177 : The Ordeal Of Iron! White Barbed Death Ma... Today

"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."

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

Ohm lunged, the Eisen Whip transforming into a massive, jagged fan meant to decapitate. "End of the Ordeal!" 177 : The Ordeal of Iron! White Barbed Death Ma...

The sparks lit up the fog like dying stars. Zoro felt the bite of the barbs—thin, stinging slices across his shoulders. The iron was fast, guided by Ohm’s "Mantra," predicting Zoro’s every breath.

The compressed air from his blades tore through the mist, colliding with the iron fan. The force didn't just deflect the metal; it shattered the "Mantra" of the priest. For a split second, the predator became the prey. "I don't think," Zoro spat, blood trickling down his arm

Ohm didn't smile. He raised his hilt, and the Eisen Whip—a blade of shapeshifting iron—extended like a living snake. "The sky is a place of judgment, Blue Sea dweller. Your struggle is merely the sound of a bird flapping its wings before the cage closes."

"The thing about iron," Zoro said, sheathing his swords as the Priest of Skypiea collapsed into the clouds, "is that it eventually meets someone harder." "I know

"You call this an ordeal?" Zoro grunted, the hilt of Shusui heavy in his hand. He adjusted his bandana, his single eye tracking the slight shimmer of the wires. "Back home, we just call this a bad neighborhood."