You ever get the feeling the universe has it out for you?
Not in some vague, philosophical sense. I mean really has it out for you. Like somewhere in the great bureaucracy of cosmic entities, someone found your name, circled it in red ink, underlined it twice, and said, "Let's see how many Final Destination moments we can cram into this guy's Tuesday."
I used to think the universe was impartial. Balanced. Like some grand, indifferent scale that teetered this way and that, with no real concern for who rode its swings. But gods? No. Gods are petty. Petty and dramatic. And when they get bored?
I was apparently their favorite chew toy.
It started off simple. Normal, even. The sun was out. My coffee was hot. I was walking down the street to grab a loaf of bread, basking in the illusion of peace and the scent of morning.
Then the pavement cracked.
And by cracked, I mean it erupted. The ground beneath me exploded upward like I'd stumbled onto a set for the next Michael Bay film. Asphalt tilted skyward into a jagged ramp—and, of course, an eighteen-wheeler barreled around the corner at exactly the wrong time, hit the impromptu launchpad, and took flight.
Yes. A truck. Airborne.
I remember blinking. I remember the shadow falling over me like the hand of God. And I remember diving, coffee flinging through the air like a missile, my heart pounding as I barely missed becoming street art. The truck obliterated a hot dog stand like it owed it money.
I should've taken that as a sign.
But I didn't. I chalked it up to a freak accident, because that's what reasonable people do.
Hours later, I was at my sacred midday nap spot deep in the woods. My zen zone. Just me, filtered sunlight, and the low hum of birdsong. I stretched out on the moss, closed my eyes, and let the calm wash over me…
Until the temperature nosedived like it had debts to settle.
I cracked one eye open.
Lightning forked across the sky in jagged bolts of electric-blue fury. Not distant. Not the polite rumble of bored sky gods. No, this was close—personal. Three bolts slammed into the ground around me like divine arrows, each one igniting the trees, sending birds screaming from the branches.
And just before I ran, I swear I heard a voice whisper:
"Run."
So I did.
By the time I limped into a gas station—singed, smoking, and still twitching from adrenaline—I was half-laughing. I sat on the curb with a juice box like a war vet and muttered to myself, "Alright, Universe. Got it. We're good now."
Then the sky screamed.
A roar like tearing metal echoed above, and a satellite—a literal flaming hunk of orbiting technology—came hurtling down like a vengeful comet. It missed me by three feet. The shockwave launched me into a dumpster like I was yesterday's sushi.
That's when I knew.
This wasn't coincidence. This was cosmic harassment.
By the time I dragged myself home—filthy, bruised, and marinated in expired cologne—I was done trying to rationalize it. Maybe it was karma. Maybe I ran over a leprechaun in a past life. I didn't know.
Then Mr. Harrow—my sweet, tremor-handed elderly neighbor—decided to clean his old pistol.
One accidental bang later… curtain call.
Not the truck. Not the thunderbolts. Not even the satellite from space.
Just Harold. With arthritis.
I don't know how long I've been here.
Wherever here is.
Time doesn't behave in the void. It stretches like taffy, collapses like ash. Seconds bleed into years, years into something unnameable. I stopped counting once the stars began blinking in rhythm with my heartbeat.
The void is silent. Cold. But not empty.
It's beautiful in a way that hurts. Black, yes—but not blank. Silver-white pinpricks shimmer like newborn stars. Colors hover in the dark like memory ghosts: crimson, cerulean, gold, violet. Sometimes they drift. Sometimes they watch.
I still don't know which is worse.
The cold seeps inward—not skin, not muscle, but soul. A quiet frostbite that whispers in your ear, reminding you of every mistake, every doubt. I should've gone mad.
Instead?
I meditated.
Blame anime. Blame boredom. I imagined I was training under Jiraiya. Under Madara. Under some ancient, wild-haired sage with a god complex and too much free time. I envisioned chakra, ki, reiatsu. Slowly, the void began to respond.
I shaped the cold. Bent it. Molded it into crystalline lotuses and frozen stars. Madness became art. Or maybe they were the same.
Then I saw it.
A star—no, a pearl. Drifting closer through the void. Soft white glow, like moonlight on snow. It pulsed with purpose.
I reached.
The void resisted, thick like dreamwater, but I swam. Struggled. Touched it.
The world split open.
Emotion surged: rage, longing, grief, love. Memories—foreign, yet mine—flooded my senses. Over time, I understood.
The void was filled with soul-shards. Each orb a piece of identity: joy, despair, wonder. Nine of them. When I gathered all nine, they merged.
And vanished.
Souls weren't singular. They were mosaics. Fragments scattered, recycled, reborn. That déjà vu? That unshakable familiarity with strangers?
It all made sense.
Then came the voice.
"Well, damn. Didn't think you'd last more than a billion years."
I turned.
She stood like a dream and a warning: pale skin, raven hair, and eyes that shimmered with dying galaxies. Draped in black velvet and sharper sarcasm, she smiled.
"Death?" I croaked.
"Death of the Endless," she corrected, with a wink. "But yeah."
She tilted her head. "You died because a few gods got into a fight. Their divine temper tantrum spilled into your reality. You, my friend, were a casualty."
I stared.
"Good news," she said, summoning a glowing screen with a snap. "You're getting reincarnated."
The screen spun like a divine slot machine:
Shrine
Haki Card
Supreme Grade Sword
Sharingan + Indra's Reincarnation Potential
Custom Devil Fruit
Reincarnation Ability
I whistled. "That's… stacked."
"You'll need it." Her grin widened. "You're going to one piece"
I opened my mouth to ask.
"Don't ask when," she said, and snapped.
Jinx POV
When I woke, I was floating in glowing green liquid, suspended like some half-finished clone. The resemblance to a Dragon Ball healing tank was uncanny—oxygen mask, tubes, the whole deal.
Through the curved glass, I glimpsed the room beyond. Dust-laced air. Rusted lab equipment. Shattered terminals. Cobwebs like lace.
But one thing stole my attention.
Hovering above a pedestal was a fruit: glacial blue, lotus-shaped, veins of silver threading through frost-petal skin. It pulsed faintly, breathing with magic.
Beside it leaned a sword. Long, blackened steel. The edge jagged and cruel, as if it had tasted divinity. The Black Mortal Blade.
Before I could admire it further, the ground shook violently.
An earthquake—or the wrath of titans. A massive support pillar collapsed, crashing into the pod's glass with a thunderous CRACK.
Spiderweb fractures bloomed.
I didn't wait.
I kicked. Once. Twice. The fourth strike groaned. The fifth shattered the tank.
Water burst out like fury unbottled, and I collapsed onto the cold floor, gasping. Every cell in my body screamed.
But air—
Air.
My first breath in thirteen billion years.
I staggered upright, the oxygen mask hissing as it disconnected. Sunlight poured through the crumbled ceiling, warm and golden. I stumbled to a wall, wiped grime from the cracked window…
And froze.
There they were. Banners. Ships. A towering execution platform.
Whitebeard, standing like a mountain.
Flames. Ice. Clashing titans.
The Marineford War.
The turning point.
The arc where gods fall. Where brothers die.
I blinked. My heart stopped. My voice cracked.
"Oh," I whispered, horrified.
"You've got to be kidding me.
Just as I was about to collapse into a corner and let the weight of the world crush me—overwhelmed, exhausted, more alone than I had ever felt in any of my lives—I felt something nudge my leg.
It wasn't forceful. It was… gentle. Like a child tugging at your sleeve, like a memory asking to be remembered.
I looked down.
And there it was.
The Devil Fruit—the one that had once rested on the pedestal, pulsing like a slumbering heart—now lay at my feet. It hadn't rolled. It hadn't fallen. No debris had knocked it loose. It was just… there. As if it had chosen me. As if the quake, the ruin, and everything that had led to this moment had been orchestrated just to deliver this cursed gift.
Its twisted, icy-blue flesh shimmered faintly under the fractured light filtering through the broken ceiling. Frost curled around its surface like breath on glass, and the jagged, swirling patterns carved into its skin looked more like frozen wind than organic growth—etched into it by ancient storms.
My hand trembled as I reached for it.
The moment my fingers brushed the surface, cold surged up my arm like a living thing. Not just cold—wrong. This wasn't the kind of chill that made you shiver. It was ancient. Predatory. The kind of cold that knew your name and whispered it as you slept. The kind that hunted warmth.
I should've dropped it.
Instead, I brought it to my mouth.
The hesitation was brief—a flicker of doubt, a ghost of self-preservation. But I was already too far gone. Too curious. Too desperate.
And so I bit.
The taste was... unspeakable. If frostbitten buffalo meat soaked in swamp water and fermented in despair had a flavor, this was it. Bitter and sharp, like sucking on regret. The flesh turned to mush in my mouth, oozing cold like it wanted to become one with me.
I gagged. My throat tried to reject it. My stomach threatened revolt.
But I forced it down.
Every instinct I had screamed no. Every cell in my body rioted. But something deeper, something older, whispered yes. And I listened.
That's when the world changed.
The air around me dropped ten degrees in a breath. The moisture in the atmosphere condensed into glittering crystals that hovered for a moment before collapsing into frost. My breath puffed out in thick clouds. The puddles beneath my feet flash-froze, jagged ice crackling outward in delicate webs across the stone floor.
Even the insects stopped.
In the shadows, I saw them—tiny shapes frozen mid-scuttle, caught in ice like ancient relics in amber. A field of silent statues where once there was life. The frost had taken them all.
Then it crept further.
It spread up the walls. Across the broken windows. The room transformed into a tomb of silence and frost, all still, all hushed. And in the center, I stood—barefoot, soaked, shivering, and… awakening.
It wasn't a voice. It wasn't a teacher or a god handing down power with ceremony and grace.
It was memory. Instinct. Truth crashing into me like an avalanche of ice and spirit. Visions filled my mind, not like dreams, but like reminders. Like I had always known them—had simply forgotten.
Snow. Claws. Fire. Masks. A tail of smoke beneath a winter moon. I saw myself not as I was, but as I could be: a spectral fox of snow and fury, dancing through frozen forests with light and shadow woven into my fur.
The name came like a whisper, reverent and eternal:
The Yokai Yokai no Mi: Model Yuki-Kitsune.
My breath caught.
Foxfire danced around my fingers—ghostly magenta flames that didn't burn, but bit. Illusions shimmered behind my eyes, as if reality itself had grown fragile and pliable in my grasp. I could feel the very concept of warmth recoiling from me. The lines between spirit and flesh had blurred. I was no longer just Jinx.
I was becoming something else.
Something ancient.
Something hunted in fairy tales and worshipped in winter shrines.
And as I stood there, the shattered ruins of the lab slowly entombed in my frost, I realized one thing:
The gods weren't done with me.
Not by a long shot.
I grabbed the black Mortal Blade and scanned the room for an exit — didn't take long. A massive, obnoxiously glowing EXIT sign practically screamed at me from the far wall. Still, instead of rushing out, I hesitated. Something told me to look around. And I'm glad I did.
Near one of the back tables, half-buried under broken glass and cables, I found scattered records — personal notes, all scribbled in Vegapunk's shorthand. I skimmed them, my brow furrowing as pieces of the truth fell into place. This body — my body now — wasn't just some engineered clone or spare shell. It had been gifted directly by three of the Five Elders, cobbled together from what had once been nothing more than a well-preserved corpse. No blood vials. No heartbeat. No soul. Their instructions had been simple: "Do whatever it takes to bring him back."
And so Vegapunk did. He'd taken DNA from King, Kaido's infamous right hand — a Lunarian, no less — and began isolating the racial sequences from the man's blood, fusing them with my own ruined remains. The process was experimental. Dangerous. And about a month ago, he declared it a failure. No report was ever sent to the Elders, likely because Vegapunk had been yanked back to Egghead to avoid getting vaporized during the War of the Best. Made sense. He always did know how to disappear when things got loud.
"Hmm… So the transfer of my soul into this body might've been what finally kicked it into waking up." I paused, eyes flicking back to the notes. "But if I have Lunarian DNA... then where the hell are my wings?"
As if summoned by the sheer irony of that thought, a sharp heat bloomed across my back — and with a crunch of bone and a hiss of pressure, six obsidian wings burst free. I staggered forward slightly, turning my head to glimpse them as they fanned out behind me like some fallen seraph. I sighed, the weight of the cliché almost heavier than the wings themselves.
"Of course. Of all the tropes…"
After regaining my balance — physically and emotionally — I found another file: Vegapunk's experimental index. Mine was listed at the top, bolded and red-stamped. Priority: Absolute. Clearly, the Elders had placed more importance on this project than anything else. That alone made me uneasy.
I knew what I had to do. Carefully, I stacked the files, focused, and summoned a flicker of foxfire from my fingertips — just enough to ignite the corner. The flames danced, hungry and silent, consuming paper, secrets, and sins alike. Then I spread the fire wider, sweeping it across the lab until the entire chamber began to burn. If the Elders said only Vegapunk could know, then no one — not even his shadow — should ever find a trace of it.
As the inferno roared behind me, casting long shadows across the hallway, I stepped through the doorway, not bothering to look back.
Unaware of the hidden camera nestled in the upper corner.
Unaware of the small red light that blinked steadily, quietly.
As someone, somewhere, watched in silence.
After stepping out of the lab, I found myself navigating the ruined halls of Marineford. The entire fortress groaned with each passing second, the very bones of the structure trembling beneath my feet. I struggled to keep my balance, my footsteps uneven as the floor pitched and tilted from distant impacts. Chunks of ceiling crashed down all around me — steel beams, shattered stone, sparks — raining like divine judgment. The main building was barely holding itself together, torn apart by the chaos of battle.
Every few seconds, the air quaked with a distant roar, followed by the sharp crack of something colossal breaking. I sidestepped a slab of debris that narrowly missed caving in my skull and pressed forward, ducking beneath a collapsing archway.
Then, out of nowhere — mid-step, mid-breath — a thought struck me like a lightning bolt:
"Do I… have skills now?"
I didn't even have time to finish the thought properly. A soft chime echoed in my skull, and suddenly, a list blinked into existence before my eyes — translucent, glowing, utterly absurd.
My eyes widened. I stared in disbelief, borderline offended at the sheer bullshit these skills were.
separate dimension for safekeeping and can summon them back with relative ease.
(B)Sharingan:The Sharingan is a powerful and distinctive dojutsu (eye technique) in the "Naruto" series, primarily wielded by members of the Uchiha clan. It grants users enhanced perception abilities, allowing them to copy techniques, predict movements, and cast powerful genjutsu (illusion techniques). Advanced stages of the Sharingan can evolve into the Mangekyō Sharingan and further into the Rinnegan, each providing increasingly formidable abilities.
(S)The Yokai Yokai no Mi, Model: Yuki-Kitsune is a Mythical Zoan-type Devil Fruit that grants its user the divine form of a celestial snow fox yokai — a fusion of the chilling elegance of the Yuki-Onna and the mystical, shape-shifting sorcery of the Kitsune. This transformation brings absolute control over ice, snow, cold winds, and foxfire — an ethereal flame that can purify, curse, or sear the soul. The user moves like a ghost across frozen landscapes, leaving no footprints, and possesses a haunting beauty that can charm, mesmerize, or paralyze with a glance. At night or beneath moonlight, their speed, regeneration, and illusions intensify, becoming an almost untouchable wraith dancing between flame and frost. Their powers evolve with age: as they gain tails, each representing spiritual maturity and power, their abilities grow stronger — with nine tails signifying divine status.One of the fruit's most devastating and divine abilities is Life-Force Manipulation. The user can absorb, suppress, or bestow life energy through touch, kiss, breath, or foxfire. In their Dark Aspect, they can drain vitality from foes to heal themselves, rapidly age others, or freeze their life force entirely — turning victims into statues of living ice. In their Light Aspect, they can transfer life energy to allies, reanimate dying plants, or heal grievous wounds by sharing their own essence. This power is spiritual as much as physical, allowing them to detect the "life thread" in all things — plants, animals, emotions, even a fading soul. Combined with their Nature Awareness, they become a guardian or executioner of balance, choosing whether to nurture life or bring merciful death.Their Age Empowerment not only boosts their raw strength, stamina, and magical depth, but grants the unprecedented ability to consume and wield multiple Devil Fruits, one for each tail they possess. This mythical ability overrides the natural limitations of Devil Fruit users — a trait unique to this divine fox form. In battle, they blend spiritual claws, illusion sorcery, cold dominion, life-force theft, and multi-fruit chaos with sublime control. Their presence becomes a force of nature: the moon dims, the air stills, and time seems to slow as the Yuki-Kitsune dances across the battlefield — a deity of snow, fire, life, and death, reborn in fox form.An extension of this sacred control is their "Final Breath Harvest"—a forbidden yet sacred act. At the brink of death, the user may extract the Devil Fruit essence from a dying user's soul—a fragile, glowing thread of will and power. This act must occur at the precise moment between life and oblivion and requires either a kiss, direct heart contact, or a breath transfer. The extracted essence may be absorbed by the user or stored in a soul-infused vessel, allowing for preservation or inheritance. However, this power is not without consequence; misusing it risks damaging the balance of reincarnation, causing karmic repercussions or spiritual backlash from the world itself.
(B)Ignite: Lunarians possess the ability to "ignite" their body and manipulate the fire they create, including for the projection concentrated fire blasts, mold the flames to give them shapes or fire-clad physical attacks.However, it appears that, at certain points, a lunarian's signature durability is lost when the flame burning at their back goes out, though they will gain extra speed in exchange.
(S)Echoes of Madness
Echoes of Madness is a Special Grade Cursed Technique that weaponizes the user's imagination, manifesting illusions drawn from the darkest corners of their psyche. These illusions override the target's five senses—sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch—creating horrifyingly real hallucinations that can paralyze or psychologically shatter victims. When amplified, the technique can trick the brain into believing it's been physically harmed, causing psychosomatic injuries or death. However, the technique comes at a steep cost: each use chips away at the user's sanity, risking hallucinations, dissociation, or even complete psychological collapse. The longer it's used, the more the user risks being consumed by the very madness they unleash.
(A)Enhanced Swordsmanship-Users possess incredible proficiency and skill in wielding and utilizing a sword, a bladed melee weapon intended for cutting or thrusting that is longer than a knife or dagger, consisting of a long blade attached to a hilt.
(A)Haoshoku Haki-a rare form of Haki that allows the user to exert their own willpower over others.
(A)Shrine: Sukuna's cursed technique allows him to launch slashes at various ranges to cut through objects and space, as well as unleash destructive flames.
(SS)Overactive Imagination: a powerful and versatile ability that allows the user to predict and decode an enemy's tactics by analyzing patterns in their fighting style. Upon witnessing a technique for the first time, the user begins to break it down, with the ability to predict future moves based on the established patterns. If the user knows the name of the technique, they can decode it faster, but it's not required. As the user encounters the technique more often, they gain a deeper understanding and faster reaction time, eventually being able to use the technique themselves if they have the required physical abilities. Additionally, the user can merge techniques they've mastered, creating new hybrid abilities. The user can also adapt their body in response to danger, evolving according to their race's natural evolutionary line, improving traits like durability or strength. However, when the user suffers a physical blow to the brain, their brain shuts down as a defense mechanism, leaving their body to fight on instinct and only using techniques they've mastered. While this defense keeps the user functional, it limits their capacity to act until they regain full control. Overactive Imagination grants immense strategic combat potential, offering both offensive and defensive advantages, but it comes with the challenge of mastering and adapting techniques in real-time and dealing with the physical limits of the user's body.
(B)Supernatural Sexual Mastery:Users have an innate mastery of the associated sexual skills, techniques, speech and body language, expertly sending all the right signals, granting them major leverage in any sexual situation and allowing the user to easily to cause the highest sexual satisfaction regardless of who they exert these talents on. Some forms of this power may be mental rather than physical. A flawless master will employ both.
(A)Seduction Mastery:The user possesses flawless seductive skills and overwhelming charming allure which they can use to easily and efficiently seduce, charm, persuade and manipulate anyone and everyone of either the same, opposite, or entirely different species of sex.
(A)Enhanced Gambling Mastery:User can gamble at a master level and have some natural instinct when it comes to the art of gambling.
Sleight of Hand Mastery:The user, either innately or through training, is a master of of sleight of hand tricks, able to use dexterous hand movements designed to manipulate objects and deceive opponents.
(B)Enhanced Culinary Mastery:Users have an intuitive mastery of all the associated culinary skills and techniques granting them major leverage in any culinary situation and allowing the user to easily to cook the most delicious food. Users can perfectly and without a single flaw or mistake cook any and every type of dish, was and will ever be, whenever they want with zero effort by themselves in a short amount of time.
(A)Knife Proficiency:The user, either innately or through training, is a master of wielding knives, tools or weapons with cutting edges or blades, often attached to handles or hilts. They are able to wield small blades with great proficiency and cunning as well as stealth, concealing multiple knives on their person flawlessly, to be retrieved at will in combat.
(S)Dark Cryokinesis is a devastating elemental ability that embodies the true definition of cold as the total absence of heat. Unlike traditional ice powers, it creates pitch-black ice that absorbs warmth, light, and all forms of energy from its surroundings, expanding as it feeds. This black ice draws power like a void, growing stronger the more it consumes, but its capacity is limited by how much energy the user puts into it. If that limit is exceeded, the ice shatters violently. The ability also distorts the environment, darkening everything nearby and silencing even sound. With mastery, it gains void-like properties—erasing motion, warping perception, and unraveling reality itself. In short, Dark Cryokinesis is the power to freeze existence into nothingness.
(B)Guitar Mastery:User, either innately or through training, is a master of playing the guitar or other guitar-related instruments such as acoustic bass, electric bass, flat top guitar and twelve-string guitar.
(B)Violin Mastery:The user, either innately or through training, is a master of playing the violin or other violin-related instruments such as the viola and cello.
(B)Piano Mastery:The user is a master of playing the piano or other piano-related instruments such as the harpsichord, organ or clavichord.
(A)Enhanced Singing Mastery:Users have an intuitive mastery of all the skills and techniques associated with singing, granting them major leverage in any singing situation.
I stared blankly at the skill list hovering before my eyes, the words glowing faintly like they were mocking me. At first, I was stunned to see just how much had carried over from my past life — even the weird stuff. Skills like "Master of Sex and Seduction" made me blink twice, and not just from embarrassment. That... was definitely from my more enthusiastic hobby phase. Then there was "Proficiency with a Knife," which made sense considering how many hours I spent binge-watching Gordon Ramsay and trying to recreate his dishes — stress cooking turned out to be a transferable skill, apparently.
But what truly floored me were the top four skills, each one more absurd than the last.
First was my Cursed Technique: Echoes of Madness — a name that sounded like it belonged in a horror manga rather than my skill sheet. Then came Dark Cryokinesis, which the system claimed I acquired from my time in the Void — wherever the hell that was. The third was what made my breath hitch: a Mythical Zoan Devil Fruit. According to the description, it was powerful enough to rival the so-called "God Fruits" of the One Piece world. That alone was already pushing the edge of what should be possible.
But the fourth — the one that made my stomach twist with unease and wonder — was a passive ability labeled:
"Overactive Imagination (Reincarnation Variant)."
At first, it sounded like a joke. But reading its effects nearly made my jaw drop. Apparently, this ability allowed my imagination to manifest potential — to subtly bend probability and reality in favor of whatever I focused on deeply enough. Basically, it supercharged learning, creativity, and luck to broken levels. I wasn't complaining… but it did explain a lot.
Looking back, I always progressed faster than I should've. Whether it was gambling, or picking up the piano, guitar, violin, or painting — especially painting, which had always been my favorite — it was like I was tuned into something just beyond normal.