Zoro leaped, not away, but directly into the heart of the barbed storm. "108 Pound Phoenix!"

The fog began to lift, revealing the path forward. The ordeal was over, but the war for the sky had only just begun.

"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."

"I see your heart," Ohm droned, his dog Holy sitting motionless behind him. "It beats with the rhythm of a man who thinks he can cut anything."