He closed his eyes. If Ohm could read his mind, Zoro would stop thinking. He focused on the breath of the iron—the vibration of the barbs, the tension in the whip. He wasn't looking for a gap in the wires; he was looking for the soul of the metal.
Zoro leaped, not away, but directly into the heart of the barbed storm. "108 Pound Phoenix!" 177 : The Ordeal of Iron! White Barbed Death Ma...
Zoro stood at the center of the Milky Road, his boots crunching on the strange, frozen clouds. Before him stood Ohm, the Sky Breeder, his presence as cold and unyielding as the iron he commanded. Between them lay the "White Barbed Death Match"—a chaotic web of invisible, razor-sharp iron wires that hummed with a low, predatory vibration. He closed his eyes
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. He wasn't looking for a gap in the
With a flick of Ohm’s wrist, the Eisen Whip lashed out. It didn't just strike; it curved, defying physics, weaving through the existing mesh of barbed wire to trap Zoro in a collapsing sphere of metal.
"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."