I will admit...
I mostly did this out of a sense of desperation and once I thought about it, I just rushed without thinking things through.
Despite this, the crossover itself seemed interesting and who am I to exactly leave this out without capitalising on such an opportunity.
Well, regardless, here is another story, brought to you truly.
You know, Eden Zero, basically Fairy Tail if it's science fantasy and much darker and more realistic in certain places but still has the usual art style, premise and of course, fan service (Wow).
Then comes The Mandalorian and if you know the spinoff of Star Wars, then you know what to expect; blaster fights, a badass sci-fi bounty hunter that nonetheless shows depth, personality and development despite constantly having his face hidden and, more aliens to see, a Western style plot and last but not least...
Baby Yoda.
Or... well... I don't want to spoil his true name but you get the picture.
Either way, welcome to the fun adventure of the Mandalorian journeying across the galaxy with the many, many eccentric characters he will encounter.
As always, enjoy the story.
Disclaimer: I do not own Eden Zero, The Mandalorian and 'Eden One Piece' by 'leonardo18anime'. They belong to their respective owners.
Enjoy.
The humid air of Blue Garden hung heavy, thick with the scent of blooming synth-lilies and the metallic tang of industrial runoff despite the planet's reputation for verdant beauty.
For within the bustling district known for its vibrant nightlife and, more relevantly, the Adventurers Guild known as Shooting Starlight, the typical chatter and clatter of patrons abruptly quieted as a figure had entered, an anomaly that sucked the playful air from the room and replaced it with a palpable tension.
He was a silhouette of polished alloy and dark fabric, a man sculpted from cold, functional purpose as the sunlight, fractured through the stained glass windows of Shooting Starlight, glinted off the ridges and curves of his armour, making it seem as though sparks might fly from his very presence.
Armaments were subtly displayed but undeniably present: a blaster pistol holstered at his thigh, a vibroblade sheathed at his back, and the tell-tale bulk of forearm gauntlets that hinted at further, less obvious weaponry.
But it is the helmet that truly commanded attention, a stark, emotionless mask of metal with a 'T'-shaped visor that stared out into the world with an unwavering, unknowable gaze.
This is no ordinary adventurer or even a swaggering mercenary.
This is a Mandalorian.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd, hushed whispers of 'Mandalorian,' 'Beskar,' and fearful questions left unspoken as they knew, instinctively, what this meant.
The tales, amplified by the galactic grapevine and sensationalized news feeds, painted the Mandalorians as legendary warriors, their culture forged in the crucible of endless conflict.
They were humans, yes, but augmented by generations of relentless training, cutting-edge technology, and a rigid code of conduct that seemed both honourable and terrifyingly ruthless in equal measure.
Even Ether Gear users, those individuals blessed or cursed with the ability to manipulate the ethereal energy that powered all known technology, are rumored to tread carefully around Mandalorians for their skill, their discipline and their sheer will are said to be capable of overcoming even the most outlandish of powers.
Fear, primal and instinctual, coiled in the bellies of the gathered clientele.
What brought a Mandalorian to Blue Garden?
Were they the target of some unseen bounty?
Or were they simply unfortunate enough to be in his path?
Each glance stolen towards the armoured figure was laced with trepidation, each hushed conversation punctuated by nervous glances toward the entrance.
The Mandalorian, however, remained oblivious to the swirling vortex of fear and speculation he had created as he moved with a purposeful stride, his boots clicking softly on the polished synth-wood floor, each step measured and economical.
He paid no mind to the scrambling bodies that parted before him, nor to the wide, frightened eyes tracking his every movement.
For he had a purpose, and the petty anxieties of the locals were inconsequential static in his rigid focus.
He reached the counter of Shooting Starlight, the heart of the guild, a place usually buzzing with the boisterous energy of adventurers seeking jobs, sharing tall tales, and generally making a decent amount of harmless trouble.
Today, the usual cacophony was replaced by a strained silence as every head turned, every conversation hushed, as he approached with a calm, controlled, experienced and methodical pursuit.
Just as the Mandalorian reached the counter, a figure, clearly emboldened by a potent mixture of bravado and staggering stupidity, decided to make his presence known.
He is a mountain of muscle crammed into cheap, ill-fitting clothes, his face a roadmap of old brawls and bad decisions as he swaggered forward, chest puffed out, attempting to loom over the Mandalorian – a futile effort even with his considerable height advantage as he reeked of cheap synth-ale and misplaced confidence.
"Well now," The big man boomed, his voice a gravelly rumble that echoed in the sudden silence, trying to puff his chest out even further, if that were possible. "Look what we got here. A tin can come to visit Blue Garden. Lost your way, shiny?" He punctuated his 'joke' with a forced laugh, expecting, perhaps, some kind of reaction, some flicker of fear or annoyance from the armoured figure but the silence from the Mandalorian is more unnerving than any outburst.
The Mandalorian turned his helmeted head, his 'T'-visor locking onto the big man with an unreadable intensity.
For a long, drawn-out moment, there was only the heavy breathing of the big man and the faint hum of the guild's atmosphere regulator.
Then, the Mandalorian spoke, his voice a modulated baritone, devoid of emotion, yet carrying an undercurrent of steel that could cut through durasteel plating.
"Move," The Mandalorian stated simply, each syllable clipped and precise. "Or this will get ugly."
The big man, fueled by the watchful eyes of the guild and a simmering need to prove himself, simply laughed again, a loud, grating sound that grated on the already tense atmosphere. "Ugly? You and whose army, tin can?" He reached out a thick, meaty hand, intending to shove the Mandalorian aside, to assert his dominance by brute force.
It was the last mistake he would make that day.
Before the big man's hand could even make contact, the Mandalorian moved with a speed that belied his bulky armor as one moment the big man was reaching, the next he was screaming.
The Mandalorian's gauntleted hand shot out, a blur of motion, and clamped around the big man's outstretched arm just above the elbow as the big man's eyes widened in shock, his forced bravado instantly evaporating, replaced by a dawning horror.
The scream that tore from his throat was not one of macho posturing, but of raw, agonizing pain as the Mandalorian hadn't just grabbed his arm; he had applied pressure with pinpoint accuracy, leverage honed through years of combat and brutal efficiency.
Before anyone could even react, the Mandalorian executed a swift, precise movement, a textbook joint lock that snapped with a sickeningcrack.
The big man's knees buckled, and he crumpled to the floor, clutching his now useless arm, his roars of fake laughter replaced by genuine, heart-wrenching cries of pain.
The silence in Shooting Starlight is absolute, broken only by the big man's whimpering and the heavy, measured breaths of the Mandalorian.
Without another word, without a glance at the whimpering pile of shattered bravado, the Mandalorian turned and continued towards the counter, leaving the big man groaning on the floor, a stark lesson in the brutal reality of galactic hierarchy.
The onlookers, petrified into silence, could only stare, their fear solidified into a chilling respect.
Behind the counter, a young woman with a long blonde hair and wearing the typical uniform of a receptionist of the Shooting Star Adventurers Guild, known as Clarisse Layer, swallowed nervously as she is currently experiencing a level of professional anxiety previously unknown to her as she managed a shaky smile as the Mandalorian approached, her usual cheerful demeanour completely replaced by a strained politeness.
"C-can I help you, sir?" She stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.
The Mandalorian's helmet swivelled towards her, the 'T'-visor locking onto her face. "This is the place to get a travel licence, right?" As the receptionist nodded feverishly at his questions, the Mandalorian, "Good, I'm Mando..." he said, his voice still devoid of emotion, yet slightly less edged than before. "And I want a travel license, please?"
The receptionist nodded rapidly, her fingers fumbling over the holo-keyboard in front of her. "Of course, right away, sir… Mando." She quickly navigated the archaic guild system, pulling up the necessary forms. "Just need to scan your… uh…" She trailed off, glancing hesitantly at the helmet. "Your identification, sir."
Mando remained silent for a moment, his unwavering gaze still fixed on her as Clarisse's heart hammered against her ribs.
Was he going to demand she call him 'sir'?
Was that some Mandalorian custom she was unknowingly violating?
Then, Mando sighed, a barely audible exhale that sounded almost weary through his vocoder. "Helmet stays on," he stated, his voice breaking no argument.
"B-but sir... You need to take off your helmet. I-I mean, how can I take your identification if-" Clarisse stopped when Mando look at her in the eye as she yelped in fear.
"Helmet. Stays. On." Mando empathise his words as thoroughly and correctly as possible.
"Oh! Yes! Of course!" Clarisse stammered, her relief palpable. "Absolutely! No problem at all, sir… Mando. The system… uh… it sometimes requires visual identification. But… but we can… we can override that. Yes." She typed furiously, attempting to sound more confident than she felt. "Alternative identification protocols… engaging." She mumbled technical jargon she barely understood, just to fill the silence and avoid further eye contact with the intimidating helmet.
"Just take a picture," Mando said, cutting through her nervous rambling.
"A… a picture?" Clarisse blinked, momentarily confused before realization dawned. "Oh! Right! Yes! A picture. Excellent idea!" She fumbled for the integrated camera on her console, her hands still trembling slightly. She managed to frame the shot, her finger hovering over the capture button. "Ready, sir… Mando?"
Mando simply nodded once as Clarisse quickly snapped a photo of the helmeted figure, the 'T'-visor reflecting the nervous sheen of her face. "Perfect!" she chirped, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. "License… processing. Just a moment."
The system, thankfully, cooperated this time. A moment later, a small holo-card ejected from the console. Clarisse snatched it up and presented it to Mando with both hands. "Here you are, sir. Your travel license. Valid for… standard galactic travel."
Mando took the card, examining it briefly before pocketing it in a pouch on his belt. "Good, now then..." he stated, his tone still curt but marginally less abrasive. "Are there any ships for sale on this planet?"
Clarisse blinked, a new wave of nervousness washing over her.
She doesn't usually deal with ship sales as that was usually handled by… well, anyone but the terrified secretary currently facing down a Mandalorian, "S-ships for sale? Um… yes! I believe so. Blue Garden has a… a decent spaceport. Several… dealerships. What kind of ship are you… are you looking for, sir?"
Mando sighed again, this time more audibly. "Just… a ship. Reliable. Gets me from point A to point B. Doesn't break down halfway."
Clarisse's brow furrowed slightly. "Doesn't… break down? Is there something wrong with your current ship, sir?" She immediately regretted the question, bracing herself for another potentially terrifying interaction.
Mando just shook his helmeted head slowly, a gesture that somehow conveyed a deep, weary resignation. "I don't want to talk about it," he muttered, his voice barely audible, before turning to survey the room.
His gaze swept over the remaining patrons, lingering for a moment on the still-whimpering big man before dismissing them all as utterly insignificant.
Just then, the air in the guild shifted, a subtle change in the atmosphere that even Clarisse, preoccupied as she was, could sense.
A wave of genuine cheerfulness, untainted by fear or forced politeness, washed over the room as she turned to see the source of this sudden shift.
Entering Shooting Starlight, radiating an almost blindingly optimistic energy, were two figures that were as incongruous to the Mandalorian's grim presence as sunshine to a storm cloud.
First is a girl, barely older than Clarisse herself, with vibrant peach coloured hair that cascaded down her back in loose waves, framing a face alight with infectious enthusiasm with her eyes, being electric blue in colour, sparkled with curiosity and an almost childlike wonder at the world.
She also wore a simple, yet stylish, outfit, consisting of a white top and short skirt that practical yet undeniably fashionable.
And standing beside her, bouncing along on two legs with an almost comical jauntiness, is a small, blue… cat.
But not just any cat.
This one is anthropomorphic, bipedal, and wore a miniature backpack almost as big as himself with his perpetually cheerful face being framed by large, expressive blue eyes, and a fluffy blue tail swished behind him with an almost perpetual wag.
This is Rebecca Bluegarden and her companion, Happy.
"Clarisse!" Rebecca called out, her voice bright and cheerful, cutting through the lingering tension in the guild like a warm knife through butter. "Hey, Clarisse! How's things?"
"Rebecca! Happy!" Clarisse greeted back, her own strained smile finally becoming genuine. "Hey! Good to see you both! Just… just the usual guild chaos," she said, subtly gesturing with her head towards the still form of the big man on the floor, and then, more pointedly, towards the imposing figure of the Mandalorian standing beside her.
Rebecca and Happy followed her gaze, their cheerful expressions instantly freezing as they finally registered the presence of the armoured figure.
Rebecca's bright eyes widened, and Happy, with a small, strangled yelp, scrambled to hide behind her legs, only his fluffy blue tail peeking out from behind her.
"Oh," Rebecca breathed, her voice suddenly much quieter. "Oh wow."
"Yeah," Clarisse sighed, turning back to Rebecca, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "That's… that's a Mandalorian. He just… dislocated that guy's arm." She nodded towards the still-whimpering form on the floor for emphasis.
Rebecca's eyes went impossibly wider. "A Mandalorian? Here? In Shooting Starlight? But… but why?" She glanced back at the armoured figure, her earlier enthusiasm completely extinguished by a healthy dose of fear as Happy whimpered again, burrowing further behind her legs.
"He… he needs a travel license," Clarisse explained, "And he's looking for a new ship. Said he doesn't want to talk about his old one." She paused, then, an idea sparking in her mind, a desperate, slightly reckless, but potentially brilliant idea. "Rebecca," she said, her voice suddenly conspiratorial, "Where are you guys headed?"
"Oh, well, we're off to Granbell," Rebecca replied, her gaze still nervously flicking back to the Mandalorian. "Just need something to boost my popularity on my B-Cube. Heard that it's interesting there."
Clarisse nodded at her answer before her eyes as she caught sight of Mando and then at Rebecca, "Oh, that's perfect!" She turned back to Rebecca, her voice rising in pitch with excitement.
"What's perfect?" Rebecca asked in confusion at what she is saying.
Clarisse then clears her throat as she said, "Rebecca? What if… what if you take Mando with you?"
Rebecca and Happy stared at Clarisse, their expressions a mixture of shock and utter disbelief as Happy's tail stopped wagging, drooping downwards like a deflated balloon.
"Take… take the Mandalorian?" Rebecca stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "Clarisse, are you crazy? That's… that's a Mandalorian! They're… they're ruthless! War-like! They eat nails for breakfast!"
"He just dislocated a guy's arm!" Happy squeaked, finally finding his voice. "With his bare hands! Or… gauntlets! Or whatever!"
"I know, I know!" Clarisse said, her voice pleading. "But… but please, Rebecca? Please? He needs a ride! And it's… it's perfect! Think about it! How does any B-Cuber like you have a chance of having a Mandalorian with them? Isn't it such a great idea?" She clasped her hands together, her blonde hair swishing with the earnestness of her plea.
Rebecca and Happy exchanged worried glances, their fear warring with their innate adventurous spirit and their inability to say no to a direct request, especially one laced with Clarisse's wide-eyed pleading.
They looked back at the Mandalorian, who was still standing silently by the counter, seemingly oblivious to their hushed, increasingly frantic conversation.
He is an imposing figure, no doubt about it but… but there is also something about his quiet stillness, his weariness, that seemed… almost sad.
Rebecca sighed, a long, drawn-out sound of reluctant resignation. "Oh, alright," she muttered, more to herself than to Clarisse. "Fine. We'll… we'll give him a ride. But if he tries to eat me, Happy gets to bite him!"
Happy, despite still looking terrified, puffed out his chest slightly. "Yeah! I'll bite him! I'm a very fierce cat!" He trembled slightly as he spoke, undermining his brave words, but the sentiment was there.
Clarisse beamed, her cheerful energy returning in full force. "Oh, thank you, Rebecca! You're a lifesaver! Really!" She turned to the Mandalorian, taking a deep breath and forcing a smile. "Excuse me, Mando?"
The Mandalorian turned back to her, his 'T'-visor once again focused on her.
"This is Rebecca Bluegarden," Clarisse said, gesturing towards the blue-haired girl. "And this is Happy. Even thought they're… they're headed to Granbell, they've… kindly agreed to give you a ride if… if that works for you?"
Rebecca stepped forward, a nervous smile plastered on her face. "Hi," she said, her voice still a little shaky. "I'm Rebecca. And this is Happy." She gestured towards the small blue cat, who offered a hesitant wave, his tail still drooping.
Mando stood silently for a moment, his helmeted head swiveling between Clarisse, Rebecca, and Happy.
Then, he sighed again, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand battles and a galaxy of unspoken burdens. "Look," he said, his voice low and steady, "I just need a ride to do a job, if it's possible. I can even let you go to these Granbell planet as long as after that, you will transport me to my designated planet for a job and after that, we're done. Got it?" He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, "And… don't worry. I'm not going to eat anyone." There was the faintest hint of dry humour in his voice, a whisper of something almost human beneath the armoured shell.
Rebecca, surprised by the unexpected kindness and the surprisingly reassuring tone of the Mandalorian, found her fear easing slightly.
He doesn't sound like a monster.
He sounded… tired.
And maybe, just maybe, a little bit lost.
She straightened her shoulders, her adventurous spirit rekindling. "Granbell it is then!" Rebecca declared, her voice gaining back its usual cheerful lilt. "Come on, Mando! Let's go! Adventure awaits!" She grinned, a wide, infectious smile that even the emotionless 'T'-visor of the Mandalorian couldn't completely dampen.
Happy, catching her infectious enthusiasm, perked up, his tail starting to wag again, albeit tentatively.
Mando simply nodded once more, a silent agreement, his helmeted head turning towards the exit of Shooting Starlight.
He followed Rebecca and Happy as they bounded out of the guild, leaving behind the hushed whispers and lingering fear, stepping out into the humid sunshine of Blue Garden, ready to embark on a new, unexpected adventure in a galaxy far, far away, an adventure that would begin, not in the familiar harsh deserts of Mandalore or the perilous space lanes of the Outer Rim, but on a planet of synth-lilies and industrial runoff, with a blue-haired dreamer and a small, blue, talking cat.
Granbell, and whatever lay beyond, awaited.
Well, here is where the prologue comes and go, people.
So, now, if you have anymore ideas, let me know in the comments below.
As always...
Ciao...