The world was ending.
The castle groaned as if alive, walls cracking, ceilings raining dust and flame. The air was thick with smoke and screams, every sound swallowed by the roar of battle.
Argento led the charge, Veyra clinging to his hand. Ivankov ran beside them, panting and cursing under their breath, their lavender hair matted with soot. Behind them, Bartholomew Kuma brought up the rear — his massive frame moving with shocking speed for a boy his age.
"Keep moving!" Argento shouted, voice hoarse. "Don't stop for anything!"
A voice cut through the chaos.
Cold. Arrogant. Drenched in venom.
"Children…"
Argento froze. His blood turned to ice.
A Celestial Dragon stood at the far end of the burning hall, his white robes somehow untouched by soot, his mask gleaming gold. Behind him, two armed guards leveled rifles, their aim steady.
"You've taken what belongs to the gods," the Dragon said, his tone languid, almost amused. "So you'll die like the vermin you are."
"Run!" Argento shouted.
Gunfire split the air.
Kuma didn't hesitate. The paw-shaped Devil Fruit was in his hands, glowing faintly in the chaos. With a swift bite, the rancid taste burning his mouth, his face went ashen, but he didn't falter.
The world seemed to pause for a heartbeat. Then, instinctively, his powers activated. A shimmering, translucent bubble began forming around his massive palms, the air warping and bending like water caught in a storm.
"Hold on!" Kuma's voice was calm, unwavering, cutting through the panic.
Veyra's small hands clutched Argento's arm, eyes wide, frozen in awe and fear. Before they could speak, the bubble expanded, engulfing them, and in a blink, the two children, along with the Devil Fruit Argento had taken, vanished from the burning hall.
Behind them, Ivankov and Kuma remained, their focus absolute. "There are more," Kuma said quietly, scanning the chaos. "We save who we can."
The sudden calm hit them like a wave. Argento and Veyra collapsed onto the sand, the grains sticking to sweat-dampened skin and bloodied hands. Their breaths came in ragged gasps, chests rising and falling with the weight of exhaustion and terror.
The beach stretched before them, quiet except for the soft hiss of waves, a cruel contrast to the chaos they had fled. Argento's fingers curled around the Devil Fruit, its faint glow pulsing like a heartbeat he could feel through his palm.
Veyra huddled close, shivering, her small body trembling from fatigue and the echo of what they had witnessed. "A-Arg… Mom…" her voice cracked, barely above a whisper.
Argento's own throat felt raw, his heart still hammering from the sight of his mother falling, the laughter and silver lightning of her defiance burned into his memory. "I… I know, Veyra," he said, voice hoarse. His hands shook, and for a moment he let himself slump into the sand, letting the silence swallow him.
The horizon offered no comfort, only the endless, indifferent sea. Fatigue and grief weighed down their bodies, the adrenaline of escape fading into a heavy, inescapable exhaustion. Yet even in the fear, even in the despair, the Devil Fruit in Argento's grasp burned like a promise, a faint ember of hope amid the ashes of what they had lost.
They lay there for long moments, staring at the sky, neither speaking, each caught in their own whirlwind of memories, terror, and the fragile glimmer of survival.
Hours passed in a blur of exhausted, dreamless sleep. When Argento's eyes finally fluttered open, the sun hung high but muted behind a haze of clouds, turning the sky an unnatural gray-gold. The beach was eerily quiet, waves lapping softly at the shore, their gentle rhythm a stark contrast to the chaos that had swallowed God Valley. Sand clung to his hair and skin, and the faint salt tang of the sea filled his nostrils.
Veyra lay a few feet away, curled up, her small body still trembling in sleep, her face streaked with dried tears and dirt. The sight twisted his chest. He tried to remember the last time he had felt safe. There was no answer.
The Devil Fruit pulsed faintly in his hands, the swirl of gray and white almost alive. The hum of its energy pressed against his fingers, sending a shiver up his spine. His chest tightened. This is it… the power… the choice.
Argento stared at the fruit, the weight of it pressing down on him harder than the grief in his chest. Memories of Celestia's laughter, her defiance, the flash of silver lightning… her sudden fall, her stillness… they surged through him like a storm. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. I can't bring her back… but I can survive. I have to survive… for Veyra.
His fingers tightened around the fruit, tracing the strange ridges, feeling the cold pulse of something unnatural. He raised it slowly to his lips. The air seemed to thicken, dense and heavy, as if the world were holding its breath.
Argento's stomach churned, a mix of fear, anticipation, and dread. He thought of all the stories, all the warnings, no one knew what they would taste until it was too late. But there was no turning back now.
With a deep, trembling breath, he bit into the Devil Fruit.
The taste was immediate, revolting, sour, acrid, as if centuries of ocean rot and metal had been compressed into a single bite. His eyes squeezed shut, saliva thick and clinging to his tongue, bile rising in the back of his throat. Every nerve in his body screamed in rejection, but his hands refused to release the fruit.
The moment passed, and the flavor lingered like fire in his mouth. Then… a shock, subtle at first, crawling up his arms, into his chest, settling in his core. A tingling, stretching sensation, as though his body was recognizing something it had always been meant to hold. Pain? Pleasure? Both. The edges of his vision flickered.
Argento gasped, staggering back onto the sand, his body trembling violently. The world seemed to stretch and pull, like a canvas being tugged from every corner at once. Then, with a soft, almost musical pop, a strange energy settled over him. He could feel it: a presence in his body that was no longer entirely human, a power that hummed like a living thing.
He flexed his fingers experimentally, and a small, strange distortion in the air shimmered around his palms. His eyes widened in awe.
"Wait…???" Argento's voice cracked, panic lacing every syllable. His hands flexed frantically, twisting, pulling at his arms, willing something, anything, to happen. "Why… why can't I do anything?!"
He spun in a circle on the sand, eyes wide as he shook his arms, pressed his palms together, stomped on the ground. The Devil Fruit's taste lingered, sour and acrid on his tongue, the lingering pulse in his veins mocking him. He had eaten it, he should have powers.
He slammed his fists into the sand, the grains spraying around him. His mind raced, memories of Devil Fruit stories flashing past: the instant surge of power, the transformations, the abilities that should have appeared in seconds…
Nothing.
A cold dread crept through him. Was it broken? Had the fruit been… fake? His heartbeat thundered in his ears as he dropped to his knees, shaking the fruit in his hands as if that could force it to obey.
Argento's panic peaked, his fists slamming into the sand again and again, desperate to feel something happen. He barely registered the grains flying up around him, the way the wind carried the salty tang of the sea.
Then, almost imperceptibly at first, something strange happened. As he thrust his hand downward to punch the sand, the bottom of his palm didn't meet the earth as expected. The impact seemed… wrong. The surface rippled under his hand, and his fingers bent in a way they shouldn't, twisting and stretching without pain.
He froze, heart hammering, staring at the bizarre deformation. A strange silver sheen coated the underside of his hand, glinting in the harsh sunlight like liquid metal. The sand beneath wavered under his touch, as if recoiling from the touch of his palm.