Impel Down, Grand Line
"INSPECTION…!!!" The shout echoed unnaturally loud as it bounced off the iron walls of Impel Down, traveling down the spiral depths like a hollow declaration of authority. The man who yelled it stood before a massive vault-like door—its surface layered with reinforced sea stone and steel, riveted plates, and thick locking mechanisms that looked capable of holding back monsters rather than men.
His hand trembled slightly as it rested on the lever. He wasn't shouting to announce his presence. He was shouting to convince himself. The door creaked open with a deep, grinding groan. Beyond it lay the staircase descending into the abyss.
Level 6, the lowest level, the Eternal Hell. The place where the world's worst criminals were erased from history. The man swallowed. Hannyabal, the newly appointed Vice Warden, stepped forward.
His appearance was as bizarre as ever—his brow ridge curved upward like horns, his chin jutted out like a pharaoh's false beard, and his pot-bellied frame strained against his uniform as though it barely contained him. Sweat trickled down his face.
"So… this is Level 6…!" His voice wavered slightly despite his attempt to sound imposing. On any normal day, Hannyabal wouldn't even dare approach this place. Level 6 wasn't just another prison floor. It was a graveyard of names.
Pirates, revolutionaries, assassins—individuals so dangerous that even their existence was meant to be forgotten. Even the air felt different. Heavy. Oppressive. Like it pressed against the lungs. Hannyabal adjusted his hat nervously.
Calm down… calm down… you're the Vice Warden…!
His ambition burned fiercely beneath the fear. One day… He would sit in the seat of the warden. He would surpass Magellan. At least… that's what he told himself. In truth, even Hannyabal knew the gap between them was insurmountable. The Warden of Impel Down wasn't just a position. It required strength comparable to a marine admiral.
And Hannyabal… He couldn't even imagine reaching that level. But that didn't matter. If he couldn't surpass Magellan with strength—he would do it through cunning. Schemes. Manipulation. Every opportunity to tarnish the Warden's name was one step closer to the seat he desired.
And today? Today was supposed to be his opportunity. Something about Level 6 had been… off. Unusual silence. Strange reports coming from the guards posted near the entrance of Level 6. To Hannyabal, it had looked like the perfect chance. A routine inspection request.
A harmless suggestion to the Warden that would, at the very least, add to his already piling troubles within the underwater prison because, unlike the other 5 layers, which were constantly monitored, Level 6 was a completely sealed level, one way in and one way out.
Maybe Magellan was getting careless… Maybe the great Warden was slipping… It was the kind of subtle move Hannyabal thrived on.
But—the moment he had stood before Magellan and presented his "concerns," everything had gone wrong. Horribly wrong.
***
Magellan had listened. Silently. Arms crossed. Poison dripping faintly from his massive form, hissing as it touched the ground. Hannyabal had spoken with forced confidence, carefully choosing his words.
"Given the importance of Level 6, I believe it would be wise for you to personally conduct an inspection, Warden Magellan."
A pause. Hannyabal had already begun imagining it. Magellan descending. Magellan finding something wrong, maybe a few missing or dead prisoners. Magellan looking exhausted. Magellan's reputation taking the slightest hit. Perfect.
But then Magellan had nodded like he agreed with Hannyabal completely. "Good suggestion." Hannyabal blinked. Then came the words that shattered everything.
"In that case…" Magellan's eyes shifted downward toward him. "…you will handle it." Silence.
Hannyabal's smile froze. "After all," Magellan continued calmly, "you are now the Vice Warden."
The title suddenly felt less like a promotion… And more like a death sentence. "You have the authority to supervise all levels of Impel Down, including Level 6."
Hannyabal's brain short-circuited. "…Eh?" Magellan didn't stop.
"Consider this your first official responsibility in your new role." The room felt colder. "You'll personally inspect Level 6 and report back to me." Hannyabal's soul left his body.
***
Tap…Tap…Tap…
The sound of footsteps echoed behind him. Calm. Unhurried. Not the nervous shuffle of a subordinate. Hannyabal turned slightly—just in time for a man to walk past him, nudging him away. No salute. No acknowledgment. Nothing. The man simply brushed past him as if he didn't exist.
Hannyabal's eye twitched. The man wore Impel Down's Chief Guard uniform, but his presence felt completely different from the others. Cold. Detached. A faint scent of steel and something darker lingered around him. Shiryu. Still relatively new to Impel Down. But already infamous among the staff.
Young. Yet carrying himself like a seasoned executioner. His hand rested casually near the hilt of his blade, as if violence were simply second nature. Hannyabal puffed his chest slightly.
"Oi! Shiryu!" No response. Shiryu continued walking, descending down the stairs. Hannyabal's face flushed. "I'm talking to you! That's the Vice Warden you just passed!"
Shiryu stopped. For a brief moment. Then he tilted his head slightly, glancing at Hannyabal from the corner of his eye. There was no fear. No respect. Only mild disinterest.
"…Vice Warden?" His voice was calm. Almost bored. Then, without waiting for a reply—he continued walking. Leaving Hannyabal standing there. Ignored. Hannyabal clenched his fists.
"That insolent—!" But the words died in his throat. Because deep down… He knew, that people like Shiryu should not be crossed. In the time Shiryu had been stationed here, he had already figured everyone out. The guards. The officers. The hierarchy.
And most importantly—who actually mattered. There was only one person in this entire underwater prison that Shiryu truly acknowledged. One man whose presence commanded genuine caution. Magellan. The Warden. Everyone else? Titles meant nothing. Ranks meant nothing. Only strength mattered in a place like this.
And Hannyabal… Was painfully aware he didn't have it. The iron door behind them slowly shut with a thunderous CLANG. Sealing them inside the depths of Level 6.
Hannyabal adjusted his hat again, his hands slightly shaky. This is bad… this is really bad… His eyes darted toward the descending darkness. Every step down felt heavier than the last. The air itself seemed thicker. Colder. Like it carried the weight of countless forgotten monsters.
"…Damn you, Magellan…" he muttered under his breath.
Soon, Hannyabal and Shiryu found themselves standing at the threshold of the lowest level of Impel Down. Level 6. There were no cells in sight. No movement. No sound. Only darkness.
The corridor stretched endlessly in both directions, a suffocating void that swallowed even the faintest trace of light. It was so pitch black that Hannyabal couldn't see even two feet ahead of him. The air felt… wrong—heavy, ancient, as though it had not been disturbed for decades.
Hannyabal's breath hitched. "This… this is it…?"
Shiryu didn't respond. Instead, he casually unsheathed his blade. The sound of steel sliding free echoed unnaturally loud in the silence. Without warning— CLANG!
He swung the blade backward, striking the reinforced steel wall behind them. Sparks exploded from the impact, scattering like fireflies in the void. One of those sparks kissed the wick of a nearby torch—and it ignited. Then another. And another.
One by one, stretching endlessly down the corridor, torches flickered to life in a chain reaction, their flames dancing wildly as if disturbed by something unseen. Yet even with hundreds of torches lit, the darkness remained.
Not gone. Not even weakened. Just… pushed back enough to reveal shapes. Bars. Massive iron doors. Shadows that seemed to breathe. Hannyabal felt his throat go dry. Shiryu, on the other hand, smiled. A slow, creeping smile that didn't belong in a place like this.
"…So this is what he's been hiding." His voice was almost amused. All this time, Magellan had denied him access. "Insufficient clearance," he would say. But Shiryu had never believed that.
No—he knew the truth. Magellan had noticed. The "bizzare incidents." Prisoners found dead. Reports altered. Patterns buried beneath paperwork.
Magellan knew Shiryu's nature. And Level 6? Level 6 was not a place where such "incidents" could be allowed. So he kept Shiryu out. Deliberately. But today—that barrier was gone. And now, standing at the entrance, Shiryu finally understood what had been denied to him.
This wasn't a prison. This was a graveyard of legends. A hunting ground. And not the kind he had grown bored of. Level 5 inmates… they screamed too easily. Broke too quickly. Even the strongest among them had begun to feel… mundane.
But here? Here… Shiryu could already tell—these were different.
Click. A small, sharp sound broke the silence. Flint struck steel. A spark flared to life in Shiryu's hand. He brought it lazily to the tip of a cigar held between his lips. The ember caught. He inhaled deeply. The tip glowed red in the darkness, a single burning point against the suffocating void. Then he exhaled.
Smoke curled upward, twisting like something alive. Satisfied, Shiryu closed his eyes for a brief moment. And listened. No, he felt. His Observation Haki spread outward like an invisible tide. At first nothing and then something. A presence. Heavy. Oppressive. Then another. And another. Each one deeper than the last. Stronger. Older. More… monstrous. Shiryu's smile widened.
"…Ah…" The deeper his senses reached, the more grotesque the presences became. Some were faint, like dying embers that refused to go out. Others were overwhelming—like dormant volcanoes waiting for the slightest disturbance. And some…some felt ancient. Wrong. As if they didn't belong in this era at all.
Rumors whispered through Impel Down spoke of prisoners who had been locked away here for decades. Some said even longer. Centuries. Buried alive in darkness so complete that the world itself had forgotten them. Shiryu opened his eyes. The cigar burned steadily between his lips.
"…This is perfect." His voice was low. Almost reverent. Behind him, Hannyabal shuddered, feeling none of what Shiryu sensed— But somehow understanding everything. Because the way Shiryu looked into that darkness—it wasn't fear. It wasn't caution. It was hunger.
"Shiryu… do not cause any trouble here." Hannyabal's voice trembled despite his attempt to sound authoritative. His eyes darted nervously toward the shadowed cells lining the corridor.
"If you want, I'll arrange prisoners from the higher levels—Level 4, Level 5, whoever you want. But here… here you absolutely cannot cause any problems."
He swallowed hard. Because unlike the upper levels, Level 6 wasn't just dangerous— It was forbidden. He had read the records. Sealed documents. Names erased from history. Monsters whose very existence had been deemed too dangerous for the world to remember. And now he was standing among them.
But Shiryu didn't even bother to look at him. He took a slow, casual step forward, boots echoing softly against the stone.
"Hm…" The ember of his cigar flared as he inhaled. Then, almost lazily, he spoke— "I wonder…"
Another step. "…what kind of chaos this world would descend into…" His fingers brushed against the cold iron bars of a nearby cell. "…if all these monsters were to escape one day."
Hannyabal's heart skipped. Shiryu stopped. Then tilted his head slightly, a faint grin creeping across his face.
"Wouldn't it be simpler…" A pause. "…to just slaughter them all and be done with it?"
"NO—!" Hannyabal practically yelped, stumbling forward in panic. "No, no, no—you absolutely cannot!" His voice cracked under the pressure. "We are here for inspection only! Inspection! We are not to interact with the prisoners, not to provoke them, not to even acknowledge them!" His breathing grew uneven. "You can't touch anyone here—do you understand?!"
"Tch…" Shiryu clicked his tongue in mild annoyance. "It's not like I asked for your permission." He exhaled a slow stream of smoke, eyes half-lidded with disinterest. Then, as if remembering something amusing— "Wasn't it just a few years ago…" His voice sharpened slightly. "…that this place was broken into by the Donquixote Brothers?"
Hannyabal stiffened. "…!"
"They helped several high-level criminals escape from this very level, didn't they?" Shiryu's gaze shifted sideways, glancing into the darkness of one of the cells. "The previous Warden of Impel Down…" A faint smirk. "…died during that incident too, if I recall correctly."
Hannyabal's face paled. "That—That was a classified—!" But Shiryu had already moved on. Slowly. Deliberately. Each step unhurried. Each movement filled with quiet intent. His fingers trailed along the iron bars as he walked past cell after cell.
Clink…Clink…Clink…
The sound echoed unnaturally loud in the silence. He wasn't just walking. He was observing.
Examining. Like a predator strolling through a cage of chained beasts. Inside the darkness—
Something shifted. A faint movement. A pair of eyes opened. Then another. And another. From within the shadows, unseen figures began to stir.
Some watched in silence. Others leaned forward slightly, chains creaking. A low chuckle echoed from somewhere deep within the corridor.
"Heh…interesting…" Shiryu stopped in front of one particular cell. The presence behind those bars—heavy. Ancient. Unyielding. For a brief moment—even Shiryu's smile paused.
Then slowly, it returned. Wider. Sharper. More dangerous. "…So there really are monsters down here." He took another drag from his cigar, the ember glowing brighter in the dim light. "…Good."
"Oye… Hannyabal… aren't the prisoners down here supposed to be shackled with seastone chains…?" Shiryu's voice cut through the suffocating silence, low and almost amused. He didn't turn. He didn't need to.
His sharp, predatory eyes were already locked onto something in the darkness beyond the bars. Hannyabal froze mid-step. The torchlight flickered weakly along the damp stone corridor, casting long, trembling shadows that seemed to breathe with the prison itself. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple as he forced himself to look toward the sealed cell. Unlike Shiryu, he saw nothing—only a void of blackness swallowing the light whole.
His heart began to pound. Whose cell is this…?
They had descended too deep—far deeper than most dared. Down here, every prisoner was a monster. Protocol was absolute: layer upon layer of seastone chains, enough to crush even the strongest will. So why…
"…why does it feel like something's wrong?" Hannyabal muttered under his breath. He stepped closer to the bars, gripping his staff tighter. His eyes strained, trying to pierce the darkness.
Then— Clink. A faint metallic sound echoed. Not the stillness of chains …but the shift of something that shouldn't be moving. Shiryu's smirk widened. Inside the cell, something stirred.
"I didn't expect anyone to come down here…" A deep, gravelly voice rolled out from the shadows, slow and heavy, like distant thunder. "…I just needed a few more days to break out of this."
A pause. Then—THUD. A footstep. The air itself seemed to tighten. Another step. The darkness began to peel away as a figure emerged—massive, imposing. The dim torchlight trembled as it finally caught him. First, his legs—still bound by thick seastone chains, dragging with each step yet moving as if they weighed nothing.
Then his torso—scarred, battle-worn… and free. Chains hung in broken, twisted fragments around him, as though they had been torn apart by sheer, monstrous force. Jagged pieces still clung to his body, biting into his skin, but he didn't seem to feel them at all.
One side of his body ended abruptly. His arm—gone. Not cleanly, but violently, as if ripped away in the midst of battle. And yet he stood tall. Unbowed. Unbroken. Finally, his face came into the light. Wild hair. A savage grin beginning to form.
And his eyes—madness. Pure, unrestrained madness burned within them, mixed with something far worse… anticipation. Douglas Bullet. The "Demon Heir." Hannyabal's breath hitched violently as recognition struck him.
"N–No… that's—" Bullet stepped fully into the flickering torchlight. The shadows danced across his face, making him look less like a man… and more like a beast finally stepping out of its cage.
"It seems like luck isn't really on my side," Bullet said, his voice low, almost disappointed. He flexed his remaining hand, the sound of strained metal echoing as the last chains around his legs groaned under the pressure but still held. "I was hoping to escape out of this hellhole without alarming anyone."
Shiryu let out a quiet chuckle, clearly entertained. But Hannyabal—Hannyabal took a step back.
Then another. His instincts screamed at him. If I came here alone… I would already be dead. The realization hit him like a blade to the throat. Bullet wasn't just dangerous. He was days away from freedom.
"No… no, this is bad…" Hannyabal stammered, his voice cracking as panic set in. He grabbed Shiryu's sleeve, tugging urgently. "We need to inform the warden—right now! Shiryu, let's go!"
"Are you not going to try and forcibly break the last few remaining chains…?" Shiryu's voice carried a sharp edge of mockery, his lips curling into a thin, dangerous smile. "Who knows… you might still have a chance of walking out of here."
He completely ignored the Vice Warden's panicked plea. If anything—he welcomed the chaos. Shiryu's hand drifted, almost unconsciously, to the hilt of his blade. His fingers tightened around it, knuckles whitening ever so slightly. There was a hunger in his eyes now… a quiet anticipation.
He wanted this. Wanted the chains to shatter. He wanted the monster before him to break free—so he could cut him down. But—Bullet didn't move. No surge of brute force. No roar of defiance. No desperate attempt to snap the last of the sea stone binding his legs.
Instead… he simply stood there. Watching. Thinking. And that… made Shiryu frown. Because Douglas Bullet was no fool. Not anymore. Once, he had been a man driven purely by overwhelming pride and raw strength—charging headfirst into battle without hesitation. But that man had died the day he fell to Scopper Gaban… and what little remained of that arrogance had been buried when Monkey D. Garp dragged him here in chains.
Time—years of it—had carved something new into him. Something colder. Something far more dangerous. Even now, with madness still burning in his eyes, there was calculation behind it. Precision. Patience. It had taken him years to break each shackle… slowly, silently, piece by piece.
Now his secret was exposed. And he understood the situation perfectly. With the remaining seastone still binding him, his strength was suppressed. His Devil Fruit was nullified. His body—restricted. And standing just beyond the bars…was Shiryu. A man who, even at full strength, would not be easily cut down.
Not like this. Not half-chained.
So Bullet made a choice. Not to fight. Not yet. The tension in the air shifted. Slowly, deliberately, Bullet stepped forward… until the chains pulled taut. Then, without breaking eye contact, he lowered himself to the ground. Cross-legged. Right in front of the cell door. The broken fragments of chains clinked softly as he settled, like a beast choosing to sit rather than strike.
And then—"I would like to speak to the Gorosei. "
Silence. For a moment, even the dripping of water in the corridor seemed to stop. Hannyabal blinked. Once. Twice. His fear faltered—replaced, briefly, by pure confusion.
"…You want to speak to who?" he asked, stepping forward despite himself, his voice caught somewhere between disbelief and incredulity. Had he misheard? Was this some kind of delusion?
"Who do you think the Gorosei are?" Hannyabal continued, a nervous scoff escaping him as he tried to regain composure. "Your next-door neighbors? Why would the esteemed rulers of the world come all the way down here to meet a criminal who's going to rot and die in this prison?!"
His voice echoed, a little louder now—bolstered by the fact that Shiryu still stood between him and the monster. And the monster… Wasn't moving. Bullet didn't even look at him. Instead, his gaze shifted, locking onto Shiryu. A silent exchange. Shiryu raised an eyebrow… then shrugged, the smirk returning to his face.
"Well, you heard him," he said casually, tilting his head. "Now I'm curious too… Why would the Gorosei come to meet you? Just because you asked nicely?"
For a brief second—nothing. Then— "Kahahahaha…!"
The laughter exploded through Level 6. Dark. Heavy. Unhinged. It reverberated off the stone walls like something alive, crawling into the bones of anyone who heard it. Even Shiryu's smile faltered, his brow tightening ever so slightly.
Because that laughter… Wasn't empty. It was certain. Bullet leaned forward slightly, shadows cutting across his face as his grin widened—feral, knowing.
"Oh… they'll come," he said, his voice dropping into something low and absolute. "They will surely come."
The torchlight flickered violently. His eyes gleamed.
"Just tell them…" A pause. The chains around his legs gave a faint, ominous creak. "… I have a way to help them reach the place they have been trying to reach for centuries… tell them I have a way to let them reach… Raftel."