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."
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. 177 : The Ordeal of Iron! White Barbed Death Ma...
"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." Ohm didn't smile
"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." Your struggle is merely the sound of a
"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."