One Piece: Bloody Devil

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Darkness.

It was the first thing he knew... the weightless void pressing against him, thick and suffocating. The kind that pulled at the edges of his mind, threatening to drag him back down.

But something stirred within him, something distant yet insistent. A dull ache rippled through his body, spreading like an ember beneath his skin.

A breath.

Then another.

His senses returned in fragments. The faint sting of antiseptic. The slow, rhythmic creak of wood. The distant murmur of voices, low and indistinct, just beyond the veil of his consciousness.

Then, it came crashing down.

A sudden wave of nausea rolled over him, the disjointed sensations colliding all at once... the unfamiliar rocking beneath him, the sterile scent, the unfamiliar fabric draped over his body.

A ship.

He was on a ship.

He was lying on something soft, but his limbs felt heavy, sluggish. He tried to move, but pain lanced through his muscles like fire, forcing a sharp inhale through clenched teeth.

His throat was dry. His body weak. But he was alive.

Why?

His mind grasped for answers, but the memories came slowly, hesitant and broken.

Flames. Screams. The thick, choking scent of blood and smoke.

The weight of the rubble pressing down on him. The agony searing through his body.

And then... her voice.

"Asiro… live."

His breath hitched.

His mother.

He could still feel it, that warmth... unnatural, consuming. The glow that had wrapped around him in his final moments, soothing his pain, restoring his eyes.

His stomach twisted, nausea threatening to overtake him. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the memories wouldn't stop.

The way she had saved him despite her own pain. The way her voice had wavered, soft and breaking, as she gave him everything she had.

And he had just laid there.

Helpless. Weak.

His fingers curled into the sheets beneath him, the fabric bunching in his grip. His breathing was shallow, controlled... barely.

He had survived.

But she hadn't.

Asiro opened his eyes slowly, his Asiro's vision adjusted to the dim lighting, taking in the sterile, orderly room around him.

The medical ward was small but efficient... wooden walls reinforced with steel, shelves lined with tightly packed supplies, and an overhead lantern swaying faintly with the ship's motion. The scent of antiseptic and herbs lingered in the air, masking the natural musk of the sea.

A low murmur of voices filtered in from beyond the door, controlled and professional. Marines.

Before he could dwell on it further, the door creaked open.

A woman strode in first, her movements precise and unhurried, as if she had already anticipated his awakening.

She was tall, lean, dressed in a modified white coat with the dark insignia of the Marines stitched onto the sleeve. Stray strands of auburn hair framed her sharp, calculating features, but it was her golden-amber eyes that held his attention. They studied him with an unreadable mixture of interest and exasperation.

Behind her, a Marine officer followed... an Ensign, judging by his uniform. His steel-gray eyes flickered over Asiro with the caution of someone trained to expect the worst. His posture was rigid, disciplined, though not as at ease as the woman's.

The woman... a doctor... tilted her head, crossing her arms as she looked him over.

"Well, look who finally decided to join us among the living," she said, her tone carrying a dry amusement that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I was starting to think you'd sleep forever."

Asiro didn't respond, his cold blue-gray gaze locked onto hers.

She sighed, as if already tired of the silent act. "Since you're clearly awake and trying to kill me with that stare, let's make this simple. I'm Dr. Sylvaine Renard, the one keeping your sleep peaceful." She gestured to the Marine beside her. "And this is Ensign Klaus Mercer. He's here to make sure you don't try anything stupid."

Asiro remained silent, still assessing the situation.

Sylvaine didn't seem bothered by his lack of response. Instead, she stepped closer, eyes narrowing slightly as she examined him. "How are you feeling? Any pain? Dizziness? Sudden urge to throw yourself overboard?"

The question was laced with sarcasm, but Asiro could tell she was watching for real symptoms. He shifted slightly, testing his muscles. There was no pain, only the phantom memory of it. His body had been completely restored by his mother.

His throat tightened, but he forced the thought aside.

"How long?" His voice was hoarse, but steady.

Sylvaine arched a brow. "How long have you been unconscious? Three days."

Three days.

His fingers twitched. He had lost three entire days.

A moment of silence stretched between them before Mercer finally spoke. "You were found in the ruins of a village in the New World. The Vice Admiral found you." His tone was crisp, professional, but there was a hint of curiosity beneath it. "You're lucky we got to you when we did."

Lucky.

Asiro's jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

Sylvaine watched him closely. "Physically, you're fine. More than fine, actually... there's not a single scar on you, which is unusual given the state you were around." Her golden eyes flickered with something.

He met her gaze, He wasn't about to explain.

Sylvaine let out a breath. "Figures you wouldn't talk." She stepped back, rolling her shoulders. "But listen, kid. Just because your body's intact doesn't mean you should start running around. Whatever happened to you... " she gestured vaguely, "... your system took a massive hit. You need rest."

Asiro didn't reply. His mind was already moving forward, calculating his next step. Rest was not an option.

Carefully, he shifted, pushing his hands against the mattress to sit up. The moment he did, a sharp wave of dizziness crashed over him, the world tilting slightly. His muscles locked up, refusing to cooperate.

"Tch." Sylvaine clicked her tongue. "And here we go."

Asiro ignored her, jaw tightening as he forced his body upright. His arms trembled slightly, but he steadied himself.

"Not the brightest idea," Sylvaine muttered, crossing her arms. "I'd give it five seconds before you fall back down."

Mercer took a cautious step forward, eyes narrowing. "You should listen to her."

Asiro exhaled slowly, ignoring the way his vision swam. He wouldn't allow himself to be weak. Not here. Not ever.

Then, suddenly, a hand pressed against his chest.

With barely any effort, Sylvaine shoved him back down against the bed.

He tensed, his body locking up in resistance, but she didn't push with force... just enough to make a point.

"See? Told you," she said flatly. "Five seconds."

Asiro's fingers clenched the sheets, frustration flickering in his cold gaze.

Sylvaine pulled back, unfazed. "Look, kid. I don't care how stubborn you are, but if you overexert yourself, you will pass out again. And I will laugh at you." She tapped a finger against his forehead. "So do us all a favor and stay put."

Asiro's eyes burned with silent anger, but he said nothing.

Sylvaine studied him for another moment before sighing. "Well, at least you're not dead. That's an improvement." She turned to Mercer. "Let the Vice Admiral know our 'miracle survivor' is finally awake. He'll want to see him."

Mercer hesitated before nodding. "Understood."

As he left the room, Sylvaine glanced back at Asiro.

"Try not to do anything reckless before he gets here, alright?" She smirked.

With that, she turned and walked out, leaving Asiro alone once more.

He stared at the ceiling, his mind already shifting past his exhaustion.

The Vice Admiral.

Some time later Mercer returned after giving some information he stood at the doorway

Then the air in the medical bay shifted.

It wasn't something seen or heard... it was felt. A subtle but undeniable weight pressed against the room as the door creaked open, the once-sterile atmosphere turning thick with something heavier. Authority. Command.

Asiro didn't need to look to know that whoever had entered was different. The quiet murmurs of the medics halted. Ensign Mercer, who had been standing near the doorway, immediately straightened, his posture stiff with respect.

Then came the footsteps. Measured. Unhurried. Absolute.

Asiro turned his head slightly, his sharp blue-gray eyes landing on the figure stepping inside.

Vice Admiral Hiroto Miyazaki.

He was younger than Asiro expected... about late teen, yet he carried himself like a man who had already seen more than a lifetime's worth of war. His sharp, dark eyes scanned the room with a quiet intensity, his black gloves flexing slightly before settling at his sides. His coat, lined in black rather than the traditional white, only added to the sense of quiet menace that clung to him.

Behind him, a woman entered. Rear Admiral Kiyomi Sakamoto. She stood at his right, her amber eyes unreadable, her hands resting lightly on the hilt of the katana at her hip. Though she remained silent, her presence alone carried weight... she was watching everything, missing nothing.

Asiro instinctively sat up straighter. His body protested, but he ignored it. This wasn't an encounter he could afford to meet lying down.

The silence stretched.

Hiroto didn't speak right away. He simply observed, his unreadable gaze locking onto Asiro's, assessing him in a way that felt unnervingly precise.

The room seemed smaller under the weight of his presence. Even the steady hum of the ship's hull beneath them felt distant, swallowed by the quiet tension.

Asiro held his stare, refusing to be the first to look away.

Then, finally, Hiroto moved.

With slow, deliberate steps, he closed the distance between them, the sound of his boots against the floor unnervingly even. He stopped just short of Asiro's bed, his expression unreadable.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

Then Hiroto spoke, his voice low, calm, and absolute.

"You're awake."

The words were simple. Factual.

But they carried weight.

Asiro said nothing. He merely waited, his body still, his mind running.

He could already tell... this conversation would change everything.