Chương 7: Vision
"Before you stands the figure whose powers you will inherit."
"Inherit?"
"Yes," the voice confirmed, "when you leave the inner world, you will inherit Satoru Gojo's body features and techniques. However, attaining the level of skill that Gojo possesses will not come easily—it will demand years of focused, tireless training."
Allen nodded slowly, feeling the weight of the words. Of course, it made sense. Satoru Gojo had been training since he was a young boy, as his technique was extremely difficult to master - this was mentioned and demonstrated many times in the manga.
"Hm, I see," Allen murmured, his mind racing with possibilities. "But is there any other use for this place?"
"Your inner world is a space that is yours alone," the voice replied, its tone warm and patient. "It can be used however you desire—whether for reflection, meditation, or training."
Allen's curiosity was piqued. "Can you give me an example of a training I could do here?" he asked, the excitement creeping back into his voice.
"You could, for instance, spar with Gojo Satoru himself. Simply set the parameters, and Gojo will obey the rules of the sparring match," the voice explained, as if this was the most mundane of suggestions, though the notion of battling a legendary character was anything but ordinary.
"Alright..." Allen took a deep breath, the thought of testing himself against such an opponent sending a thrill through his body. "Rules of combat: no techniques like infinity or domain allowed. The fight begins when I count to one." He raised his right hand, holding three fingers aloft. "Three."
As he lowered one finger, his voice became more focused. "Two."
Finally, his fingers reduced to one, he spoke the last number calmly. "One."
But the instant the words left his lips, Allen felt a searing pain explode in his chest. He barely had time to register what had happened—Gojo was standing before him, his arm buried deep in Allen's ribs, just above his heart. The speed had been blinding, far beyond anything Allen could comprehend. As he looked down, his breath catching in his throat, he saw Gojo's hand withdraw from his chest, a gush of scarlet blood pouring out like a dark fountain.
His legs gave way beneath him, and Allen collapsed backward onto the water, which had supported him like a solid surface throughout. Now, though, the once-firm water seemed to ripple beneath him as he lay there, breathless, staring up at the endless blue sky above. His vision blurred, the world becoming distant and dreamlike, its once-vivid colors fading into a pale haze. He felt his grip on this strange inner world slipping as he closed his eyes, surrendering to what seemed like inevitable death.
But suddenly a familiar voice sounded in his ears, "Hey, did you eat the devil's fruit?"
Allen's eyes snapped open, his breath catching in his throat as he found himself back on the pirate ship. The oppressive atmosphere of the cell surrounded him once again—the rough wooden walls, the cold, damp floor, and the iron bars that confined him. Eden lay nearby, his face as tired and pale as before. But something was different—everything looked different. The room, the shadows, the very air itself seemed different.
Allen blinked, and in that moment, the realization hit him—his vision had changed. The darkness that had once enveloped the room was no longer absolute. He could see with perfect clarity. But it was more than that—his perception had transcended normal sight. The world before him was sharper, more vivid, as though a veil had been lifted, revealing hidden layers beneath reality. Heat trails shimmered in the air, faint but undeniable. He could sense energy patterns, see colors he had never known existed.
These new sensations overwhelmed him. It was as if every sense he possessed had been heightened beyond human capacity, pulling him into a world where sight was only a fragment of perception. Allen's surroundings glowed with an ethereal clarity.
This new form of perception was indescribable, something no ordinary human would be able to comprehend. Allen struggled to articulate it even to himself. It was as if he had stepped into a reality where the unseen had become visible, the intangible made manifest. He closed his eyes, expecting darkness, but instead, the world continued to unfold before him in intricate, invisible patterns of energy and light.
"Are you okay?" asked Eden in an unsure and anxious voice.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. What did you ask?"
"You… ate the devil fruit?" Eden asked, the question hanging between them with a mix of curiosity and unease.
Allen looked at Eden in surprise, not sure why he thought that.
Eden shifted slightly, his tired eyes glinting in the dim light. "Well… those hands. They just appeared out of nowhere. They covered your eyes for a while, and these white feathers grew out of them. I've never seen anything like that before."
Allen's mind raced as he tried to recall the hands Eden was talking about. A vague memory stirred—just before he had been transported to the inner world, there had been a warm, soothing sensation, something gentle enveloping him. Could those hands have been part of it? He couldn't be sure. But it made sense to let Eden believe he had eaten a devil fruit. It was better for others to think of him as a fruit user than for them to question the mysterious powers he was developing.
"Yeah," Allen said after a brief pause, deciding to lie. "I ate it."
Eden frowned slightly, skepticism lingering on his face. "And what do those hands do?"
Allen smiled faintly. "That's a secret."
Eden sighed, the brief flicker of curiosity fading from his face. In his mind, Allen's optimism was now just another side effect of the devil fruit. He had heard stories of devil fruit users before—people who could turn into fire, manipulate the elements, or conjure strange abilities out of thin air. But the reality of such powers had always seemed far-fetched to him, the stuff of legends. Still, when he had seen those spectral hands appear, he had been forced to accept the truth. Even if Allen's fruit didn't seem particularly useful, it explained his hopefulness, his naiveté.
"I see," Eden muttered, turning his face away as he closed his eyes, trying to retreat back into the fleeting peace of sleep.
Allen, however, was far from sleep. Eden's mention of the strange hands had momentarily distracted him, but his focus quickly returned to the strange new vision that now dominated his senses. It was as if the world had shifted, revealing itself in layers of perception he had never before imagined. He needed to understand it, to harness it.
====
"RAISE THE ANCHOR!" a pirate bellowed, his voice booming across the deck like the roar of a monstrous creature emerging from the sea. The air was alive with the shouts and clatter of the crew, who moved with a chaotic rhythm, their bodies glistening with sweat in the early morning light.
"Faster, damn you!" a tall man barked, clapping his hands as if the sound could somehow hasten the work of untying the sails and preparing the ship for its voyage.
On the bustling deck, more than twenty men scrambled to obey, their movements hurried and sharp. Most of them were young recruits, still fresh to the brutal life of piracy and occupying the lowest ranks among the crew.
Amid the chaos, sitting on an iron throne brazenly stolen from a noble family, lounged Red Robert. His massive frame was draped lazily over the chair, his left arm propped up to support his head while his right hand lifted a bottle of cider to his lips. The cool drink brought him as much pleasure as plundering and murder—perhaps even more than the conquest of a beautiful virgin, taken as a spoil of war.
Beside him stood a woman of striking beauty and deadly presence. Her long black hair cascaded down to her waist, the ends curling in soft waves like dark silk. Her features were sharp, almost regal, and her body moved with a grace that belied the fierceness of her spirit. She wore a black shirt with a plunging neckline, tight brown leather pants that hugged her slender legs, and boots that clicked softly against the deck with each step.
Her name was Erna, and she was Red Robert's personal assistant, always ready to help in any matter he required. There was a bounty of 3,000,000 bellies on her head, which she had received because two months earlier she had sailed on a merchant ship to a city that was famous for various goods, but the ship was attacked and to save her life she joined the pirates of the Red Apple. Although, if you go deeper into the event, she joined not of her own free will, the poor people offered her along with the usual goods in exchange for their lives, but this gesture did not save them from a bloody fate.
"Chi-chi-chi, Captain," a voice hissed from Robert's side. His first mate, Traiton, approached with his usual sneer plastered across his face. Traiton was half a head shorter than the captain. He wore a deep burgundy outfit adorned with golden embroidery that glittered in the sunlight. His chin was sharp and prominent, his smile like that of a serpent. His slicked-back hair and the solid crescent of his unibrow gave him the appearance of a predatory creature, a snake waiting to strike.
Traiton had been with the crew for two years, and in that time, his cunning and ruthless nature had earned him the captain's trust. His bounty was a staggering 44 million bellies, a testament to the danger he posed.
"What is it?" Robert asked lazily, barely glancing at him.
"I've noticed the crew, while pleased with our recent raids, seems restless," Traiton said with a sly grin. "They yearn for more adventures. They've enjoyed our success but grow bored of these short stints at sea."
Robert smirked, bringing the bottle of cider to his lips once more. "Let them be patient. We've had a good run, and I've got business to attend to in five days. And after another week, they'll get their fun again. But if their bloodlust isn't sated and they're still itching for a fight, well, let's hope we cross paths with a merchant ship on the way. Sha-sha-sha."
"I understand," Traiton replied, his snake-like grin widening. "I will do my best to ease their discontent."
"Good. Now get out of my sight," Robert grunted, waving him off with a dismissive flick of his hand.
With a low bow, Traiton retreated, slipping into the shadows below deck where his business awaited him.
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