Above the undulating, dark waters of the New World, a sleek crimson speedboat was tearing across the waves at extreme speeds.
Blazing, blinding white flames erupted from the jet ski's exhaust, leaving a literal burning trail on the surface of the sea.
This was a brand new application of York's Devil Fruit ability. After his fruit underwent its metamorphosis into a Mythical Zoan, in addition to unlocking his two god-tier Awakened modes, his base form had also gained two highly practical, pre-Awakening abilities.
Of course, these base abilities couldn't achieve the apocalyptic, reality-warping effects of his Awakening, but overall, they were incredibly versatile.
The first new ability was Holy Light Purification. This allowed York to purge abnormal statuses and negative debuffs applied by other Devil Fruit abilities—essentially acting as the absolute opposite of his initial, corrupting 'Happy' power.
Theoretically, this purification could even clear the terrifying Black Turn Domination ability that the World Government's secret ruler, Imu, inflicted upon others. However, York pragmatically estimated that in a direct clash, the effect would depend entirely on the difference in their baseline strength and Haki; whoever possessed the stronger will would claim priority. Therefore, for now, Imu's Black Turn Domination could still only be reliably resisted by fully enveloping oneself in Advanced Supreme King (Haoshoku) Haki.
The second new ability was far more straightforward: Solar Pyrokinesis. It was the conventional control and emission of flames, but with a terrifying upper limit—the temperature of his white fire could reach 6,000 degrees Celsius, matching the exact surface temperature of the sun.
It could be roughly understood as possessing the power of the Mera Mera no Mi (Flame-Flame Fruit), but without the intangible benefits of Logia elementalization.
Then again, York mused as he steered the Striker, the Mera Mera no Mi's upper temperature limit doesn't even come close to mine.
Honestly, York blamed Portgas D. Ace for that fruit's lackluster reputation in the future. Why couldn't that kid properly utilize fire? Ace only ever focused on flashy ability shaping and large-scale, explosive area-of-effect attacks, completely neglecting the fundamental, lethal essence of fire: absolute temperature and sustained combustion.
As for the logic behind York's Pyrokinesis? His Mythical Zoan was born from humanity's collective perception of a "Sun God." In the minds of the masses, a Sun God who couldn't control fire was a fraud. Although the true scientific essence of the sun is nuclear fusion—which has very little to do with actual combustion—the concept of a burning star had long been deeply ingrained in human consciousness.
Of course, once he activated his Awakening, York could fully utilize the true power of a star: nuclear fusion plasma, solar magnetic fields, and crushing gravitational manipulation.
Under the ferocious enhancement of his 6,000-degree flames, the crimson speedboat reached a maximum speed of 300 kilometers per hour. It took York less than two hours to arrive off the coast of the Clandia Kingdom, where the war was violently breaking out.
Gazing at the massive Hart Kingdom invasion fleet docked on the chaotic shore, York chose to bypass the main harbor. He found a hidden, rocky cove a few miles down the coast and dragged his jet ski ashore, concealing it beneath some heavy brush.
"Sigh. This is the sheer inconvenience of not having a magical 'System Inventory' like protagonists in cheap novels," York muttered, dusting off his hands. "Everything has to be physically carried or hidden in a bush. There's no personal subspace to prevent thieves from stealing my ride."
York slung his three-meter Miaodao over his shoulder. "In the future, I need to figure out a way to hunt down a Devil Fruit with spatial storage capabilities. Otherwise, traveling alone is always going to be annoying."
As he spoke, the image of a fat, bizarrely proportioned pirate wielding a massive wooden mallet appeared in York's mind. It was Blamenco, a Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates and the user of the Paramecia-type *Poke Poke no Mi* (Pocket-Pocket Fruit). Blamenco possessed actual pockets stitched into his skin, allowing him to store and retrieve massive objects—like a five-meter mallet—with ease.
York grimaced. He certainly didn't want to eat that Devil Fruit himself; the idea of growing grotesque flesh-pockets on his own body was repulsive.
But he had Dr. Vegapunk now. By utilizing the cutting-edge technology of 'making inanimate objects eat Devil Fruits', wouldn't it be incredibly convenient to feed the Pocket-Pocket Fruit to a custom-tailored trench coat? It could even be mass-cloned in the future, drastically revolutionizing the Crimson Empire's military logistics and material transportation.
"It seems the next phase of the plan definitely requires hunting down Paramecia users," York noted mentally. While Zoans provided raw stats, Paramecias offered bizarre, world-breaking utility that was practically unmatched.
Temporarily shelving the thought, York adjusted his grip on his newly forged blade and slowly walked toward the burning city.
He hadn't forgotten the primary reason for this outing. He was here to test his sword.
Clandia Kingdom — Town Port.
This was the primary coastal town the Hart Kingdom army was currently invading. The Clandia Kingdom's defenders had completely lost the coastal defense line and were now engaged in desperate, bloody street fighting.
But even within the maze of the city streets, the Clandia defenders were retreating steadily, on the verge of being completely driven out of the town by the sheer ferocity of the Hart forces.
"KILL!!!"
Douglas Bullet, only eight years old but already possessing the sturdy, hulking physique of a full-grown adult, sprinted through a hail of musket fire. He held a blood-stained combat knife in his right hand and a heavy satchel of dynamite in his left, diving into the blind spot of a heavily fortified courtyard wall.
Squatting in the dirt, unaffected by the chaos, Bullet skillfully lit the fuse of the dynamite satchel with a match. He calmly counted exactly three seconds in his head, then vaulted up and forcefully hurled the explosive over the high wall.
BOOM!!
With a deafening bang that sent tremors through the cobblestones, the relentless volley of flintlock gunfire from inside the courtyard instantly ceased.
Bullet let out a feral roar. He climbed over the rubble of the courtyard wall, brandishing his knife, and rushed inside. Moving with brutal, terrifying efficiency, he slaughtered every single Clandia defender who had been fortunate enough to survive the blast.
Once the courtyard was silent, Bullet knelt in the blood. With practiced, numb precision, he cut off the left ears of the fallen defenders and stuffed the grisly trophies into a leather pouch at his waist.
Glancing into the pouch, it was already nearly half full. A rough estimate put the count at over twenty severed ears. Including the ones he had just harvested, he was easily pushing thirty.
Bullet's icy eyes shimmered with a bright, desperate light.
The bet he and the Hart child soldiers had made back at the encampment was still in effect.
'I definitely have the most military merit in this battle!' Bullet thought, breathing heavily. 'Even the adult soldiers haven't killed as many enemies as I have! Finally! I can finally earn the War Medal!'
He wiped the blood from his cheek, his heart pounding with naive hope.
'As long as I get that medal, I will no longer be the Vodka native they mock! I won't be a barbarian anymore! I can be a Hart citizen with dignity! This country will truly become my home!'
The sheer joy of the harvest, the intoxicating anticipation of winning the bet and finally earning his comrades' respect, caused Bullet to involuntarily lower his guard.
Immersed in fantasies about a future where he belonged, Bullet walked out of the ruined courtyard. He didn't notice the shadows moving in the alleyway just around the corner.
He didn't notice the group of Hart child soldiers—the exact same boys who had made the bet with him—staring at his bulging trophy pouch with sinister, envious eyes.
"Absolutely not!" the lead boy hissed, raising a stolen flintlock rifle. "We absolutely cannot let this savage take the War Medal!"
BANG!
A lead bullet tore through the air from behind, piercing cleanly through Bullet's right shoulder.
Bullet cried out, stumbling forward and collapsing face-first into a pool of mud and blood.
He watched helplessly, paralyzed by the shock and the sudden betrayal, as the 'partners' who had fought alongside him in the trenches walked out from the alley. Without a shred of hesitation, they forcefully kicked him in the ribs and snatched the heavy pouch of trophies from his belt.
At this moment, the naive hope in Bullet's heart shattered into absolute despair.
"W-Why...?" Bullet gasped, coughing up blood as he looked up at the boys. "Even though we fight... aren't we comrades?"
The lead Hart soldier looked down at the bleeding Bullet. His eyes were filled with undisguised, venomous contempt.
"Who would ever be comrades with a Vodka barbarian like you?!"
After spitting on the ground, the boy took a freshly loaded flintlock from his companion. He aimed the barrel directly at Bullet's chest and pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The bullet pierced Bullet's sternum. The impact threw him flat onto his back, and his heart turned completely cold as the darkness began to pull him under.
Bullet didn't know how much time had passed. The Hart soldiers who had ambushed and robbed him had long since fled deeper into the city to claim his glory.
Just as Bullet closed his eyes, accepting that he was going to bleed to death in a cold, foreign alleyway... a pair of unfamiliar straw sandals suddenly appeared in his fading line of sight.
Immediately after, a massive shadow eclipsed the sun. A gentle, yet distinctly dark and playful voice echoed from high above.
"Yo, young man. You seem to have been seeking recognition and companionship in all the wrong places."
Bullet remained silent, too weak to move, his blood pooling on the cobblestones.
He heard the towering figure shift, a heavy, three-meter blade resting casually on the man's shoulder.
"What's your name, kid?"
"Bu... Bullet..." he rasped, his vision swimming.
The playful tone vanished. The voice from above suddenly became deadly serious, carrying the crushing, absolute weight of an Emperor.
"Douglas Bullet," York asked coldly, looking down at the dying child. "Do you want revenge?"
Bullet's eyes snapped open, a violent, terrifying fire reigniting in his soul.
"I... want to!!!"
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