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This story will be written in CHATGPT, and I will edit it or add as I feel like it. At one point, I'll rewrite this fanfiction in a new VOLUME in this same book.
I had this idea for sometime, and I just took action now. Nothing serious, just that there is the Azure Dragon - Kaido and the Vermilion Bird (Phoenix) - Marco, so why not the White Tiger, along with the Black Tortoise?
We will start with the White Tiger and introduce the Black Tortoise in the future of the story. It may be at the middle, or before that. I haven't decided yet.
Give reviews after reading the first five chapters.
Hope you have a good read.
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Justice. To most, it was a word etched in golden letters on the proud banners of the World Government. But to Vice Admiral Victor Creed, it had become a twisted shadow of its former self—tainted, cracked, and soaked in blood.
He stormed through the pristine marble corridors of Marine Headquarters, boots thudding like war drums, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. Marines saluted and stepped aside hastily, recognizing the storm in his eyes. He was a man on the edge, and none dared to stand in his path.
Sakazuki—better known as Akainu—stood behind his desk, reviewing the latest mission reports. The thick scent of cigars and molten stone hung in the air. The moment Victor threw the door open, the Admiral didn't flinch.
"Creed," Akainu said flatly, not bothering to look up. "I assume you've read the report on Ohara."
Victor's jaw tightened. "You call that a report?" he spat. "You call that justice?"
Akainu raised his eyes, red and smoldering like dying coals. "They harbored demons of knowledge. The scholars were a threat to peace."
"They were historians, Sakazuki. Academics. Researchers!" Victor's voice echoed through the room. "You sanctioned a Buster Call on civilians! On children!"
"They defied the law."
"They questioned the truth!"
"They challenged the World Government," Akainu countered, rising to his full height. "And those who do must face the consequences."
The silence between them grew heavy, like a brewing storm. Victor's fingers trembled as the weight of a thousand unanswered screams echoed in his mind.
"I didn't become a Marine to be a butcher," he said at last, his voice raw. "I believed in Garp's ideals. In justice with a heart."
Akainu sneered. "Then you're a fool."
Victor moved slowly, deliberately. He reached up, grabbed the Marine coat draped across his shoulders—white, billowing, a symbol of everything he once stood for—and tore it from his back. Without hesitation, he flung it across the room. It slapped against Akainu's face before fluttering to the floor at his feet.
"I'd rather be a fool than a monster."
And with that, Victor Creed turned his back on the Marines.
There was no explosion. No drawn blades or cries of insubordination. Just the sound of his retreating footsteps, steady and sure.
Months passed. Perhaps even years. Time blurred in the stillness of the forest.
The island, deep within the West Blue, was a forgotten place—unmanned, unclaimed, and untouched by the World Government. For Victor, it was a sanctuary. The chaos of the world could not reach him here. No paperwork. No orders. No bloodshed.
He walked barefoot through the dense foliage, muscles rippling with every step, his body honed by a lifetime of warfare and training. Every leaf that rustled, every breeze that stirred, every distant chirp of birdsong sharpened his awareness. He had spent months refining his Observation Haki until he could sense the heartbeat of a rabbit from two miles away. His Armament Haki could now coat his body like onyx armor, strong enough to shatter boulders with a flick of his wrist.
And yet, he moved like a man at peace.
Every morning, he jogged the perimeter of the island, weighted chains around his arms and legs, a routine Garp himself had instilled in him during his early days as a Marine recruit. He would spar with the wind, strike at trees reinforced with Haki, and meditate under the waterfall that cascaded from the island's single mountain.
No longer burdened by ranks or uniforms, Victor Creed lived not as a Vice Admiral, but as a man rediscovering himself. For the first time, he spoke his true name aloud, the name his mother whispered before she was taken—Logan D. Victor. A name buried by himself to protect him from the Marines and the World Government. After all, his father, Logan D. Thomas was a fearsome pirate even before the likes of Rocks D. Xebec and Gol D. Roger entered the fray.
And with each passing day, he smiled a little more. 'Freedom at last.' Victor thought, then his mind wandered to his mentor, Garp. 'I am pretty sure that the next time we meet, he will be giving me his fist of love.' Victor shook his head with a chuckle.
One morning, as the dew clung to the emerald leaves and mist coiled between the trees, Victor took his usual stroll. The air smelled of wild orchids and damp soil. He walked barefoot, shirtless, his body marked by scars and the sun, eyes closed as he listened to the harmony of the forest.
That's when he felt it—a tug at the edge of his senses. Not a sound. Not a scent. But a presence.
He opened his eyes.
There, nestled between the roots of an ancient tree, sat a fruit unlike any he'd ever seen. It was shaped almost like a pear, white in color, with intricate fang-like patterns curling across its surface. It pulsed faintly, like it was breathing. Alive.
Victor approached slowly. Despite his years of discipline, his hand trembled.
"A devil fruit?" he murmured. 'Why does it feel like, its calling out for me?'
As if in answer, the fruit shimmered.
He knelt, inspecting it, his Observation Haki flaring to detect any threat—but there was none. Only the unmistakable pull, as if the fruit was calling to him by name.
Without another thought, Victor took a bite.
The taste was vile—like rust and ash—but he did not stop.
The world shifted.
A wave of force exploded outward from his body, flattening trees and splitting stone. Birds dropped from the sky, unconscious. The very air vibrated with power as an unseen force washed over the island.
Conqueror's Haki.
Victor gasped, falling to his knees, while a single thought passed through his mind in confusion 'Unlocking it now?'.
Then, his mind started to get overwhelmed with visions, sensations, and knowledge flooded his mind—not learned, but imprinted.
Mythical Zoan Devil Fruit:Tiger Tiger no Mi, Model: White Tiger.
Powers granted:Aerokinesis—the control of wind. Fulgurkinesis—the dominion over lightning. Ferrokinesis—the mastery of metal.
The White Tiger, the symbol of Justice, Strength and Authority. A true divine beast, that had long walked the planet, ruling the West. The originator of the Minks, turned into a fruit. It whispered in his mind 'A kindred spirit who seek true justice. I have been waiting for millenniums, to find the right person who have the same qualities as I once had before becoming a devil fruit. Child of D Clan, I am passing my powers and strength to you. Use it wisely.'
The next moment, Victor stood up and electricity crackling at his fingertips. The winds bowed before him, swirling in a cyclone around his feet. The iron deposits in the ground bent to his will. He could feel the power coursing through his veins, ancient and wild.
And yet, it was not greed or wrath he felt—but clarity. The White Tiger had chosen him, to pass on it's powers to a qualified one, and he was qualified for it.
He was no longer a Marine.
No longer a cog in a broken machine.
He was Logan D. Victor, the White Tiger of the West.
And in this new path—carved not by orders or laws but by his own sense of justice—he would become a symbol.
Not of oppression.
Not of blind authority.
But of true Justice. Of strength earned. Of freedom reclaimed.
He looked toward the horizon, eyes burning with purpose.
A storm was coming.
And he would meet it head-on—not as a soldier of the World Government, but as a man who dared to bare his fangs against the world.
For in this new age, he would forge his own legend.
'I'll show what true Justice is about.' Victor declared in his mind and looking down at the small metal hill that had formed at his feet, he said to himself "I have to train my Devil Fruit as much as I could withing two years before I set sail to find the lone survivor of Ohara."
Somewhere, far away, across the seas…
News had begun to spread.
A strange shift in the winds.
Islands whispering of a beast in the West Blue.
An unmanned island, now feared by sailors. Trees stripped bare by lightning. Iron formations twisted into ancient runes. Survivors spoke of a beast with golden eyes and the roar of a storm.
The World Government, of course, dismissed such tales as superstition.
But those who had faced the seas knew better.
A new player had entered the game.
One with enough power to rock the seas to its core.
And the roar of a wild beast will be at it's forefront.