One Piece: Curse of Immortality

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"Boom!" The entire island trembled as Whitebeard's massive, imposing body collapsed with a thunderous crash, his head forced into the ground. 

Black and red lightning surged outward, and the earth rippled violently like waves. Dust rose, quickly obscuring everything from view.

"Father!" Marco and the others' expressions changed drastically as they shouted in alarm. 

The next moment, they prepared to leap from the ship and rush forward, but a whirlwind of sand swept up, blocking their path.

"This is a fair duel! Do you intend to interfere?" Crocodile's cold voice rang out.

"Crocodile!" Marco growled through gritted teeth.

"Or is it that the Whitebeard Pirates are nothing more than sore losers who tarnish their name?" 

Crocodile sneered, standing resolutely in front of them, showing no sign of fear.

"You bastard!" Marco roared angrily but remained on the ship, glaring at the battlefield ahead, anxiously awaiting the outcome.

Suddenly, a gust of wind swept through the area.

"Gurararara!" Along with a deep laugh, the dust quickly dispersed, revealing a towering figure rising to his feet.

"Marco, do you think your old man is so fragile?" Whitebeard's voice boomed. 

"A punch as light as a mosquito bite makes you this worried?" He smirked. 

"Don't let outsiders look down on us!"

His deep and resonant voice carried an unshakable force. 

As Whitebeard raised his head, an invisible aura swept across the battlefield, passing over everyone like a storm.

"Father's fine!"

"That's a relief!" Diamond Jozu exclaimed, relieved. 

But their relief was short-lived as they caught sight of Whitebeard's face, their expressions darkening again with a mixture of shock and concern.

"Father?! Are you really okay?" Marco's voice trembled.

Whitebeard's massive figure stood steadfast, but his face was drenched in blood. 

Streams of crimson dripped from his cheeks, painting a harrowing picture of battle.

"Your turn, Whitebeard!" came a calm voice from the battlefield.

All eyes turned to Arashi. His arms were crossed, his face equally stained with blood, yet his bright eyes shone like blazing suns, filled with an indomitable spirit.

"What a monster!" Jozu muttered through clenched teeth.

Whitebeard clenched his fists and leapt high, delivering a powerful punch.

"Boom!" The shockwaves rippled outward, but this time, Arashi didn't fall. Instead, his head tilted, and his waist bent slightly.

"That punch wasn't as strong as the last one," Arashi quipped with a grin. "It felt more like a tickle."

"Haha, your turn!" Whitebeard laughed heartily.

Arashi retaliated with a punch of his own, another shockwave erupting.

"What's wrong, kid? Just cry out if it hurts. That punch of yours was even weaker!" Whitebeard mocked.

"Don't worry," Arashi replied coolly. "Soon, you won't be able to keep that smug mouth of yours running."

The two traded punches relentlessly, their clashes echoing across the battlefield. Each strike came with sharp words, mocking the other's strength.

"You're about to give in, aren't you, Arashi? Just fall already!"

"Heh, Whitebeard, your head isn't nearly as hard as your words."

"Gurararara, your strength is faltering!"

"You're no better, Newgate!"

The onlookers watched with bated breath, their hearts pounding with tension.

"These two…" Marco whispered, exhaling deeply. His eyes flickered with worry. 

It was clear to everyone that both fighters were heavily injured. At any moment, either of them could collapse.

But despite their wounds and waning strength, neither gave in. They persisted, trading blow for blow in a gruelling battle of wills.

"This is a real fight between men!" Jozu said, his fists clenched tightly.

Time slipped by, and soon, the second night had fallen. Yet, the sounds of their clashes still echoed across the island. 

The resilience of these two warriors left everyone in awe.

"Even with such devastating injuries, they keep fighting," Marco said, his tone filled with admiration. 

"Whether it's Father or Arashi, they're both unimaginably strong."

"Their bodies, their spirits, their willpower—they're leagues beyond us!"

Face-to-face in an unyielding duel was a test of their essence.

As time passed, the frequency of the collisions slowed, but the intermittent echoes confirmed that neither fighter had given up.

By the morning of the third day, the gruelling battle continued.

"Give it up, Whitebeard! Your eyes are already glazed over!" Arashi sneered, his grin barely masking his exhaustion.

"Ridiculous! Do you even know who I am?" Whitebeard scoffed, countering with his taunt. 

"Take a look at your eyes—they're so swollen even Garp wouldn't recognize you!"

"And you think your sons will recognize that mess of a face?" Arashi retorted mockingly.

From afar, the two combatants were unrecognizable—faces battered and bruised, swollen and discoloured in shades of purple and blue, with lumps and welts covering their heads. 

This was only the visible damage. Observing from the sidelines, Marco could tell from Whitebeard's laboured movements that his ribs and internal organs had likely taken heavy damage. Of course, Arashi was in no better condition.

Crocodile, puffing one cigar after another, watched the fight with an unblinking gaze. 

He seemed to bear the heaviest burden in his heart among the spectators. From the day he'd met Arashi, he had never seen him so battered. 

The guilt in Crocodile's chest was unbearable.

"Arashi, you shouldn't have come!" he thought bitterly. 

"This was my mistake, my responsibility to bear alone!" His eyes glistened faintly as he clenched his fists, overwhelmed by a sense of shame and a twinge of helplessness.

By noon on the third day, the two fighters were at their limits. 

Their punches, once earth-shattering, now landed with diminished force, each strike followed by a long pause before the next. 

Even standing back up after falling required immense effort and time. And yet, against all odds, the duel persisted.

By sunset, as night fell again, Arashi grinned through the pain. "How about it, Whitebeard? My punches are making you suffer, aren't they?"

"Don't kid yourself, brat!" Whitebeard shot back, his breaths sharp and laboured. "I'm Whitebeard!" His glare burned with defiance as he winced at his injuries.

"Keep going! I'm not losing to you!" Arashi growled.

"Bring it on! You think I'd back down?" Whitebeard roared.

After several laboured breaths, both fighters suddenly burst into hearty laughter. 

Marco, Crocodile, and the others looked on with complex expressions. 

Even as spectators, they could sense the mutual respect and camaraderie that had formed between the two combatants—a bond unique to warriors of their calibre.

"They're equals," Marco muttered with a sigh. "Their spirits, their willpower, and their strength are perfectly matched. It's almost impossible to determine a winner."

The others silently nodded. From the start of the battle through its progression into a relentless exchange of raw punches, neither had managed to overpower the other.

Another night passed, and with the dawn of the fourth day, the first rays of sunlight revealed a shocking sight. 

The earth was silent for the first time since the battle began—no familiar sounds of blows or shockwaves echoed through the air.

Everyone turned their eyes to the battlefield, their breath catching as the dust settled. What they saw left them speechless.

There, standing face-to-face like two immovable mountains, were Whitebeard and Arashi. 

Neither had fallen. Both were unconscious, yet their bodies stood upright as if their very instincts refused to allow them to collapse.

Marco stepped forward to check on Whitebeard. "They've both lost consciousness," he announced. 

"Even at their limits, when their minds gave out, their bodies refused to yield. What incredible determination... or sheer refusal to lose."

The members of the Whitebeard Pirates were awestruck, gazing at the two fighters with profound respect. 

They carefully lifted Whitebeard and carried him back to the ship.

Crocodile approached Arashi with a heavy expression, cautiously hoisting him up while glaring at the Whitebeard Pirates.

"This was the greatest battle in the world," Marco declared. 

"And it ends in a draw. We're not the kind of people who take advantage of others in such a state. Take him and leave."

Crocodile nodded but met Marco's gaze with a cold edge. 

"But next time we meet on the battlefield," Marco continued, his eyes narrowing, "there will be no mercy. It will be a fight to the death."

Crocodile smirked faintly. "I wouldn't expect anything less. And I'll show no mercy, either."

With that, he carried Arashi toward the other side of the island, where a stolen ship waited. 

The two groups parted ways, marking the end of a battle that would shake the world to its core.

"Quick! Set sail!" Crocodiles were ordered as soon as they boarded. "Pirates aren't exactly known for keeping their word!"

After two hours of sailing, Crocodile scanned the horizon and finally exhaled in relief, seeing no sign of the Whitebeard Pirates.

"At least they kept their word," he muttered.

At that moment, Arashi, lying on the ship's bed, suddenly opened his eyes.

"Whitebeard isn't the type to pull dirty tricks," he said hoarsely.

"Arashi!" Crocodile turned, a rare smile breaking across his face. "You're awake already!"

"I was just a little tired," Arashi replied, forcing himself to sit up despite the pain.

But then, with a sudden motion, he drew the long blade from his waist and moved to slash it across his neck.

Crocodile froze in shock while the surrounding crew members gasped in horror. What was he doing?!

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