Death found him in the space between heartbeats.
One second, the world erupted in a percussive roar of fire and shrapnel. The next: nihility.
When his awareness returned, he found himself suspended in a sea of white. He wanted to question how this was possible, but the thoughts refused to form. Each concept dissolved like mist before taking shape. No corporeal frame existed to anchor him. No voice to speak. An observer without substance.
Gradually, the white sea morphed into structure. An empty office floor stretched across what seemed like the top of the universe. Lustrous white flooring reflected uniform golden lights from a ceiling far above. Floor-to-ceiling windows marched along distant walls, framing nothing but pallid sky. Columns stood in perfect rows like vertebrae, their mirrored doubles creating a skeletal forest across the lacquered expanse.
Then, with the suddenness of a photograph snapping into focus, an old man appeared alongside several other items.
An instant before, he hadn't been there at all. Yet now the old man sat behind a sculpted desk that grew from the floor itself, a pristine white suit draped across his relaxed frame. Burnished black shoes contrasted against the floor. Papers lay stacked under his weathered hands. When he looked up, patient amusement creased his lined face, as if this meeting had been arranged since time immemorial.
"I've been expecting you." His voice carried a warmth, rich as aged whiskey. Papers rustled as he selected a portion from the stack. "Pity, really. A drone strike of all things..."
The suited man rose from the high-backed chair with fluid movement. Too smooth for someone of his apparent age.
He then circled the desk. "If thoughts could materialize for you, they would lead you to who I Am."
The declaration lingered until he spoke again.
"But as your thoughts remain bound, I shall enlighten you. People refer to me by many names: Alpha and Omega, Author, Creator, but I prefer the Almighty.
"You would wonder why an assassin like yourself – no, an 'auditor' – stands before me after death. I must say, 'auditor' is quite an amusing title for your former profession. Amusing as it is, that's not why you're here. You're here because of this."
The Almighty raised his hand. "Here lies the latest chapter of One Piece. And I offer you two choices concerning it."
He released the stack of papers, which then levitated to his side and remained suspended there.
"If you could ponder, you'd question why I would offer you anything at all.
You see, I took a great interest in your life.
Reading a chapter before and after every successful 'audit.' The multifarious 'masks' you wore to become a different person each time... you would've made a fine actor. Along with your other peculiarities, they kept me entertained.
I was rooting for your happy ending, you know, but you were too good at your job. Too useful a tool to be allowed to live if you wouldn't keep working."
The Almighty's right hand ascended toward the golden lights overhead. A miniature planet formed above his palm, its surface mostly ocean with two natural barriers that bisected the world at near perpendicular angles.
"Here are my two offers. First, you can accept these pages and read the series to completion.
Or..." The small world rotated. "You can begin anew in the world of One Piece, pursuing the dream denied to you on Earth.
Neither choice is wrong. Though I admit, I would like to see your story continue. Now go on and choose."
Two offers hovered before the assassin. On the left floated the page; on his right, the world that had brought him solace. Even if he could think at this moment, he wouldn't need to in order to reach a decision.
"Perfect." The Almighty snapped his fingers, causing the page to dissolve into motes of white and gold light before vanishing. "Capability has always been your strong suit. It will remain so in your new life. Proactivity has been your middle ground, and so it shall continue to be.
Relatability, your greatest struggle and weakness, shall remain likewise – a benefit in your former profession, but problematic for that dream of a joyous family life. You'll need to struggle for it. In matters of the heart, I won't provide you with wings; you must crawl from below until you can soar."
The miniature planet drew the assassin's soul in with gentle but irresistible force.
"Upon arrival, you'll receive the three gifts I've prepared for you, my favorite 'auditor.'"
Light flared through the tiny sphere in two quick pulses before it spun so fast its edges evanesced.
"You shall appreciate who I've chosen for you to inhabit and where I've placed you..."
Brightness consumed all as the Almighty's voice receded.
When the light faded, the assassin's awareness floated through the vastness of outer space. Blue Planet loomed below while utter stillness encompassed him before an irresistible force seized him once more, dragging him toward the water world.
☠ ☠ ☠
Waves and brackish air graced the assassin's senses, but he couldn't savor his new environment. Sharp pain lanced through his skull; decades of knowledge and expertise poured into his consciousness. When that agony subsided, the Almighty's first gift arrived, flooding him with another cascade of pain.
Minutes later, he opened his eyes. Vision sharpened to impossible clarity. Individual water particles suspended in sea spray dozens of meters away revealed themselves to him. His hearing extended beyond human limits; seagull calls reached him from a distant shore that appeared as a sliver on the horizon.
With each breath he tasted minerals from the depths and salt crystallizing on his lips. Brine flooded his nostrils, followed by other scents: seaweed, fish, the smoky residue of green flame from the two candles blazing at the boat's edges.
His skin registered sensations with wondrous precision. The boat's gentle roll. Air pressure shifts as swells pass beneath. How the sea spray felt cooler against his face than the passing wind.
He glanced down at his interlaced fingers resting in his lap, one leg crossed over the other. The hands were lean, powerful, and impeccably clean. Untarnished light-purple trousers covered his legs, tucked into large black boots secured by twin gold-buckled straps.
The assassin smiled.
How fitting to reawaken on a small black boat that resembled a coffin.
Aboard this floating cradle, he inherited a proper name, something he lacked in his past life.
A name known throughout the seas.
A name he could take pride in.
Dracule Mihawk.