Year 1510, Sea Circle Calendar — Impel Down, Crimson Lotus Hell.
The chains bit into his wrists as Ryoku Vale forced himself up, body aching from the cold floor.
The stench of rusted iron and old blood hung heavy in the air. Even on the first level of Impel Down, the so-called Crimson Lotus Hell, the place reeked of death.
Three walls of solid iron. One side of twisted bars.
A cage inside a larger cage.
His stolen memories whispered fragments of this world's madness.
The Great Pirate Era had turned the seas into a battlefield. The prisons? Overflowing.
Impel Down—the sea's iron graveyard—was drowning in its own filth.
And monsters like Sadie, the sadistic jailer, reveled in it.
To thin the herd, they'd devised a game.
Deathmatches.
Every day, the prisoners were nothing more than numbers in a cruel lottery.
Two names drawn.
One walks out.
And even if you survived... your number went back into the pot the next day.
A never-ending bloodbath.
And today?
Ryoku Vale. Number 55.
Fate had picked him.
He eyed the slab of meat on the tray, cold and greasy, the so-called 'execution meal.'
He sneered bitterly.
"I've eaten worse..." he muttered, forcing down the meat.
There was no pride in starving.
Only fools fought on an empty stomach.
The minutes bled away.
Chains rattled as two guards dragged him from the cell.
The stone floor was slick beneath his bare feet, the sound of his shackles echoing through the deathly halls.
Faces leered from behind the bars.
"Oi, Number 55, you're done for. Your opponent's Number 38—the record killer," someone hissed, grinning like a hyena.
A blow from the guard's baton silenced the chatter, but the stares never wavered.
Predators watching prey march to the slaughter.
The makeshift arena loomed ahead.
A ring of cracked stone, stained dark by the blood of countless forgotten men.
Jailers lined the perimeter, their eyes cold, some grinning, some bored.
Above them, in the VIP seats, the two-headed demon of this floor—Saldeath, commander of the Blue Gorillas—watched with lazy disdain.
Ryoku's gaze flicked to the center of the ring.
His opponent waited.
A mountain of a man. Scarred, bloodshot eyes.
His mere presence reeked of slaughter.
Number 38. The record holder. Five dead. And now, hungry for a sixth.
Ryoku rolled his stiff shoulders, breathing slowly.
The seal at the edge of his soul pulsed faintly.
A whisper in the dark.
Not yet...
He wouldn't call on the beast just to survive like a cornered rat.
Not unless he had no choice.
"Get in there, worm!"
A shove sent him stumbling into the ring, chains dragging behind him.
The crowd jeered. The guards laughed.
This was Impel Down.
No justice.
No mercy.
Only survival.
And Ryoku Vale clenched his fists.
If the seal demanded blood...
It would get plenty.