The world, if one could even call it that, was a blank, blinding expanse. Blake Corvus, all twenty-two years of age, stood in this absolute zero of existence. It was white space, infinite and utterly featureless. He remembered a sudden, sharp pain, a screech of tires, and then... this. No floor, no ceiling, just the relentless, oppressive white that seemed to hum with silent energy.
He was beginning to believe this was the afterlife—a terribly boring one at that—when a ripple disturbed the monochrome ocean. A door, old and weathered, materialized out of the ether. It was a dark mahogany, bound with tarnished brass, utterly incongruous with the purity of its surroundings. The door swung open with a theatrical creak, and the sight that stepped through instantly banished any lingering confusion or fear Blake felt.
A figure emerged, unmistakable, iconic. It was Captain Jack Sparrow, in all his drunkenly dignified glory. The heavy eyeliner, the braided hair festooned with trinkets, the perpetually tipsy gait, the red bandana, and the swagger—it was all there, a perfect, impossible apparition of Johnny Depp's most famous creation. He was clad in his familiar, slightly ragged finery, a bottle of rum clutched lazily in one hand.
Blake's breath hitched. His heart, or where his heart used to be, pounded with a frantic, joyous energy. He forgot the white space, he forgot the accident, he forgot everything but the man standing before him.
"Oh my god," Blake whispered, then louder, his voice cracking with sheer, unadulterated excitement. "Johnny Depp! Oh my god! Captain Jack Sparrow! I—I can't believe it! I'm finally seeing you face to face!"
Captain Jack Sparrow simply leaned against the frame of the door, a slow, knowing grin spreading beneath his mustache and goatee. He raised the rum bottle in a silent salute and took a slow, noisy sip.
Blake, unable to contain himself, began a torrent of fanboy adoration. "I'm such a massive fan! A huge, huge fan! I've seen everything! All your movies, sir, every single one! Edward Scissorhands, Sleepy Hollow, Donnie Brasco, Fear and Loathing—but Captain Jack... man, you are the best! The absolute best! You've been my favorite since I was a kid! This is... this is incredible! Thank you! Thank you so much! You've actually fulfilled my wish to finally see you! This is crazy!"
As Blake's excited monologue continued, a grin remained fixed on Jack's face. He seemed utterly unbothered, perhaps even mildly amused by the effusion of praise. He punctuated Blake's words with thoughtful sips from his bottle, his dark eyes sparkling with a familiar mischievous glint.
Finally, Blake ran out of breath, his excitement yielding slightly to the strange reality of their setting. He looked around the blank expanse again.
"Uh, sir," Blake managed, pushing his hands through his short, dark hair. "My name is Blake Corvus. Can you tell me... where are we? And what are we doing here?"
Captain Jack Sparrow straightened up a little, his movements fluid and exaggerated. He raised the rum bottle, took another deep, contemplative sip of the amber liquid, and then screwed the cap back on with deliberate slowness.
"Ah, 'Blake Corvus'," Jack drawled, his voice a familiar, slurred symphony of piratical charm. "A fine, sturdy name for a fellow with... well, with the very big problem you possess." He gestured vaguely at Blake. "You, my friend, are dead."
The single word, delivered with such casual finality, hung in the silent white space. Blake blinked, absorbing the information he had already suspected but was now confirmed.
"Dead?" Blake echoed, his voice suddenly small. "How?"
Jack waved a dismissive hand, the gesture a blend of nonchalance and elegance. "Does it truly matter? A rogue truck, a moment of distraction, a misplaced coconut—the details are dreadfully tedious. The fact remains: your earthly travels have concluded."
Blake nodded slowly. The initial excitement was fading, replaced by a more sober reality. A single, critical concern surfaced.
"My family?" he asked, the word thick with emotion.
Captain Jack Sparrow—or whatever he was—looked at Blake with an unusual flash of something resembling genuine warmth, a softening of the perpetually cynical gaze. He gave a soft, reassuring chuckle.
"Ah, family. A complicated business, that. Good news, mate. They were sad for a while, yes, an appropriate measure of grief was observed. But fear not! They have moved on and, at this very moment, are quite happy. They remember you with fondness, of course, but their course is set, and the sails are full. No need for you to worry about them."
A wave of profound relief washed over Blake. He let out a long, shaky sigh. That was the most important thing. If they were okay, he could accept his fate.
"Thank you," Blake whispered. Then, he looked at Jack again, curiosity taking over. "So, why are you here? Are you... Are you also dead?"
Jack let out a theatrical, booming laugh that echoed strangely in the silence. He clutched his chest with a dramatic flourish.
"Dead? Me? Heavens, no! Though I have often flirted with the notion, and been dragged back from the very precipice more times than I care to count! No, no, Blake, my friend. I," he tapped his chest with a flourish of his gloved hand, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "am what the more academic types would call a Random Omnipotent Being. A R.O.B., if you will. I simply adopted this rather fetching, if slightly rum-soaked, exterior as a little surprise for you. You are, after all, a rather enthusiastic fan of the good Captain, are you not? A nice surprise, eh?"
Blake stared, his mind reeling. A R.O.B.? In the form of Captain Jack Sparrow? It was exactly the kind of wonderfully absurd thing a true fan would dream up.
"Yes!" Blake exclaimed, his enthusiasm roaring back to life. "A huge fan! It's... It's perfect! You really nailed the surprise."
"Right then," Jack said, straightening his coat and adopting a more business-like, though still thoroughly Jack-like, demeanor. "So, what now? What does a newly deceased, slightly overwhelmed, and exceedingly lucky fellow do?"
Jack stepped away from the door and gestured grandly at the white space.
"You, Blake Corvus, have been granted a privilege. You are to be given a second chance, a new life, in a world of your choosing, or rather, a world that chooses you. You shall be sent to an anime, TV, or movie world of your very own. And what's more, you will be given three gifts to aid you on your journey."
Blake's jaw dropped. Reincarnation? With three wishes? It was the ultimate fan dream.
"Which one?" Blake asked, his mind racing through countless fictional universes.
Jack smirked. "Ah, patience, my friend. We shall have to find that out, won't we?"
With a flick of his wrist, Jack snapped his fingers. The air shimmered, and a towering, ornate roulette wheel materialized between them. It was a spinning disc of vibrant colors, each section labeled with the name of a fictional world: Naruto, Game of Thrones, My Hero Academia, Star Wars, One Piece, The Avengers, and many others.
"The Wheel of Worlds, she speaks for me," Jack announced, his eyes sparkling. "Give her a turn, mate. Let destiny have its little joke."
Blake approached the wheel, his hand trembling slightly. He took a deep breath, grinned, and gave the wheel a mighty, focused spin. It whirled, the segments blurring into a kaleidoscope of color and names. Blake watched, mesmerized, as the speed began to slow, the clicking sound loud in the silent expanse. It passed Harry Potter, skipped Attack on Titan, slowed agonizingly on My Hero Academia, and finally, mercifully, the pointer came to rest squarely on FAIRY TAIL.
A gasp of pure, happy recognition escaped Blake's lips. Fairy Tail! A world of guilds, vibrant magic, and unbreakable bonds! The excitement was intoxicating.
"Fairy Tail!" Blake cried out, a wide smile splitting his face. "I remember that one! A world of mages and guilds! That's brilliant!"
"A fine choice, if a bit... loud," Jack commented, taking a look at the wheel. "Now then, to the gifts! The fun part!"
Jack snapped his fingers again. The roulette wheel remained, but the contents instantly transformed. Instead of worlds, the segments now bore the names of famous, powerful characters from a multitude of universes: Superman, Itachi Uchiha, Goku, Luffy, Aang, and dozens more.
"Your first gift," Jack explained, "will be the abilities and mindset of one of these fine folk. Spin the wheel, Blake. Let's see who you get to be, or rather, what you get to do."
Blake, now fully in the swing of things, spun the wheel with a decisive push. It spun fast, but his eyes were locked on the segments. It began to slow, the names teasing him. It passed Dr. Strange, flirted with Madara Uchiha, and finally, the arrow shuddered and pointed to SHANKS of the Red-Haired Pirates.
Blake's smile widened, a true fanboy grin of appreciation. "Shanks! The Yonko! That's incredible!"
"Indeed," Jack nodded, studying the result. "A man of presence, power, and an excellent coat. Now, the particulars. You ask: will you be transmigrated to look exactly like the good-natured, one-armed fellow, and will you instantly gain all his abilities?"
Jack raised an emphatic finger. "No, you will not look like Shanks. You will keep your own form, a form your new self will call home. And no, you will not be instantly god-like. You will gain all his abilities, but they will be dormant. They must be learned, earned, and honed through hard work and experience, much like your previous life, but with a much better starting point. Think of it as a limitless potential and a very good instruction manual locked inside you."
Blake let out a huge sigh of relief. "Oh, thank goodness! I didn't want to live my new life with only one hand. That's a massive relief!"
Jack chuckled. "A sensible concern. However, you will inherit some of his mindset and qualities. They will be a part of your personality, an instinctual guide, if you will."
"I'll take it!" Blake readily agreed.
With another snap of Jack's fingers, the characters on the wheel dissolved, replaced by a dizzying array of powers from various anime: Telekinesis, Elemental Control, Speed Force, Cursed Technique Manipulation, Quirks, and countless others.
"Gift number two," Jack announced. "A power, an ability, a special something to help you along. Spin it, mate. Don't be shy."
Blake spun the wheel again. The whirring sound filled the void. His eyes tracked the blur of powers. The wheel slowed, passing Ice Magic, skipping Fire Dragon Slayer Magic, and ultimately, the arrow landed on ANTI-MAGIC.
Blake felt a jolt of exhilaration. Anti-Magic! In a world saturated with magic, a power to negate and destroy it was a game-changer. It was the perfect counter-balance.
"Anti-Magic!" Blake shouted. "In a world full of mages! That's perfect! Can I... is it like Asta's? With the demonic powers and the huge swords?"
Jack gave a cryptic smile, his head tilted. "Ah, the devil is in the details, isn't he? Let's just say that its full extent is up to you to find out. The nature of its manifestation and its ultimate source will be a matter of your own discovery and struggle. You have the concept, Blake. The execution is all you."
The roulette wheel changed once more. This time, the segments displayed various legendary weapons from different fictional universes: Mjolnir, The Master Sword, Shusui, Excalibur, and so on.
"Final gift, the cherry on the cake, the rum in the flagon: a weapon," Jack explained.
Blake gave the wheel its last, most focused spin. He was excited, his heart pounding with anticipation for this final piece of his new life. The wheel spun, then slowed. It passed Doom's Crucible, skipped The Soul-Splitting Trident, and landed with a definitive, solid click on TENSA ZANGETSU.
Tensa Zangetsu! The ultimate form of Ichigo Kurosaki's Zanpakutō! The sleek, black katana of incredible power!
"Tensa Zangetsu!" Blake exclaimed, his voice filled with awe. "Will it come with its powers? The Getsuga Tenshō and all that?"
Jack beamed, a genuine, delighted smile that cracked his usual façade. "It will come with all its powers, young Blake. Every single one of them. But, and this is a recurring theme, it is up to you to figure it out. You'll have to learn to wield it, to unlock its potential, and to truly understand the very nature of the blade itself. A fun little project for a man with a new lease on life, wouldn't you say?"
Jack snapped his fingers one last time. The roulette wheel dissolved back into the shimmering white of the void. In its place, a single, dark, swirling black door materialized, an inverse of the one Jack had entered through. It stood in stark contrast to the white, promising a whole new reality on the other side.
"Right then, mate. The carriage awaits," Jack said, gesturing toward the black door with a flourish. "Time for you to set sail on a new, much more interesting adventure. Through that door and into the land of Mages. Good luck, Blake Corvus."
Blake felt a rush of gratitude so strong it was almost overwhelming. He looked at the man—the ROB, the Captain—who had given him this incredible gift.
"Thank you," Blake said sincerely, bowing his head. "Thank you for everything. For giving me this opportunity, for the gifts, and for the surprise. It means more than you know."
Jack merely gave a two-fingered salute, his perpetual grin fixed in place. "Go on then. And remember this, mate: This is the day where you will last see Captain Jack Sparrow. Make the most of what you've got."
Blake smiled, a warm, genuine smile. He shook his head at the Captain's incorrigible flair for the dramatic, his excitement overcoming any lingering hesitation. He turned and walked toward the black door, pushed it open, and stepped through, ready to face the world of Fairy Tail with the potential of a Yonko, the counter-magic of a demon-slayer, and the speed of a Shinigami's ultimate weapon. He closed the door behind him, and the white space, and Captain Jack Sparrow, vanished from his life.