Isshin Arima, a weathered old man with snow-white hair and a face carved by years of sorrow, slowly opened his eyes. His vision was blurry at first, but the piercing silence of the room brought clarity. Slowly rising, he coughed, then leaned on a rusted chair for support.
"System," he muttered hoarsely.
A digital chime echoed in the air, and a glowing blue interface materialized in front of him. It flickered for a moment before stabilizing.
[SYSTEM ACTIVATED]
Reward Granted: Mythical Zoan-Type Devil Fruit – Model: Vampire
Reward Granted: Devil Sword Frostmourne (Locked)
From thin air, a strange, pitch-black fruit with crimson veins and a twisted, gnarled shape descended before him. It pulsated as though alive, radiating a dark, seductive energy. Isshin narrowed his eyes at the object.
Without hesitation, he grabbed the fruit and took a deep bite.
The taste was foul—like rotting blood and ash—but he didn't stop. His body convulsed violently as ancient power surged through his veins. His bones cracked, muscles tore and reformed, and his skin darkened slightly before pulsing back to normal.
In a matter of seconds, Isshin's frail body transformed. His hunched back straightened, his muscles expanded with supernatural size and density, and his aura became overwhelming, suffocating even. His eyes glowed red, fangs extended, and black mist surrounded him like a shroud of death.
Then, just as quickly, the transformation reversed.
He stood still, panting lightly, staring at his aged hands that had just moments ago held monstrous strength. But something had changed inside him—an instinct awoke. A thirst. A compulsion to hunt.
That night, someone would have to die.
Night fell over Tokyo like a blanket of shadow. Neon signs lit up the streets, and the sinful underbelly of the city came alive. In a luxurious penthouse near Shinjuku, laughter echoed from behind tinted glass. Loud music, drug-fueled ecstasy, and the stench of greed and lust filled the air.
A group of yakuza elites were celebrating—completely oblivious to the shadow approaching from the rooftops.
From the edge of a nearby building, a figure stood tall, cloaked in black. Isshin wore a long, tattered coat and an oni-style mask that concealed his face. Though his posture seemed that of a fragile old man, with each step forward, the air thickened—heavy with unseen power.
Inside the penthouse, a man was laughing hysterically, a bottle of sake in one hand and a woman in the other. "Tonight, we're untouchable!" he yelled. The others cheered—until the lights flickered.
And then, silence.
The windows exploded inward as a gust of black wind surged into the room. Standing amidst the chaos was Isshin Arima, eyes glowing red like the embers of hell.
"What the f—"
"Silence," Isshin growled, his voice layered with an ancient, unnatural rumble.
With a single swipe of his hand, shadows shot from beneath his feet and wrapped around two yakuza members, draining them in seconds. Their bodies withered like dried husks, collapsing to the floor with a soft thud.
[Skill Activated: Vampiric Aura]
A dark crimson fog spread across the room. Screams erupted as Isshin stepped forward, absorbing the life force from everyone in his path. Some tried to shoot him, but the bullets slowed in mid-air, falling harmlessly to the ground. One man managed to stab him—but Isshin didn't even flinch. Instead, he smiled under the mask.
"Ah... magnificent," he whispered in his native tongue, voice trembling with euphoria. "Tonight, all of you will die."
His hand pierced into the attacker's chest and pulled out a glowing red essence. "Now I take what's mine."
One by one, they all fell. Their energy, their strength, their very lives—siphoned into Isshin's undead body. He grew stronger with every soul devoured, yet he did not lose control. The beast within howled for more, but Isshin was no longer a man driven by hunger—he was fueled by vengeance.
By the time the mist cleared, not a single yakuza remained alive. Blood painted the walls, and silence once again ruled the night.
Isshin stood in the center of the carnage, breathing deeply. He looked down at his hands—strong, revitalized, and unnatural. His skin had returned to a youthful glow, but his face remained aged, the face of a man whose past still clung like a curse.
He slowly reverted to his old form. The muscles faded, the black aura receded, and he stood once more as the fragile elder. Yet now, he was healthier than ever—his body fueled by stolen vitality.
The mask remained on his face as he stepped over the bodies with the indifference of a man walking through fallen leaves.
Back at his mansion, nestled deep in a forgotten forest, Isshin stepped through the ancient wooden doors and let the heavy silence embrace him. He removed the mask and placed it gently on a small shrine in the hallway—an altar to the life he once lived.
He sat before the hearth and stared into the night beyond the frosted window.
The system interface blinked again.
[Enemies Eliminated: 17]
[Vampiric Potential: 12% Awakened]
[Note: To awaken this Devil Fruit, the host must either commit acts of evil to generate negative energy or drain the life force of enemies continuously.]
Isshin closed his eyes and leaned back in the old chair. Outside, the wind howled through the trees, carrying whispers of blood and destiny.
He knew this was only the beginning.
But for now, he rested—not as a monster, nor as a god—but as a man whose long path of vengeance had just begun.
He mumbled to himself, "Don't worry, old Isshin... I'll make sure every enemy you had burns in hell."