Location: Deadreef Island, Grand Line
The island was silent. Not the silence of peace, but of absolute aftermath—the kind that came only after war had finished its feast and left nothing worth taking.
Burnt sails flapped limply in the salt-heavy wind. Splintered masts jutted from the sand like broken bones. The air reeked of iron, smoke, and charred flesh, carried on the breeze like the whispers of the dead. The shoreline was a grave, littered with bodies—some in white Marine coats, others in pirate tattoos and patchwork armor. All equal now.
Dead Reef Island, a hidden den in the Grand Line, was no more. What had once been a neutral ground where corrupt Marines and underworld pirates met to divide their spoils had become something else entirely today. Not by accident. Not by storm.
By design.
And at the island's blackened heart, seated atop a crude throne made of the stacked bodies of admirals, commodores, and pirate captains alike, sat Rakan.
His frame was massive—over seven feet of tightly coiled muscle, lean but powerful, his body a brutal sculpture of motion and mass. His long white cloak, draped across the throne like a banner, had been spotless this morning. Now it was drenched in red, clinging to his skin, soaked through with blood that wasn't his.
Rakan sat still, his arms resting on the armrests—one a broken Marine flagpole, the other a pirate's cannon barrel. In one hand, he held a single gold coin, twirling it slowly between his fingers as the sun reflected off its clean surface—so unlike everything else around him.
He glanced down at the coin, then at his blood-soaked robes.
"Man…" he muttered, voice low, almost conversational. "White really does suit me."
He tilted his head, strands of silver-white hair falling across his face. His skin was streaked with crimson. His sharp, sea-colored eyes scanned the wreckage before him.
"But these bloodstains," he continued, flicking the coin away into the sand, "they just don't come out."
He stood, slowly.
Corpses slid from the throne and hit the ground with wet thuds.
The silence held, as if the world was afraid to breathe.
Earlier That Day
The island had been loud. Loud with laughter. The kind that came from pirates drunk on power and Marines drunk on gold. Together, they had gathered—over two hundred strong—to hold the Annual Division. This year's plunder had come from a chain of nearby island villages: everything that wasn't nailed down—or breathing.
The pirates brought girls. The Marines brought order. They called it "mutual survival."
Then Rakan arrived.
Alone.
He'd walked down the main path—no weapon, no flag, no words.
At first, they'd laughed. Called him a freak. A deep-sea bastard. Told him to crawl back into whatever trench he came from.
They stopped laughing when he ripped a Vice Admiral's jaw off with his bare hands.
The next two minutes were chaos. The next ten were slaughter.
Rakan moved like a current beneath the storm. Fast. Cold. Unstoppable.
He picked up a cannon and used it as a club. He hurled anchors like throwing knives. He shattered bones, sunk ships with thrown bodies, and when one pirate tried to flee into the sea, Rakan followed him underwater and crushed his skull against the ocean floor.
He fought like no man they had ever seen. Because he wasn't just a man.
Half-Buccaneer, born of a line known for monstrous strength.Half-Merfolk, with the blood of sea kings and trench beasts in his veins.And not a single Devil Fruit in sight.
He didn't need it.
He was the sea's answer to the corruption of the land.
And now the island was quiet.
Present – After the Battle
Rakan stretched his arms overhead, muscles popping like ropes under strain. He turned to the spoils laid at his feet: crates of gold, jewels, marine codes, rare weapons, and a dozen unopened treasure chests. He stared at them without interest.
"What the hell am I supposed to do with this garbage?"
He'd destroyed the corrupt. That was enough. But now?
The sky darkened.
Not by weather.
By power.
A shadow passed overhead, accompanied by a familiar laugh.
"MAMAMAMAMAMAMA... What a beautiful boy you've become~"
Rakan didn't need to look up.
Every inch of his body went tense. That laugh had haunted his early life like thunder before a typhoon.
Descending from the sky on a massive, grinning thundercloud, sat the monstrous matriarch herself—Charlotte Linlin. The woman the world would come to fear as Big Mom.
Her towering frame was absurdly dressed—oversized ribbons, a parasol, and her sentient homies dancing around her. But none of it could hide the overwhelming pressure she exuded.
Her eyes scanned the battlefield, and she grinned.
"You've been busy, haven't you? Marines and pirates both? MAMAMA! You make quite the mess."
Rakan said nothing.
"I'm not here to kill you, boy. I'm here because someone wants you. Captain Rocks. He's heard of the boy who tears navies apart with his bare hands."
Zeus crackled beneath her.
"Join the Rocks Pirates, Rakan. Or die."
Rakan tilted his head. Then smiled.
"I choose the third option."
Linlin blinked. "Third?"
"I'm gonna kick your ass."
The Clash
Rakan moved.
One moment he stood on the ground. The next, he was in the air, fist drawn back, screaming toward Linlin like a cannon shot.
"SMASH!"
Linlin blocked with Napoleon, her blade extending from her hat in a streak of steel. The collision created a shockwave that sent debris flying in all directions. Trees cracked. Sand launched. A crater formed beneath Zeus.
"You've grown stronger," Linlin snarled. "But still just a boy."
"Old cow trying to eat young grass?" Rakan grinned. "Gross."
Her eyes flared with rage.
"YOU BRAT!"
She swung. Rakan ducked, rolled, punched her in the ribs with both hands. She grunted, shocked. He followed with a rising knee to the jaw.
She reeled back—then slammed her palm forward.
"Elbaf Spear: Ikoku Sovereignty!"
A compressed wave of soul-fire and wind exploded toward Rakan.
He crossed his arms to block, feet digging into the dirt—but the force launched him backward. He tore through three rock spires before skidding across the ground in a trench of dust.
He spat blood. Wiped his mouth. Stood.
"That it?"
Linlin didn't laugh.
She launched again. Their battle shook the island, gouged the earth, boiled the air. Fist to flame. Flesh to steel.
Until finally—
"ENOUGH!"
She raised Zeus and Napoleon overhead, her whole body glowing.
"Get in the sea, runt!"
She brought both weapons down in a divine strike.
Rakan tried to block—but the force was too much. His body was smashed through the cliffside, dragged across stone and fire, and launched into the ocean like a meteor.
The sea exploded upward, a geyser of white spray and blood.
Silence followed.