Hello, it's my pleasure to present this story to anyone who likes One Piece, I got the idea for the premise of this story after seeing Garp's Galaxy Punch, so I thought, why not make a story while reviewing One Piece about a completely melee character? Here we are now, this is my first story, so I ask for a little patience, and English is not my first language, nor my second one, so any writing mistakes or criticism is welcome, I use a little AI for correction, but it's all handwritten first, when I feel comfortable with my writing level, I'll leave AI aside, that said, enjoy your reading.
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In a vast, empty, black expanse stretching into infinity, a small, pale, weak blue flame wandered aimlessly. With every second, its light dimmed, shrinking from the size of a basketball to that of a baseball; its extinction seemed imminent.
Until the flame stopped, as if it had sensed something — a calling — in this place where neither direction nor time existed. Still, the flame seemed to perceive something beyond "forward," something a three-dimensional mind couldn't comprehend.
An inexplicable path appeared.
With each "step" taken, the flame began to pulse stronger, like a heart suddenly beating again. It grew and grew, like a man in the desert spotting an oasis; it "rushed" toward what made its "heart" beat.
On the horizon, it saw a white flame guarded by a figure in black robes. The closer it got, the more the figure revealed itself: slightly hunched over the flame, a skeletal hand holding a long fire poker. He seemed unaware of the approaching little blue orb, now a vibrant royal blue.
As the tiny flame drew near, the skeletal figure spoke, as if it already knew of its presence:
"Oh, little empty soul." The voice carried power, ancient and unquestionable. "What brings you to this place, where only oblivion and nothingness reign?" The figure spoke in a monotone, without looking at the now-named soul.
Weak, the soul was barely a whisper of waning consciousness, but the words resonated in its essence. Even without fully understanding, it seemed to grasp their meaning.
Unable to utter a single word, the expected answer never came. However, as an attempt at acknowledgment, the soul revealed the only thing it still possessed: determination.
Gradually, an orange flame began to spread through it, replacing the blue. Now it burned stronger, bigger, and brighter. Determination was all it had.
Suddenly, the figure stopped wielding the poker over the white flames. Without turning, it said: "Interesting, little one, your soul pulses with determination. It's rare to find anything beyond oblivion; here, almost everyone loses their emotions and hope."
Slowly, the figure turned to the tiny flame. Tall and imposing, it used the poker as a cane; its face was shrouded in thick, black smoke.
"Follow me, oh soul burning with determination. You have earned my interest."
The soul followed, leaving the white flame behind, keeping close to the figure along a path that seemed random. It followed carefully, fearing losing its companion in this endless void.
During the walk, the figure began a monologue: "You are the first to show me determination. It is precious here." With a half-laugh, it continued: "The few who reach me are usually the ones most eager to escape — a futile flight from the inevitable. But you, pygmy, came to me and showed something I haven't seen in many cycles of this endless theater."
A predatory smile appeared through the smoke. "Speaking with Death is an achievement in itself; therefore, I will give you a gift: a passage to a second chance, only for those with strong will."
Suddenly, Death stopped.
"Look, Pygmy." It pointed toward a direction in the void. "Your way out of this putrid place."
The pygmy looked; its orange form flickered at the word "way out." On the horizon, a wall of white flames stretched to the sky, burning with unreal heat. It felt this would be its trial, its baptism by fire. Its determination burned stronger, and it "rushed."
Death's smile turned into a booming laugh:
"HA HA HA, GO, PYGMY! Earn your way out of this hell! Burn your path through your flaming soul!"
As the pygmy disappeared into the white flames, Death's smile vanished into the hood of the cloak. "Be careful, little one. Oblivion is cunning; it will try to break you. Stay strong, little flame."
The space around began to close in, like curtains at the end of a play.
"Farewell, pygmy." As Death turned away, the curtains fully closed, leaving only the infinite void.
In the sea of white flames, an orange light flickered, running aimlessly. Every touch of the flames weakened it, causing unimaginable pain.
"Why do you try, Soul?" A grotesque voice emerged, exuding rot. The space around distorted, as if avoiding what had appeared.
"Here, where all hope is a flame that dies, every dream perishes, and each soul is torn apart, what remains for one who enters with hope is a painful walk toward oblivion."
The flames took shape, giving life to the king of nowhere, the king of oblivion.
A deer skull appeared, made of white flames; dead, pale skin and empty eyes stared at the soul persisting in determination.
"This is no fairy tale, yet still…" Inside the eye sockets of the skull, a tar-like substance moved, like someone rolling their eyes.
"Still, mortals believe they are different, that they will achieve the impossible…" White pupils emerged from behind the skull.
"You are even more miserable than the others: an empty shell, unworthy of a name, a decaying shell carrying an emotion you do not understand." As it spoke, the flames roared, burning the pygmy.
"Tell me, rotten shell, unworthy of a name, the most miserable of all…" The king approached, and almost in a whisper he said: "What makes you think you are worthy of crossing oblivion?"
The pygmy shrank, swallowed by the flames; its soul almost disappeared.
Smaller and smaller, until the last bastion: its core, sustaining its 'self.' As a last measure, it focused all determination there, protecting it with the remaining flames.
As the orange light concentrated in the core, it felt something: a fragment, a whisper, a memory — the reason for its determination. It was only a fragment, but it carried everything that mattered.
Inside the pygmy's mind, a memory emerged like watercolor: a sunny day, emerald grass, and an oak on a hilltop.
And there she was, under the oak, as beautiful as the day he lost her, wearing red, black hair in the wind, pearly smile. He looked into her blue eyes, the most beautiful he had ever seen, and saw her lips move, distant as if a barrier prevented the voice from reaching him.
"Ah…" For the first time, the pygmy made a sound. "I wanted… to hear your voice one last time." Every second, its core disappeared.
With a sigh, it looked to the sky, accepting oblivion. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Then, its expression changed: eyes opened, it stared at "her" and gritted its teeth.
"I won't give up here!" Step by step, it moved toward its goal; its flame grew until it formed a heart, pulsing with determination.
With every step, her voice became clearer, and its strength increased. "Just a little more," it muttered. Outside the memory, the orange flames dominated the empty landscape.
Then, CRACK! The memory space shattered, but in that instant, the pygmy heard everything it needed: "I love you" An orange flash consumed the void.