Dear readers,
Firstly, I would like to wish you a very happy and prosperous 2025! I hope you had a wonderful holiday season, surrounded by loved ones, and that you were able to
enjoy these moments of joy and togetherness.
As you may have noticed, I took a break from the project recently. This decision wasn't easy, but it was important for me to step back and refocus. I needed a change of scenery, to explore new creative avenues, so that I wouldn't grow weary of writing and fall into a routine. I wanted to reignite the passion and enthusiasm that my writing deserves, free from the pressure of constant deadlines.
However, I am excited to announce that I will be returning soon with a new monthly chapter! The project is moving forward and continuing, but now with a fresh energy, ready to offer you even more captivating stories.
Thank you for your patience and continued support. It's because of you that this journey continues, and I can't wait to share what comes next with you.
POV: Being X
Location: Unknown
A dim light bathed the room, swaying gently like an unsteady flame. The space lacked walls or a ceiling; instead, it stretched into infinite contours where void and brilliance coexisted in an unfathomable harmony. Being X, or at least the entity mortals might associate with that name, stood motionless a diffuse, unreal presence radiating an intensity that transcended the tangible.
Before it lay a vast, shimmering surface, a window open to the realm of the living. At the center of this vision was Tanya Degurechaff, engrossed in her calculation orb, honing a technique that defied the natural laws of this universe.
"Fascinating, isn't it?" murmured Being X, its ethereal voice reverberating in the infinite expanse. No one answered, but the question had never been intended for human ears. The scene continued to unfold before its "eyes." Tanya, with her unyielding determination, bent the laws of the world to her will, reshaping reality itself. There was a bitter irony in this: the mortal it had sent to learn humility was once again carving her path, thriving against all odds.
Another presence materialized in the boundless space a minor god, a blurred yet imposing figure cloaked in shifting hues of radiant energy. Its form was in constant flux, reflecting an essence of perpetual evolution. It stopped a few steps or what could be considered steps away and inclined its form slightly before speaking.
"She's progressing. Too much, perhaps," the lesser god intoned, its voice a discordant echo of countless others. "Why do you persist in allowing this? She mocks belief, scorns the gods, and derides you openly. You could obliterate her in an instant. Why wait?"
Being X shifted its focus from the vision, turning toward its interlocutor. Its tone remained calm but carried an undeniable weight of authority.
"Do you think I lack the power?" it asked, a faint note of sarcasm lacing its words. "Do you believe it would be difficult to extinguish this soul that dares defy us?"
The minor god straightened, discomfort flickering in its shifting form. "Then why not act? Every moment she prospers is an affront to your name. She denies your existence, yet wields powers that should be beyond her reach."
A sound escaped Being X that could almost be described as laughter, though it resonated with a deep, melancholic undertone. "Precisely. That is the essence of the experiment." It turned back to the image of Tanya, who had just completed an intricate incantation, her orb blazing with energy in a sterile lab. Her focus and her precision, all spoke of a mastery few mortals could achieve.
"She is an anomaly," Being X said. "A flaw in the system I designed. But flaws often reveal more about a structure than perfection ever could."
The minor god hesitated. "You mean... you're using her to learn something?"
"Exactly," Being X replied. "She is a mirror, reflecting not only my limitations but the constraints of the world we created. Every step she takes, every victory she claims, uncovers new truths about the resilience of the mortal spirit."
The lesser god's form wavered with doubt. "But she does not acknowledge your supremacy. Isn't that a defeat in itself?"
"She doesn't acknowledge it yet," Being X corrected. "But everything she achieves, every monument she builds, will inevitably lead her back to me. She cannot escape the universal truth: even in her hubris, she remains part of the greater plan."
The lesser god moved closer, its aura pulsing with uncertainty. "What if she escapes your control as she escaped hers? What if her power grows beyond containment?"
A profound silence settled, as if the universe itself held its breath. Then, Being X spoke, its voice carrying an unshakable certainty.
"She can never escape what she truly is: a mortal. No matter how far she pushes her limits, no matter how much she twists magic or technology, she is bound by the fundamental laws of existence. If she crosses a line I cannot tolerate, I will erase her."
The lesser god's confusion deepened, and Being X continued, its tone unyielding. "Besides, I adhere to my own rules regarding mortal intervention. For now, I am content to introduce other lost souls into this world each seeking the fabled 'One Piece. Inevitably, they will clash with her, and I won't need to act directly."
The minor god nodded, though unease lingered. "And in the meantime? You let her create imbalances that could unravel your grand design?"
"The design is flexible," Being X replied. "It can bend without breaking. Every action she takes, every trial she faces, strengthens the fabric of this world. Those around her evolve in response to her. Even her aberrant magic is a tool a means to uncover deeper truths."
Being X turned its gaze back to the image. Tanya now stood amidst shards of radiant light, their intensity bordering on divine. Yet beneath that formidable exterior, Being X perceived the tortured soul of a mortal, striving desperately against forces far beyond her control.
"Keep fighting, Tanya Degurechaff," it whispered. "Show me the limits of your arrogance. And when you finally understand that all you've accomplished was part of my plan, I will welcome you with a smile."
The lesser god recoiled slightly, recognizing that Being X would not be swayed. "And if she destroys everything in her path before then?"
Being Y smiled, an unfathomable expression that held as much mystery as the universe itself. "Then this will be a lesson to us all."
The lesser god's presence faded, leaving behind only an ethereal void. Being Y stood alone, his attention still fixed on Tanya. The room seemed to lighten slightly as if the divine entity was relishing the intensity of the spectacle.
"Come to me with your challenges once more, little human," Being X mused. "Time is infinite, and so is my patience." Another lost soul drifted into its grasp, a pawn in an endless game…
Tanya Degurechaff's POV
Location: Egg Head
Tanya Degurechaff stood alone in her quarters on Egg Head a stark yet functional room with gleaming metal surfaces and the ever-present hum of artificial white light. She had demanded this isolation. Here, far from the prying eyes of Vegapunk and his assistants, she could fully explore the limits of her potential without interference.
Before her lay the computational orb she had painstakingly crafted. Its soft glow pulsed rhythmically, a harmonious blend of energies that she now mastered far more effectively than the crude Type 97 from her previous world. This orb was an extension of her mind, an amplifier of her magical prowess, and the keystone for her latest experiment a bold, unprecedented fusion of magic and devil fruit power.
The idea had struck her after days of rigorous testing. Until now, her devil fruit the Forma Forma no Mi and her magical abilities had operated independently, like two parallel systems of power. But Tanya was determined to integrate them, to create something entirely new.
She closed her eyes, placing her hands on a pile of materials she had gathered: fragments of metal, wood, and leather scavenged from training supplies. These raw elements would form the foundation of her project. "Forma…" she murmured, channeling her will into the materials.
A soft golden light emanated from her palms, enveloping the objects. Under the influence of her devil fruit, the pieces floated into the air, bending, twisting, and fusing with a fluid elegance. Metal formed a sturdy outer frame, wood became the skeleton beneath, and leather was shaped to mimic the texture of human skin.
For over an hour, Tanya worked with meticulous precision, refining every detail. She adjusted the proportions of the joints, smoothed the curves of the face, and ensured the contours matched her features as closely as possible. Nothing less than perfection would suffice. Finally, she stepped back to admire her creation a life-sized replica of herself, lifeless yet disturbingly realistic.
This, however, was only the beginning.
Placing the computational orb onto a metal base nearby, Tanya directed its energy into the lifeless figure. "Activating illusion matrices," she whispered, her fingers brushing the orb.
Magic formulas unfolded in her mind, intricate and demanding. She traced runes in the air with deliberate movements, lines of light momentarily shimmering before sinking into the inanimate structure. Each rune required a fragment of her energy, and with each one, she felt her strength waning. The process was draining as if she were pouring fragments of her consciousness into the puppet.
A blinding light engulfed the figure, and when it subsided, the puppet had taken on her exact likeness: her slight, slender frame, angelic yet calculating features, and the icy glint of her blue eyes. Tanya approached, scrutinizing her double. It was uncanny to behold an almost perfect copy of herself, motionless but so lifelike that it seemed to breathe.
But a mere replica was not enough. The double had to move, act, and fight.
Reaching out, Tanya placed her hand on the puppet, feeling a faint shiver run through her fingers. Using a combination of magic and the physical impulses of her devil fruit, she simulated the intricate interplay of muscles and nerves.
"Move," she commanded mentally, channeling her will through the orb.
The puppet responded immediately, raising an arm and bending it with startling fluidity. Tanya felt a surge of triumph. What she had created was nothing short of revolutionary a feat that defied the natural order of this world.
Testing its capabilities, she commanded the puppet to walk across the room, its movements growing more complex with each step. The connection between them was seamless, but Tanya soon noticed a flaw. Maintaining the puppet's animation and illusion consumed an immense amount of magical energy. Even with the orb amplifying her power, the strain was enormous.
She picked up a training blade and placed it in the puppet's hand, directing it to perform combat maneuvers. The sight of her double-wielding the weapon with precision was both thrilling and eerie. Yet the effort required to sustain the link was overwhelming. Tanya could only maintain control for a few minutes before her concentration faltered.
Frustrated but analytical, she noted the weaknesses in her creation: the energy consumption was unsustainable, and the puppet lacked autonomy. It was too reliant on her direct input. Experimenting further, she discovered that manually guiding the puppet by maintaining physical contact with its surface drastically reduced the energy drain. This method allowed her to see, feel, and even speak through the puppet with minimal strain.
Exhausted but satisfied, Tanya deactivated the puppet, letting it slump into an inert posture. She wiped her brow, a faint smile playing on her lips. This double was more than a simple tool it was a weapon.
"With this," she murmured, gazing at her inanimate likeness, "I can confuse my enemies, strike them when they least expect it and shield myself from harm. This is more than a decoy it's a strategic masterpiece."
A cold smile curled on her lips. This technique marked another step in her ascent toward total mastery of her powers. Tanya Degurechaff was not just a simple soldier, and soon, this world would understand it.
Since acquiring the enhanced calculation orb, every second spent manipulating this artifact was a step closer to optimizing its full potential. However, this time, her training was abruptly interrupted by a firm knock on the door.
The sound, cutting through the silence of her thoughts, shattered her concentration. She paused, swiftly hiding the orb beneath her shirt before standing up straight. Her sharp gaze fixed on the door.
"Come in," she commanded, her voice dry and authoritative.
The door creaked open slowly, revealing a young assistant from Vegapunk's team. His pale face betrayed nervousness, and he seemed unsure how to approach someone who, by all accounts, had earned a reputation for being feared within the Marine. Tanya, always poised and impassive, gave him a cold, steely stare that seemed to freeze him in place.
"Captain Degurechaff, I'm sorry to disturb you, but there's an urgent matter that requires your presence in the main lab," he stammered, his words shaking as they left his mouth.
Tanya crossed her arms, her rigid posture betraying a barely concealed irritation.
"Be clear. What's going on?"
The young man swallowed, clearly uncomfortable.
"Admiral Kizaru has arrived on the island... and Doctor Vegapunk wants you to join him immediately. Reports indicate several ships from Whitebeard's crew are heading toward Egg Head. Their arrival could be imminent."
A heavy silence hung in the air. Tanya stared at the assistant, her mind racing. Whitebeard's crew. Even with their legendary captain potentially weakened, they still represented a colossal threat. Why were they targeting Egg Head? And, more importantly, why now?
"Very well," she said finally. "Give me a few minutes to prepare, then lead me."
The journey to the main lab was wordless, the tension palpable in the air. Every staff member they passed wore a worried expression, their murmurs ceasing as Tanya walked by. When they reached the large doors of the lab, the assistant turned to her, a mixture of apprehension and respect in his eyes.
"They're waiting for you inside, Captain." Tanya nodded without a word and stepped into the room.
The inside of the lab was a whirlwind of activity. Holographic screens displayed real-time maps and data feeds while assistants worked frantically at their consoles. In the center of the room stood an elderly man with a peculiar appearance, engaged in lively conversation with Admiral Kizaru, who, true to form, seemed unbothered and almost indifferent.
The old man was of average height, with thin limbs and flushed red cheeks. His head was unusually elongated but neatly trimmed, and a wooden handle stuck out from the side, holding a piece of apple and a leaf. His forehead was strikingly large, while his tongue hung out for most of the time, its length almost comical. His eyes were positioned near his potato-shaped nose, and his eyebrows were spaced much wider than usual. Though nearly bald, he had bristly hair on the sides of his head and a thick mustache. He was wearing a blouse with "SSG" marked on the back, a polka-dotted shirt, dark pants, and technical shoes.
Tanya entered with a confident stride, her piercing gaze sweeping the room. She stopped a few meters from the duo, crossing her arms in a rigid, watchful posture.
"Captain Degurechaff, you've finally arrived!" the old man exclaimed, his voice a mix of relief and nervousness.
Kizaru slowly turned his head toward Tanya, an enigmatic smile curling on his lips. His half-closed eyes gleamed with an elusive light, as though he were already savoring the situation.
"Hmm… So, this is the famous captain. You seem much smaller in person than on my screens," the old man murmured.
Unfazed by the innuendo, Tanya addressed Kizaru directly.
"Why the urgent summons?" she asked, her tone cutting through the air.
It was the old man who responded in the admiral's place, pointing to a holographic screen displaying several red dots converging on a 3D image of Egg Head.
"These markers indicate the confirmed positions of several ships from Whitebeard's crew. Their current trajectory leaves little room for doubt: they are heading directly toward us," he explained.
Tanya's brow furrowed as her gaze hardened, analyzing the data.
"And their objective?" she inquired, her voice laced with sharp coldness.
The old man adjusted his glasses, his expression turning more serious. "It's still uncertain. They may be after me, or it could be something else entirely. One thing is clear, though: their intentions are likely far from peaceful."
Tanya's frown deepened at the scientist's words. She turned to her superior officer.
"Admiral Kizaru," she began in a terse tone. "May I ask who exactly I'm addressing?"
Kizaru, hands in his pockets, spoke with his usual casualness.
"You see, Captain, that's why you're here. I wanted you to meet Dr. Vegapunk in person. You're the key to handling this... hmm... delicate situation."
Tanya's unblinking gaze fixed on him, her eyes cutting through the Admiral's nonchalant facade. "Why don't you handle it yourself, Admiral?" she snapped.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Kizaru's lips as he shrugged.
"Oh, that's exactly what I'm here for, of course. But let's just say I prefer to… observe. And intervene at the right moment."
Tanya's eyes flicked away from Vegapunk, annoyance creeping into her expression.
"What are the preparations?" she demanded.
The scientist responded swiftly, his tone serious.
"The automatic defense systems are activated. The Pacifistas are ready for deployment. But these defenses may not be enough if the pirates decide to deploy their full force."
Tanya's hands clenched slightly, her mind already working through strategies.
"Very well. I'll prepare," she said curtly, turning to leave the room.
She had taken only three steps when Kizaru's lazy voice drifted to her from behind.
"Oh, Captain... be careful. These pirates are unpredictable. Full of surprises."
Tanya didn't respond, but her gaze darkened a fraction more.
Back in her quarters, she took a moment to gather her thoughts. The stakes were high, but she couldn't afford to be caught off guard. Every detail mattered. She methodically inspected her equipment, adjusted the computational orb's surrounding wards, and ensured her arsenal was in perfect working order.
When she finally stepped outside, the wind had shifted. A strange tension permeated the air of Egg Head as if the island itself could sense the impending danger. Tanya walked toward the outer facilities, scrutinizing the defenses with a critical eye.
The Pacifistas stood in formation, ready for action. But Tanya knew that no matter how advanced the technology, clear strategy and unshakable resolve were irreplaceable.
As she gazed toward the horizon, a light breeze brushed against her face. Her thoughts returned to her preparations. If Whitebeard's crew dared to venture this far, they would soon discover that Hell was no mere myth.
With purposeful steps, she headed toward the operations center, ready for whatever awaited her. The upcoming battle would be decisive, and Tanya knew she had to emerge victorious. Egg Head wasn't just a battlefield; it was a chessboard, and she intended to play her role as a strategist until the very end.
POV Hagen, Whitebeard Pirates Crew Member
Location: Moby Dick
The sunlight broke through the dense canopy that draped the island where Whitebeard's crew had temporarily docked to resupply. The days leading up to their arrival had been filled with rumors, mounting tension, and feverish preparations. Aboard their main ship, the Moby Dick, the atmosphere buzzed with anticipation as each pirate readied themselves for what was sure to be a decisive battle.
On the upper deck, in a secluded corner, Hagen a former cabin boy who had risen through the ranks to become a veteran of the crew was meticulously adjusting the blades of his daggers. His sharp ears caught the constant murmur of voices from the command cabin, where Marco and Whitebeard were deep in conversation.
Hagen paused for a moment, his hands stilling on the rope he was tying. Marco's voice was unlike his usual calm self; it was filled with frustration, tinged with an underlying desperation. Unable to resist, Hagen crept closer to the cabin, drawn in by the intensity of the situation. The preparations for the raid on Egg Head had left many of them perplexed, and he couldn't help but overhear.
He hid himself in the shadows of the large beams that supported the main mast, his eyes narrowing as he listened.
"Father, please… reconsider this attack," Marco's voice carried, firm yet tinged with poorly concealed desperation. "Egg Head is a scientific stronghold with defenses we don't yet fully understand. Not to mention Admiral Kizaru, who is likely already here. We can't risk the lives of the crew over a personal vendetta!"
Hagen furrowed his brow. Marco had always been one of the wiser, more cautious members of the crew, but hearing such insistence from him was unusual, especially in front of Whitebeard.
A long silence followed before Whitebeard's gravelly, commanding voice broke through the tension.
"A personal vendetta, you say, Marco?" His tone was serious, heavy. "Jinbei was one of us. A brother. He gave his life to protect Ace's little brother and Ace's legacy, not to mention the countless lives of my other sons lost. And now this... young soldier dares to dishonor that sacrifice by allying herself with the World Government. We cannot stand idly by."
"I understand your pain, Father," Marco replied softly, almost imploring. "But think of the crew. We are not what we once were after Marineford. Many are injured, weary, and some are still traumatized by the loss of Ace… and by your condition."
Hagen risked a glance through a small opening in the cabin. He could see Whitebeard, still massive and imposing, despite the toll Marineford had taken on him. His face was a mix of pain and restrained fury, the veins on his forehead bulging as he clenched his fists.
"It's not just about revenge, Marco," Whitebeard said, his voice thunderous like a storm breaking. "It's about respect. If we let this insult go unpunished, what will be left of our name? Of our pirate pride?"
"We are respected, Father," Marco said, his voice steady. "By our strength, yes, but also by our honor. Whitebeard's crew never attacked without a valid reason. This war will bring no good."
The silence that followed hung heavy in the air, thick with tension. Hagen felt his heart pounding in his chest. He knew that opposing Whitebeard was rare and risky, even for Marco.
"Marco," Whitebeard finally spoke, his voice calmer now, though still resolute. "It's not just for Jinbei. It's for everyone we've lost. For Ace, for Thatch, for those who shed their blood in my name." His voice dropped, heavy with finality. "We cannot let this young girl live with impunity."
"And if it leads to our downfall?" Marco asked, his eyes burning with emotion. "If that is what you wish, I will stand by your side until the end, but I fear it will be a futile sacrifice."
Hagen, sensing that the conversation was drawing to a close, slowly backed away to avoid being noticed. His mind was troubled. He respected Marco for his wisdom, but he couldn't help but admire Whitebeard's unwavering determination, despite everything he had endured.
As he returned to his preparations, Hagen heard Marco's heavy footsteps leaving the cabin. The commander, clearly frustrated, passed by him without noticing, heading for the main deck to gather the other commanders.
Hagen resumed his work, but his mind remained clouded by what he had just overheard. Whether Marco liked it or not, Whitebeard's decision seemed final. Their destiny was leading them to Egg Head, and nothing and no one seemed capable of changing the captain's course.
The Moby Dick rocked gently on the waves, as imposing and majestic as ever, despite the tense atmosphere that hung over the crew. For days, they had been preparing for the assault on Egg Head, but an underlying sense of apprehension permeated the ranks.
Even the most seasoned pirates couldn't shake the feeling that this operation was different from all the others. Whitebeard, usually so unflappable, now exuded an icy, almost ominous determination. Whispers spread among the crew rumors about their captain's health or the potential consequences of this attack.
Hagen, still on deck after a long day of preparations, was about to return to his quarters when the voice of a commander called out to him, resonating above the usual bustle. Hagen turned to see a man with long, black, curly hair, wearing a dark blue hat and earrings. His dark blue half-open shirt had a white diamond pattern, and his matching cape swayed as he moved. He wore white gloves, bright blue pants, and a belt with two sword sheaths.
"Hagen, Miko, Jonas, you three. I need you to patrol the island. We've noticed some strange movements, and we can't afford to take any chances right now. Come back as soon as you have something to report."
Hagen nodded without protest, although a trace of annoyance flickered in his mind. The patrols had seemed pointless for days, but the order came from a commander, and he wasn't about to disobey. He quickly joined Jonas and Miko, who were already waiting near the boats, and together they climbed down the rope ladder to reach the boat.
The trip to the island was brief. Once on solid ground, they moved into the dense jungle. The air was stifling, the tropical heat slowing their progress. Hagen, leading the group, moved cautiously, his hand resting on the pommel of his saber. Every crack in the branches or rustling in the leaves heightened his awareness.
"Still nothing," Jonas grumbled after about twenty minutes of walking. "It's a desert island; we've known that for ages. Why are we wasting our time here?"
"Maybe because we can't afford to lower our guard," Miko replied calmly, studying the tracks on the ground.
Hagen said nothing, keeping his focus on his surroundings. He knew the dangers of the New World too well to relax, even in a seemingly quiet place. It was then that a faint whisper caught their attention, barely audible, coming from a bush to their right.
"Help… I… I can't move… I'm bleeding…"
They exchanged a glance, and then Hagen drew his saber slowly before approaching. Carefully parting the branches, he found a figure curled on the ground.
It was a young boy, about ten years old, his face dirty and covered with scratches. His clothes were tattered and stained with dried blood, and he was shaking slightly.
Hagen knelt beside him, sheathing his saber and placing a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Hey, calm down, kid. We're here to help. What happened to you?"
The boy groaned, his breath ragged "Pirates… They abandoned me… They beat me… and now… I can't feel my legs…"
Jonas, who had stayed a few paces behind, approached cautiously "It could be a trap. You saw his condition—who knows what he's hiding?"
Hagen shot Jonas a dark look.
"Jonas, that's enough. Look at him. He's barely conscious. We can't leave him here." Miko nodded in agreement.
"There's no arguing," she said. "We're taking him back to the ship so Commander Marco can examine him."
Hagen wrapped the boy in a blanket Miko had retrieved from her bag, careful not to worsen his injuries. Gently, he lifted him into his arms. The boy let out a weak cry of pain before lapsing into an eerie silence.
The return to the Moby Dick was quick but tense. Hagen, still cradling the boy, whispered soothing words to him, though the boy seemed to be slipping in and out of consciousness. As they boarded, several crew members approached, their curiosity piqued, but Hagen gave them a stern look, silencing any questions.
"Where's Commander Marco?" he asked, crossing the deck.
"In the infirmary," one sailor replied, pointing toward the ship's interior.
Without wasting any time, Hagen headed toward the infirmary, his boots clattering on the wooden deck. Marco was bent over an examination table, sorting through instruments when he heard the door open. Upon seeing Hagen enter with a boy in his arms, his brow furrowed.
"What's this?" he asked as he quickly approached.
"A kid we found on patrol. He's injured and says he can't move anymore," Hagen replied.
Marco motioned for Hagen to place the boy on the table, which he did carefully. The doctor immediately began his examination, his expert fingers running over the boy's wounds.
"H… help… I… I can't move… I'm bleeding…" the boy whispered weakly.
"He's lost a lot of blood, but that's not enough to explain the paralysis," Marco murmured.
Hagen, worried, asked, "So what is it? He's been muttering those words since we got on the ship."
Marco shook his head, his expression serious. "It's hard to say without a thorough examination. It could be a nervous shock or something more serious. Let me work."
Hagen stepped back, leaving Marco to his diagnosis. The doctor motioned for two nurses to bring in more equipment, then leaned over the boy again, carefully wrapping his most serious wounds in bandages.
"Hey, kid, can you hear me?" Marco asked, gently patting the boy's cheek.
The boy opened his eyes, visibly disoriented.
"It's going to be okay," Marco continued reassuringly. "We'll take care of you."
Hagen, who had remained nearby, crossed his arms, watching the process. He couldn't help but feel deep concern for this child, even though he didn't know him.
When Marco finally stood up, he said, "His wounds will heal, but his legs might be more complicated. I'll need time to figure out what's wrong."
Hagen nodded. "Do what you can."
As Marco returned to his work, Hagen left the infirmary, his thoughts swirling. He couldn't help but wonder how a child could have ended up in such a situation. Were the pirates who had abandoned him still on the island? And if so, what were they looking for? These questions remained unanswered, but Hagen knew he wouldn't leave it at that.
The next morning, the Moby Dick was bathed in soft light, the sun's rays reflecting off the calm sea. The crew was already busy, the sound of boots on deck and animated conversations filling the air.
As usual, Hagen rose early and passed by the infirmary on his way to the galleys for his first meal of the day. However, as he approached the door, he noticed an eerie silence coming from within.
Intrigued, he entered the room and found that the examination table where the boy had been treated was empty. The sheets that had covered him were neatly folded, and a faint smell of disinfectant still lingered in the air. Frowning, Hagen searched for signs of the child, but all he found was a piece of paper lying prominently on the table.
He grabbed it and unfolded the note, his eyes scanning the clumsy but legible handwriting:
"Thank you for your help and for healing me. You are good people, but I must go on my own. I hope that one day our paths will cross again. Take care of yourselves."
Hagen read and reread the note several times, his brow furrowing deeper with each reading. He rushed down the hallway, his boots clacking on the floorboards as he headed straight for Marco, who he knew was still busy organizing medical care and resources.
"Commander Marco!" Hagen exclaimed as he found the doctor at his desk, sorting through reports.
Marco looked up, his expression tired but alert. "What now, Hagen?"
Hagen held the note up in front of him. "The kid's gone. He left this."
Marco took the paper and read it quickly, his face closing slightly as he understood.
"That doesn't surprise me," he finally said, setting the note down on the table.
Hagen's eyes widened.
"What do you mean, 'that doesn't surprise you'? The kid was injured, unable to walk properly, and now he just disappears?"
Marco shrugged, leaning back slightly in his chair. "Some kids in this world are tougher than they look. But I have to admit, that doesn't explain everything. He had injuries serious enough to slow him down, at the very least."
Hagen clenched his fists. "He could've gotten himself killed if he left like that. He should've stayed here, under our protection."
"Maybe he thought he'd be a burden," Marco replied, standing up. "In any case, it's his choice. It's not the first time I've seen this."
Hagen growled, displeased, but he knew Marco was right. That didn't stop him from feeling a deep frustration and a worry he couldn't shake.
"What if this was a trap?" he muttered almost to himself.
Marco stared at him, his gaze hardening. "Do you think this kid was here to ambush us?"
Hagen hesitated. "I don't know. But we know the island is potentially under surveillance and that a major attack is being prepared. And now, this boy appears out of nowhere and disappears just as quickly."
Marco remained silent for a moment, thinking. "It's possible," he finally admitted. "But if he wanted to set a trap for us, he would have had the opportunity to do so last night. Unless he's just a messenger or a pawn in a bigger game."
Hagen nodded slowly. "Either way, we need to talk to Whitebeard about this."
Marco sighed, taking the note and slipping it into his pocket.
"Alright. But don't jump to conclusions too quickly, Hagen. We already have enough real problems to deal with."
Hagen nodded, though the worry didn't leave him. He left the infirmary and returned to the deck, looking for any clues as to where the boy might have gone.
He spent the next few hours questioning the crew and scouting the area around the island, but no one had seen the boy leave. It was as if he had vanished into thin air.
That disappearance continued to haunt Hagen as the day wore on. The memory of the boy's frightened yet determined gaze refused to leave his mind. He knew the New World was a cruel place, and that a child like him had little chance of surviving alone. But there was something stranger, something deeper a lingering feeling he couldn't explain. This boy seemed to be hiding something, something important.
And as the Moby Dick continued its journey toward Egghead, Hagen couldn't help but scan the horizon, hoping, against all logic, to catch a glimpse of a familiar figure on a distant beach.
The Moby Dick pressed onward through the treacherous waters of the New World. On deck, the crew busied themselves, preparing every detail for the imminent assault on Egghead Island.
The movements were precise, marked by discipline and palpable nervousness. Everyone knew they weren't just walking into an ordinary fight; they were going to face extraordinary forces, enemies whose capabilities were still largely unknown.
Hagen actively helped his comrades. He went from group to group, inspecting weapons, giving advice on how to organize equipment, and encouraging the young recruits who showed signs of nervousness.
"Come on, guys! This is no time to be trembling," he said with a smirk. "We're Whitebeard's crew, the strongest family in the world. Remember: we stick together, no matter what."
A young pirate, his hands shaking as he strapped a saber to his belt, looked up at Hagen.
"Do you think we stand a chance against Vegapunk's machines and Commander Ace's murderer?"
Hagen placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "As long as we stick together and follow orders, we still have a chance. Vegapunk and that demon don't know what it's like to face the likes of us."
The young man nodded, gathering his courage.
A few moments later, a bell rang on the ship, calling the crew to gather for a briefing. They all stopped their activities and converged on the large table where Marco and Whitebeard were waiting for them. Hagen took a seat among the tight ranks, listening attentively.
Marco, as always, opened the meeting with his usual calm, but this time his tone was filled with gravity.
"You know that when you say Egghead, you're referring to Vegapunk and his facilities. However, there are two additional factors we must take into account."
Marco scanned the men around him one by one before continuing. "As for Egghead, we will certainly cross paths with Admiral Kizaru, who is in charge of the scientific branch of the Navy. I don't need to introduce him to you; everyone knows who he is and how dangerous he can be."
He took out a folded newspaper from under his arm and placed it on the table. The pages opened to a series of photos, among which was the face of a young woman with piercing eyes, her blonde hair catching the sunlight.
"And finally, there's this Navy captain," Marco announced, his tone becoming even more serious. "This young girl is on Egghead, and from what we know, she is much more dangerous than she seems."
Marco reminded his crew of the little blonde's interventions during the events at Marineford and the deaths of Squardo and Jinbe.
Murmurs spread through the crew. Hagen frowned as he looked at the photos.
"Who is she exactly?" one of the pirates asked.
Whitebeard, imposing and silent until then, rose from his seat. His voice boomed like a clap of thunder, immediately silencing the chatter.
"A demon. A Marine soldier who recently appeared in the ranks of the Navy. Not much is known about her — where she comes from, what her power is. But one thing is for sure: if you come across her on the island, immediately notify a fleet commander."
Hagen felt a knot form in his stomach as Whitebeard's voice faltered. "There is no way more of my sons will lose their lives because of this demon."
He pointed to a black-and-white photo of Tanya, apparently taken during a fight. She was shown in the middle of a battlefield, a cold smile on her face, holding a strange, shiny weapon in her hands.
"She most likely ate a Devil Fruit," Marco continued. "If you see her using her powers, it will be vital to get the information to Father or myself as quickly as possible."
Whitebeard added, "If you come across her, do not act alone. Be careful, but most importantly, stay alive. Do not underestimate her."
A heavy silence fell after those words. Hagen scanned the surrounding faces, reading both fear and determination. He clenched his fists. This mission would not be like the others, and he knew it.
When the briefing ended, Whitebeard turned to his men one last time. "I know you are ready, my children. You are my family, and today, we will show our enemies what that truly means."
A war cry erupted among the pirates, echoing throughout the ship. Hagen felt a familiar warmth rise within him, that flame of belonging and determination that always burned brighter before a battle.
After the muster, Hagen was assigned to the hold to oversee the transport of munitions. He descended the narrow stairs, his footsteps echoing against the wooden walls. The darkness of the hold contrasted with the bustling activity on deck. Here, there were only stacked crates, the smell of gunpowder, and an oppressive silence.
He quickly found the crate he was looking for and began to unlock the latches. But as he lifted the lid, a strange sensation washed over him. A wave of adrenaline surged through his veins, as though something was wrong.
He didn't have time to think any further. A searing pain exploded in his left shoulder. He staggered back, groaning in pain, his trembling hand pressed to the wound. A poisoned spike was lodged there, and a burning sensation began to spread.
"Who's there?" he roared, spinning around, already greatly weakened by the poison coursing through his body.
"I can't… move… I'm bleeding…"
A figure slowly emerged from the shadows. Hagen's eyes widened, unable to believe what he was seeing.
It was the boy from the island. The same boy they had saved. But his face was no longer that of a frightened and grateful child. His features now conveyed a cold, almost sadistic malice.
"You…" Hagen muttered, incredulous.
The boy or rather, the creature he had become took a step forward, a smirk curling at his lips.
"Surprise," he said in a smooth voice, his mischievous smile lingering on a small collapsible crossbow in his hands. "How do you like these poisoned tips? Before I tried them, I never would have thought they could be so useful…"
A dull anger surged within Hagen. "Who are you?" he hissed, his teeth clenched.
The boy bowed slightly as if greeting an audience. Then, a plume of black smoke escaped from his body, revealing a young man with purple hair and a white tunic who seemed older.
"Kokichi Oma," he replied with a burst of laughter. "I must admit, you all amused me quite a lot."
Hagen clenched his fists, ignoring the pain.
"A traitor…"
Kokichi raised a finger in protest. "No, no. A traitor implies that I was ever on your side. Let's just say I took advantage of your hospitality… temporarily."
With a snap of his fingers, he summoned a series of illusionary doubles around him, all laughing in the same way.
"What do you think of my illusionist power?" they repeated, their voices merging into a mocking chorus.
Hagen tried to strike one of the doubles, but his hand passed through thin air. The illusions multiplied, surrounding him.
The poison spread rapidly through his system, draining his strength. Yet, despite everything, he stood tall, ready to fight until his last breath.
Kokichi approached, leaning toward him. "You're tough, I'll give you that. But you really should rest, old man."
Before he could strike, footsteps echoed in the hold. Kokichi stepped back and locked Hagen inside a nearly empty ammunition chest.
Hagen collapsed, desperately trying to focus on the sounds outside. "Hagen, what are you doing? We're all waiting for you on deck."
Hagen felt his strength draining away, his body failing him. He could no longer speak. But what terrified him more than anything was that this stranger had answered in his place, imitating his voice with eerie precision.
"I'm coming. Old Hagen isn't as young as you guys anymore," came the voice, laced with a hint of humor.
Hagen then felt the crate lift, and he heard his voice continue, speaking with his comrades. "Come help me throw this crate into the sea. The ammunition inside is damp and unusable."
He immediately felt the jolts but was unable to make a sound. After a few seconds, it felt as though he was falling into the void. This sensation was interrupted by a loud, deafening noise, and almost immediately, seawater began to seep in from every direction.
It slid down his throat, invading his lungs like an icy, implacable hand. Hagen opened his mouth to scream, but only a muffled gurgle escaped, swallowed by the liquid expanse. His lungs burned a cruel fire in the midst of the oppressive cold.
Each movement became a superhuman effort. His arms flailed desperately against the water, but the world seemed to close in on him — heavy, slow, almost complicit in his fall. The light above blurred and distorted until it disappeared completely.
The air was scarce, and with it, hope. A dull buzzing filled his ears, an echo of panic, tangled with the erratic rhythm of his heartbeat. His thoughts fractured, replaced by a primitive, blind terror. He wanted to breathe, he had to breathe, but the water crept in, inexorable, like a snake.
Then came the dizziness. The sensation of merging with the water itself, of no longer knowing where his body ended and the liquid that consumed him began. His chest contracted one last time, a desperate spasm before everything fell silent.
An absolute silence, terrifying and curiously sweet.
Blackbeard's POV
Location: ?
Blackbeard sat in his cabin, a heavy black cape draped over his shoulders, and a wide, predatory smile stretched across his lips. The flickering light of the lamp hanging from the ceiling cast strange shadows on his face, further accentuating the sinister aura he exuded. In his rough hands, a dog-eared report rested, open to a page that had caught his attention. The news from the New World was fascinating, but one particular item had piqued his interest and fueled his insatiable ambition.
Whitebeard, the ancient sea monster he had betrayed, was heading toward Egg Head, accompanied by what was left of his crew. A triumphant glint shone in Teach's eyes as he read over and over the lines that mentioned his former captain's destination. But it wasn't just the prospect of crossing paths with Whitebeard again that delighted him. No, another name, mentioned almost in passing in the article, had his mind churning.
Captain Tanya Degurechaff. This enigmatic young woman, whose frail stature contrasted with her reputation for intelligence and fearsome power, was on Egg Head. Teach remembered their meeting in the ruined restaurant at Marineford. She had refused his offer to join his crew a politely worded refusal but laden with contempt. Since that day, she had occupied a special place in his mind. An obsession, perhaps; a missing piece in his grandiose puzzle.
He placed the report back on the table with a thud and looked up at his lieutenants, gathered around him in the cramped cabin. Burgess, Shiryu, Lafitte, Van Augur… all silently waiting for their captain to share his thoughts. Teach straightened slowly, his smile widening further.
"Then, my friends, this is an opportunity that cannot be passed up. You read, like me, didn't you? That old fool, Whitebeard, wants revenge on the World Government… But this time, I'm going to make sure there's nothing left of him."
His voice, raspy and powerful, echoed through the cabin, followed by a thunderous burst of laughter. Burgess, always quick to think of direct action, slammed his fist on the table, his enthusiasm matching his captain's.
"We'll show him, Captain! That old fool is going to regret crawling out of his hole!"
Teach nodded, but his mischievous gaze fixed on Lafitte, who seemed thoughtful. The latter finally asked a question, his soft voice contrasting with Burgess's raw energy.
"Egg Head isn't an ordinary target. Vegapunk is conducting research there, and if the rumors are true, Admiral Kizaru is already there. That could complicate things…"
Shiryu, the impassive swordsman, took a long drag on his cigar before adding evenly, "And Tanya Degurechaff… She's not exactly known for being easy to manipulate. Why waste time trying to recruit her? She already turned down your offer at Marineford, right?"
Teach burst out laughing, a throaty sound that made the walls of the cabin vibrate. He stood abruptly, his towering figure casting an intimidating shadow over his men.
"Because she's special, my friends. She's got it all: intelligence, power, and that little something that can't be ignored. Have you seen what she did during the war? If anyone can make this crew even stronger, it's her."
Lafitte raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What if she refuses again?"
Teach replied with a predatory grin, "Then we'll show her why joining my crew is the best thing that could ever happen to her. And if she refuses again… well, we'll see."
He turned to the porthole, looking out at the dark horizon of the New World. The choppy seas reflected his chaotic thoughts—a mixture of vengeance, ambition, and strategy. Egg Head wasn't just a destination; it was the stage where all the pieces of his plan would finally come together.
"Prepare yourselves. We're leaving for Egg Head."
The crew quickly dispersed to relay orders. On the main deck, excitement was palpable. The loud laughter and shouted voices rang out as the pirates prepared for what was sure to be a titanic confrontation. Cannons were loaded, weapons sharpened, and attack plans adjusted with the chaotic precision unique to this crew.
Teach, meanwhile, remained alone in his cabin, his mind focused on two targets: Whitebeard and Tanya Degurechaff. His memories of Marineford resurfaced. He saw himself offering to join her, his honeyed voice masking his impatience, and his cold gaze assessing her with calculated distrust.
This time, there would be no room for error.
As the ship cut through the tumultuous waves, a rumor spread among the men: Whitebeard, the father they had betrayed, was heading to confront Teach at Egg Head. Tensions were rising, but Teach seemed to draw new strength from it. He was certain of victory. After all, the old man had emerged greatly weakened from the Great War. But this young girl… She represented an unpredictable variable. Her unique abilities, combined with her strategic mind, made her a potential threat, but also an invaluable opportunity. Teach was convinced that, one way or another, he would find a way to convince her. And if it required a show of force, he was prepared to pay the price.
The sea continued to roar, and Egg Head was nearing the horizon. Blackbeard's crew prepared to write a new chapter in their legend, a chapter in which Teach intended to emerge victorious, with ultimate power and a formidable ally by his side.