Pride. The most heinous crime of humanity. For God created humanity—and in their hubris, they thought themselves above divinity. They, fragile and fleeting, dared to see themselves as the pinnacle of creation, believing that their minds could rival the infinite wisdom of the Almighty. Pride consumed them, as it had consumed the Morningstar himself, Samael, the most beautiful, wisest, and powerful of angels, who in his arrogance sought to elevate himself above his Creator. This audacity sparked the great war in Heaven. And when humanity was brought into being, they inherited this accursed flaw, and from it stemmed their downfall.

In their pride, humans marveled at their inventions, their towering feats of engineering and science. They proclaimed themselves masters of the world, deeming their creations superior to the divine order. But their accomplishments were hollow, for they sowed the seeds of their destruction. Pride spread like a plague among them, creating division where there should have been unity, establishing the poor and the rich, the rulers and the ruled.

As I stood before the massive pile of junk and trash, I was overwhelmed by the stench of decay and despair. The makeshift cottages of the destitute, barely holding together, lined the edges of this forsaken land. Sickly people, their bodies ravaged by disease, huddled in the shadows, their eyes hollow with hunger and hopelessness. Mangy dogs, little more than skin and bone, foamed at the mouth as they scoured the filth for scraps, victims of the same cruel world that had abandoned the people.

I could feel the fury burning within me, hotter than any flame. My teeth ground together so fiercely that I felt them chip, and my fists clenched so tightly that my knuckles cracked and blood oozed from my palms, pooling in the creases of my hands. My gaze was fixed beyond the mountain of refuse, locked onto the glittering towers and golden palaces that stood in mockery of the suffering below. Within those gilded halls, the rich gorged themselves, their bellies already swollen with excess, their laughter echoing cruelly across the divide.

This world was twisted beyond redemption.

The Marines, the supposed guardians of order, were a farce. Corrupt to their core, they cared nothing for justice, only for preserving their own power. Their incompetence was rivaled only by their cruelty, for they inflicted more suffering than even the most ruthless pirates. They were parasites, feeding off the misery of the very people they were meant to protect.

No one would change this. No one dared to. The world was content to rot in its own filth, while the powerful remained insulated in their palaces, blind to the suffering they perpetuated. The world was broken, shattered beyond repair, and no one had the will—or the power—to mend it.

No one except me.

This was the world I found myself in, a world so twisted, so grotesque, that I could not—nay, would not—stand idly by any longer. I refused to watch this laughable excuse for a world to persist. I would not allow it to continue.

I would tear down this world, stone by stone, if necessary. I would topple the World Government, the architects of this abomination, and from the rubble, I would forge a new world order. One that would not be governed by the whims of the corrupt, but by a force greater than any they had ever known.

I would walk this earth as a god among mortal men, and there would be no question, no doubt, no resistance strong enough to stop me.

I will bring about this change.

I will remake this world in my image. And there were no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

I will.

XXXX- Pride- XXXX

"Yes, Ace."

It had not taken me long at all to figure out my current, utterly shitty situation. I was Portgas D. Ace—though I much preferred Gol D. Ace. Considering that the man who was my father was one of the most powerful and wanted men in history, I obviously couldn't use that name openly, could I? The weight of that legacy, the danger it carried, was something I would have to navigate carefully.

Furthermore, I was wrong in assuming that my former body possessed even a shred of common sense. The first thing I remembered upon waking up was the face of a blue-haired man wearing a mask—Masked Deuce if my memory serves me right. His presence confirmed my suspicions: I was no longer in my own world.

"So, just to recap," I took a deep breath, trying to grasp the reality of my situation, "after I ate the Flame-Flame Fruit, I can make fire, and I'm immune to all fire and such."

"Yes," Deuce responded through gritted teeth. "Now, like I said, we already made the raft. All you need to do is power it. Now—I'd like to know how you lost your memory, but I don't have time for that. What I'm more focused on is getting the hell out of here and eating myself into a coma. Now wait here while I find it."

"Wait wait wait wait-" I cut her off, waving my hands. "We're stranded? Like we can't leave this island?"

"Uh, last time I checked that's what stranded meant."

I nodded, frowning a little. From what I'd read about Ace, he got stranded on an island in the East Blue with his first mate, Masked Deuce, and there he ate the Mera-Mera no Mi. But for the life of me, I couldn't recall a shred of information about him besides his name and status. I wasn't about to trust this man with my life just because he had once guided Ace into the Grand Line. I was on my own in this world, and I had to tread carefully.

I can't sail.

Hell, I can't even fight or remember how to use my Devil Fruit powers.

Fuck. I was gonna die.

The realization hit me like a ton of bricks, and suddenly, the weight of my situation became unbearable. The world around me started to close in, the once wide-open expanse of ocean and sky narrowing into a suffocating tunnel. My chest tightened, each breath becoming more labored than the last. I could feel my heart pounding in my ears, each beat a drum signaling my impending doom.

Panic set in, gripping me with icy claws. My lungs were on fire, desperately trying to suck in air, but it felt like I was breathing through a straw. My vision blurred as sweat poured down my face, stinging my eyes. I wiped my forehead, but it didn't stop the beads from forming faster than I could clear them away. Dots began to dance across my vision, swirling and merging into a dizzying display of colors and light.

I'm having a panic attack.

The thought was almost as terrifying as the attack itself. I knew what was happening, but knowing didn't make it any easier to deal with. My mind was racing, spiraling out of control, each anxious thought feeding the next in a vicious cycle. I couldn't think straight, couldn't focus, couldn't even remember how to breathe properly.

Breathe. Just breathe. But my body wasn't listening. My mind screamed at me to calm down, to pull it together, but every command was lost in the whirlwind of fear that consumed me. I was suffocating, drowning on dry land, as if the very air around me was refusing to enter my lungs.

I stumbled forward, knees buckling as the world spun around me. I tried to remember anything, anything that could help me. A technique, a trick, something to ground myself and pull me out of this downward spiral, but my thoughts were a jumbled mess, each one slipping through my fingers like sand.

I can't think—I can't breathe—I can't—

I was on the verge of blacking out, my vision tunneling, darkness creeping in from the edges. My hands trembled uncontrollably as I clutched at my chest as if trying to force my heart to slow down, to beat in a normal rhythm again. But nothing worked. I was trapped in my own body, a prisoner of my mind, spiraling deeper into panic.

I fell to my knees, the sand beneath me shifting as I gasped for air. The sound of the ocean was distant now, muffled by the roaring in my ears. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the world, trying to find a sliver of peace in the chaos that had taken over me.

I don't know how long I stayed like that, hunched over, gasping and trembling. It felt like an eternity. But somewhere in the midst of that storm, a tiny voice in the back of my mind whispered.

You're not done yet.

It was faint, almost drowned out by the panic, but it was there, a lifeline in the darkness.

You're not done yet. You can't be.

With what little strength I had left, I focused on that voice, that tiny, stubborn part of me that refused to give in. I tried to breathe slower, forcing myself to take in the air even though it felt impossible. In… and out. In… and out.

The panic didn't fade, but I clung to that rhythm, using it as an anchor to keep myself from being swept away completely.

I can't die here. Not like this.

I focused on the sound of the waves crashing against the shore, grounding myself in their steady rhythm. Slowly, ever so slowly, the tightness in my chest began to ease. My breath, though still shaky, came a little easier. My heart rate, though still rapid, began to slow. The world around me stopped spinning, and I found myself kneeling in the sand, exhausted but alive.

I'm the son of the bloody Pirate King, I REFUSE to go like this.

I wasn't okay—not by a long shot—but I was still here. And as long as I was still here, I had a chance. A slim one, maybe, but a chance nonetheless.

I dragged myself to my feet, legs trembling, but I forced them to hold me up. The world was still terrifying, still unfamiliar, and filled with dangers I wasn't prepared for, but I couldn't let that stop me. I had to survive. I had to learn. I had to figure this out, one step at a time.

I can't die here. Not now. Not ever.

"I'm back."

I turned and saw Deuce arriving.

"Alright, where's the raft?" I asked, trying to sound confident.

Deuce sighed and beckoned me over. We walked around the rather small island, the moonlight highlighting our path until he led me to a cave.

"Wait here," he said, his tone gruff.

He strode into the cave and, with surprising strength for someone clearly starving, dragged out a small boat. He huffed and swallowed before trying once again to lift it, his muscles straining under the weight.

"Let me," I offered, stepping forward.

With a sigh, I brushed him off and easily hoisted the boat onto my back. I was shocked by how light it felt—more like lifting a newborn than a small raft. The power surging through my veins was new, unfamiliar, but undeniably exhilarating.

Deuce stared at me, eyes wide with shock before he managed to stammer, "U-uh, over there b-by the shore."

I walked where he pointed, the boat resting effortlessly on my back. Under the moonlight, I gazed out at the shimmering waters. The realization hit me like a wave crashing against the shore.

Damn.

I am in another world.

…Damn.

The gravity of the situation settled in. I wasn't just Portgas D. Ace—I was someone else with the knowledge of another world, another life. The possibilities, the dangers, the challenges—they were all unknown, but one thing was certain: I wasn't going to let this world break me. If anything, I was going to break it first.

I looked out over the endless expanse of water. The path ahead was uncertain, but I knew one thing for sure. I would carve my own destiny in this world, and no one—absolutely no one—would stand in my way.

"Let's go," I muttered, more to myself than to Deuce, as I set the boat down by the shore.

"So how do I do this?"

He paused and scratched his head ruefully.

"Um, you stand in that little hole there and just fire it up, and I hang on for dear life I guess. By the way, I'll tell you where the nearest island is."

I stared at him for a moment trying to comprehend his logic before giving up.

I went into the little slot and he sat in front of me. I focused on my feet and tried to bring something into existence.

Come on come on come on-

I swallowed.

Torch!

My feet were engulfed in a blaze so powerful the air around me shimmered with heat- no my feet were the blaze. The flames roared, crackling and licking at the air.

The engine growled in response lurching toward with a start-

Fast too fast- slow down- turn it down

We zoomed from the shore, barrelling past the waves, skipping like a thrown rock.

Deuce shrieked, hanging on for his life.

"CAWWWWWWR!"

…The local death bird had apparently come out to visit. My eye twitched with irritability at the sight of a bird larger than any bird has any right to be circled above me.

"I hate you, Oda."

"Ace do something!"

The bird then lunged like a bird of death.

"So much hate, Oda."

It's maw open, big enough to swallow me and Deuce whole.

"Damn bird," I glared at it and put up my sweaty palm, and focused on summoning heat.

Snap!

"Burn."

An inferno of fire erupted from my hand, a blazing torrent of pure destruction that seemed to pour directly from the heart of the sun itself. The heat was indescribable, a searing force that devoured the very air around me. It was as if the atmosphere itself had ignited, turning the sky into a furnace. The ocean seemed to rebel against the fire's wrath, its waters bubbling and steaming as the inferno licked the surface, boiling it away in an instant.

The bird once massive and looming was now an ant in the face of flames that dwarfed battleships. The light from the flames was blinding, a supernova of brilliance that seared itself into the eyes of anyone who dared to look. It wasn't just seen—it was felt, a wave of heat that radiated outward for miles, shaking the earth and trembling the heavens.

What fell from the sky wasn't a bird- it was a charred corpse, unrecognizable. The smell of burnt meat invaded my nose, I had to swallow the bile that climbed from my stomach.

I was still standing, hand still outstretched. I looked down at Deuce, my mind still reeling from the power I produced with unnerving clearness- the heat-

"Was that something enough?" I questioned, calmly.

He took a minute to process that I was speaking to him, and at that, he scrambled to get a response.

"A l-little hot don't you think?"

I refused the urge to snort.

I failed.

But as I looked back at the bird and the still-searing hot ocean and the heat that followed us.

I ate the Mera-Mera no Mi, and it basically gives me the power to control, produce, and transform into fire. Notice how it said fire and not flames. To spare you the boring details they are not one and the same, fire is the whole process, while flames are the visible part of the fire.

Winds whipped at my hair. I focused on the blaze and keeping the boat afloat.

XXXX- Pride- XXXX

East Blue

Shells Town

Eight hours out at sea hadn't been all that bad, but by the time we finally docked, I was more than ready to feel solid ground beneath my feet. The boat rocked gently as I jumped off, my legs adjusting to the stillness after hours of swaying on the waves. I couldn't help but smile as my feet hit the ground, savoring the sensation of the earth beneath me. The harbor was alive with energy, a cacophony of noise and movement as people bustled about, unloading cargo, shouting orders, and carrying luggage. The air was thick with the scent of saltwater and the distant aroma of food from nearby stalls.

"Deuce," I called out, turning to see my companion. But instead of the cheerful grin I expected, I found him on his knees, tears streaming down his face as he sobbed uncontrollably. His shoulders shook with each breath, the weight of whatever burden he carried too much to bear in this moment.

It was understandable—Deuce had been through a lot, more than most could handle. But now wasn't the time to dwell on it.

What to do?

The question hung in the air, heavier than I expected. Continue being a pirate? The thought lingered, but it felt uncertain, especially since I wasn't even sure if Ace was officially a pirate yet. No, I reminded myself, he was still stranded somewhere after setting sail, barely a blip on the radar of the world. He hadn't made a name for himself yet, which meant that the door was still wide open for me to make my own choices.

But what were my other options? The Marines? The thought was so absurd that a chuckle actually escaped me. Imagining myself in that stiff, blue-and-white uniform, taking orders from those self-righteous dogs—it was laughable. Plus, Luffy will be disappointed in me, though I know Garp will be elated.

I'd rather be fed my own heart.

So, what about the Revolutionaries? Sabo was out there somewhere, alongside Dragon, the most wanted man in the world. If I joined them, I could help Sabo regain his memories earlier, maybe even change the course of history. Dragon would probably take me in—after all, the son of the Pirate King turning revolutionary? That would send shockwaves through the world. And my devil fruit powers? Invaluable. They'd teach me how to fight, how to survive, and how to navigate the dangers of this accursed world with more than just raw willpower. There, I'd have purpose, direction, and maybe even the chance to make a real difference.

But am I really ready to give up my independence for a couple of maybes? To throw myself into a cause that, for all its righteousness, would still shackle me to someone else's vision?

No, you wouldn't.

Shut up, brain.

Wait on second thought.

I looked down at the grown man curled in a fetal position, his body trembling with the force of his sobs. It was a pitiful sight, seeing someone who had faced so much reduced to this, but there was no time for sympathy now.

"Now's not the time to mope, Deuce," I said firmly, reaching down and grabbing him by the scruff of his shirt. With a quick tug, I hoisted him into the air, where he dangled like a petulant child caught in the act. He blinked at me through tear-streaked eyes, his face flushed with embarrassment.

"I have a proposition for you," I continued, my voice cutting through the noise of the bustling harbor. He sniffled, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand, and finally looked at me, his eyes searching for something—anything—to latch onto.

"What?" he croaked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You want to write the greatest adventure ever told, right?" I asked, leaning in slightly, my grin widening as I saw the spark of interest flicker in his eyes.

He nodded, hesitant but curious.

"So join me," I said, letting the excitement build in my voice. "We'll sail the seas, explore the Grand Line, and carve our names into the legends of this world. You, the man who wrote the greatest adventure ever captured, and me, the one who lived it. Think about it—we'll be folklore, Deuce. Stories told around campfires, songs sung in taverns, our deeds echoing through the ages. What do you say?"

For a moment, he just stared at me, his eyes wide with something akin to awe. The weight of what I was offering began to sink in, the possibilities unfolding before him like the pages of a book he'd yet to write.

"You want to see Little Garden?" I asked, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as if sharing a secret. "The Giants who roam there, the ancient battles that have raged for centuries? And that's just the start—the Grand Line holds mysteries and wonders beyond anything you've ever imagined. Together, we'll see it all."

He swallowed hard, his gaze locked onto mine as the tears dried on his cheeks. The fear and despair that had gripped him moments before seemed to dissolve, replaced by a growing determination.

"Psssh, Brag Men? They'll forget that ever existed when they read your book." That was the last nail in the coffin.

"Yes," he finally breathed, the word filled with a mix of resolve and excitement. "Yes, I'm in."

The grin on my face spread wider, the fire of adventure igniting in both of us. Though that might have just been my hair turning to flames.

This world is fucked so hard.