Chapitre 3: Chapter 3: The Curse of the Dutchman
go to my Patreon for advanced chapters
p@treon.com/LT_Ryuu_X
________________________________________________________________________________________________
The storm clouds hung heavy over the Flying Dutchman, the skies dark with the threat of a tempest. Davy Jones stood on the deck, the chest containing his heart securely fastened beside him. The energy emanating from it was palpable, like a heartbeat that thrummed in time with the crashing waves. But as much as the power of the heart called to him, it was also a reminder of the curse that bound him to the ship, to the sea.
He couldn't shake the feeling that the island had been no mere coincidence. The chest, hidden in that ancient temple, had been waiting for him. The strange symbols and the eerie light—they had all seemed to be part of some larger design as if the very world of One Piece was conspiring to shape his destiny.
But why? And what did it mean for him now that he had the heart in his possession?
Jones ran a clawed hand over the chest's weathered surface, tracing the intricate carvings. The symbols were unfamiliar, but they pulsed with a power that was unmistakably connected to the sea. He could feel it in his bones, a deep, resonant vibration that seemed to sync with the curse he bore.
"What now, Cap'n?" one of the crew members rasped, his voice low and cautious. The man's fish-like eyes glinted in the dim light as he glanced nervously at the chest. "The heart… it's dangerous, ain't it?"
Jones turned his gaze toward the crewman, his expression unreadable. "Aye," he replied, his voice a rumble like distant thunder. "Dangerous and powerful. But in the right hands, it's a weapon, a tool that can shape the fate of this world."
The crewman nodded slowly, his gills flaring slightly as he processed Jones's words. "And in our hands, Cap'n… what'll it do?"
Jones looked out at the sea, the waves rolling endlessly beneath the darkened sky. He could feel the power of the Dutchman coursing through him, a connection that was both a blessing and a curse. The ship was bound to him, and he was to it, for as long as his heart remained apart from his body.
But now, with the heart in his possession, he had a choice—a chance to change his fate. He could reclaim his heart and end the curse, freeing himself from the Dutchman's grasp. But at what cost? Would he still retain the ship's power? Or would he lose everything and become mortal once more, vulnerable in a world filled with danger?
"There's a price to pay for power," Jones murmured, more to himself than to the crewman. "A cost that must be weighed carefully."
As if in response to his thoughts, the chest seemed to pulse with a faint light, the symbols glowing softly in the dimness. The key to his fate was within his grasp, but the choice was not an easy one.
Before he could ponder further, a strange sensation washed over him—a disturbance in the air, as if the sea itself was reacting to something. He straightened, his sharp eyes narrowing as he scanned the horizon.
"Cap'n, look!" another crewman called out, pointing toward the distant waves.
Jones followed the man's gaze and saw something that made his breath catch in his throat. A ship—no, several ships—was emerging from the mist, their sails billowing in the wind. They were unlike any vessels he had seen before in this world, their hulls sleek and black, cutting through the water with unnatural speed.
At the forefront of the fleet was a massive galleon, its dark sails emblazoned with a symbol that sent a chill down Jones's spine—a skull and crossbones, but with a twist. The skull was elongated, with hollow, empty eye sockets, and the bones crossed beneath it were jagged and broken.
"Pirates," Jones growled, his voice low and dangerous. "And not just any pirates. These are no ordinary crews."
The ships closed in rapidly, their formation tight and precise. The lead galleon, larger than any of the others, bore down on the Dutchman with terrifying speed. Jones could sense the power emanating from the ship, a dark energy that resonated with the curse of the Dutchman. It was as if the very sea had brought them together, two forces destined to clash.
"Prepare for battle!" Jones roared, his voice echoing across the deck. The crew sprang into action, their cursed forms moving with a speed and precision that belied their grotesque appearances. Weapons were drawn, cannons were loaded, and the air buzzed with anticipation.
But as the enemy fleet drew closer, Jones realized that something was different about these ships. They moved with an almost unnatural fluidity, their black sails catching the wind in a way that defied logic. And the crew—Jones could see them now, shadowy figures moving on the decks, their forms indistinct and wreathed in mist.
"These aren't ordinary pirates," Jones muttered to himself. "There's something more at work here."
The lead galleon closed the distance quickly, coming alongside the Dutchman with an almost alarming speed. The two ships collided with a thunderous crash, the impact sending shockwaves through both vessels. The crew braced themselves, their weapons at the ready as the enemy pirates began to board the Dutchman.
But as the first of the attackers came into view, Jones's suspicions were confirmed. These were no ordinary men—they were spirits, ghostly figures clad in tattered pirate garb, their faces obscured by the mist that clung to their forms. They moved with an eerie grace, their weapons flashing as they engaged the cursed crew of the Dutchman.
Jones drew his sword, the blade gleaming in the dim light as he joined the fray. The clash of steel rang out across the deck as the two forces collided, the battle quickly descending into chaos. The ghostly pirates fought with a ferocity that matched the cursed crew, their spectral forms giving them an advantage in agility and speed.
But Jones was no ordinary pirate captain. He was Davy Jones, the Devil of the Sea, and the power of the Dutchman flowed through him. With each swing of his sword, he cut down his foes, the blade slicing through their ghostly forms with ease. The curse that bound him to the ship gave him strength and speed beyond that of any mortal man, and he fought with the fury of a storm unleashed.
Despite the ferocity of the ghostly attackers, Jones's crew held their own, their cursed forms making them nearly impervious to the spectral blades of their enemies. The battle raged on, the deck of the Dutchman becoming a battleground of the living and the dead.
As Jones fought his way through the throng of ghostly pirates, he caught sight of the captain of the enemy galleon. The figure was tall and imposing, clad in dark armour that seemed to absorb the light around it. A long, black coat billowed behind him as he strode toward Jones, his steps deliberate and measured.
Jones could feel the dark energy radiating from the enemy captain, a power that was almost as intense as his own. This was no ordinary spirit—this was a rival, a force to be reckoned with.
The two captains locked eyes, and at that moment, Jones knew that this was the true test of his newfound power. The chest containing his heart pulsed at his side as if urging him to use its power, to tap into the dark energy that coursed through it.
But Jones knew the price of such power. To fully embrace it would be to risk losing himself, to become consumed by the curse that bound him. He would need to fight this battle on his own terms, without relying on the dark force that threatened to overwhelm him.
With a roar, Jones charged at the enemy captain, his sword raised high. The ghostly figure met his charge with a sweep of his own blade, the two weapons clashing with a sound like thunder. The impact sent a shockwave through the deck, causing the surrounding pirates—both cursed and ghostly—to stumble.
The duel between the two captains was fierce, each strike and parry a test of skill and strength. Jones fought with all the power he could muster, his movements quick and precise as he pressed the attack. But the enemy captain was no easy foe, his spectral form allowing him to move with an agility that was difficult to counter.
As the battle raged on, Jones felt the strain of the fight beginning to wear on him. His body, though cursed, was still bound by physical limits, and the enemy captain seemed to have none. The ghostly figure fought with relentless energy, his attacks growing more aggressive with each passing moment.
Jones knew that he couldn't keep up this pace forever. He needed to end the fight quickly before the enemy captain could gain the upper hand. With a burst of determination, he focused his energy, drawing on the power of the Dutchman to enhance his strength and speed.
In a swift, decisive move, Jones feinted to the left, drawing the enemy captain off balance. Before the ghostly figure could recover, Jones struck with all his might, his sword cutting through the captain's spectral form. The ghostly pirate let out a wail of agony as the blade connected, his form dissipating into mist as he fell.
The enemy captain's defeat sent a ripple through the ghostly fleet. The spirits, once ferocious and relentless, began to falter, their movements becoming sluggish and disorganized. Jones's crew took advantage of the shift in momentum, pressing the attack and driving the remaining spirits back.
Within moments, the battle was over. The ghostly pirates, their captain defeated, retreated back to their ships,
The ghostly pirates, their captain defeated, retreated back to their ships with a wailing lament, their spectral forms dissipating into the mist. The remaining vessels quickly followed, disappearing into the distance as the fog rolled in to swallow them up. The eerie silence that followed was a stark contrast to the cacophony of battle that had filled the air only moments before.
Jones stood on the deck, his breath coming in heavy, ragged gasps. His cursed form was as unyielding as ever, but even he was not immune to the toll of battle. His eyes, sharp and glowing in the dim light, scanned the wreckage around him. The Flying Dutchman had weathered the assault, but it was clear that the encounter had taken its toll.
"Damage report!" Jones bellowed, his voice carrying over the quieting sea. The crew, battered but resolute, began to assess the damage. The deck was littered with debris and the remains of fallen enemies. Several of the cursed crew lay injured or unconscious, their grotesque forms showing signs of the fierce fight.
A few crew members began to clear the deck and tend to the wounded. Others worked to repair the damage to the ship, their movements quick and efficient despite the exhaustion that weighed heavily upon them.
Jones turned his attention back to the chest, which still lay on the deck, its dark, ornate surface untouched by the chaos. The heart within was as cold and unyielding as ever, its power a constant, throbbing presence.
"Cap'n, what now?" one of the crewmen asked, his voice weary but hopeful. "We've driven them off, but they'll be back. What's our next move?"
Jones looked out at the retreating enemy ships, now barely visible in the mist. He could still feel the dark energy emanating from their vessels, a reminder that their departure was not the end of the threat. The ghostly pirates would likely regroup, and their leader's defeat might only serve to fuel their desire for revenge.
"We need to prepare," Jones said firmly. "The enemy we faced today is a sign of things to come. We're in a world where power and curses intersect in ways we've yet to fully understand."
He paused, his gaze shifting to the chest and its precious contents. "This heart—the key to our power—is also a beacon. It attracts forces both dark and formidable. We must be ready for whatever comes next."
As the crew continued their repairs and recovery, Jones took a moment to reflect on the battle. The clash with the ghostly pirates had revealed much about his own capabilities and limitations. The power of the chest was undeniable, but it came with its own set of challenges. He would need to tread carefully, balancing the potential for great power with the risk of becoming consumed by it.
The Dutchman's crew worked through the night, their efforts a testament to their resilience and dedication. As dawn approached, the ship was in better shape, though the scars of battle were still evident. The sky began to lighten, the storm clouds dissipating as the first rays of sunlight pierced through.
Jones stood at the helm, watching the horizon with a thoughtful expression. The sea was calm once more, but he knew that the peace would be fleeting. The world of One Piece was unpredictable, and the dangers they faced were far from over.
"We'll set course for the nearest island," Jones instructed, his voice resolute. "We need to restock and regroup. And we need to learn more about this world, about the forces that oppose us."
The crew nodded in agreement, their faces reflecting the same determination that Jones felt. They had survived the first test, but many more challenges awaited them. The heart—both a blessing and a curse—would guide their path, but it was up to them to navigate the treacherous waters of their new reality.
As the Flying Dutchman set sail toward a distant island, Jones's mind was already racing with plans and strategies. The power of the heart was a crucial asset, but it also came with responsibilities. He needed to understand its true nature, its connection to the world of One Piece, and how it could be used to secure his place in this unfamiliar realm.
For now, he allowed himself a brief moment of reflection. The sea was vast and filled with mysteries, and the path ahead was uncertain. But with the Flying Dutchman and its cursed crew at his side, Jones felt a renewed sense of purpose.
The journey had only just begun.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone