The single, impossible drop of blood dripped from Pearl's chin and splattered onto his pristine, white armor. He stared at it, his mind unable to comprehend what had just happened. For years, his entire identity, his very epithet, was built upon the foundation of his own invincibility. And that foundation had just been shattered, not by a legendary warrior's blade, but by a rubber boy's head falling out of the sky.
The shock on his face quickly curdled, twisting into a mask of pure, unrestrained, berserker rage.
"BLOOOOOOOD!" he shrieked, his voice a high-pitched, inhuman sound. "MY BLOOD! YOU'VE MADE ME BLEED!"
His body began to tremble, a low hum of energy emanating from his armored form. "You will pay! You will all burn for this humiliation!"
He began to punch himself, slamming his massive, pearl-studded shields together over and over again.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
With each impact, a shower of sparks erupted. The pearls on his armor began to glow red-hot, and then, with a sudden whoosh, his entire body was engulfed in flames. He had become a walking inferno, a pillar of fire and rage.
"IT'S THE FIRE PEARL SPECIAL!" one of the Baratie cooks screamed in terror.
The other chefs backed away, their faces pale with a primal fear. "He's lost it! He's going to burn the whole Baratie down to the waterline!"
Their fear was logical. They were on a wooden ship, surrounded by a flammable sea of wreckage. An uncontrolled fire was a death sentence for them all.
But one man didn't move.
Sanji stood amidst the panic, completely calm. He took a long, slow drag from his cigarette, his eyes narrowed as he watched the flaming berserker.
"What's wrong?" he asked his terrified colleagues, his voice a low, steady baritone. "You all call yourselves cooks, and you're afraid of a little fire?"
He didn't wait for an answer. With a grace that defied the chaos around him, he leaped forward, directly through the wall of flames that Pearl had created. He emerged on the other side, his black suit slightly singed but his composure absolutely unshaken.
Pearl, in his blind rage, charged, swinging his flaming shields wildly. But Sanji was a dancer in a world of brawlers. He weaved and dodged, his movements fluid and precise, the flames licking at his clothes but never touching his skin.
"I could end this faster with my hands," Sanji said conversationally as he dodged another fiery blow. "But I can't."
He spun on one heel, his leg a black blur, and delivered a powerful kick to the side of Pearl's helmet.
"A cook's hands are his most sacred tools," he continued, his voice as sharp and clean as a freshly honed knife. "They exist to create life, to prepare meals that sustain people. I would never risk injuring them in a common, vulgar brawl like this."
He flowed into another series of kicks, each one landing with pinpoint accuracy on the joints and weak points of Pearl's armor, throwing the larger man off balance again and again.
"That's why," he finished, landing a final, devastating axe kick to Pearl's shoulder, "I use my feet."
Pearl roared in frustration, unable to land a single blow on the impossibly agile cook. He was being utterly dismantled, his invincible armor proving useless against Sanji's superior speed and technique.
From the wreckage of his ship, Don Krieg watched, his patience wearing thin.
"Pearl, you are taking too long!" he boomed. "And you are going to damage MY new ship! End this now!"
When Pearl was sent stumbling again by another of Sanji's kicks, Krieg decided to intervene. He ripped a massive, spiked iron knob from the railing of his ship. With a grunt of effort, he hurled it with incredible force, not just at Pearl, but at both of them, intending to take them both out in a single, brutal blow.
Luffy, who had been watching the fight with a huge grin, saw the danger. He planted his feet, stretched both of his arms far back, and then launched them forward.
"Gomu Gomu no Bazooka!"
His twin palms slammed into the flying iron projectile, stopping it dead in its tracks. With a final, powerful push, he sent it hurtling back in a completely different direction.
The knob soared through the air and slammed into the tall, splintered main mast of the wrecked Dreadnaught Sabre.
With a deep, groaning shriek of tortured wood, the massive mast began to topple over. It cast a giant, fatal shadow over the floating battlefield.
And its trajectory was aimed directly at the still-raging, flaming Pearl.
The invincible man looked up just in time to see his own ship's mast coming down to crush him. He let out a final, terrified shriek before he was flattened, his flames extinguished with a great splash as the wreckage crashed into the sea.
For a moment, there was a stunned silence. Pearl was defeated. The chefs began to let out a ragged cheer.
But the cheer was cut short by a cold, familiar voice that silenced the entire battlefield.
"Don't move."
Everyone froze. The voice had come from the main deck of the Baratie.
The scene shifted. There, standing amidst the chaos, was Gin. And he was not alone.
He had his arm wrapped tightly around Zeff's neck, and the cold, black muzzle of his pistol was pressed firmly against the old chef's head.
Sanji's world stopped. The cigarette fell from his lips. His cool, confident demeanor shattered, replaced by a mask of pure, unadulterated horror.