Reincarnated in the world of One Piece

The pirates who kept coming ferocity were unmatched. One pirate, his face wild with madness, swung his blade in a vicious arc, slicing through a soldier's throat with a single, brutal swipe. The soldier's head was nearly severed, his body dropping like a ragdoll as the pirate stepped over him, uncaring for the carnage around him. Behind him, more pirates surged, their weapons hacking at soldiers like they were nothing more than meat to be cleaved.

"Slaughter them all! Show them no mercy!" a pirate captain shouted from the back, his voice dark and commanding, as his crew followed in a bloodlust-driven charge.

But the Royal Army was just as unforgiving. A soldier with a long spear drove it straight through a pirate's chest, the shaft snapping in his hands as the pirate gurgled, struggling for breath. Without missing a beat, the soldier grabbed a nearby pirate's dagger and plunged it into the pirate's eye, his face twisting in shock as the blade drove deep into his skull, killing him instantly. The soldier pulled the dagger free with a wet squelch, his hands slick with blood, his body moving instinctively into the next fight.

Nearby, two baroque pirates lunged at a Royal Army officer, one aiming a dagger for his ribs while the other swung a rusted cutlass. The officer twisted sideways, the dagger skimming his coat, and slammed an elbow into the first pirate's nose with a sickening crunch, sending him reeling. The second pirate's cutlass came down hard—too hard. The officer sidestepped and caught the pirate's wrist, twisting it sharply until bones snapped like dry twigs. The cutlass clattered to the ground as the pirate howled in pain, his arm now bent at a grotesque angle.Before he could react, the officer drove a knee into his gut, forcing the air from his lungs in a choked gasp. He seized the pirate's head and smashed it down onto his rising knee, shattering teeth and leaving a splatter of blood across his uniform. A final knife thrust to the throat silenced the pirate forever.

Everywhere, the blood flowed freely—pools of it gathering in the sand, dripping from the edge of weapons, staining the ground with the mark of war. The bodies of the fallen piled higher, a horrific mound of limbs, torsos, and mangled corpses that no one had time to mourn. A soldier kicked a pirate's body off his spear before thrusting it again, skewering another pirate who had rushed too close. The pirate shrieked in agony as the steel drove through his abdomen, his intestines spilling out as the soldier twisted the spear, his face cold and unfeeling as he pulled the weapon free.

The pirate swung a rusted cleaver at the soldier's head. The soldier barely ducked in time, the blade whistling past his ear with a sharp whoosh. Before the pirate could recover, the soldier lunged forward, driving his fist into the pirate's gut with a heavy thud. The pirate staggered, choking, but the soldier wasn't done—he grabbed the pirate by the hair and slammed his knee into his jaw with a brutal crack, sending teeth spraying into the blood-soaked sand.

The Royal Army's cavalry thundered across the battlefield, the rhythmic pounding of their hooves shaking the very earth beneath them. Their armor gleamed in the sun, and the lances held high shone like deadly blades of light. Captain Aldric led the charge, his gaze cold and sharp, commanding his men with precision. "Steady! Form the line!" His voice cut through the mayhem of the battlefield, his focus never wavering. As the cavalry closed the distance, their lances were lowered in unison, a tidal wave of steel crashing toward the pirate horde.

In a last desperate attempt to flee, several pirates broke off from the front lines, eyes wild with fear and greed. Among them, a ragtag group of men, their bodies battered and bloodied, sprinted toward the piles of treasure they had accumulated during their plunder. Gold coins clinked against the sand, jewels scattered like glimmering debris as the pirates threw their arms around chests overflowing with riches. "We can still make it! To the treasure!" one of them shouted, his voice tinged with the madness of their doomed flight. They ran, their hearts pounding in their chests, the weight of their stolen fortunes dragging them down as much as the fear of death that pursued them.

But the cavalry was relentless. A dozen horses surged toward them, the soldiers' lances gleaming with deadly intent. One pirate, clutching a heavy chest of jewels, looked over his shoulder and saw the cavalry closing in on him. With a frantic cry, he stumbled forward, tripping over the treasure and falling face-first into the sand. The Royal Guard, riding fast and sure, showed no mercy. Without a word, one of the soldiers speared the pirate through the back with brutal precision. The sharp tip of the lance drove through the pirate's spine, piercing his heart, and the man's final breath burst out in a choking, gurgling sound as blood poured from his mouth. His body went limp, and the chest of treasures slipped from his grasp, tumbling to the ground with a hollow clatter.

At that moment, the spear battalion arrived on the scene, running in perfect formation, their silver-tipped spears gleaming with deadly purpose. The air was filled with the sound of their boots pounding the earth, their formation tight and unwavering. Lieutenant Sera, a towering figure leading them, raised her arm high. "Ready... set... THROW!" she bellowed, her voice a battle cry that split the air. In unison, the battalion released their spears. Dozens of sharp, glinting projectiles soared through the air, finding their marks in pirate bodies. The sharp tips pierced through flesh, skewering men from neck to gut. One pirate, his face contorted in a final scream, was lifted off his feet by a spear driven through his chest. Another was impaled through the eye, the blood spraying in all directions as his body collapsed, twitching in its death throes.

Meanwhile, the pirates were not without their resolve. They pressed forward, desperation turning their fury into violence. A pirate captain, his face covered in a thick layer of blood and sweat, screamed in fury as he dragged a large chest toward the line of horses, his breath ragged. "Fight! We're not dying for nothing!" He swung his mace in wide arcs, splattering blood across the sand as he tried to break through the line. The soldiers met his charge with cold discipline. A cavalryman with a crimson-streaked face ducked beneath the pirate's wild swing and, with one swift movement, ran his lance through the pirate's abdomen. The captain's eyes widened in shock as the weapon tore through his insides. His scream was cut short as the force of the blow sent him sprawling to the ground, his body convulsing in a pool of his own blood.

Behind the charge of the cavalry, more pirates scrambled for their lives, clutching their treasures in a final act of desperation. A group of them, their eyes wide with fear, saw the spear battalion closing in and turned to fight back. "We can't let them take everything!" one pirate yelled, swinging a jagged cutlass at a soldier's exposed side. The blade bit through armor with a sickening crunch, and the soldier let out a strangled cry as his intestines spilled out, his hands reaching for his stomach in a futile attempt to stem the bleeding. But before the pirate could make another move, a spear drove through his ribs from behind, lifting him off the ground with horrifying force. His body jerked and twitched before collapsing into a heap, blood pooling beneath him.

Another pirate, hands shaking, struggled to load his stolen riches into a cart. The treasures tumbled and clattered to the ground as the cart was overturned by the force of a cavalryman charging at full speed. The soldier drove his lance into the pirate's back, the sharp metal sliding through flesh with sickening ease. Blood burst from the wound in a geyser, spraying the cart and the scattered treasure as the pirate crumpled forward. His hands spasmed, desperately clutching at the chest of gold he'd dropped. It was too late. His life had already drained away.

At another area, a pirate with a jagged grin, his teeth yellowed from years at sea, twirled his cutlass and sneered at the Royal Army soldier before him. "What's the matter, lad? Never seen real blood before?" He flicked his blade, sending a fresh splatter of crimson onto the soldier's pristine uniform. "Don't worry. You'll get used to it—right before your own spills out."

The soldier clenched his jaw, tightening his grip on his saber. "You stink of rot and cheap rum," he spat, eyes burning with defiance. "I'll carve you open just to see if your guts reek the same." Without another word, he lunged. The pirate barely dodged, laughing as the saber nicked his coat. "Oh-ho! Feisty, are we?" he jeered, swinging wildly. The soldier ducked, but the next strike came faster—a ruthless slash aimed to rip through his ribs. Their blades clashed, sparks flying as they pushed against each other, the sneers and smirks fading into something raw—one fighting for duty, the other for the sheer thrill of killing.

The Royal Army's cavalry and spear battalion formed a wall of iron and steel, cutting through the pirate horde with relentless efficiency. The pirates who still clung to life were now desperately trying to escape, their bloodied faces twisted in terror. But escape was no longer an option. With a final, resounding roar from Captain Aldric, the Royal Army pressed forward, their weapons leaving a wake of slaughter behind them. The treasure that had once glittered so brightly now lay forgotten, trampled into the sand, mingling with the blood of those who had tried to flee with it. The battle was not just for survival anymore—it was a massacre, one that left no room for mercy.

Image here....

In the distance, the sounds of cannons firing, muskets cracking, and the screams of dying men seemed to merge into a single, deafening cacophony. There was no victor here—only death, violence, and the endless bloodshed of two sides locked in an eternal struggle.

The battlefield was a grotesque graveyard, a wretched expanse of butchered flesh and shattered bone. Dismembered limbs jutted from the crimson-soaked sand like grotesque monuments to the slaughter, entrails slithering across the ground in glistening heaps. The stench of spilled blood, ruptured bowels, and burning flesh clung to the air, suffocating and thick.

Among the carnage, the mangled corpses of Mr. 5 (Gem) and Miss Valentine (Mikita) lay desecrated beyond recognition. Gem's torso had been impaled through so many times that it resembled a butchered carcass, jagged bone poking through the gaping punctures in his chest. His once-cocky smirk had been replaced with a hideous, frozen scream, his jaw unhinged as if he had died mid-howl. Mikita's body was crumpled nearby, her torso split wide open, exposing pulped organs spilling onto the sand like a grotesque offering. Her unseeing eyes bulged in an expression of pure horror, her mouth slightly parted as if she had choked on her own blood before death took her.

Not far from them, the hulking corpse of Mr. 4 (Drophy) lay twisted and broken, his thick skull split wide open, brain matter leaking from the sundered remains of his head. His bat, still clutched in one lifeless hand, was slick with gore, his fingers stiffened in death. Miss Merry Christmas was barely recognizable—her small frame had been torn apart, her stomach slashed open, her intestines strewn out in tangled ropes beside her. One of her arms was missing entirely, the jagged stump leaking thick, dark blood into the sand. Her mole-like features were frozen in sheer agony, her remaining hand outstretched toward Drophy as if begging for help that would never come.

The battlefield was an ocean of blood, littered with split skulls, torn torsos, and bodies crushed beyond recognition. Heads sat atop broken spines, eyes gouged from their sockets, jaws hanging loosely from flesh barely holding them in place. Soldiers and pirates alike were scattered across the war-torn land, reduced to quivering, eviscerated husks. The sand had turned into a thick, sludgy mire, swallowing up the fallen in a crimson embrace. Guts dangled from severed rib cages, still twitching in the throes of death, while the air was thick with the wails of the dying—gurgling, rasping cries as those still clinging to life drowned in their own blood.

Madness had overtaken the battlefield, a frenzy of betrayal and savagery turning former allies into rabid beasts. A pirate, his face streaked with blood, drove a rusted cutlass into his comrade's stomach, twisting it until the man shrieked in agony. He tore a satchel of gold from the dying man's belt, snarling like an animal. "Mine!" he roared as he yanked his blade free, a thick stream of viscera following the motion. His victim crumpled, hands desperately trying to shove his entrails back inside his ruptured belly, but his strength failed, leaving him to collapse into the blood-drenched sand.

Nearby, a desperate struggle broke out over a fallen soldier's weapons. A pirate raised a stolen spear and rammed it through another's throat, the jagged tip tearing through muscle and sinew. The impaled man gurgled violently, blood gushing from his open mouth in bubbling waves, his eyes rolling back as his attacker yanked the spear free with a sickening squelch. He barely had time to revel in his kill before another pirate cleaved his skull in two with a brutal downward swing of an axe, splitting his head open like a rotten fruit. Brain matter splattered across the battlefield, joining the ever-growing sea of mutilation.

"Forget Baroque Works!" a pirate captain bellowed, his voice hoarse with rage and hysteria. "Take what you can and get the hell out of here!" He swung his axe with merciless precision, cleaving through the neck of a fleeing soldier, sending the head tumbling across the sand like a grotesque ball. Without hesitation, he turned and hacked down one of his own men who had dared to reach for the same pile of loot, his blade biting through collarbone and ribs, lodging deep in the man's chest. A guttural wheeze escaped the pirate's lips as he slumped forward, his lifeless fingers twitching before going still.

The battlefield had descended into unrestrained madness, a slaughterhouse where no allegiances remained. Pirates, soldiers, and scavengers alike tore into each other with reckless abandon, reduced to snarling, blood-drenched savages. Greed, fear, and desperation drove them to butcher their own comrades, their eyes glazed with madness as they waded through the rivers of blood and severed flesh. The world around them was no longer a war—it was a nightmare, an orgy of slaughter where death was the only certainty.

The battlefield was a symphony of chaos, the acrid stench of sweat and blood mingling in the air. The golden sands of Alabasta were now soaked in crimson, bodies strewn across the ruins of once-grand structures. Smoke and dust rose in thick plumes, swirling under the harsh desert sun. Amidst the devastation, Mr. 1 (Daz Bones) stood like an unbreakable monolith, his steel body gleaming, his blades dripping with fresh blood. Around him, the shattered remains of soldiers and pirates alike formed a gruesome throne.

Pell, Chaka, and Igaram stood in a loose formation, panting but resolute. Pell's feathers were streaked with dirt and blood, his sharp eyes locked onto Mr. 1. Chaka, his jackal form crouched low, bared his fangs, his breathing ragged but his spirit unbroken. Igaram clutched his blade, his uniform in tatters, his hands trembling from exhaustion but refusing to release his sword.

"You really think you pieces of trash can hold me back?" Mr. 1 sneered, his voice cold as grinding metal. He flexed his arms, the glint of sharpened steel reflecting in the dusty air. "You're nothing but insects beneath my feet."

Suddenly, Pell launched forward, his wings spreading wide, using the updraft of a collapsing building to propel himself. He dived with talons outstretched, aiming straight for Mr. 1's throat.

CLANG! A deafening screech of metal rang out as Mr. 1 raised his arm, his forearm shifting into a gleaming blade just in time to intercept Pell's attack. Sparks erupted between them as Pell pushed down with all his strength, trying to break through Mr. 1's steel skin.

Chaka capitalized on the distraction, sprinting across the rubble, kicking off broken stone pillars to gain momentum. He leaped over a fallen statue, twisting midair, his claws aimed at Mr. 1's side. At the last second, Mr. 1 flicked his wrist—a blade extended from his knee, slicing through the air. Chaka barely managed to contort his body, flipping off a broken slab of rock to avoid being split in half. The steel sliced through the pillar behind him, shattering it into dust.

Igaram lunged next, his sword cutting through the smoke, aiming for a weak spot at Mr. 1's joints. The steel assassin sidestepped with eerie precision, the blade missing his ribs by mere inches. With an almost casual flick of his hand, Mr. 1 lashed out, his blade slashing through a nearby half-collapsed wall—the structure groaned, then buckled, sending an avalanche of rubble crashing down.

Chaka and Igaram leaped away just in time, landing on the shifting debris, their footing unsteady. Mr. 1 didn't give them a moment to breathe—he charged, his movements unnaturally fluid for someone made of metal.

Pell swooped low, using the dust cloud as cover, twisting midair to rake his talons across Mr. 1's exposed side. But Mr. 1 was already prepared—he spun, his forearm transforming into a serrated blade, swiping upward. Pell barely twisted in time, the blade grazing his shoulder, sending a spray of blood into the sand.

Chaka launched himself off a crumbling balcony, his claws flashing. He grabbed a loose piece of broken stone and hurled it at Mr. 1, forcing him to dodge. The moment the assassin shifted his weight, Chaka was on him, his jackal reflexes a blur. He ducked under a horizontal slash, sliding across the rubble-strewn ground before kicking up a piece of debris into Mr. 1's face.

The dust momentarily blinded him. That was the opening.

Igaram took his chance—he dashed in, sword raised high, aiming for the joints in Mr. 1's shoulder. He swung—

But Mr. 1 smirked, stepping into the attack instead of away. His steel arm locked around Igaram's wrist in a vice grip, his fingers crushing down. A sickening crunch filled the air as Igaram gasped in agony.

Mr. 1 drove his knee into Igaram's gut, sending him hurtling backward. He crashed into a broken column, coughing up blood. Pell and Chaka both shouted his name, but Mr. 1 wasn't done.

He kicked a loose slab of stone into the air and spun, slicing it in two with a single slash. The halves rocketed toward Pell and Chaka like cannonballs. Pell rolled mid-flight, barely avoiding a direct hit as the debris grazed his wing. Chaka ducked at the last second, but the force of the impact sent him skidding back, his claws digging into the sand to stay upright.

Mr. 1 exhaled slowly, raising his arms outward, his body vibrating with an eerie hum. The battlefield stilled for a moment as he whispered:

"Steel Tempest: Guillotine Rondo."

A metallic whirl filled the air as his entire body transformed into a rotating buzzsaw. The spinning blades on his arms, shoulders, and even knees blurred into a cyclone of steel.

Then—

💥💥💥 BOOM! 💥💥💥

He vanished in a blur, a whirling storm of slashes tearing through everything in his path.

The first building in his way was bisected instantly, its upper floors slipping apart before crashing down in a deafening explosion of dust and stone.

The second was shredded from within, its walls ripped to ribbons before the entire structure crumbled, sending shockwaves across the battlefield.

The third—one of the last standing fortifications—stood for only a second before a deep, diagonal cut tore through its foundation. The moment the wind blew, the entire tower groaned before collapsing, sending massive chunks of debris hailing down like meteors.

Pell, airborne, watched in horror as the entire street behind him was reduced to ruins. The sheer force of the technique had created a shockwave, scattering shattered steel and rubble across the battlefield.

Chaka and Igaram, coughing through the dust, barely managed to remain standing as the tremors subsided.

Amidst the wreckage, Mr. 1 stood unscathed, his blades dripping with the remnants of battle.

His voice was calm, emotionless. "Tch. Still standing? "You're wasting your time," Mr. 1 said, his voice calm and cold. He spun, his blades creating a whirlwind of steel that forced Pell and Chaka to retreat. A quick jab from his elbow sent Pell stumbling back, blood dripping from a gash on his arm. Chaka lunged again, but Mr. 1 caught his wrist, twisting it with a sickening crack. Chaka cried out in pain, his jackal form faltering as he fell to his knees.

"You're wasting your time," Mr. 1 said, his voice calm and cold. He spun, his blades creating a whirlwind of steel that forced Pell and Chaka to retreat.

Pell gritted his teeth, his arm throbbing from the deep gash. Blood trickled down his feathers, but he forced himself to stay airborne. I cannot fall. If I fall, Alabasta falls. I swore to protect this land. To protect her. The image of Vivi flashed in his mind—her unwavering resolve, the tears she refused to shed. Pell clenched his fists. If I must die, I will do so standing.

Mr. 1 struck like lightning, his elbow slamming into Pell's chest. He staggered backward, breath hitching as pain exploded through his ribs.

Chaka roared, leaping forward, his claws gleaming in the sun. If not us, then who? If we fail here, who will stand in our place? The jackal knight knew they were outmatched, knew the cold, merciless power Mr. 1 wielded. But that did not matter. I am the sword of Alabasta. My king's fangs. I will not be broken!

But Mr. 1 was faster. He caught Chaka's wrist mid-swipe, twisting it with a sickening crack. Chaka cried out, his jackal form faltering as he crashed to his knees. His breath came in ragged gasps, pain searing through his arm. No… not yet. I can still fight.

Igaram, though wounded, rose to his feet, his sword now in hand. He charged at Mr. 1, his movements fueled by sheer determination. His blade clashed against Mr. 1's, the impact sending sparks flying. "You'll never win!" Igaram shouted, his voice filled with defiance.

Mr. 1's eyes glowed with a feral light, his blades moving faster than the eye could follow. He disarmed Igaram again, his blade slicing through the air with a sharp whistle. The edge grazed Igaram's cheek, drawing a thin line of blood. "You're nothing but insects," Mr. 1 said, his voice filled with contempt. "Once I kill all of you, I'll go after King Cobra and that brat Vivi. And then… I'll make sure those Black Flame Pirates pay for what they've done."

Mr. 1's mind raced as he fought, his thoughts a storm of anger and disbelief. Crocodile… dead? The idea was almost impossible to comprehend. Crocodile had been invincible, a force of nature. And yet, the Black Flame Pirates had taken him down. Mr. 1's grip tightened on his blades, his teeth grinding together. "Those bastards…" he muttered under his breath. "They think they can just waltz in and destroy everything we've built? I'll make them regret the day they set foot in the Grand Line."

His eyes flicked to the battlefield around him, where the bodies of Mr. 3 and Mr. 4 lay lifeless, their faces frozen in expressions of shock and despair. He had killed them himself when they had dared to suggest desertion. "Weaklings," he spat, his voice filled with disgust. "They didn't deserve to stand by Crocodile's side. And neither do those traitors, Bon Clay and Miss All Sunday. Once I'm done here, I'll hunt them down too."

Pell wiped the blood from his face, his talons gleaming as he prepared to attack again. "You're not as invincible as you think," he said, his voice filled with defiance.

Mr. 1 smirked, his blades twirling in his hands. "Keep telling yourself that," he said, his voice cold and mocking. "It'll make your death more satisfying."

Chaka rose to his feet, his jackal form trembling but unyielding. "We'll never let you win," he said, his voice filled with determination.

....

The clash of steel and the roar of battle echoed across the desert, but high atop the walls of Alubarna, Princess Vivi and King Cobra stood in silence, their eyes fixed on the chaos below. The wind carried the scent of blood and smoke, and the cries of the dying reached their ears like a haunting melody.

Vivi's hands trembled as she gripped the stone railing, her knuckles white. "Father…" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the din of war. "Do you think we can win this? Look at them… our people, our soldiers… they're dying out there."

King Cobra's face was grim, his jaw clenched as he stared at the battlefield. His crown felt heavy on his brow, the weight of his decisions pressing down on him like a mountain. "Vivi," he said, his voice steady but heavy with resolve, "we have no choice. Crocodile may be dead, but his poison still runs through our land. If we don't root it out now, it will consume us completely. We must win, no matter the cost."

Vivi's gaze fell to the battlefield once more, where a group of soldiers was cut down by a barrage of pirate blades. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the screams, but they echoed in her mind. "This isn't the way…" she whispered. "There has to be another way…"

King Cobra placed a hand on her shoulder, his touch firm but comforting. "Sometimes, Vivi, the hardest choices are the ones that define us. We fight not just for ourselves, but for the future of Alabasta. For our people.

-Flashback-

As he spoke, his mind drifted back to a few hours ago when the war began—a memory still fresh in his mind.

The grand hall of the palace was silent, the air thick with tension. Igaram stood at King Cobra's side, his usual calm demeanor replaced by a furrowed brow. Chaka paced the room, his frustration evident, while Pell burst through the doors, his face pale and his breath ragged.

"Your Majesty!" Pell's voice was urgent, cutting through the silence like a blade. "News from the front—the Black Flame Pirates have defeated the Buster Call and killed Crocodile!"

The room fell silent. Chaka stopped pacing, his eyes widening in shock. "Crocodile… dead?" he muttered, disbelief coloring his tone. "But… how?"

King Cobra's hands tightened on the arms of his throne. "Are you certain of this, Pell?"

Pell nodded, his expression grave. "The reports are confirmed. The Black Flame Pirates have done what we could not."

For a moment, the room was still, the weight of the news settling over them like a storm cloud. Then King Cobra stood, his voice firm. "This is our chance. While Baroque Works is leaderless, we must strike. Rally the Royal Guards and the soldiers. We will drive those criminals out of our land and reclaim Alabasta!"

Chaka hesitated, his voice cautious. "Your Majesty, is this wise? The cost—"

"The cost of inaction is greater," King Cobra interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "This is our only chance. The fate of our country depends on it."