded organ tissue, those long-dormant injuries had awakened with full force.
"Of all times… now?"
Syrons' face twisted in agony as dread settled deep in his gut.
It was already hard enough going toe-to-toe with Aeridar. Now with his old wounds erupting again, continuing the fight could mean his death.
But the thought of Aeridar's potential, his raw power, sent a ruthless glint flashing through Syrons' eyes.
"Then I'll take him with me, even if it kills me."
Spewing blood, Syrons staggered upright. His entire body was bathed in crimson. Then—hum—his whole frame was once more engulfed in black, glinting Armament Haki.
"He still has the strength to armor up like that?!"
Aeridar, trembling slightly, forced himself up as well. His eyes flickered with a trace of panic as he stared at the battered old man reforging himself in steel-like Haki.
But then, his expression twisted into a feral grin.
"Old man, youth has no fear of age. If you've still got strength left, then I've got more!"
"My path... won't end here!"
Murderous resolve burned in Aeridar's eyes. His stubborn glare locked on Syrons as his own arms lit up with a dark sheen, Armament Haki surging once more.
Whoosh—
Both men vanished, leaving behind only a cratered, shattered battlefield.
BOOM—CLANG!
In the center of the clearing, Aeridar's fist smashed into Syrons' black hammer. A shockwave blasted outward, rippling through the desert floor and gouging out a massive crater beneath them.
Their muscles strained. Their power clashed. When neither could overpower the other, they broke and launched back into a flurry of motion, every strike sending the air rippling like disturbed water.
Soon, it wasn't just fists and feet anymore. Shockwaves exploded, vacuum slashes tore across the battlefield. The pace was slower than before, but the ferocity had only escalated.
They were trading wounds for wounds. Each blow carried the intent to kill.
Especially Syrons.
His sheer madness was something even Aeridar couldn't quite keep up with.
As the battle dragged on, the sun dipped below the dunes, and the moon climbed into the sky. For some reason, it felt unusually full tonight. Cold silver moonlight blanketed the battlefield.
BOOM—CLANG!
Aeridar drove a fist into Syrons' chest. The older man didn't even dodg, —he took it head-on, blood spurting from his mouth as the impact staggered him back.
But even as he reeled, his hammer swung in an arc toward Aeridar's skull.
It came fast, too fast to dodge.
CRACK—
Aeridar raised his left arm to block. Even coated in Armament Haki, it wasn't enough. Bones shattered, flesh tore open. The hammer didn't stop, it slammed into his head, sending his entire body flying like a ragdoll.
For an instant, Aeridar's mind went white. His skull felt like it cracked apart. He couldn't even register hitting the ground, his body just tumbled into a pile of rubble.
"Kh… cough—COUGH!"
Syrons tried to press the attack, but the moment he stepped forward, searing pain exploded in his chest. His leg buckled, he collapsed to his knees, hacking up a flood of blood…and bits of pink flesh.
Fragments of his own organs.
His Armament armor flickered and dissolved.
"Damn it… Am I… done?"
Vision darkening, limbs numb, Syrons' wounds, painfully held together by Life Return, began tearing open again. Blood soaked his once-white pants, pooling at his knees.
Not far off, Aeridar stirred beneath the rubble. He groaned, slowly rising, stones cascading from his broken frame.
He propped himself up with one arm. His left arm hung limp, useless. His vision swam, he could barely focus. The figure kneeling in front of him blurred into multiples.
"Still not dead, huh… cough…"
Syrons stared at him, his blood-splattered face twisted in fierce determination and bitter regret.
He murmured again and again, like a chant, like a spell.
"Kill him… kill him… cough… kill him…"
He dragged himself upright, stumbling forward like a dying ghost.
"So that's your plan… Bastard really wants to take me down with him."
Aeridar clutched his aching, dazed head. He knew exactly what Syrons was doing, going all-in on a suicidal final blow. That was why he'd been exchanging injuries so recklessly this whole time.
What Aeridar didn't know was that Syrons had been hiding those deep, hidden wounds for decades. To avoid triggering them, he'd been holding back just slightly, fighting at 80 or 90 percent. But once Aeridar landed that devastating hit, the dam broke, and the damage caught up all at once.
"You want to win?"
"Then be cruel to yourself. I'm not dying here!"
Aeridar gritted his teeth, dragging himself upright on one good arm. He staggered forward, left arm hanging limp.
As he walked, the arm he could still use slowly darkened, Armament Haki crawling up it like tar, shimmering with a steely sheen beneath the moonlight.
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