Guzen's booming laughter, Nixon's dry, pointed remarks, even Joshua's sharp-edged commentary—all of it washed over Enel like wind over stone. The sound existed, but it failed to reach him. It was distant, irrelevant. White noise in a world that had flattened into silence.
Somewhere behind him, they were talking—about the fruits, maybe, or the so-called "good people" they'd taken them from. Another tale of victory, of pirates clashing with ideals. It didn't matter. Enel stood still near the edge of the deck, eyes unfocused, his body swaying subtly with the rhythm of the sea.
The ship rocked gently as it glided through a lush green ocean, the water thick with moss and floating vegetation. Tree-covered islets drifted lazily in the distance, vines dangling like arms brushing the sea. The air was humid and fragrant, touched by a slow breeze that stirred the canopy above and cooled the sweat on skin.
A sprinkle of gold drifted lazily through the air, catching the light as it passed near his shoulder—soft, faint, unnoticed. Just another part of the strange environment around them.
The voices of mortals—or anything of the matter, currently—meant nothing.
Enel didn't move. Didn't blink. What they said had struck his mind with a quiet shock, though his expression remained dazed, unreadable. As if caught between realization and reverence.
flashback-
Birka. The Altar of the Sun Priests.
Young Enel's teeth sank into the Thunder-Thunder Fruit, and the world split at its seams.
Power—raw, unbridled divinity—erupted through him like a lightning strike to the soul. His veins pulsed with crackling electricity, and lightning coiled around his arms like serpents, living, breathing extensions of his will. The air itself screamed as it bent to his command, thick with static. His skin tingled, hums of pure power vibrating in every fiber of his being. The priests—those foolish mortals—tried to pray, to beg, but their voices were drowned out by the roar of thunder.
Their golden masks melted mid-prayer, their flesh bubbling, blistering, turning to ash beneath his gaze. Enel laughed—a high, wild sound—as the sky above him wept bolts of divine judgment. He could feel the thunder in his chest, in his mind. It was not just power—it was truth.
Truth that no one, nothing, could challenge. Not these mortals. Not this island. Not even the sky could escape his grasp.
For years, Skypiea kneeled before him. The clouds parted at his feet. Mortals—weak, helpless creatures—hurled spears, fired cannons, swung swords—all of it like rain on a storm. It never reached him. Never even touched him. He stood tall atop his temple, watching as the rebels turned to charcoal statues, their faces frozen in useless defiance. Their final expressions, expressions of disbelief, were locked in time, as though they had never even existed.
He was perfection. He was inevitable. He was God.
Until the Black Flames came on the island.
Joshua didn't flinch.
Enel's lightning—a spear of divine judgment that had scorched nations to their foundations—pierced Joshua's chest… and dissolved. No explosion. No scream. Just the black flames writhing across the man's skin, drinking the voltage like wine.
Enel's pupils contracted. "Impossible—"
His words hung in the air, an echo of disbelief because his lightning attacks has never once failed obliterate his mortal enemies and something else further shocked him.
But that was when he saw it. The obsidian sheen clinging to Joshua's fists, a dark, oily surface that shimmered as the black flames twisted around his skin. It was unnatural. No Devil Fruit. No power Enel had ever seen.
His heartbeat quickened.
"Black hardening," he hissed, his voice low and venomous, a cold realization settling in. This wasn't a mere trick. This wasn't just some new power he hadn't yet encountered. This was something worse. A mortal trick, yet blasphemous in its defiance of everything Enel believed about power.
Before Enel could react, before he could even process the sheer audacity of this force, Joshua's fist reformed from embers, the black flames swirling with an almost mocking precision. It came at him with the speed of a thunderclap, crashing toward him like the very fist of fate itself.
Then it hit.
Crack.
The sound was not just bone breaking. It was faith snapping. The ground seemed to tremble with the force of the punch, but that was nothing compared to the way Enel's body felt it.
The impact shattered through him, a vicious, unholy wave of pain that surged from his jaw to the deepest recesses of his mind. His blood, hot and thick, splattered across the deck.
He staggered back, his knees buckling under the weight of the strike. The taste of blood filled his mouth, the shock, the disbelief—it consumed him for this is the very first time he has been harmed since become a god. He felt fear—no, terror—for the first time in what felt like an eternity.
Joshua hadn't even flinched.
Enel's chest heaved, his mind in turmoil. He was a god. He was invincible. And yet, this mortal—this man—had struck him, not only with an ability that devoured his very power, but with the strength to shatter his body and his pride in a single blow.
---
Also that time when he faced sand-maggot pirate, Crocodile he casted down his divine lightning erupted from the sky and descended like a pack of hungry serpents which only order was to judge the sinners of this mortal lan onto him thinking he will die a dog's death. Something unexpected happened he didn't disintegrate, didn't burn or melt his sand only crystallized.
The grains of sand froze into a rigid, unyielding form, as though they had absorbed the lightning itself and turned it into a solid block of hardened matter.
"What the hell..." Enel growled, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His lightning had done nothing to the pirate. It wasn't like it had simply failed. It had been absorbed, transformed, turned into something else entirely. Just like what happened on sky island with that flame mortal he said to himself in utter disbelief. Enel could not believe they was another one similar to himself again.
Enel's mind reeled in some realization for even though he care not for the mortals or what they do. He observed that not only Joshua but also Guzen, Laffitte and Nixon has can coat their hands or weapon with that black hardening from fighting with them. "Are there really others as mine... are there other mortals in the world who are able to touch and alsoo harm by heavenly body," his thoughts continued to drift. His eyes then flased with clarity, "NO, that black hardening is just a cheap trick and those other so called logia devil fruits are just mere imitations of my power."
Enel conutined to talk as the doubts are quickly being replaced by his former arrogance."No mortal," he said as his pride as a celestail being continued strengthen. "No mortal could ever truly challenge me. They have their tricks. Their black hardening, their fruits, their powers is trash, just replicas compared to my godly powers... for I am divine.
"Yes. how can these mortals be compared to me at all."
"Peasants cannot contain divinity," Enel muttered, his voice coming out in a jagged whisper, barely steady. He had to believe it. He had to cling to the arrogance that had always defined him. His fists clenched tighter, the pressure turning his knuckles white as the blood pooled beneath his skin.
"I am the one true deity..... I am a..." He forced the words from his lips, a arrogant mantra to reaffirm the doubts that swept and tainted his godly thoughts
A god.
A silence fell—not heavy, not ominous—just… still. Natural. As if the world itself was listening.
The ship drifted slowly through a rare stretch of jungle-laced sea. Gen trees, ancient and massive, stretched from the water like cathedral pillars, their canopies thick and vibrant, trailing vines that danced across the current like silk.
The air carried the scent of life—wet bark, mineral-rich soil, distant pollen.
And then…
A few flecks of golden dust floated gently down through the green glow, carried by an unseen breeze. Tiny, delicate particles. Like sunlit pollen. They spiraled slowly through the filtered light above, drifting down… down… until they settled soundlessly on the crown of a massive sapling clinging to the edge of a moss-covered rock near the shoreline.
But that fragile moment of detachment snapped when Guzen turned.
His voice didn't rise like thunder, it came low and sharp—like a knife sliding through silk.
"The tricks you speak of, Enel... will decide whether you live or die. Not just in the Grand Line… but in the New World." Then everyone was just sneered at Enel after Guzen has said.
"A god cannot be killed, mortal. But I wouldn't expect your pea-sized mind to grasp such divine truth. Enel retorted with utter displeasure and distained in his eyes.
" Cough.....cough, don't worry Enel you will soon understand for as a young fledging in this generation you will not simply outrightly believe everything said to you like that." Motoa gave a few words of enlightment as he coughed .
"Alright now, we have more pressing matters than wounded pride." Joshua said whilst looking on the devil fruits. "
Guzen clapped his calloused hands together, voice roaring again like a furnace.
"Hell yeah! Finally. Been itching to see what we really took off those clowns."
Nixon nodded, sharp eyes already scanning the lockbox placed beside a crimson-streaked barrel.Inside were their prizes—two fruits unlike any they had encountered before.
One glowed with an unnatural bluish-purple, like a storm bottled mid-strike.The other pulsed in deep crimson, veins like molten lava crawling beneath its skin, exuding an almost predatory heat. "Does anyone know what these devil fruits could be," he asked as he treated himself to another cup of tea. "Laffitte." he added. "I cannot say," he replied while swirling his cane. "Captain."
"No I dont know what they are," he shooked his head.
"Motoa."
"This old man knowledge is limited, but if you asked me 20 years ago I probably could have told you. However now, I fail to remember alot of things, cough...cough."
He then swept his gaze over the other 2 and then went back silent after briefly asking them.
"Hey are u not going to ask me," Guzen walked up to him and asked him. "Nope." "
"You piece of shit."
Guzen's voice dripped venom, but the words dissolved into the humid air like everything else here. The crew lapsed into silence, broken only by the rhythmic lapping of waves against the hull as the Corrupted Serpent glided forward.
The ocean stretched endlessly—that impossible emerald green, threaded with faint golden currents just beneath the surface. Particles of light drifted down like lazy fireflies, most vanishing the moment they touched water.
Laffitte stepped closer to the open chest, his pale eyes narrowing ever so slightly as the glimmer of the Devil Fruits reflected in them. The light bounced off the polished floor, dancing across the lacquered wood and faint gold lining of the fruit box.
"They seem… familiar," he murmured, his voice carrying the texture of memory and mystery. He tapped the tip of his cane against the floor—once, twice, in a slow rhythm, like a ticking clock measuring thought. His gaze settled on the crimson fruit, lingering with a hint of recognition.
"There was a time," he said softly, almost to himself, "when I was browsing through an old Devil Fruit Encyclopedia—an obscure edition, tattered and half-eaten by mold. I'm quite sure I saw these two listed."
Guzen arched a brow, crossing his arms. "Well? Spit it out, then."
Laffitte inclined his head, a faint, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"The crimson one… it's a Zoan. An ordinary type, albeit a fire-aligned variant. Judging by the streaks of ember-colored veins and the heat radiating off its skin, I'd wager it's either a Blazing Lion or a Flame Gecko. They're powerful forms—bestial, hot-blooded, very physical. But they're not exactly unheard of."
His fingers drifted just above the fruit, never touching. A small shimmer of warmth curled upward from the surface, like a heat mirage.
Then his gaze shifted.
To the bluish-purple fruit.
He paused. Something in his demeanor changed—more alert, more… cautious.
"But this one…" he crouched slowly, the tails of his coat brushing the floor as he leaned in. His voice dropped into a whisper of awe. "This one is different. Rare. Very rare."
The bluish-purple fruit pulsed faintly with a soft, unnatural glow—almost like it was breathing, alive in its dormancy. Veins of indigo light twisted beneath its skin in a spiral pattern that seemed to move if one stared too long.
"If memory serves," Laffitte said, "this is the Volume-Volume Fruit. A Paramecia, but almost mistaken for a Special Class. A fruit of potential chaos and elegance alike."
"Volume?" Nixon echoed, his cup halted mid-sip.
"Yes," Laffitte said, eyes sharp now. "The user gains the ability to manipulate the physical size of any object they touch. They can cause things to grow without limit—ballista bolts that become spears for giants, coins that turn into boulders—or shrink things to a scale smaller than dust. A cannonball could vanish in your hand… or a pebble could become a building's ruin in a heartbeat."
He rose smoothly, his cane tapping the ground once more, this time sharper.
Joshua stood behind him, silent.
His expression was unreadable—but his eyes shimmered faintly for the briefest second.
He already knew. Of course he knew.
The system had logged the fruits the moment they stepped aboard. Their names, classifications, and full capabilities—all marked and categorized in the hidden database only he could access.
But he said nothing.
Instead, he simply nodded with a faint show of curiosity, the performance of a man pretending to learn for the first time.
"Ahhh… I see," Joshua murmured aloud, voice light, thoughtful. "That's… impressive."
Guzen grunted in agreement, stroking his chin. "Not bad," he said. "They're not outright trash."
"That's right," Nixon added with a smile, finally sipping his tea. "Definitely a better find than most."
Then Guzen turned, a flicker of mischief in his tone. "You thinking of eating one, Motoa?"
The question hung in the air for a moment.
The old man chuckled, a dry, wheezing sound, but not without warmth. His voice was gravel-thick from years of sea air and salt. "Thanks for the offer," he said with a slight bow of his head, "but I'm alright."
He lifted a hand, revealing calloused fingers, scarred and aged. "At my age, the curse of the sea isn't something I can afford to carry. I've walked my path long enough—I don't need any shortcuts now."
A gust of wind slipped through the cracked window, brushing across Motoa's silver hair. Tiny flecks of light—golden particles from his coat's old embroidery—caught in the strands like fading embers.
"I'll stay true to what's guided me so far," he added, his voice calm… steady… even as a dry cough escaped him moments later.
Laffitte nodded slowly, watching the old man with a glimmer of respect in his gaze. "They wouldn't suit him anyway," he said, not unkindly. "Some powers... demand too much from the body."
No one disagreed.
Because in this world—Devil Fruits were not the only way to power.
Some men carved their strength from the sea itself, from years of pain and glory, from battles that had left deeper marks than any fruit ever could.
"Well then," Joshua said, stepping forward and gently closing the chest with a soft click. The metal lock shimmered in the lanternlight. "Since Motoa has declined, let's store them with the others treasures.
The lid sealed shut.
Enel floated lazily above the deck on a thick, swirling cushion of electrified cloud, eyes closed, arms folded. The faint hum of static danced around him like a dormant storm. To the world below—man, sea, and sky—he was once again a god. Above all. Beyond all. His arrogance had returned, wrapped in divine silence.
But something—it wasn't sound or sight—something nudged at the edge of his awareness.
A subtle ripple.
Wrong.
His brow twitched. His eyes snapped open.
The sky was still blue, the clouds drifting peacefully, but there was a shimmer to the light, a golden dustiness that clung to the air. His gaze lowered, sweeping the coastline. Trees stood tall, vibrant and lush, but their leaves gleamed faintly, like sunlight trapped in sap. The sea glittered, but not as it should. Not quite.
"…Did we change locations or something?" he muttered, sitting up slowly, lightning crackling faintly along his arms. A rare note of unease sat behind the words. His divine senses struggled to reconcile what they felt.
Below, Joshua had just sealed the reinforced crate containing the Devil Fruits, the final click of the lock echoing in the cargo hold. He turned to leave—then stopped. A quiet stillness crept up his spine. His head turned slowly, eyes scanning the jungle to port, then the sea, then the sky.
His pupils narrowed.
"Laffitte," he said flatly.
The pale man turned, his usual eerie smile present as ever. "Hm?"
"Did we change routes?"
Laffitte lifted his log pose. The needle pointed forward, unwavering. "No. Still locked forward. Same direction."
Joshua's voice remained calm, but something behind it had sharpened. "Is there something wrong, captain?"
Joshua didn't answer right away. His gaze swept the horizon once more. "Wrong," he murmured. "And also… right."
Laffitte tilted his head, confusion flickering in his usually unreadable eyes. But then—
A flicker. The needle jerked, just once, as if yanked by an invisible hand—before settling back into place. This made his expression changed.
Then Joshua gestured subtly. "Look overboard."
Laffitte who was till looking on the log pose looked up for a moment and he said nothing.
His smile faltered. "Since when… when did we sail here?"
His voice was quieter, uncertain. His gaze locked on the water. Beneath the hull, golden veins shimmered in the green sea, drifting like illuminated arteries under the surface.
Motōa rose from his seat, cane clicking once against the deck. He squinted toward the horizon. "Is my senile acting up again, or are my eyes playing tricks?" he muttered. "Was the sun always that warm? Were the trees always… golden?"
A faint pulse of royal-blue energy shimmered across his face as the ambient mist brushed past.
Guzen rubbed at his eyes, more forcefully this time. "I swear—no, I swear it didn't look like this before. Guys. Captain. Are you all seeing what I'm seeing?"
"We see it," Joshua said, quietly.
Nixon's teacup paused mid-lift. He stared at the golden reflection swirling in his drink. The surface rippled on its own.
The tea's surface solidified for a heartbeat—a perfect, mirror-still pane—before rippling again. His knuckles whitened around the cup.
He didn't speak. He didn't have to.
They had been sailing straight the entire time.
"We're still in the same stretch," Guzen muttered, brows furrowed. "Same coastline. Same trees. So why the hell does it feel like—"
"—like we're somewhere else entirely," Laffitte finished, voice nearly a whisper.
High above, Enel hovered in silence. The crackle of lightning under his skin had grown louder. His eyes narrowed, scanning the familiar jungle coast that now gleamed with unnatural light.
"Same place," he murmured. "Yet not."
The cliffs still loomed to port, the forest canopy waved in the breeze. But the wind carried a scent that didn't belong—honey and metal and something colder beneath. The light bent strangely. The mist rolled in unnatural patterns. The world hadn't changed.
And yet it had.
The air itself seemed to shimmer—not with heat, but with something far stranger. A single golden particle drifted past Enel's face, catching the sunlight like molten stardust. His eyes—usually aloof, divine—tracked it with rare focus as it spiraled downward, joining a dozen others dancing on the breeze.
Then it landed on the ocean's surface.
The water rippled—not outward, but inward, as though the sea itself were drawing breath. Where the particle touched, a thread of liquid gold unfurled beneath the waves, thin as a spider's silk, pulsing with light. Another particle landed, then another, each one dissolving into the emerald depths and sending new veins of gold branching through the water. The ocean was alive with them now—a luminous network of glowing streams, twisting and merging like the roots of some colossal, unseen tree.
The crew leaned over the railing, transfixed.
The sea here wasn't just green—it was crystalline, so clear they could see fathoms down, where the golden veins pulsed in slow, rhythmic waves. Schools of fish darted through the glow, their scales refracting the light into prismatic splinters. Deeper still, the gold pooled into great swirling knots, swirling like galaxies before unraveling into new tributaries.
And it wasn't just the water.
The coastline ahead—once a familiar stretch of jungle—now looked like a dream half-remembered. The trees stood taller, their trunks smooth and silver-barked, their leaves shimmering with an almost metallic sheen. Vines dripped with blossoms that glowed faintly at their centers, petals edged in lavender. The very air sparkled with drifting motes—gold, yes, but also pale violet, swirling together like dust from a shattered amethyst.
A breeze carried the scent of salt and something sweeter—honeyed nectar, maybe, or sun-warmed sap. The mist that curled over the water caught the light and held it, glowing softly at its fraying edges. Shadows stretched too long, too crisp, as though the sun here shone from two directions at once.
Guzen reached out, catching a golden particle on his fingertip. It didn't burn. It didn't dissolve. It hovered there, spinning gently, casting tiny, shifting reflections across his face.
"Captain," he whispered.
Joshua didn't answer. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, where the gold-threaded sea met a sky that was no longer just blue, but layered with hues of lilac and pearl. The clouds moved slower here. The light clung thicker.
Somewhere beyond the trees, something shimmered—a structure? A reflection?—its edges wavering like a mirage.
The world had shifted.
And it was beautiful.