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Blue Lock : The Spirit of The Greatest
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NEW SIVER MEMBERS:- nathan olive
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The sea was vast as always, stretching endlessly toward a horizon that refused to stay still. The storm that had drenched Loguetown had broken, leaving behind a sky that was slowly bruising into twilight purples and deep, oceanic blues.
The black sloop cut through the waves. It was a good ship — sleek and fast — but it was small. Painfully small for two men who took up as much space as Aster D. Rocks and Dracule Mihawk.
Aster stood at the tiller, his hand resting lightly on the wood, guiding the vessel through the currents with an instinct that had been honed by Rayleigh's brutal navigation lessons. He was no expert, but he could manage. The wind tugged at his coat, whipping the white streak of his hair across his face.
Mihawk sat near the bow, leaning back against the gunwale with his legs crossed. He was peeling an apple with a knife so small it looked like a toy in his gloved hands. He hadn't spoken in three hours.
The silence on the boat wasn't awkward, exactly. It was heavy. It was the silence of two nuclear warheads sitting next to each other on a shelf.
I'm bored, Flamey groaned in Aster's mind, the spirit manifesting as a sensation of restless heat behind his eyes. Are we there yet? This is boring. The ocean is just... water. It's so much water. Why is there so much water?
We are heading to Reverse Mountain, Aster thought back, his eyes scanning the horizon. It takes time. Meditate or something.
I don't meditate. I burn. Can we burn something? Can we burn the water?
Aster ignored the spirit and glanced at his new "partner."
Mihawk sliced a piece of apple, the skin coming off in a single, unbroken ribbon that defied the rocking of the ship. He popped the slice into his mouth, chewed methodically, and swallowed.
"Your navigation is adequate," Mihawk said suddenly, his voice cutting through the wind.
Aster blinked. "Thanks."
"Though," Mihawk continued, eyeing the horizon with those unnerving, ringed eyes. "We are drifting two degrees south. The current is shifting."
Aster looked at the compass. The needle hadn't moved. He looked at the water. To the naked eye, it looked the same. But Aster closed his eyes for a second, expanding his Observation Haki into the depths. He felt it — a subtle, cold undertow dragging at the keel.
He corrected the course.
"You have good eyes," Aster noted.
"I see what needs to be seen," Mihawk replied cryptically. He took another bite of the apple. "Tell me, Captain. This giant we are recruiting. Is he aware he is being recruited? Or are we planning to abduct a warrior of Elbaf?"
"He doesn't know me," Aster admitted. "But he'll join. He's waiting for something. I just have to prove I'm the one he's waiting for."
Mihawk hummed, a sound of skepticism. "Prophecies and destiny. Boring concepts. A blade is forged, not fated."
"Maybe," Aster said. "But sometimes the forge is history itself."
Before Mihawk could respond with another nihilistic philosophical dampener, both of them stopped.
They didn't look at each other. They didn't speak. They simply felt it.
About two miles off the starboard bow, emerging from a bank of low-hanging fog, a ship appeared.
It wasn't a sleek sloop like theirs. It was a galleon — bulky, ugly, and heavily armed. It was painted a gaudy red and black, with iron plating bolted haphazardly to the hull. The Jolly Roger flying from the mainmast depicted a skull with a metal jaw clamping down on a bone.
It was heading straight for them on an intercept course.
Finally! Flamey cheered, the mental equivalent of a fireworks display going off in Aster's brain. Content! Entertainment! Victims!
Aster sighed. "Pirates."
Mihawk didn't even look up from his apple. "East Blue trash, by the feel of their intent. Greed. Lust. Stupidity. The standard trifecta."
"They're fast for a tub like that," Aster noted. "They'll be on us in five minutes."
"Do we run?" Mihawk asked, though the tone suggested the idea was offensive to him.
"We have a schedule to keep," Aster said, locking the tiller. "And... that ship looks bigger than ours. More cargo space."
Mihawk's lips quirked up. "I see. Upgrading already?"
The galleon, which Aster could now read as the Iron Mauler, sailed closer. Cannons were run out. Men lined the railings, shouting obscenities and waving rusty cutlasses.
"Hey! Little boat!" a voice boomed from the deck, amplified by a megaphone. A large man with a metal jaw stepped to the rail. "Prepare to be boarded! Surrender your valuables and that fancy sword, and we might just let you swim home!"
Laughter erupted from the pirate crew. They saw two men on a tiny boat. They saw prey.
Aster looked at Mihawk. "Rock, paper, scissors?"
Mihawk stood up. He finished his apple and tossed the core into the sea.
"Don't insult me. I haven't stretched my legs since Loguetown."
"Whatever, don't sink the ship," Aster sighed. "I want it."
"I make no promises," Mihawk said.
As the Iron Mauler pulled alongside them, casting a massive shadow over the sloop, grappling hooks flew through the air. They latched onto the sloop's railing.
"Reel them in, boys!" the Captain shouted. "Let's gut 'em!"
Mihawk didn't wait to be reeled in.
With a movement so casual it looked like he was stepping onto a curb, he leaped. He defied gravity, soaring twenty feet into the air and landing softly on the railing of the pirate ship.
The pirates froze. Up close, the man with the hawk eyes was significantly more terrifying than he had looked from a distance.
"Who the hell are you?" the Captain barked, aiming a flintlock pistol at Mihawk's chest.
Mihawk looked around the deck. There were about fifty men. They smelled of unwashed bodies and cheap rum. Their weapons were chipped. Their stances were full of holes.
"Dracule Mihawk," he introduced himself simply.
"Never heard of ya!" a pirate yelled, swinging a heavy mace. "Get him!"
The mob surged forward.
Aster, watching from the sloop below, leaned back and crossed his arms. "Show off."
On the deck, Mihawk didn't reach for the massive black blade on his back.
Instead, his hand went to his neck. He grasped the small, silver cross pendant hanging there. With a smooth motion, he pulled it free. The bottom of the cross slid off, revealing a blade no longer than three inches.
The pirates stopped for a second, confused.
"Is he... is he gonna pick his teeth?" one pirate laughed.
"Die, fool!" The Captain fired his pistol.
Bang.
Mihawk's hand was a blur. The bullet was met by the tiny blade. With a gentle tink, the lead ball was deflected sideways, embedding itself in the mast.
The laughter died instantly.
"What?" the Captain gasped.
Mihawk stepped forward.
It wasn't a battle. It was a calligraphy lesson.
A pirate swung a cutlass. Mihawk sidestepped, the movement liquid, and tapped the pirate's wrist with the flat of the tiny knife. The pirate screamed, dropping his sword as the bone cracked.
Another attacked from behind. Mihawk ducked without looking, driving the hilt of the kogatana into the man's solar plexus. The pirate folded like wet laundry.
"Why..." the Captain stammered, backing away as his crew fell around him like wheat before a scythe. "Why aren't you using your sword?!"
Mihawk stopped. He stood amidst a circle of groaning, broken bodies. Not a drop of blood was on his white shirt. He held the tiny knife between two fingers.
"I am not a beast who hunts rabbits with a cannon," Mihawk said, his voice cold and bored. "You are not worthy of the Black Blade. You are barely worthy of this."
The insult hit harder than the blows. The Captain roared, his pride shattering. He drew a massive, two-handed broadsword. "I'll kill you! I am Iron Jaw! My bounty is four million berries!"
He charged. It was a clumsy, rage-fueled swing that left his entire torso exposed.
Mihawk sighed. He stepped into the swing.
The tiny blade flashed.
It didn't cut the Captain. It cut the sword.
With a high-pitched ping, the massive steel broadsword snapped clean in half. The top half spun through the air and embedded itself in the deck.
The Captain stood there, holding a broken handle, his eyes wide with incomprehension.
Mihawk placed the tip of the tiny knife against the Captain's throat.
"Sit down," Mihawk commanded.
The Captain sat.
The fighting stopped. The remaining pirates dropped their weapons, their spirits utterly broken by the sheer gap in power. It wasn't that they had lost; it was how they had lost. They had been dismantled by a man using a necklace.
Mihawk looked down at the sloop. "Clear."
Aster grabbed the grappling rope and vaulted up onto the deck. He landed heavily, the wood creaking under his boots. He looked around at the carnage.
"Efficient," Aster nodded.
"They were slow," Mihawk critiqued, re-sheathing his kogatana and hanging it back around his neck. "And loud."
Aster walked over to the Captain, who was trembling on the deck. The man looked up at Aster, seeing the white streak in his hair and the golden eyes.
"P-please," the Captain stammered. "Take the ship! Take the treasure! Just let us go!"
Aster crouched down, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked the man in the eye.
"I have a question," Aster said. "Answer honestly, and it will be quick."
"Anything!"
"Do you have a bounty?" Aster asked. "You said four million. What about the rest of your crew? Anyone worth over ten million?"
The Captain blinked, confused by the question. "N-no! Just me! We... we mostly raid fishing villages! We're just starting out! We haven't done anything big yet!"
"So," Aster said, his voice dropping. "You raid fishing villages. You kill civilians. But you aren't strong enough to warrant real attention from the Marines."
"We're pirates!" the Captain defended weakly. "That's what we do!"
Aster stood up. He looked at Mihawk.
"Trash," Aster said. "Not even worth cashing in."
Mihawk shrugged. "Do as you see fit. I'm going to check the pantry."
Mihawk turned and walked toward the galley, leaving Aster alone with the crew.
The Captain sensed the shift in the air. The temperature on the deck began to rise. It wasn't the sun. It was coming from the man with the white hair.
"Wait," the Captain whispered. "Wait, we surrender! You can't — "
Aster didn't draw his axe. He didn't need to.
He raised his right hand.
"You pollute the sea," Aster said.
His hand erupted.
It wasn't normal fire. It wasn't the bright orange-yellow of a candle. It was a thick, viscous darkness, rimmed with a blood-red halo. It swirled like liquid, heavy and oppressive. The air shimmied, screaming as the moisture was instantly evaporated.
"Burn," Aster whispered.
He swept his hand forward.
The darkness surged. It didn't spread like normal fire; it lunged like a beast. It washed over the Captain and the pirates behind him.
Within seconds, the main deck was clear. There were no bodies. There was no ash. There was just a clean, scorched emptiness where fifty men had been standing. The fire dissipated as quickly as it had come, obeying Aster's will perfectly.
Aster lowered his hand. He felt the familiar rush of energy, a tiny fraction of their life force feeding the fruit, feeding Flamey.
Tasty, Flamey muttered. A bit greasy. But tasty.
Aster turned around to see Mihawk standing by the door to the galley. The swordsman was holding a bottle of wine he had found.
Mihawk was staring at the scorched deck, then at Aster's hand. His eyes were narrowed slightly.
"I didn't know you were a Devil Fruit user," Mihawk said. His tone was neutral, but the curiosity was evident. "Logia? No... that felt heavier."
Aster adjusted his coat. "Something like that."
"Fire usually leaves ash," Mihawk noted, walking over and inspecting the blackened wood. "That... devoured them. Dangerous power."
"It gets the job done," Aster said.
"Why accept the curse?" Mihawk asked, popping the cork on the wine bottle. "A swimmer's weakness is a heavy price for a man who lives on the sea."
Aster walked past him, heading for the helm of the new ship.
"I was offered a damn good deal," Aster said, a smirk touching his lips as he remembered the night he ate the fruit. "Power for a curse. It seemed fair at the time."
Mihawk took a swig of the cheap pirate wine and grimaced. "Terrible vintage. But better than seawater."
Aster grabbed the wheel of the Iron Mauler. It was heavy, sluggish compared to the sloop, but it had power.
"We keep the sloop," Aster ordered. "Tie it to the stern. We tow it."
"As a lifeboat?"
"As a scout ship," Aster corrected. "And because it's faster. When we need speed, we drop the line."
Mihawk nodded. "Practical. I'll tie the knot. But you're cleaning the blood off the lower deck."
"I'm the Captain," Aster shot back.
"And I'm the one with the sword," Mihawk countered smoothly, walking toward the stern.
Aster rolled his eyes, but he felt a sense of satisfaction. They had a bigger ship. They had supplies. They had eliminated a crew of parasites.
He looked ahead. The clouds were clearing completely now.
In the far distance, rising like a red scar against the blue sky, was the Red Line.
The entrance was near.
"Reverse Mountain," Aster whispered. "Get ready, giant. We're coming."
Mihawk finished tying the sloop and walked back up, leaning against the rail next to Aster. He looked at the massive mountain range looming on the horizon.
"The current will be strong," Mihawk said.
"We're stronger," Aster replied.
The stolen galleon, now under new, terrifying management, adjusted its course. The Iron Mauler surged forward, leaving the empty patch of sea behind, carrying two monsters toward the center of the world.
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