One Piece: I'll Defeat IMU!! Chapter 77 77: 77 - One more down!!

AN : There is a limited ti discount running on my Patreon page. Check it out and enjoy the story further. Kaido has been clashing with Marco!!

CODE - FA23B!!

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"Daifuku…"

The mont Katakuri saw his brother's fate—one lying motionless, the other gravely wounded—he finally lost his composure. The calm, iron discipline he had cultivated for decades cracked in an instant. At that mont, there was only one thought in his mind: protect his siblings.

"Bastard—get out of my way, Fire Fist!"

Rage exploded from Katakuri's eyes. Armant Haki flooded both of his fists as he lunged forward, throwing a ferocious punch ant to crush Ace outright.

Ace didn't retreat.

He took the blow head-on, crossing his fingers with unwavering resolve.

"I told you already," he shouted, flas surging violently, "you're not getting past —Cross Fire!"

A blazing, cross-shaped sigil slamd into Katakuri's chest and detonated instantly. A massive cross of fire—nearly a hundred ters across—erupted outward, swallowing the battlefield in roaring heat. Katakuri, caught at the epicenter, was blasted away like a cannonball.

"A direct hit?" Ace muttered, surprised.

Until now, landing a clean blow on Katakuri had been nearly impossible. Even with flas that countered mochi, Katakuri's future-sight Observation Haki had allowed him to evade almost everything.

Then Ace rembered the look on Katakuri's face—raw, unrestrained fury.

A grin tugged at his lips.

"So that's it… anger's throwing off your future sight, huh?"

Katakuri crashed to the ground and spat out a mouthful of blood. A scorched, cross-shaped burn marked his chest, and the violent flas had torn away his scarf, exposing his mouth.

Ace's eyes widened.

"…Your mouth."

It looked grotesque—jagged, stretched, as if it had been ripped open and crudely stitched back together.

Katakuri froze.

His face darkened instantly. He snatched up the scarf and wrapped it around his mouth again, his glare toward Ace filled with chilling hostility.

"You saw it," he said coldly. "My face."

Ace studied him, understanding dawning in his eyes—followed by sothing sharper.

"So that's it," he said quietly. "You care about your image that much. That's why you hide it."

Katakuri's killing intent surged like a tidal wave.

"Anyone who sees my true face…" he said, voice trembling with fury, "…must die."

Ace didn't flinch. Instead, his smile widened.

Good.

Katakuri abandoned finesse entirely. His punches beca heavier, faster, more brutal—each blow driven by pure wrath. Fists hardened with Haki slamd into Ace's body again and again.

Ace answered in kind.

Flas and Armant Haki wrapped around his fists as he charged forward, welcoming the clash. No tricks. No dodging. Just raw power.

This was exactly what he wanted.

Before, Katakuri's future sight had turned the fight into a nightmare. Now, it was a straight-up brawl—a contest of endurance and will.

"AAAHHHHHHHH!"

"AAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

Their roars echoed across the battlefield as fists smashed into flesh, faces, and ribs. Neither man backed down. The ground beneath their feet fractured under the force of their blows, shockwaves tearing through the plaza. Rubble shattered, dust and fire spiraled into the air, and the clash of two titans raged on—until one of them would finally fall.

With no more obstacles in his way, Marco swiftly closed the distance and appeared before Cracker in a flash of blue flas.

Seeing him arrive, Namur imdiately withdrew a few steps, positioning himself behind Marco.

"Marco," he said respectfully.

Marco gave a brief nod. "Namur, deal with the biscuit soldiers he creates. Give one minute—this will be over."

"Understood." Namur didn't question it for a second. Cracker might be strong, but there was no universe in which he could stand against Marco.

Cracker, however, nearly exploded with rage at those words.

"One minute?" His eyes burned with fury. "What do you an, one minute? Are you saying you can defeat in sixty seconds?!"

He instinctively moved to activate his Devil Fruit, but the mont he noticed Namur standing nearby, he hesitated. His biscuit soldiers were fatally vulnerable to water—and with a Fishman present, summoning them would be pointless.

"Tch…" Cracker spat. He tightened his grip on his sword and took up a guarded stance. "Fine. Co then. Let see whether that ridiculous 1.8 billion bounty of yours is actually deserved."

No matter how proud he was, Cracker knew the truth. There was a gulf between them—nearly a billion berries' worth. His only chance was to endure.

Marco didn't answer.

Blue flas flared violently around his body as he surged forward.

He's fast…!

Cracker's nerves scread in warning. He had seen it with his own eyes—Daifuku, defeated in a single blow. If that punch had landed on him, he wouldn't even be standing.

He slashed downward.

Marco didn't dodge.

His palm, hardened with Armant Haki, snapped shut around Cracker's blade like an iron vise.

"Don't even think about running," Marco said coldly.

His fist drove forward.

Cracker barely managed to raise his free arm to block. The impact sent a violent shock through his body, but he held on, gritting his teeth as he seized Marco's wrist.

"Don't underestimate ," he snarled. "Biscuit Creation—"

Bang! Bang!

Two biscuit arms erupted from his waist, each gripping a sword, slashing toward Marco from both sides.

Marco's eyes narrowed.

His leg snapped forward in a brutal kick aid straight at Cracker's abdon.

The biscuit arms rushed to intercept—but they were biscuits.

Marco's kick shattered them effortlessly. The force carried through, smashing into Cracker's stomach and blasting him backward. He was forced to release Marco and dropped to one knee, clutching his gut.

"Gah—! It hurts… it hurts so much!"

Marco paused, genuinely surprised.

So it's true…

In the stories, Cracker had always talked about his fear of pain—even needles terrified him. But seeing it firsthand was sothing else entirely.

Cracker curled forward, trembling like a wounded shrimp, completely exposing himself.

A fatal weakness—laid bare in the middle of the battlefield.

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