In the cargo compartment of Ship No. 4, the hands of the clock ticked past twelve and slowly crawled toward three, continuing their endless rotation.
As the minutes passed, Teach stared at the moving second hand, his brow furrowed in growing impatience.
Although only three minutes had passed since the agreed time, it felt like three centuries.
"That kid still isn't here…"
The expression on Teach's face shifted from anxious to suspicious, while the silence around him remained absolute.
A schemer himself, Teach knew Iggy wasn't the type to be late—let alone break a promise.
In just a few minutes, his mind raced, cycling through hundreds of possibilities.
"Could it be...?"
Dozens of potential scenarios flashed in his thoughts, but they all began to blur—until one singular, chilling thought remained.
Could the kid have acted first?
No—I need to see for myself!
Without wasting another moment, Teach kicked the hatch open with a loud crash and bolted toward the captain's quarters.
As soon as he swung the door open, a blanket of darkness greeted him. Blindly, he fumbled for the candles until a small flame flickered to life and quickly grew, illuminating the room.
The light revealed a gruesome scene that froze Teach in his tracks.
Next to the wooden table, Thatch lay dead in a pool of blood—his body torn apart. Three deep slashes carved across his chest, and his head, eyes wide with shock, lay beside the corpse.
But what drew Teach's eye more than anything else was the half-eaten Dark-Dark Fruit resting near the severed hand that still clutched it.
"That bastard!!!"
Teach's mind instantly pieced together the chain of events. Enraged, he stormed out of the room, sprinting down the corridor in search of Iggy.
Even without finding a trace, he rampaged across the ship in a blind fury—until finally, on the high mast above the deck, he spotted a familiar silhouette.
"I didn't think you'd be the one to outplay me!"
His eyes burned with killing intent, and he gritted his teeth as he brandished his dual poisoned claws—each dripping with thick, green venom.
Like a blood-soaked butcher, Teach stormed toward the mast, the toxic claws leaving a trail of green behind him.
Leaning casually on the mast, Iggy scoffed at the sight of the weapons and smirked at Teach.
"Nice theatrics. Shame your strength doesn't match your talk."
His tone was playful, almost mocking. Iggy slowly raised a hand, and from his palm, wisps of dark energy began to swirl—spreading like black flames.
A low hum began to sound beneath Teach's feet, and suddenly, the deck below him turned pitch-black—like a vast, spreading pool of oil.
"This is... the power of the Dark-Dark Fruit!? So it was you, Iggy!"
Black tendrils stretched from the dark surface, wrapping around Teach's legs without even a hint of physical sensation—just a cold, clinging grip.
"Tch… I'm disappointed, Teach. Haven't you heard? All's fair in war."
Perched high on the mast, Iggy looked down at him, calm and composed, while the dark tendrils began to pull Teach down slowly.
"As your old crewmate, I'll give you one bit of advice: take Thatch's head and leave."
His voice remained eerily calm as the darkness coiled tighter.
"Or, you can stay and vanish into this abyss."
At his command, the tendrils surged. Like spectral hands from hell, they pulled Teach deeper. His body sank like it was caught in quicksand, and the harder he struggled, the faster he was consumed.
There was no pain, no texture—only a rising tide of fear and despair in the void.
Despite two years of working together—and their supposed bond from the day before—Teach had no doubt: Iggy would kill him without hesitation.
Out of options, he shouted with venomous rage, just as the darkness rose to his chest:
"I admit defeat!"
At once, the dark aura around Iggy's hand weakened. The tide of darkness paused its pull.
To hear such an infamous villain one day beg for mercy in person—it made Iggy's mood brighten with satisfaction.
"But don't forget this," Teach growled. "One day, I'll carve you up with my own hands!"
Iggy ignored the threat. He tightened his fists, and the black swamp-like darkness vomited Teach out like discarded trash before fading back into the wooden deck.
Teach collapsed, gasping for breath, sweat pouring down his face. His heart pounded as if it had been gripped in terror.
"Stop wasting time before I change my mind."
Iggy's voice echoed coldly from above.
Forced to obey, Teach picked himself up and dashed back toward the cabin.
Watching him go, Iggy let out a sigh—his face unreadable—and extended his Observation Haki to monitor Teach's every move.
Moments later, Teach returned, clutching a rag-wrapped bundle. Without sparing Iggy a glance, he leapt off the ship and paddled away on a lifeboat.
At the same time, Iggy turned toward the crew's living quarters and fired several sharp "Flying Finger Guns" into the air.
The sound roused the sleeping combat crew. One by one, they rushed onto the deck, searching for signs of danger.
"Over there—it's Teach from the Second Division!"
All eyes turned in the direction of a crewmate's pointed finger. In the distance, Teach could be seen fleeing on a raft, clutching a blood-soaked package.
Then, in a flash, Iggy landed beside them—startling the group.
"I'll go after him. You stay here and check if anyone's hurt."
Iggy's face was stern, his tone commanding. The shaken pirates nodded and began to comb through the ship.
Meanwhile, Iggy jumped onto another lifeboat and pursued the fleeing Teach.
Within minutes, the crew reentered the cabin—and their hearts dropped.
There, lying in a pool of blood, was Thatch's body.
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