The *Moby Dick* was silent. No laughter, no clinking sake cups—just the creak of wood and the rasp of labored breathing.
Boy lay on a cot in the infirmary, his tiny body dwarfed by tubes and bandages. Marco's blue Phoenix flames flickered over him, stitching flesh and bone only for it to unravel again.
"His cells… they're tearing themselves apart," Marco muttered, sweat dripping down his brow. "It's like his body's *rejecting existence*. I don't even know how he's alive, Oyaji."
Whitebeard sat at the bedside, his massive hand hovering over Boy's chest. The boy's heartbeat was a moth's wing against a storm. "You're telling me even *you* can't fix this, Marco?"
"Not fix. *Stall*." Marco slumped into a chair. "Whatever they did to him… it's not natural. It's a miracle he lasted this long."
A knock. Thatch and Haruta hauled two charred crates into the room.
"We salvaged these from the lab," Thatch said, spitting ash. "Mostly burnt, but…"
Whitebeard nodded. The crew gathered, sifting through blackened pages. Diagrams of twisted bodies. Notes on "Lineage Factor Overrides." Lists of…
"*Names*," Haruta whispered.
Garp. Sengoku. Edward Newgate. There were many more.
The room froze.
---
Jozu nearly crushed the brittle page in his grip. "Oyaji… this says they used your DNA. And others'. To make… weapons like him?"
Marco snatched the paper, scanning the fragmented notes. "Subject 13—spliced with Whitebeard's lineage." He paused. "*Age estimation: 5-6 years.*"
"Five?!" Izo stared at Boy's frail body.
"—like he's been forced to suffering from such young age," Marco finished grimly. "They cooked him alive in a lab. Probably same tech as those Germa clones… but messier."
Whitebeard's fist shook. The air crackled. "Those bastards… used my blood to make a *weapon*?"
"Not just yours," Marco said, pointing to the list. "Garp, Sengoku, maybe others. They were trying to create monster—someone with the strengths oflegends. But…" He glanced at Boy. "He's the only one who survived. Barely."
"We need to put him in a coma," Marco said flatly. "Slow his metabolism. Keep him submerged in healing fluids. It's the only way to stop the decay."
Thatch grimaced. "How long?"
"Months. Years. No guarantee he wakes up."
The crew turned to Whitebeard. His gaze never left Boy—*his son? A stolen shadow of his blood?*
"Do it," Whitebeard growled. "And build that tank. Now."
As Marco prepared the sedative, Vista muttered, "What if the World Government comes for him?"
Crew, lingering in the doorway,. "Let them try."
Whitebeard rose, his bisento slamming the floor. "Listen up! That brat's one of us now. His blood's *mine*—but his heart?" He grinned, sharp and feral. "That's all pirate."
The crew roared.
A year had passed.
The tank was a coffin of glass and steel, pipes snaking into Boy's emaciated body like metallic parasites. Marco's flames churned in the fluid, a desperate lullaby. Until—
*Crack*.
The glass splintered. A clawed hand shot out, followed by a scream that shook the *Moby Dick* to its keel.
"**IT'S HIM!**" Haruta roared, scrambling backward as the medical bay doors exploded.
Boy crawled onto the deck, his body a grotesque tapestry of scales, exposed muscle, and throbbing veins. One eye glowed gold—the other a hollow, bleeding socket. His ribs jutted through skin that split and regrew in seconds. The crew froze. This wasn't the broken boy they'd saved. This was a *thing*, howling with a voice that cracked the air.
Marco dove from the crow's nest, azure wings flaring. "**STAY BACK!**" he shouted, engulfing Boy in healing fire. But the flames recoiled, scorching Marco's arms. "His body's rejecting *everything*—!"
---
Whitebeard strode through the crowd.
"Oyaji, don't—!" Thatch reached for him, but Whitebeard's glare silenced the deck.
Boy lunged, his mutated arm swinging in a jagged arc. Whitebeard caught the fist in his palm, the impact rippling the ocean.
"Easy, son," he rumbled.
The monster screeched, twisting free. Another punch—this time, Whitebeard let it land.
*Crack*.
Blood trickled from the Emperor's lip. The crew gasped.
"Pops! Why won't you fight?!" Jozu drew his fist, but Marco yanked him back.
"He's not an enemy," Whitebeard said, wiping his mouth. "He's *scared*."
Boy trembled, his claws retracting. For a heartbeat, the gold eye flickered—*human*. Then he lunged again, this time aiming for Whitebeard's throat.
---
Whitebeard sidestepped, but Boy's fist struck the air.
The world split.
A shockwave tore the sky, fissures spiderwebbing through the clouds. The sea heaved, waves capsizing nearby ships.
"THAT'S THE GURA GURA NO MI!" Jozu bellowed, shielding the crew with diamond.
Boy howled, his body fracturing under the recoil. Whitebeard surged forward, catching him mid-collapse.
"Enough," he growled, cradling the twitching body. "You'll kill yourself."
---
Boy's remaining eye blazed crimson.
A pulse of Conqueror's Haki detonated.
Crewmates crumpled—Ace, Thatch, Haruta—their eyes rolling back. Even Marco staggered. Only Whitebeard stood, against the Haki.
"STOP!" Whitebeard's voice boomed.
The pressure snapped. Boy went limp, his tiny hand gripping Whitebeard's coat.
"…hurts…" he whimpered, blood-tears streaking his face.
Whitebeard's jaw tightened. "I know."
In the wrecked infirmary, Marco reset Boy's bones. Again.
"He's got your DNA," Marco muttered, "but his body's… . The Tremor power isn't imitation—it's *his* now. And that Haki…"
Whitebeard stared at the cracks in his ship. "How long?"
"A Year. Maybe less. His cells are eating him alive."
The commanders exchanged glances. Vista spoke first. "The lab's data mentioned Vegapunk. If we can find his hidden research—"
"We raid Egghead," Whitebeard said.
Silence.
"Oyaji," Marco warned, "they'll call it war."
Whitebeard rose, bisento in hand. "Then let them. That boy's my **son**. And I don't abandon family."
As the crew dispersed, Whitebeard knelt beside Boy. The boy's breathing was shallow, his skin already regrowing scales.
"You'll live," Whitebeard whispered, a calloused thumb brushing Boy's brow. "Not because of their experiments. Because you're **mine**."
*"I'll… be… live…"*
The stench of antiseptic and burnt flesh choked the air. Boy thrashed against his restraints, his mutated body—a grotesque fusion of scales, exposed muscle, and crackling energy—twisting like a dying star. Marco's blue flames lashed around him, stitching flesh only for it to tear again.
"**He's burning through my healing!**" Marco barked, veins bulging on his temples. "At this rate, his heart's gonna explode in minutes!"
Whitebeard stood in the doorway, his shadow swallowing the room. "Stabilize him. _Now_."
"I'm _trying_—!"
A guttural roar erupted from Boy. His golden eye locked onto Whitebeard, glowing with a feral mix of pain and recognition. The restraints snapped.
"**Family…!**" he rasped, his voice a distorted echo of two souls.
Marco froze. "Did he just—?"
Whitebeard's fist clenched. "Get Vegapunk."
---
The Den Den Mushi screen flickered to life, revealing a cluttered lab and a frazzled snail wearing tiny glasses.
"**Newgate**," Vegapunk's voice sighed through the snail. "I'm busy. The World Government's asking for new Pacifista blueprints, and—"
"**You owe me**," Whitebeard growled. "That boy your _associates_ butchered—he's alive. And he's using _my power_."
The snail's eyes widened. "Impossible. The Gura Gura lineage experiment was a _catastrophe_. The subjects' bodies rejected—"
"**Fix him**," Whitebeard snarled. "Or I'll reduce your precious lab to rubble."
A pause. The snail's tongue flickered.
The island was a geometric nightmare—floating cubes of steel and glass orbiting a volcanic core. Whitebeard's fleet loomed offshore, cannons trained on the central spire.
Vegapunk's hologram flickered above the deck, his digital form adjusting glasses. "Your _son_ is an anomaly. The Gura Gura no Mi's power was spliced into his DNA, but awakening it through lineage… it's like forcing a hurricane into a bottle. The bottle _shatters_."
Whitebeard's bisento glinted. "Solutions. _Now_."
"Hypothetically," Vegapunk muttered, pacing his hologram, "if he consumes a Mythical Zoan fruit, the Zoan's regenerative properties could stabilize his body. The ancient genes in Mythical Zoans act as… _glue_, binding unstable Lineage Factors. But there's a catch."
"**What catch?**" Marco stepped forward, flames dimming.
"The Zoan's will would dominate his shattered mind. He'd be trapped in a hybrid form—forever. A monster. A _thing_." Vegapunk's hologram leaned closer. "And it must be a _Mythical Zoan_. Ordinary Zoans lack the primal resilience."
Jozu cursed. "So we turn him into a permanent beast?!"
"No," Vegapunk said. "We turn him into a _god_. Mythical Zoans are fragments of legends. Their power could overwrite the genetic decay… if he survives the merger."
"He will look like a human for most part, with powers of hybrid mythical Zoan at all times." Vegapunk added.
**Underworld Auction – The Favor of a King**
The Den Den Mushi's screen flickered with static as Thatch slammed a fist on the table, his voice booming through the underworld's encrypted channel. "Listen up, leeches! The Strongest Man in the World wants a Mythical Zoan Devil Fruit. Bring it, and you'll earn a favor from *Edward Newgate himself*."
Silence. Then—
Chaos.
Bid paddles snapped. Glasses shattered. The black market's denizens—arms dealers, slave traders, rogue kings—erupted into frenzy. A favor from Whitebeard? That meant immunity. Power. A *get-out-of-hell-free card* in the New World.
In Marineford, Sengoku's teacup cracked. "A *favor* from Whitebeard?!" he roared. "If Kaido or Big Mom get their claws on that debt—"
Garp snorted, crunching rice crackers. "Relax. Those two are too proud to grovel. But if some upstart gets it…"
"The balance crumbles," Sengoku hissed. "Send CP0 to monitor every bidder. *Burn any Mythical Zoan they find*."
---
The Den Den Mushi's eyes bulged as Big Mom listened, her laughter shaking the chandeliers. "*Mama mama…!* So Whitebeard's desperate?" She licked frosting off her fingers. "Perospero! Find that fruit! If *we* deliver it, that old fool will owe me his *fleet*!"
Kaido, halfway across the world, smashed his sake barrel. "**Fool!**" he roared, his dragon tail thrashing.
**Eight Months Later – Moby Dick, Infirmary**
Whitebeard sat beside the tank, his massive hand dwarfing Boy's skeletal frame. The boy's body was a patchwork of scarred flesh and metal grafts, his breaths rasping through a ventilator.
"**You're stubborn, brat,**" Whitebeard muttered, wiping blood from Boy's cracked lips. "Even Marco's flames can't kill you."
Boy's single golden eye flickered. *Why?* it seemed to ask. *Why care for a monster?*
Whitebeard's thumb brushed his brow. "**Because monsters deserve fathers too.**"
The door slammed open. Thatch barged in, clutching a Den Den Mush. "Oyaji! Big Mom's on the line. Says she's got a lead."
---
Whitebeard's voice rumbled through the receiver. "**What do you want, Linlin?**"
Big Mom's giggle crackled. "*Mama mama…!* A little birdie told me you're shopping for Zoans. I know where Rocks hid his *treasure*. A Devil Fruit vault… untouched since God Valley."
Garp's fist shattered the Marine HQ desk. "**GOD VALLEY?!**"
Whitebeard's grip tightened. "**Your price?**"
"A wedding," Big Mom purred. "One of your sons… for one of my daughters. Let's bind our *families*."
Silence. Then—
"**Done,**" Whitebeard said.
Sengoku paled. "If they ally, the world burns—"
Whitebeard's voice cut back in, sharp as a blade. "**And you two listening in…**" He aimed his words at the Marines' tapped line. "**Interfere, and I'll sink your fleets myself.**"
---
A rookie Marine, sweating over a stolen Den Den Mushi, dialed. The call connected to *Big News Morgans*.
Next morning, the headline screamed:
"WHITEBEARD & BIG MOM ALLY FOR GOD VALLEY'S CURSED FRUIT! WORLD GOVERNMENT TREMBLES!"**
The seas erupted.
Rookies swarmed the Grand Line. In a Marine bunker, Akainu's magma fists melted the walls. "Erase that island from the map!"
Shanks stared at the newspaper, his scar aching.
Beckman exhaled smoke. "We reroute. Intercept the chaos at Ikki Island."
Mihawk, sipping wine in his coffin ship, smirked. "Entertaining."
**The Cursed Island – Ikki**
Whitebeard's fleet anchored at the island's edge, where jagged cliffs speared a blood-red sky. The air reeked of rust and rot.
Boy lay strapped to a gurney, his body seizing. Marco adjusted his IV. "This place is a graveyard. Whatever's here… it's *angry*."
Whitebeard stepped ashore, bisento in hand. "**Stay close. We're not alone.**"
In the shadows, CP0 agents, Big Mom's homies, and Kaido's spies lurched forward.
As they reached the horizon, Whitebeard knelt beside Boy. "**You'll live,**" he swore. "**Even if I have to rip the fruit from God's throat."
Boy's eye flickered—not with fear, but something worse. Hope.