One Piece: Bloody Devil

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The village burned.

What was once a quiet, thriving home now lay in ruin... smothered beneath thick black smoke, split apart by roaring flames. Charred wooden beams collapsed under their own weight, sending embers soaring into the air like fireflies. The streets, once bustling with life, were littered with bodies. Some were whole. Others were not. Blood seeped into the scorched dirt, mixing with the ashes of homes that no longer existed.

And in the heart of this dying world, a boy lay buried beneath the wreckage.

Asiro could not see the destruction, but he could feel it. The unbearable weight of splintered wood and shattered stone pressed down on his small frame, pinning his legs beneath the remains of what might have been a house. Pain burned through every part of him... his ribs, his arms, his torn skin... but nothing compared to the searing agony in his skull. His head throbbed, his face slick with blood, and his eyes…

His eyes were gone.

Darkness. That was all that remained. A suffocating, infinite abyss stretched before him, swallowing everything he once knew. The world no longer had shape or color, only the distant crackling of fire and the sickening scent of death.

He tried to breathe, but the smoke choked him, clawing at his throat and forcing him to cough violently. The movement sent another jolt of pain through his ribs, and for a moment, he thought he might pass out.

But he couldn't.

Not yet.

Somewhere out there, beyond the fire and ruin, his mother was waiting for him.

Asiro clenched his trembling fingers, forcing them to move. He pressed his palms against the debris above him, ignoring the sting of splinters digging into his skin. His arms shook as he pushed, weak and failing, barely lifting the weight. A desperate gasp escaped his lips. The pain was unbearable, but the thought of staying here... trapped, helpless... was worse.

Move.

His body screamed in protest as he twisted to the side, freeing one leg. The other remained trapped beneath a heavy wooden beam, pressing against his ankle like a vice. He gritted his teeth, planting both hands onto the dirt and pulling. The skin along his leg tore as he forced it free, sending fresh agony through his nerves.

He didn't stop.

He couldn't stop.

The moment his body was free, he collapsed onto his stomach, panting, his lungs burning with every breath. The ground beneath him was slick with blood and soot, the scent clinging to his skin. He wanted to lie there, to let the pain pull him under. But his mother's face flashed through his mind... her warm smile, her gentle hands ruffling his hair.

She was out there. Somewhere.

With a weak groan, Asiro pushed himself onto his elbows and began to crawl.

The world around him was a nightmare. The ground was uneven, littered with splintered wood and broken stone, each movement dragging him through filth and blood. Heat licked at his skin as he passed too close to a burning home, the flames' glow searing through the darkness behind his ruined eyes. The air was thick with smoke, suffocating him, but he pressed forward, dragging himself inch by inch.

Somewhere in the distance, a voice screamed. It was cut off moments later.

Asiro flinched, his breath catching in his throat. He didn't know if the voice belonged to someone he knew. He would never know.

More footsteps pounded against the dirt, too heavy to be villagers. The invaders. The ones who had turned his home into a graveyard.

He stopped moving, pressing his trembling body against the ground. His heart pounded against his ribs, each beat threatening to give him away. But the footsteps didn't come closer. They faded, lost to the inferno raging around him.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, the crackling of fire returned, accompanied by the distant wails of the dying.

Asiro exhaled shakily, forcing himself forward. His fingers curled against the dirt, pulling him through the wreckage. Each movement was agony, but the thought of stopping never crossed his mind. He had to find her. He had to...

His palm landed on something soft.

His breath hitched.

Fingers. Cold. Lifeless.

He recoiled, his stomach twisting violently as he realized what it was. He couldn't see the body, but he didn't need to. The stench of burnt flesh, the unnatural stillness... he knew.

A sob clawed at his throat, but he swallowed it down. He couldn't stop. Not now.

With renewed desperation, Asiro continued crawling. His fingers trembled as they searched ahead, brushing against broken wood, shards of pottery, and more bodies. The more he moved, the harder it became to tell if the dampness beneath him was blood or sweat.

And then...

A touch.

Soft fabric beneath his fingertips. Not scorched, not torn. A familiar warmth, even in death.

His breath caught. His hands moved blindly, searching, trembling. And then...

Hair.

Silky strands slipping through his fingers, untouched by the fire.

His heart clenched.

"Mom…"

Asiro's trembling fingers curled against the fabric of her clothes, his breath catching in his throat. He reached further, his hands shaking as they traced along her arm, her shoulder... until, at last, they found her face.

Cold.

Too cold.

A whimper escaped his lips as his grip tightened, desperate, unwilling to accept the lifelessness beneath his touch. But then... a weak, shuddering breath.

"Asi… ro…"

His body stiffened. The voice was faint, barely a whisper against the crackling flames, but it was hers. A fragile flicker of life still clung to her, as if she had been waiting for him.

"I'm here," he choked out, pressing his forehead against her chest. "I'm here, Mom…"

A weak hand rose, trembling, and brushed against his bloodied cheek. The warmth of her touch, however faint, sent a shiver through him. But it was fleeting. Even now, he could feel her strength slipping away, her fingers barely able to hold on to him.

"You… lived…" she murmured. Relief, not fear, filled her voice.

Asiro bit back a sob. "I... I'm okay. I found you. You're going to be okay too, right?"

She didn't answer right away. A silence stretched between them, fragile and suffocating.

"Asiro… listen to me…" Her voice wavered, softer now, as if speaking was becoming too much. "You have… to live for me."

His throat tightened. "I... "

"You must survive," she whispered, her fingers tracing his cheek one last time before falling away.

"No, don't... " His hands shot out, clutching her frail arm. "Mom, stay awake! I'll get help, I... "

A sudden warmth pulsed through his hands.

His breath caught as a faint glow flickered beneath his fingers.

Green light.

It seeped from her skin, flowing like liquid sunlight, weaving through the air between them. It wrapped around his hands, his arms, sinking into his flesh. His breath hitched as the warmth spread through his body, like a gentle embrace, soothing his pain, numbing his wounds.

His ribs... he could feel them shifting, the sharp agony dulling. His shredded skin burned for a moment, then cooled, the gashes knitting together. But what made his heart stop was what happened next.

His eyes.

A sudden flash... blinding, searing through the abyss of his ruined vision. He gasped, his head snapping back as color, light, and shape flooded his senses all at once. The suffocating darkness that had imprisoned him was gone, replaced by a world ablaze with fire. The glow of the inferno reflected in his mother's glassy eyes, the flames casting eerie shadows against her pale, blood-streaked face.

He could see her.

And she was dying.

His hands trembled as he stared down at her, at the dimming glow pulsing from her chest, flowing into him.

"No…" His voice cracked. "Stop… You have to stop."

But the light only grew weaker. Her breath shallowed, her eyelids fluttering. She was giving it all to him.

"Mom, please... " He shook her, his voice rising in panic. "Stop! You need it more than me!"

She smiled.

A fragile, fleeting smile.

"You… are my life, Asiro…" she whispered, voice no louder than the embers drifting in the air. "live with my last gift."

The last of the light faded.

Her body went still.

Asiro froze. The warmth that had been flowing into him ceased, leaving behind only the distant crackling of flames and the distant screams of the dying. The heat of the fire should have burned. The pain of his wounds should have lingered. But none of it compared to the icy emptiness now clawing at his chest.

"Mom?" His voice barely escaped his lips.

No answer.

His shaking hands cupped her face. Her warmth was already fading.

"Mom." A desperate whisper.

She did not move.

His body went rigid, his mind rejecting what his eyes told him. His breath came in short, broken gasps. "Wake up," he begged, shaking her gently. "Mom, please... wake up!"

Nothing.

His fingers dug into her shoulders, his voice breaking into a sob. "You can't... !" His words caught in his throat, strangled by grief.

She was gone.

A sound broke from him... a raw, shattered cry that echoed through the ruined village. He curled over her lifeless body, his hands clutching her as if holding on tightly enough could bring her back.

But she would never wake up again.

His vision blurred, his tears mixing with the blood and ash smeared across his face. The world around him no longer mattered... the fire, the smoke, the distant battle cries. Nothing existed except the unbearable weight pressing against his chest, crushing him, drowning him.

She had given everything to save him.

And now he was alone.

The world around him blurred, not from the smoke, not from the fire, but from the unbearable weight pressing against his chest. His body, moments ago overflowing with unnatural strength, now felt hollow... like something had been ripped away, leaving only an aching void.

His fingers twitched against his mother's cooling skin. The warmth she had given him still pulsed faintly in his veins, but it wasn't hers anymore. It was just his.

And he didn't want it.

His breath hitched. A tremor ran through his limbs as his body swayed, caught between the rush of energy still lingering within him and the exhaustion sinking deep into his bones. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms, trying to hold onto something... anything... but there was nothing left.

His mother was gone.

A sob fought to escape, but his throat was too tight, his chest too heavy. His mind reeled, struggling to grasp onto the reality he didn't want to accept.

This wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

He turned his head, vision unfocused as his gaze drifted over the wreckage of his home. What was left of it.

The flames still raged, licking at the remains of shattered buildings. Smoke curled into the night sky, carrying with it the scent of blood and burning wood. The streets, once filled with laughter and life, were littered with motionless figures. People he had known. People who would never rise again.

A shattered world.

A dead village.

His hands slipped from his mother's lifeless form as he swayed, his body no longer obeying him. He tried to stay upright, but his legs buckled, the last remnants of his strength bleeding out of him.

The edges of his vision darkened.

He barely registered the sound of his own ragged breathing. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, each beat slower than the last.

His body tilted forward, collapsing beside his mother's still form. His cheek pressed against the bloodstained ground, the warmth of the earth seeping into his skin.

His eyes fluttered once.

Then closed.

And the world faded to black.

The village burned in silence.

The crackling of flames, the distant collapse of wooden beams, the low groan of wind through the ruins... all of it should have filled the air with sound. And yet, in the presence of them, an unnatural stillness settled over the wreckage.

Two figures emerged from the smoke.

Their steps were slow, deliberate, unhurried as they passed through the remains of what had once been a thriving home. The embers flickered around them, casting their shadows long against the scorched earth. They did not speak. They did not mourn.

They only observed.

One of them, a tall silhouette wrapped in a dark, tattered coat, came to a stop beside an overturned cart, its wooden frame blackened and broken. His head tilted slightly, as if listening.

The other, standing just behind him, exhaled slowly. "It's still here."

The first figure nodded. "Faint, but lingering."

A soft, green shimmer pulsed against the ground, barely visible beneath the shifting haze of smoke. It was fading quickly, vanishing into the scorched earth, but there was no mistaking it.

Life energy.

The taller figure stepped forward, his boots crunching against shattered pottery and charred debris. His gaze swept over the bodies strewn across the street, lifeless and broken, before stopping at the small, unmoving form near the center.

A boy.

Blood stained the ground beneath him, dark and fresh. His breath was shallow, his face turned against the dirt, but his body... though bruised and battered... was still intact. Too intact for someone who should have been dead.

Asiro's fate and journey just began.