Chapter 1: Death Twice, Fight Once
He died.
Not once.
But twice.
The first time came quietly, like a shadow slipping through a world too busy to notice. In a city filled with clamor and chaos, where faces blurred and names were forgotten before they left lips, he was nothing. Just another ghost swallowed by the darkness. The blade struck without warning — swift, silent, final. Blood pooled beneath him, the cold pavement soaking it up as if it had always belonged there.
No one came. No one mourned. No one remembered.
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But death was not the end.
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When he opened his eyes again, the air was thick with salt and the sting of brine. Water pressed against his skin, cold and endless. The ocean stretched out before him — vast, merciless, and boundless. The sky overhead was a strange blue, a canvas stretched too wide to see its edges.
He was somewhere new. Somewhere dangerous.
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He was born again.
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In a small fishing village on the edge of East Blue, where the wind carried the taste of salt and despair. The sun barely touched the worn stones, and the air was thick with the quiet of those who had forgotten hope.
He was a boy marked by sickness and weakness. His bones felt fragile, his breath shallow and uneven. The villagers whispered of curses — bad luck clinging to his name like a dark cloud.
"Cursed," they said.
"Bad omen."
"Worthless."
Their eyes bore into him like daggers, sharp and unforgiving.
But he refused to break.
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He learned.
He learned to move silently beneath gnarled trees.
He learned to strike hard and fast with whatever he could find—a broken blade, a sharpened stick.
He learned to survive the hunger gnawing at his gut and the cold that seeped deep into his bones.
At night, when the village was silent and the moon hung low and watchful, he trained. His fists cracked against stone; his skin was torn and raw. Every scar was a lesson. Every ache a reminder.
He promised himself:
I will live.
I will be strong.
I will not be forgotten.
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Time moved slowly, like the tides pulling the shore.
His body grew stronger, though never fast enough.
His eyes sharpened, cold and calculating.
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Then, fire came.
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Pirates.
Not the heroes sung about in stories, but monsters cloaked in grins. They swept through the village like a plague. Flames devoured homes. Screams shattered the night like broken glass.
He fought.
Alone.
With nothing but desperate fury and broken weapons.
But it was not enough.
Blades tore through him. Ribs shattered beneath crushing blows. The earth beneath him turned red.
He fell.
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He died again.
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Beneath the ash and ruin of what had once been home.
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He should have faded into nothingness.
But the void rejected him.
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Between worlds, where lost souls drift like smoke, something ancient stirred. Something older than time. A presence like cold steel.
A voice.
Not kind. Not cruel. Just certain.
"You burn," it said.
"Without name. Without fate. Without mercy.
But you burn."
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The voice was no gift.
It was a challenge.
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It offered power.
Power earned only through blood.
Power that would consume those who were weak.
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The Claimbreaker System.
Kill.
Claim.
Grow.
Take strength from those you defeat.
Feed your hunger on victory.
Fail—and be devoured.
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No mercy.
No second chances.
Only hunger.
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Then, the voice showed him his next world.
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Not peace.
Not rest.
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A world of souls and swords.
Of endless war.
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Bleach.
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Not the calm of old days.
But the raging fire of the Thousand-Year Blood War.
Where captains wielded power to shatter mountains.
Where death was the only certainty.
Where the weak were crushed beneath the weight of history.
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The perfect place for one who refused to be forgotten.
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The crimson fire of the Claimbreaker surged inside him.
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This time, he would not die alone.
This time, he would rise.
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He would fight.
He would kill.
He would claim.
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Because he was no longer just a boy.
He was a breaker.
A killer.
A Claimbreaker.
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The war was waiting.
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And he was ready.
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The first world had taken him twice, but the second would be different.
He could feel it—an ember burning fierce in his chest. Not hope. Not mercy. Power.
That power would carry him through.
No matter the cost.
No matter the enemies.
No matter the pain.
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Because survival was only the beginning.
And the next life was a battlefield waiting to be conquered.