Year 1510, Sea Circle Calendar — Impel Down, Crimson Lotus Hell.
Ryoku Vale walked onto the cracked stone of the arena floor, his chains dragging behind him.
The crowd of jailers roared like hyenas, eager for blood.
Above, they shouted bets as if this was a festival, their voices thick with cruelty.
"Odds for Number 38 crushing this one within a minute—1 to 1!"
"Three minutes—1 to 3!"
"Five minutes—1 to 5!"
"Surviving past that? 1 to 10!"
Laughter erupted as Berries changed hands like candy.
Ryoku stood silent, his eyes tracing the pitiful crowd.
"Oi... what are the odds if I kill Number 38?"
His voice was calm. Unemotional.
The arena fell silent.
All eyes turned toward him, their faces twisted with confusion, then mockery.
Number 38 sneered, his breath ragged like an animal ready to maul.
"You've got jokes, rat," he growled, cracking his knuckles. "I'll tear you in half for that."
Ryoku tilted his head slightly.
"Fight's a fight. Why assume you're the only one who can win?"
The jailers laughed louder now, their jeers raining down like stones.
"You can't even afford to bet, idiot!" a guard barked between guffaws.
Ryoku gave the faintest shrug. "Guess I'll have to collect afterward, then."
"Bold words for a dead man."
A new voice cut through the noise—a deep, hollow tone from the upper stands.
Saldeath, the two-headed overseer, leaned forward with a grin that didn't reach his eyes.
"I'll cover your bet, prisoner. How much do you want?"
"Doesn't matter," Ryoku replied. "If I lose, I won't need it."
The arena burst into chaos once more.
Saldeath chuckled, amused by the spectacle.
"Place 10,000 Berries on Number 55 killing Number 38," he told the guard.
"Odds are 1 to 500!" the guard stammered.
The bet was placed.
Ryoku ignored the rest.
The seal pulsed deep within him now.
No lights. No screens.
Just a burning sensation crawling under his skin.
The Possession Seal... called to him.
Ancient, violent chakra seeped through the cracks of his soul.
He could almost see the figure—standing tall in the fog of the Hall of Echoes.
A man dressed in green, his back straight, his fists clenched.
Might Guy.
If I open that door... I can't stop halfway.
His breathing slowed. His body tensed.
The seal hissed like old parchment tearing.
The beast within... awakened.
Bones creaked. Veins bulged.
His flesh screamed as the foreign power poured through him, tearing apart what little limits he once had.
It wasn't pleasant.
It wasn't a game.
It was agony wrapped in fire.
His senses sharpened.
Every inch of his body pulsed with raw, feral force.
He could feel the ancient techniques flooding his mind.
Kicks. Whirlwinds. The Eight Gates...
Each a blade to his spirit.
But he welcomed the pain.
"Begin!"
The bell rang.
Number 38 lunged forward, fist cocked, bloodlust spilling from his pores.
Ryoku didn't move.
Not yet.
He waited... until the beast inside him howled.
"Leaf Hurricane."
The words left his lips like a curse.
His leg blurred.
Number 38's punch halted mid-air as Ryoku's foot connected with his chin in an upward arc.
"Bang!"
The corpse of Number 38 hit the stone floor with a dull, final thud.
Silence.
The arena, moments ago howling with laughter and mockery, now stood frozen.
The guards, the prisoners, even the cruel overseers stared in disbelief at the quiet figure standing amidst the wreckage.
Number 38—the so-called butcher of the first floor—lay broken.
And the man who killed him... hadn't even moved from his spot.
Ryoku Vale exhaled slowly.
His legs trembled.
His breathing came ragged.
The seal's fire still burned under his flesh, scorching every nerve.
His heart pounded as if trying to burst free from his chest.
His vision blurred at the edges.
The Possession Seal didn't grant strength for free.
His body... was screaming.
Even now, it was a struggle to stay on his feet.
The whispers clawed at his mind.
The Gate demands... The body fractures... The soul erodes...
He forced them down.
Not here.
Not yet.
He tightened his fists until his nails cut into his palms, grounding himself.
The prisoners erupted first.
They weren't cheering for him.
They were cheering for blood.
For chaos.
And Ryoku Vale had lit the match.
Above, in the shadows of the upper stands, Saldeath leaned forward, the smile gone from his face.
His eyes locked onto Ryoku like a hawk eyeing prey that had suddenly grown fangs.
It wasn't hard to read the calculation behind that glare.
Ryoku had crossed the invisible line.
He was no longer just another pawn in their death games.
He was a threat.
And threats didn't get transferred.
They got erased.
Ryoku knew what was coming next.
His body screamed for rest.
But his mind whispered something else.
They would come for him now.
And maybe... that was the only way out.
He tilted his head toward the Den Den Mushi perched on the stone wall, their lifeless eyes capturing every moment.
Magellan saw this.
Sadie saw this.
The cage was watching him.
Let them.
If they wanted a monster...
He would show them one.