I don't own One Piece or any of the characters or properties. This is strictly for entertainment purposes only. Nonprofit you read me!?

Chapter 1

To say I was confused was an understatement. I mean you would be too if you suddenly found yourself sitting in a strange room with no idea how you got there.

Now to be clear I don't mean I suddenly woke up to find myself here. I mean I was just here. I was perfectly wide awake, so it wasn't so much waking up as it was blinking and suddenly finding myself in another place, just minus any memory of anything before said blink. Less confused yet? Yeah, me neither.

Anyway as for where I was, well that was about as non descript as it got. Quickly looking around I was in a small all white room currently sitting on a white chair and sitting across from a folding table and a matching empty chair, which made the already small room feel all the more constricting.

Noticing a door behind me, I was about to stand to investigate when it opened and a young woman dressed in a skirted black business suit walked in.

Immediately I had a panic induced heart attack the second my eyes fell on her, which I just as quickly stifled out of sheer fear.

Not even acknowledging my presence she then aggressively slammed the door behind her, squeezed past the table and took a seat across from me, placing the stack of dossiers she'd been carrying on the table and began rifling through the apparently shoddily assembled files, belligerently muttering numerous obscenities under her breath, clearly having a less than stellar day.

By the way, her irate mood was not the reason for my silent freakout. The fact that she had pitch black eyes, crimson red skin, large matching horns and a long arrow tipped tail was the reason I was freaking out, because it was at this point that – with all things considered – I knew I was good and truly screwed.

"Dammit where the hell is that file!?" she angrily snapped to no one in particular. "I swear to god I'm going to fillet those damned idiots up in archives. Ever since we got that orange skinned idiot elected president it's been one bureaucratic nightmare after another, the only thing that hasn't happened is the damned place actually freezing over!" Out of frustration she then turned to me. "Let me ask you something, just how in the nine circles can one guy manage to set back society more than seventy years while at the same time fast tracking the apocalypse by at least a hundred? I mean honestly, I don't care how many of those idiot red hats sold their souls to make it happen it just wasn't worth the hassle."

Not knowing what else to do I simply just nodded supportively as she then returned to searching for my file. Given my apparent situation it was probably best not to make any waves right now.

After another few seconds of searching, she apparently at last found what she was looking for as she flashed a relieved grin over her demonic features and pulled a folder out from the pile, holding it up in triumph. "Yes! Finally!" she exclaimed, happily pushing the other dossiers to the wayside as she removed a document from the file and place it before me along with a pen she produced from her pocket. "Please read this and confirm whether or not this is you, and if so, sign your full name at the bottom marked with the X. Then we can get the ball rolling on getting you processed. Either print or written is fine by the way."

Examining the page my worst fears came to light as I read. Overall, it wasn't any different from any other basic corporate or governmental form, containing everything from my name, date and place of birth, past addresses, and all the other standard general etc., save for one glaringly notable exception. That of course being the small section on the paper regarding the date and place of my death.

Between that and the fact I was sitting across from someone who was into barbeque in a big way, it was only natural my hands started to tremble in fear, the full weight of how monumentally fubared I now was.

Unable to do much else, I tried steadying my nerves as best I could and complied by signing the paper where she'd indicated, handing it and the pen back to her, hoping my compliance might at least not make what came next any worse.

"Thank you," she said with a fanged smile as she placed the paper back in the file and pocketed the pen. "Now then, since we've established you are who you're supposed to be, let me start by offering you our condolences to your loss. Respect by the way, how many people can say they died from a heart attack during seven straight hours of nonstop lovemaking with Anastasiya Berthier. Gotta love Viagra, we haven't seen the kind of turnover it's given us since the sixties."

My jaw hit the floor. "Wait, ARE YOU SERIOUS!?"

Okay admittedly I didn't remember how I died, but one would think I would have remembered that.

Unfortunately, any sense of pride I had at that moment immediately went out the window as she burst out laughing. "Of course not, you died in your sleep from carbon monoxide poisoning," she said. "Freaking dumbass. Anastasiya Berthier… yeah, that could happen."

"Okay I know I'm hell bound and all but that was just hurtful," I said, irritably crossing my arms.

"Hellooooo, demon here," she said tapping one of her horns for emphasis. "And for the record you can relax. You're dead yes, but you're not damned. Lucky for you right?"

I stared, blinked, stare and blinked again. "…you're still screwing with me aren't you."

"Nope, full on one hundred percent serious," she replied matter-of-factly. "Trust me, if you were I guaranty we wouldn't be having this conversation. And before you ask, no you're not going to the other place. What we got right here is what we in the business call a 'tie breaker' situation."

Yet again I blinked. "Tie breaker?"

She nodded. "Most people have one of two destinations when they pass. An occupational hazard you might say from living a full life, with your Tubmans, Hepburns, Martin Luther King Jrs, and other miscellaneous good eggs all going to what you might call 'upper' management. And your Hitlers, Trumps, Cosbys, Ghandis, mother Theresas and generic ne'er-do-wells Epstein types going to 'lower' management," she clarified, to which I in turn nodded, following so far. "And then there's you, the ones who get relegated to here, aka 'middle' management, aka limbo – fyi it's not actually limbo, but conceptually speaking it's the closest thing you people have imagined so far, so yeah, for the sake of expediency; limbo. People who require the tiebreaker treatment."

"So then what, I was like half and half? You know, half and half good and evil."

At that she laughed right into my face, and hard. "Half and half!" she howled, now laughing so hard she was struggling not to fall from her chair. From there she continued, holding her sides in hysteria until finally, after more than a solid minute, at last regain her composure. "Oh hells no! You were a big fat old ZERO!"

There was a bit of a pause between us, given the confusion on my end. "I'm sorry, what?" I finally said, fully lost.

"A zero," she said as if it was supposed to clarify my confusion. Seeing it didn't she continued in frustration, exhaling a heavy sigh. "You know just once I wish you people would switch on a little quicker," she griped. "Let me spell it out for you. You're dead. You never did anything with your life, good or bad. And because you so royally sucked as a human being – and stay with me on this – no one wants you. Hence our present chit-chat dumbass. So are you up to speed yet, or am I going to have to bust out a popup book?"

"Hey!" I protested in offense.

"Oh don't even try acting like you should be insulted, you were a lousy excuse for a human being, you know it, I know it, and so does the paperwork," she replied simply holding up my dossier as a case and point. "Have a read if you feel otherwise, but heads up it's no page turner."

"B-but I never did anything bad," I stated.

"Yes and that's part of the problem," she said. "You never did anything. Bad or Good. Let's get something clear here just so you can fully understand your situation. Life is a test. How you live it determines your place in the hereafter. What you are remembered for doing, the legacy you leave behind gives you your pass/fail grade, or in your case an incomplete for your legacy of jack shit."

"But I was a good person," I protested. "I never stole, or lied, or smoke, or drank, or did drugs, or killed anyone-"

"Well congradufreakinglations dumbass, you didn't do bad things. You want a parade for that high hoarse?" she snapped. She then continued sarcastically. "Yes, that's exactly what makes a good person a good person, all the bad things they didn't do."

"I did good stuff too," I said quickly. "I did community service."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh please. The only community service you did was last year, and that was only because it was required to graduate high school."

"What about charity?" I offered, grasping at straws. "I gave to charity all the time."

"Yeah, tossing pocket change into a salvation army bucket once or twice every December is real charitable, might as well put you up for sainthood," she retorted.

"Still counts," I defended weakly.

She shook her head, obviously tired of this conversation. "Let me explain something to you. Being a good person – as in a real good person – is sacrificing of yourself and what have you for no other purpose than doing so for the sake of others. And being a bad person is pretty much the stark opposite. Neither of which you ever did once in your life. All your life all you did was the absolute bare minimum of whatever work was expected – all half-assed even then I might add – then you went home and wasted your life away in front of a screen watching anime, playing video games and obsessing over people that didn't exist, wishing you were living their lives instead of your own."

I wish I could say there was something I could say in my defense but the sad fact was I knew she was right. Looking back on the life I'd lived I'd been an absolute waste of space. "So what happens now?" I asked.

"Well back in the old days you'd be getting a fast pass to the land down under," she replied. "Fortunately for you after getting so many millennial gen Z assholes like yourself shoved down our throats, we were able to broker a change of policy with the higher ups. FYI not as hard as you'd think considering all the lawyers we've got. But anyway, have you ever heard of that whole no child left behind thing?"

I nodded.

"Well, we came up with it first," she continued. "Only in our case it's more like no soul left behind. Anyway, here's how it works, basically it's a do over where you get reincarnated somewhere in the multiverse."

I blinked. "Are you saying you're going to isekai me?"

"In a word yes," she answered. "And yes before you ask you'll have all the memories of your previous life."

I sat there and stared at her, stunned. All my life I'd dreamed of something like this; the chance to live a life of adventure, where I could live life on my own terms. Still as I looked towards the literal devil woman sitting across from me, I couldn't help but feel wary. "What's the catch?" I asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

"No catch," she replied frankly. "You get sent to a world you have knowledge about, and use said knowledge to act however you wish, and then when all is said and done you'll end up where you deserve."

"And where I deserve means just where exactly?" I asked, my suspicions deepening.

"Don't know and don't care," she answered. "This isn't a reward or a trick to dupe you out of your soul. It's a test. One stacked to put you in a position of power for either great good or great evil."

"Do I get to pick where I end up?"

"So you can milk toast your way through another life? Hell no."

"Do I get cheat skills?"

"Absolutely. We are playing by isekai rules after all, although btw, you only get one."

From the dossier she produced a tablet and handed it to me. "Here you go, dealer's choice."

I accepted the tablet, and as I glanced over the list displayed in alphabetical order on the screen I immediately arched an eyebrow at the menu title.

'World of One Piece.'

I blinked. "Wait, so you're sending me to One Piece?"

"Nothing really gets by you, does it?" she deadpanned.

"Isn't that, I don't know… kind of 'fanficky'?"

"What, you were expecting to be sent to some generic fantasy world that operates on broken op game mechanics and tig bit harem girl logic?" she retorted, annoyed. "Like I said we send you somewhere you're familiar with. And since all you ever did was watch anime and play video games here we are."

"Well couldn't you send me to the Pokémon world instead?" I asked hopefully. "Ooh! Or what about My Hero Academia. I'd really be-"

"What part of 'this is a test' don't you get?" she interrupted flatly. "I mean seriously, despite all evidence to the contrary so far it's not like you're mentally retarded or something. You may get a cheat but you still don't get to go somewhere where you can just breeze through things. There needs to be stakes, consequences, risks, and disappointments whether they're life or death or otherwise. Aka life in a nutshell."

"But I barely even like One Piece," I protested. "Half the time when I watched I had to skip through like thirty episodes because their arcs were so damn long."

Seriously, how does a show go from story arcs maybe five to ten odd episodes long to freaking hundreds? Dragon Ball Z didn't drag their crap out that much for crying out loud.

"And yet you have a near encyclopedic knowledge of everything in it," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Well yeah but that's because-"

"Don't care," she cut off. "You don't get to switch-hit for something else on this. It's either One Piece or nothing," she stated with a darkening glare. "And believe me you do not want nothing going in. So now that we've cleared that up quit your bitching, pick your poison and we can all get on with our lives."

Realizing I couldn't con my way into something better I could only turn my gaze back to the menu displayed on the pad, defeated. "So how do I do this?" I asked, studying the menu which displayed the options 'Devil Fruit' and 'Other'. "I mean I think I get devil fruit, but what's 'Other'?"

"The second one's basically your Role menu for gender, race, and etc," she explained. "You know Fish-Men, Giants, Mink, Cyborgs, Kuja, Pacifista, and so on. Think of it as a character sheet for your upcoming life. FYI the default's human."

Well at the very least that was an option I could live with. Truth be told one of the reasons I had played so many games when I'd been alive had been for the customization when creating a new character, which frankly to me had been more fun than actually playing the game.

Curiously I tapped the devil fruit option which in turn opened up three more sub options 'Random', 'Select', and 'Create'. "What are these for?" I asked, pointing to the screen.

"Think of those as kind of like Easy, Medium, and Hard difficulty settings," she replied. "It's basically a tradeoff of sorts in exchange for the devil fruit. Random as you would guess selects a random fruit from those available in circulation, meaning you might get something good or might get something really stupid."

"I'm not really seeing the easy part in that," I said.

"Well the tradeoff is that you will be basically born into having a silver spoon in your mouth and a gold horseshoe up your ass. Being part of a powerful affluent family, good looks, wealth, luxury, etc etc," she explained. "And with select you get to pick a devil fruit you actually want and be part of the rest of the ninety-nine percent. Yay."

"So then create means…" I trailed off, guessing the obvious.

"You can create a devil fruit, yes," she said.

"How is that hard mode?" I asked. "If anything wouldn't making your own devil fruit just make it extra easy."

"Using 'Create' locks you out from using the 'other' option and picks what you become at random," she explained. "You won't get any choice in what you end up as. And on top of that your life will be shit. You could be a slave, a starving beggar, or worse."

"So the opposite of easy," I noted.

"Yeah that's what hard is," she quipped.

"Can I have some time to decide?"

She shrugged. "You literally have eternity and I get paid by the hour with overtime, so go nuts."

Nodding my thanks, I then turned my attention back to the pad and opened the Select option, opening the selection of devil fruits available. Obviously picking my own devil fruit was the safest course to take, given my options. Sure, even in spite of the random devil fruit a life of riches and political power might have appealed to some people, but if I ended up being a king or something I'd probably have to worry about being stabbed in the back by a usurper and that was a hard pass. And as for creating a devil fruit, well being at the bottom rung of society especially in the world of One Piece was almost as unappealing.

As I glanced at the thousands of devil fruits I couldn't help but feel a small pang of disappointment as I noted several fruits highlighted in red, recognizing certain names like the Tremor-Tremor Fruit, the Ice-Ice Fruit, and the Phoenix Bird-Bird Fruit. Part of me had hoped maybe I could get the devil fruit of an established character but apparently not.

From there I glanced over the classification categories starting of course with the Mythical Zoans, which let's face it were the only ones really worth a damn, followed of course by the Logias and then the Paramecias. Normally this would have taken awhile but thankfully the menu was extremely user-friendly and had a search feature that allowed me to type in words and phrases that could be cross referenced in the fruits descriptive text.

With me about to be stuck in the One Piece world a germ of a plan had already begun to form in my mind. I knew exactly the kind of Devil fruit I wanted if I was to stand any chance of surviving, let alone thriving, so with that in mind I tapped in the words that would likely bring up the sort of fruit I wanted.

The results, needless to say, were disappointing, even after I tried multiple variations of words and phrases of what I'd originally searched for. Only one fruit came the closest for what I wanted and while it had been decent enough it was still garbage compared to what I was after.

This sadly left me with one option. Still, as I stared at the 'Create' icon on the screen I couldn't help but be somewhat hesitant. I was moderately sure I could handle being in a bad place starting out, and as for gender well I wasn't all too concerned about that, male or female statistically it seemed like a fifty-fifty split – barring becoming a Kuja anyway – and frankly I was fine with either one. As for my species, well if I did go with the create route, given the fact that most of the people I'd seen on the show were human and the races that weren't were in the minority, I felt the odds were good that that was what I'd end up as. Unless of course animals were also factored into that equation, which seemed unlikely but it was worth noting. Overall, my biggest concern was something much more immediate.

"Hey I got a couple questions about the create mode," I finally said as I looked up from the screen to the horned woman sitting patiently across from me.

"Shoot," she said with a shrug.

"What kind of health would I have if I created a devil fruit?" I asked. "I mean would I be sickly, handicapped, physically malformed, mentally impaired and whatever?"

She shook her head. "No none of that. Sure, you might be malnourished and maybe have a few scars here, there and everywhere but nothing that you couldn't more or less shake or walk away from."

I nodded as I processed that. "Okay, good to know. Second question; when you said my new race will get selected to random does that also include animals?"

"Nope no animals," she replied. "You may not be human but you will be humanoid at the very least."

Relieved to hear that, after a moment of further contemplation I finally exhaled a sigh, realizing that I was apparently left with little choice.

And so I selected 'Create' and went to work. Typing the Fruit's powers and effects, crafting my future powers with absolute care and precision, going over every sentence, every word, every letter, every single detail with a fine-toothed comb, slowly but surely giving it form as a master sculptor would painstakingly shape clay until finally, at long last, my masterwork was done.

How long I'd sat there composing the details of my devil fruit I couldn't say, in all honesty even though it had felt like minutes it could just as easily been days, weeks, years, maybe even decades. Time had a tendency to fly when you're having fun after all.

Now all that was left was to put in a name, which I had left blank since I figured naming the fruit wasn't as important as what it actually did. But as I stared down at the screen presently waiting for me to enter one, I suddenly couldn't help but feel a certain sense of gravitas to it now. Whatever I picked had to fit it to a T, and considering this thing may have been close to being the ultimate Devil Fruit, that was easier said than done.

However, as I stared at the screen, it was then that inspiration struck and it just came to me. Not wasting a second I wrote in the name and then finally hit enter.

"All done," I said, handing her back the pad. "So what happens now?"

She gave pause as she checked over what I'd entered, probably making sure I'd filled out the form right. "Interesting choice" she noted. "Everyone goes for the easy or medium options."

"Everyone?" I repeated. "Wait, does that mean there are others like me?"

Again she shrugged. "Several, but not as many as you might think. Either way I wouldn't worry much about it," She replied. "As for what happens now, you'll pretty much wake up in your new life ala standard isekai style after we're done with this conversation, and after a period of standard hard mode misery you'll find your Devil Fruit. Although you won't have any memory of me or your time here in the hereafter. As far as you'll know it'll have been a straight shot from one life to the next. Wouldn't be a real test if you knew the stakes, right? So goodbye, good luck, bon voyage or what the hell ever, I really don't care. I just don't want to see you again."

And with those unceremonious final words sending me off, I was gone.


"Slaveboy! My drink!"

At the shrill sound of the countess's piercing screech, the young boy masterfully suppressed a disgusted cringe, remaining as impassively stone-faced as ever. Since his purchase into the service of the DeKizoku family, it had quickly been instilled in him – which was a rather nice way to say whipped – that a proper slave never showed any form of feeling that his masters didn't order him to have.

Expertly carrying said drink on a sterling silver tray, he picked up his already hurried pace, wishing the rotted old hag of a woman would drop dead – preferably into a pit of flaming spikes.

"Honestly, I don't know why you insist on keeping that useless lazy mongrel around mommy," the countess' oafish adult son haughtily chuckled, loafing in a chaise lounge to the wayside.

The mongrel in question – aka slaveboy, aka Lot 49 – resisted the impulse to roll his eyes at the massive blob of a man-child calling him lazy. He certainly didn't want to earn another whipping, especially after he'd just finished healing from the last one.

The countess barked a laugh. "Yes. Well if nothing else it at least has the decency not to expire as quickly as the others," she said with a weary sigh. "If nothing else it just proves slaves from the grand line are hardy stock."

Not without lack of trying, was the retort he desperately wished he could freely snap back. Instead, he merely presented the countess her beverage. "You're drink, my lady," he said, poker faced.

The next thing he knew he found himself laying on the floor, bleeding; impacted suddenly from behind by a bowl of ice cream.

"You will speak when spoken to slaveboy!" his assailant shrieked.

Amid the mess of ice cream, hot fudge, whipped cream, broken glass, and blood he cast a hateful glare at his attacker, DeKizoku Noémie, the youngest of the quote unquote 'noble' house of DeKizoku.

Before he could pick himself up, the countess' heel was driven into his back with a violent kick. "You miserable filthy wretch!" she screamed. "Look what you did! You spilled my drink all over me! My dress is absolutely ruined!"

As the countess laid into him, both verbally and physically, the young slave could only curl into a fetal position as he did his best to shield not himself but the slave collar around his neck from harm. As bad as the beating was, if the collar was harmed it would explode, and that wouldn't have done him a whole hell of a lot of good, now would it.

As the countess' fury continued, he couldn't help but curse his miserable misbegotten luck, trying to remember just what to which higher power he had so grandiosely pissed off in his old life to end up like this. Nothing he could recall that was for sure.

That was right; his old life. As insane as it was to believe he had been reincarnated into this world from another. Presumably after dying, although he wasn't all that clear on that. The last thing he remembered was going to sleep and then Bam! instant second life.

Ironically enough in part this was something he had always dreamed of in his former life. Being snatched up from an existence of mediocrity and suddenly thrust into a magical fantasy land and a life of thrilling fun and adventure – and of course the gorgeous women that naturally went with it. Couldn't forget those.

This life however was not that life. Here there was no magic, no thrills, no fun, no gorgeous women and really no life, at least not one anybody would call one worth living.

He was a slave, bred, born, and raised. The result of some one-night stand of some random slave woman he didn't even know the name of and some rando, either a slave or an nth degree scumbag. Which it was was anyone's guess.

From there it had been a non-stop party of whippings, beatings, and degradation as he was passed on from one owner to the next, each one always worst than the last, ultimately culminating in the last two years of service to the again quote unquote 'noble' house of DeKizoku.

The DeKizokus. To say he hated the festering putrid pile of pig crap that was that wretched family was an understatement of the highest degree. Sure, he had hated all his owners, but the DeKizokus, well they stood leagues above the rest.

To start with there was the ruler of the East Blue island Île de la Kojima, aka Count DeKizoku Émilien; a man best described as an old greedy, self-serving lecherous egomaniac and pathological liar. Next was his 'beloved' wife Countess DeKizoku Clémence, a vapid violent rapidly aging trophy wife who was the count's perfect match in that she was every bit the conceited narcissist he was. And then there was the count's son from his first marriage – a marriage which had notably expired the second the first wife's looks had, right along with her. And that in a nutshell was the only thing worth noting about DeKizoku Édouard. Beyond that, he a was a slovenly entitled man-child absolutely void of any personality, who – outside of bearing a disturbing degree of devotion to his father – had done nothing with his life.

"Daddy I want another sundae!" the fourth Dekizoku demanded with a shriek. "That stupid slaveboy made me spill my last one!"

The count, presently sitting on the quavering backs of two recently purchased slave girls, took a moment's pause from reading his paper. "Of course, sweetie. Whatever you like," he said, before turning to his wife, still in the midst of repeatedly stamping and kicking at her victim with her foot. "Darling, there will be more than enough time for all that later. After all, we have many many many better ways to educate the help, say maybe a game night tonight? We did just buy all those many many many new slaves. Might as well break a few in."

Ever the dutiful wife, the countess complied with her husband, flashing an ominously eager grin at the thought of the family's favorite pastime.

As the faces of the younger DeKizokus' also keenly lit up with grins to match the countess, a bone chilling wave of fear swept over every attending slave on deck, each one praying to whatever higher or lower power that they wouldn't be invited. Whether you were a servant, a slave, or just a regular citizen, the horrors of the DeKizoku family game night were all too well known and feared by the people of Île de la Kojima island. It was a dark pastime of depravity and atrocity so unspeakable that very few 'guests' ever survived, and those that had… well let's just say they wished they hadn't. And much to his regret slaveboy unfortunately happened to be among those unlucky few.

The countess hadn't been exaggerating by much when she'd called him 'hardy stock'. For whatever reason the young boy had endured and survived the kind of murderous ordeals and tortures the likes that would have killed most others.

Even now despite being so fiercely bruised and battered, he slowly pulled himself up to his feet, the pain already beginning to fade, albeit very gingerly.

Originally, he couldn't explain it of course, but in short time he soon had his suspicions, often overhearing talk of 'pirates' among those around him. Naturally he had rejected such notions, the more logical side of his brain dismissing such thinking as ridiculous. Being reincarnated was one thing, but to be brought back into an anime world was a cliché just too ridiculous to be believed. And yet nevertheless, with even more keywords like 'World Government', 'Grand Line' and the granddaddy of them all 'Gold Roger' cinching it there was no denying it anymore; he was in One Piece. Dammit.

Seriously, of all the Anime worlds he could have ended up in why did it have to be this one? Yes, being reborn into a world where people could so easily snap back from fatal injuries was a definite perk, but it kind of went out the window with the whole 'born into a life of slavery' thing.

It was then the back of the countess' right hand savagely impacted his face sending him sprawling back to the ground. "You heard my daughter!" she barked. "Go get her a sundae. Understand?!"

"Yes ma'am. Right away," he replied obediently, he quickly rose to his feet and headed below deck.

"And make sure the cook puts on extra strawberries!" the youngest Dekizoku commanded behind him.

Closing the door behind him he let slip a visible shudder he'd been holding back. Dekizoku Noémie, the youngest member of the Dekizokus. She was the devil incarnate, who the mere thought of which was to the mind what nails on a chalkboard was to the ear. Out of the whole family she was easily the one he most hated. Sure, the count and his wife never failed to dole out the hurt, but little Noémie was on a whole other level compared to the rest of her family. She was a monster who had made it her mission to make life such literal hell for everyone not a Dekizoku that death was something her victims pleaded for. To her, people were merely toys made to be broken.

Oh, and of course, out of all the 'toys' he had become her favorite, if for no other reason than he didn't break as easily as the others; which of course made him the most fun.

Some fun.

The horrors and atrocities he'd suffered he wouldn't call fun. In fact, the only word that he knew that came close was …unspeakable. Frankly by all counts he should have broken like so many before him. And yet he wouldn't. No, he refused to give that little bitch or her fucking family the satisfaction of that. In spite of everything he still had a dream, namely revenge. Yes, forget freedom or adventure, all notions of that had long since been bled out of him. For him all that remained now was a pure raw ravenous hunger for vengeance. And with that, also patience.

No matter what it took, no matter how long he waited, one day he knew an opportunity would present itself. And when it did, the Dekizokus would know all the torment and anguish he had suffered a thousand-fold, and then, when he'd had his fun, he would do this world a favor and finally snuff their miserable worthless lives from it.

Author's notes.

Greetings internets. I've always been a fan of portal fiction or as it's called these days 'isekai', and I figured what kind of fanfic writer would I be without making an oc mc. So this is me living up to the cliché.

Stay tuned for a whole new level insanity which even I call 'excessive'. And be sure to shoot me a review if you like what you see, or even if you don't. The more reviews I get the more motivation I have to update because yes I really am just that needy. Also, if you folks got any fun ideas for original devil fruits you'd like to see in the story, feel free to include those in your reviews as well because if I like them enough I'll write them in somehow. In other words feel free to go nuts with your creativity. Just nothing lewd, obscene or anything above an R rating please. It doesn't have to be family friendly; it just has to pass the censor.

Codecrash out. Love, peace and chicken grease.