Wealth, fame, power.
The man that acquired everything in this world, the Pirate King Gold Roger. . .
The final words he said at his execution sent people to the seas:
"My wealth and treasures? If you want it you can have it. Search for it! I left it all in that place!"
In search of the great treasure left behind by Gold Roger, One Piece, many pirates went to battle under their flags.
During this era there is one young man who also sets out in search for One Piece.
A figure stumbled from the beach line. Sand clotted beneath its feet. The wetter the sand became the less wet the figure became until his clothes were inexplicably dry. His foot hit the cement and the wood blocks built into the sole of his shoes clopped. His form was a shadow, every possible layer of skin covered by bandages, and a gray cloak that made his head a veil of darkness. The night moon shone on him, but this paled compared to the orange glow of flames cackling and eating through the island's small town. His zombie gait settled into a melodic clopping, which began to drown within the sea of screams and hollers. Swords glinted silver, reflecting the light of the flames that engulfed the town, and the silver streaks came down on the backs of townsfolk. Husky men with hair vining from every appendage displayed glee at the bloodshed. The town was covered in crimson and orange as the demonic men slayed the innocent. The figure's eyes never strayed from their angle and his nose never lost track of the smell of meat.
"Me~at." he thought. Some buildings were left unharmed by the blaze; those were the ones that were pillaged. But he could smell food. Something the brutish pirates forgot, and it was near. The constant sniffing caught the attention of one of the pirates. He mistook it for crying. The cloaked figure was slightly taller than most of the assaulting men, this kept them from attacking during his trek through the city toward food. But a single man mistook the sniffing for sobbing, and in turn, weakness. He raised his blade in a streak of silver, and it stayed there. The cloaked figure clopped onward, and the man stood, frozen and perched to attack. None of his fellow pirates took notice. The bloodlust and momentum of a pillaging did nothing for companionship. And there was already very little companionship between these murderers.
There was a cellar in one of the homes that was left untouched by the fire. But hands had caressed every part of it, and they were not gentle. There was a false wall beneath the stairs and the cloaked figure smashed through it. Inside were a woman, two children and a cache of dried fruits and meat. The mother held her children's mouths shut. Her own fear had crept out, and it was palpable. His fingers stretched into the darkness toward the three embodiments of fear. They were webbed. The hands were dull black, and almost blended into the shadow of the safe room, but the mother saw that they were definitely webbed. In the end she was the one who was unable to muffle her screams.
"This tastes so bad. I need more." The cloaked figure was famished beyond comprehension. Each dried apple or salted beef cutlet was just a droplet in the bucket of hunger. The woman's scream had traded a non-violent food thief, for a group of violent, blood hungry pirates. The trio had been scrambled into the deepest corner of the secret room away from the man with the webbed hand. They finally managed to collect the courage to crawl from the darkness, past the feasting figure and into the light of their marauded home. And directly into the path of the pirates searching for the screams they had no hand in causing. No words. Just streaks of silver, slashing for the children and woman; only to be stopped again, mid swing. The windows shattered with the halted movements.
"Ah~, thanks for that lady. I was so hungry I couldn't speak." The cloaked figure said. The lady and children cowered beneath the swords that were so close they still threatened to end three lives. "These guys are really mean. Why were they trying to kill you? People should get along." He said. "Don't hurt them, please! They're only children!" the woman screamed. "I'm not going to hurt you. These guys were." He points to the frozen bodies. His webbed hand, the source of her fear was on full display. He saw the look in the children's eyes. They feared him too. He had never met these people, in fact, he just saved their lives. He may have stolen their food a bit, but no one values their food that much. He dropped his head, sullen. "Those pirates will be able to move in ten minutes. You should run away." He said, exiting the home.
The fire couldn't reach the rocky outcroppings that surrounded the town. Large orange boulders, which were more orange under the faint glow of the flames, were spaced throughout the desert-like area. There was no sand, just the dryness. For a regular Fishman this would not be an ideal environment, but 'not ideal' was Pitch's bread and butter. Anything that made it harder for Pitch to train was welcomed. He stood in front of one of the more massive boulders, legs bracing and fists at the ready. "FISHMAN KARATE" he said. His punch impacted the rock that dwarfed the seven foot Pitch and seconds later cracks appeared. Rocks and metal weren't usually weak to Fishman Karate. The martial art manipulated water molecules, and those two substances are usually waterless. He could have crushed the large boulder with his brute strength, but that wouldn't be training. The rock began to shed its layers that were cracked with the punch. Flakes and stones fell to the ground. Even with the sudden weight loss it was still the largest of the boulders in the outcrop and it retained its oblong shape after the shedding.
"My body's rusty from being in the sea. I have to get used to land again." He thought. He stood beneath the shadow of the rock and placed his hands on the lip that shaded him. It budged with the force of his lift. With one extraneous push the boulder tilted on its misshapen side and fell back toward the earth, square into the upturned palms of Pitch. He held the massive piece of Earth, him but an ant to the boot of the rock. He bent his knees. One squat. He extended his knees. He bent his knees. Two squats.
Three thousand six hundred forty one squats.
And the boulder was but a chair to the giant who sat on it. "Stupid rock, Stop gaining weight!" Pitch screamed through grit teeth. The teeth grit harder, digging into each other as he pushed with all of his might to release himself from beneath the suddenly heavier rock. The giant, who held barrels of whiskey, tied to rope in his hands, toppled with the upturning of the boulder, careful not to crush the wood containers. When the dust settled, a guttural "Rahahahaha" escaped from the young giant's mouth. "Didn't see you under that rock, little man." He said.
Pitch knew the tattoo that was across the giant's chest, but he couldn't remember where he had seen it. He knew it was recently, but the only humans he had seen recently were just pillaging a town.