The chains were meant to break him. They were thick, rusted iron, rough enough to tear skin with every movement. Shackles weighed down his wrists and ankles, linked by heavy links that dragged against the floor of the slave ship, each step punctuated by the scrape of metal. The smell of saltwater, sweat, and rot filled the air, thick enough to choke.
The other children shuffled forward in silence, their heads bowed, eyes hollow. Some sobbed softly. Some had already gone beyond tears.
But one boy was different.
He walked upright, shoulders squared, his head slightly dipped only to hide the sharp gleam in his eyes. The lantern light swayed with the rocking of the ship, illuminating braids that framed a face too calm for his age. Malik's eyes, one toxic green and the other a bloody crimson, flickered with a quiet, calculating light that unsettled anyone who caught his gaze.
"Oi, brat."
The whip cracked before the word fully left the slaver's mouth. Malik's shoulder jerked at the impact, but he didn't stumble. The overseer scowled, towering over the boy.
"You think you're better than the rest of them?"
Malik said nothing.
The man raised his baton again, but something stopped him mid-swing. The boy's mismatched eyes met his, and a strange chill rippled down his spine. That wasn't the gaze of a beaten child. That was the look of something waiting.
Malik lowered his gaze again, the corners of his mouth twitching into the faintest smile. The overseer grunted, lowering the baton but not the suspicion gnawing at him.
"Move."
Malik obeyed, his bare feet slapping softly against the damp planks as they were herded below deck again.
The hold was dark, oppressive, and loud with the sound of chains rattling and muffled sobs. Lanterns flickered in iron cages, casting long shadows that danced across terrified faces. Malik found a spot against the wall, sitting cross-legged, his wrists resting on his knees. The iron bit into his skin, but he didn't react. He was listening.
The creak of the ship. The rhythmic splash of waves against the hull. The heavy boots of guards pacing above. All of it mapped itself in his mind like pieces of a puzzle he had been quietly assembling since they'd dragged him aboard.
He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. His senses were sharp, unnaturally so. Even as a child, even starved and shackled, there was something primal in the way his instincts worked. He felt every movement around him, every shift of weight, every whisper of tension.
This wasn't the body of an ordinary boy.
It had been years since he'd awakened here reborn into this brutal world with the memories of another life. A life where this world was nothing but a story. That story hadn't captured the reality of it. Not the smell of sweat and blood. Not the sound of chains biting into bone. Not the way people looked at the Celestial Dragons with pure terror in their eyes.
This wasn't an adventure. It was a predator's paradise, and he was prey.
For now.
His head turned slightly, eyes narrowing. Something pulsed in the shadows at the far end of the hold.
A crate, heavily chained, sat in a corner, guarded even here. Malik stared at it, tilting his head slightly. The pulse wasn't sound. It was something else. A pressure, faint but steady, tugging at him like a heartbeat he could feel in his bones.
A Devil Fruit.
His lips curved slightly. Of course the nobles would have treasures even here.
He didn't know which fruit it was, but something about it felt… wrong. Different. Like a secret even the World Government hadn't uncovered.
Malik turned his gaze away, curling his legs up and resting his chin on his knees. His chains rattled softly, but no one paid him any mind. He was just another child slave.
They had no idea.
Above deck, a marine sergeant leaned against the railing, squinting out over the endless sea. He was a veteran, a man who'd served through pirate raids and skirmishes. Escorting slave ships wasn't new to him, but something about this trip gnawed at his nerves.
His eyes drifted down toward the hold's heavy door, and a memory replayed in his mind those strange eyes staring back at him earlier.
"Sergeant?" another marine asked, noticing his expression.
"Mm."
"You good?"
The sergeant grunted. "That boy. The one with the… eyes. Doesn't sit right with me."
The other marine scoffed. "They're all just brats. Won't live long enough to matter."
The sergeant took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling smoke into the wind.
"That's the thing," he muttered. "That one looks like he's already planning how to live."
Night fell.
The ship rocked gently as the waves rolled beneath it. The guards changed shifts, voices low and tired. Inside the hold, the slaves slept in clusters, shackled together, breaths shallow and uneven.
Malik didn't sleep.
He sat upright, back against the wall, staring at the swaying lantern. Its flickering light glinted off his scars thin lines across his arms and collarbone, evidence of punishment that had failed to break him. He traced one absentmindedly, his mismatched eyes unfocused but alert.
The sound of chains clinking in the dark was constant. He'd stopped hearing it hours ago, tuning in instead to the groaning timbers of the ship, the scrape of boots above, and the faint hum of the Devil Fruit's presence.
He whispered to himself, voice so soft it was swallowed by the creak of the ship.
"Soon."
The next day came with harsh sunlight. The slaves were dragged on deck for inspections. Malik squinted against the brightness, the sea stretching endlessly around them. He kept his head lowered but his eyes scanning everything. The marines. The slavers. The number of rifles. The weight of their boots.
A hand grabbed his chin, jerking his face up.
The overseer sneered down at him. "Still got that proud look, huh?"
Malik met his gaze calmly, a polite smile tugging at his lips. The overseer froze, just for a heartbeat, before shoving him back into line.
That night, Malik felt it.
A shift in the air.
The ocean was restless, the waves slapping harder against the hull. The lantern above him flickered, shadows stretching unnaturally long across the hold. Malik opened his eyes, staring into the darkness.
His heart was steady, but every instinct screamed. Something was coming.
He glanced toward the crate in the corner again, its aura pulsing stronger than before, in sync with his own heartbeat. He tilted his head back against the wall, lips curling into the faintest smile.
The darkness leaned closer, wrapping around him like an old friend.
Above deck, a scream tore through the night.