Title : Transcendence

Summary : In a world that thrived on the phrase 'salvos aptissium' all I could think was "Bring it on." The universe, instead, heard "F*ck me up." Self-Insert

Disclaimer : One Piece belongs to Eiichiro Oda.

Rated : Teen

Language : English

Author Note : I'm really excited about this one. This was inspired by KlonoaDream's Gone Fishing and Plouton's Murphy's Law. Ugh, you can't see me now but I'm holding my hands together hoping that this one gets a good amount of reviews. I want five or more reviews, no less! Alright time to get this show on the road.

Posted : 04/04

Edit : 04/12
Edit : 05/18 (Changed the title as I felt it was more fitting and changed the summary. TTATT I'm never happy with my summaries... More than that, I expanded a little more on Sion's feeling towards the situation and even gave you a brief mention of Hart's dad along with a few vision. Next chapter I'll give you some translations. )

[ prologue : ab initio ]

"We all die as we are born. We always find the end before the beginning.

We cannot help ourselves from growing wiser. Those who are helpless to their search for knowledge are those who cannot transcend death.

If to live means to continually search for wisdom, we'll find the end waiting after our last lesson. To finally see the subtlety of the end and understand it completely is what it means to die."

-Ikasurok Ogihci

Blood. Sweat. And tears.

These ingredients are the bases towards your masterpiece. Your greatest work. The ne plus ultra. Ergo people say they 'poured their blood, sweat and tears'. But I liked to believe - no, I no longer believe - I know that there's one ingredient, one special ingredient in which differentiates our blood, sweat and tears.

It was our determination.

The more we poured are heart, soul and body into something, the greater our outcome. Good things come to those who do good... Or was that 'to those who wait'? Nevertheless, our determination is what fuels us into doing better. Perhaps better than yesterday or better than a friend we all carry that spark within us. It just shows how much we are willing to sacrifice to accomplish our goals, our dreams. I could recall too well how I immersed myself into a world of fantasy as a little tot, zealously running about with a light in my eye and a wildfire in my soul, or so grandmother would say, as I too wished to accomplish my own dreams.

What was my dream? Well... I don't have one. Never had but to me it sounds exciting as it opens so much possibilities for my future so I contented myself with fulfilling what I could in this life. So what was the point of reading that drivel? Absolutely nothing!

At least, not at the moment.

My story begins at my death. 'Death is the beginning of another great adventure' or something of the like as Albus Dumbledore once put it. He was right. Death was just another adventure.

I wasn't much by appearance as I looked like any other human being with dark eyes and even darker hair with a complexion that would make Snow White green with envy. That wasn't to say I was hideous or such, my friends had said that I had a some rather fair features but I'm getting off track. I was a twenty-something years old when I died. How did I die you wonder? Simply put I died by my carelessness. I always held a soft spot for storms. Lightning dancing across the sky with thunder beating it's drums of war as the rain fell to caress our faces and wash our stress. It was breathtaking.

And mighty stupid of me to dance in the middle of a lightning storm like the maniac I was. I don't regret it but I'm certain my parents must regret raising me the way they did. On that note, I wonder how mother will do? She's not exactly the best when it comes to embalming - that would be father - especially when it involved charred skin.

So the lightning may have done a little more than overcook me but when you grow up surrounded by the dead, one must learn to develop a special type of humor. And I'm quite fond of our macabre humor.

The life of we lived was not the life for everyone. A vast majority of the world still had trouble acknowledging death to this day. I was five when I realized that eternal sleep translated to death and it was something I understood. I just wasn't sure how to feel about it at the time. I remember once asking mother what happened to the people themselves since when they die, they leave their carcass behind.

"That's why religion exists honey." My five year old self furrowed her brows while cocking her head. "Religion?" Mother smiled, amused by my antics no doubt before placing her hand under my chin. "People pray for Him to grant them a good life and when times are rough. It brings them solace to know there is always someone to fall back on and gives them hope that could walk alongside Him in heaven."

Silly. People are so very silly I once thought. Why hope for something more when death was meant to be the end. Yes, death is awaited us at the end of our life but that didn't mean it had to be the end. As I grew older, I grew wiser as well, and as childish as it made me sound I soon became like everyone else. I didn't want to die, or rather, I didn't want to stop existing. To stop existing was like... like being forgotten. Except that when you're forgotten, they can easily retrieve memory of you in due time. So maybe it's not like being forgotten but perhaps being erased.

Imagine yourself sketching an image. And though you erase the lines there are still traces of where your pencil left its impression. But when you try to trace over them, they don't come out exactly like the first time. Do you understand now?

The point I'm trying to make throughout this spiel is this : I'm dead, and I'm scared to stop existing. My family will never forget me but... all these bonds which kept us connected are gone. I'm out here in this darkness who knows where and I'm alone. I'm so very alone.

Can you hear me? Can you see me? I'm right here. I exist. Though dead and alone, I exist. I am here.

I am here.

.

.

I hear voices.

"Non est pulchr ?" Soft... a woman. Who is...? Where am I...? What... Who am-?

"Ita vero et minime ." Oh... I remember now... I'm dead... I blinked as muddle images presented themselves before me. But if I'm dead, that means... Shock tore through my system, my heart beating erratically as I heaved and coughed. The sound intensified. Feathery whispers tickled within the depths of my mind.

"Ea est maledicti ." How am I alive? This shouldn't be possible! I should be six feet underground! Ashes! Dust to dust! Anything! I should be nonexist-! My breathing hitched. Don't tell me. Am I really...? The whispers intensified, to the point my head was starting to ache.

"Lacet !"

"Veritas . Ea est a homicida Deo ."

It's too real to be a joke. The pain itself was real and that was all the proof I needed. I'm alive. I'm really alive!

.

.

An elderly woman stood before the altar where a newborn slept peacefully. She appeared to be in her late forties with wrinkled pale skin and curly wine red hair with silvery streaks and odd colored eyes. She dressed in a pristine white robe with a royal blue shawl that shadowed her face. With closed eyes, she thought back to the woman who nearly sacrificed everything to save this child, and reached out for the necessary tools with bony fingers.

The red head let out a sigh. I am much too old for this shit, she thought. Something within her seemed to hum in agreement before coiling in preparation.

Thankfully, no one was present to watch otherwise this child would've been dammed before it began. Images of winged people danced before her eyes before she clenched them shut. Now was not the time. Hands were raised to the skies as her bangles clicked against each other and thus began the island's tradition.

"I, Sion, blessed by Caelus and named Shaman of the Heavens, beseech ye Gods to accept this fledgling! I pour the sea of Neptunus! The vearth of Dis! And the sky of Caelus!"

Seawater, dirt and a strange substance that wasn't water by any means were poured into a bowl. Sion swirled the substances together until... and image flashed before her in less than a second.

"And now, I draw the lifeblood of the fledgling so you may paint her future."

[ A dark skinned man with a grin that defied nature itself and eyes which held the stars and dreams of his people. "Let's go!", his voice seemed to bellow out in infinite echoes, as though her were calling out to the world instead of a scraggly teenager. "To the land of adventure!" It's what he promised the young fledgling. ]

The elder drew a dagger from within her robe and carefully pricked the child's finger. A small crimson bead slowly dripped from the tiny digit and onto the bowl, dying the concoction red. Sion held her breath and sharpened his mismatched eyes.

The bowl fell and she watched as the murky liquid shift into a myriad of colors. First it was a rich purple, then a jaded indigo before settling into a black, just like the despair in the shaman's stomach. Was this retribution for existing? She could feel a snarl coming onto her face until her eyes widened in shock as the dark muck burst into a blaring red dancing around fluttering yellows. And in the center of it all was a brilliant blue pool.

Red to orange. Yellow to green. Held together by the blue abyss.

Sion fell to her knees, conflicted throughout it all. The last person born to these colors was...

[ A laughing king who stood above all, his figure a beacon. His screams a melody. His heart a flame. His existence a power beyond human comprehension. "Tá mé anseo. Tá muid anseo. Tá muid anseo, agus ní bheidh muid dearmad a dhéanamh." ]

"So it's true then..." The elder sighed before standing tall before the altar, continuing the ritual. "Child, born of the Heavens and daughter to a shaman, thy blessed by Dis, and a maverick, thy blessed by the fated clan, ye gods have blessed thee with..." Sion sneered. All she could hear was the sound of the girl's breathing and her bones grinding together. "Gaea."

There it was. She did it. The ritual was complete. This child was damned the moment she was born. An exhausted look painted her face before hardening as she took the child into her arms. "Kunibre D. Hart, ye have been blessed with the Gaea... May your future hold that which ye seek..."

And with those words, the girl christened Hart woke with a cry intensifying Sion's annoyance towards the situation.

Author Note : Fun fact, I was listening to "Begin Again" by Purity Ring while writing this. I've been wanting to post this story for a while now. Tell me what you think. There have been people SI-ing into the OP world but... There are so many different species so there's a lot you can play around with. Like I said before, this story was inspired by Plouton and KlonoaDreams.

Like Klonoa's Mako, Hart isn't human. Take into consideration the title of this story and let's see where it takes you. And to avoid spoiling anything, only OC will be present in the character slots until I decide to introduce any canon characters. The Latin will be in the next chapter as well if you're curious.

I'd also like to thank Plouton who I spoke to long before posting this story. I'm going to go ahead and say that Sion was inspired by Iris from Murphy's Law, however Blue's and Hart's circumstances will differ and yet be quite similar. For those who have no idea what I'm talking about, please read Plouton's story or ignore my ramblings.

Review whether you're a guest or an author.