The sun beat down on the small island, casting a warm glow over the sandy beache and lush vegetation. Sea birds flew overhead and fish swam in the sparkling water. Just off shore a young man sailed a boat where he ought not, towards the lair of the local seaking.

The battered wooden boards creaked beneath Eliot's feet as he stood on the small, pitiful boat. Seawater oozed through cracks in the hull, beginning to pool at his boots. The crooked mast was bare - no pirate's skull and crossbones, nor the navy's proud colors, not even one of many desperate rogue banners flow by rebellions across the ruined world. Flags meant glory, fame, or redemption, shouting to the world who one was and what they stood for. Both less than desirable traits for a Bounty Hunter.

A darkness lurked beneath the churning waters. Eliot's grip tightened on his sword hilt as the monstrous form of the Sea King rose from the depths, water cascading off its scarred scales. Memories flooded back of timelines made and unmade - this same beast taking Shanks' arm in one, devouring Luffy in another.

Eliot held eye contact with the beast as best he could as every fiber of his being screamed for him to do otherwise - to run, hide, scream, beg for mercy.

The young man's voice cracked with anger and fear as he spoke. "You’ve stolen everything from me, from this world," he accused. His trembling hand slowly reached for the worn pistol on his belt, while the other gripped his short sword tightly. “And you don’t even know what you did.”

The Sea King let out a deafening roar in reply, its spittle reeking of decay and brine. With maddened eyes the beast lunged towards Eliot with ferocious speed, its massive jaws snapping wooden planks as Eliot barely managed to dodge in time. He fired his weapon, but the bullet ricocheted off the beast's thick armor to no effect, swung his sword, but the blade hardly scored the beasts scales. Even after years of training the seaking was still laughably beyond him. It irked at the young man’s pride.

He hated relying on the power, especially in a defining moment like this. But it was use the power or die, which was really no choice at all. Eliot reached inward, grasping the threads of his devilfruit’s power and twisting them to expose this moment. The young man’s eyes began to glow with an otherworldly light as he tapped into the Lore Lore fruit's power. The world around him shimmered and shifted, the boundaries between reality and story blurring. The sea and sky became a canvas, the seaking and Eliot the central figures in a grand, unfolding tale.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

Through the lens of his power, Eliot saw the fight anew. Each movement, each clash, was a brushstroke in a vivid painting, a verse in an epic ballad. The seaking's roar became a thunderous chorus, its thrashing tail a drummer's furious beat. Eliot's own heartbeat pounded in rhythm, a desperate, defiant metronome against the chaos. He could see every detail with crystalline clarity - the jagged scars etched into the beast's hide, each barnacle and bit of algae clinging to its scales. Even reduced down to this one moment, it was too much.

The weight of a thousand untold stories pressed against his mind, all fighting to come into existence in the moment, and he fought against turning the moment into a tale of tragedy as much as the seaking’s gnashing teeth. With a surge of will, Eliot seized those threads and wove them into his own narrative.

As the seaking lunged again, Eliot met its charge head-on, his blade carving a brilliant arc through the air. His powers spoke of the seaking’s past, where it has fought another, an equal, for ownership of the island. The battle had seen the other slain, but the seaking had been brutalized, leaving even till this day a hairline fracture in its underbelly scales, nearly invisible.

Eliot plunged the blade into the weak point and held fast. The Sea King thrashed and writhed, its colossal form whipping up frenzied whirlpools that threatened to swallow Eliot's tiny vessel. Crimson blood gushed from the wound, staining the churning waters. The creature's agonized roars rent the air between snapping bites, trying to get to Eliot even as the pain drove it away. The young man clung to his embedded blade like a lifeline, his knuckles white, his muscles screaming with the effort. The Sea King's movements were growing erratic, desperate—a primal fight against the inevitable. Its massive tail slammed against the surface, sending up geysers of salt spray that pelted Eliot's face and body like a thousand needles.

He could feel the creature's heartbeat pulsing through his sword, could sense the wild, animalistic terror that gripped it as its lifeblood drained away. In that moment, he almost pitied the beast. Almost.

"Die, damn you," Eliot hissed through gritted teeth. The seaking made one final, titanic effort to dislodge its attacker. It rolled its mountainous bulk to crush Eliot against the boat. The boat shattered first.

Eliot clung to the slick scales of the floating dead seaking, shivering. That was one wrong righted, now just another world full of them to go.

Though he was going to need a new boat. Maybe one a bit sturdier this time. He watched as a wooden shard floated by, one that had thankfully broken before he did.

Maybe not too sturdy.