Jinx's POV
The palace was silent behind me, just wind and the faint crunch of frost under my boots. Every step down those marble stairs felt heavier, like the air itself was watching.
The city was a graveyard now.
Shattered stalls. Burned-out homes. Corpses frozen mid-scream, their faces cracked in the ice I'd left behind.
I walked through it all like I was out for a stroll.
A toppled fruit stand caught my eye — half-buried under snow and ash. Most of the fruits were ruined, blackened or split open from the cold. But one… one wasn't.
It sat there on the counter, untouched. Swirling black and violet patterns, little spikes curling out from its skin. I stopped dead in my tracks.
"…You've gotta be kidding me."
The Kage Kage no Mi.
I crouched, brushing off a thin layer of frost. It felt heavy in my hand, pulsing faintly, like a heartbeat. My brain screamed no. Two Devil Fruits meant death. But something deeper — something primal — whispered the opposite.
It wasn't a voice. More like… instinct clawing at the back of my skull.
"...Eh. Fuck it."
I sank my teeth in.
Instant regret. The taste was worse than death itself. I gagged, almost dropped it, but forced it down.
The world tilted. Every shadow around me rippled, alive and aware. Even my own. I could feel them — the outlines of things unseen, whispering against the edges of my mind.
I held out my hand.
A black tendril uncoiled from my shadow like a serpent, curling through the air before melting back into the ground.
A grin tugged at my lips. "Now that… is interesting."
But before I could test it further, something flickered in the corner of my eye. Four stalls down — a fruit shimmered, twisting, its shape morphing until it became the same one I'd just eaten.
"What the hell…"
I sent out a shadow whip, snatched it up, and caught it midair. It was real — solid, warm, and identical. The same Devil Fruit.
The ground rumbled before I could think. A deep, thunderous tremor rolled through the ruins — the kind that could only mean one thing: Whitebeard found a Vice Admiral.
I should've gone. But curiosity is a bitch.
Something glinted inside a half-collapsed house nearby, barely visible through the cracks in the wall. The light caught my eye like a hook.
"Alright," I muttered, stepping through the ruined doorway. "One more detour."
The air inside was stale, filled with the scent of ash and old wood. The glint came again, this time from under the floorboards.
I kicked through the planks. The boards shattered, revealing an old chest, the wood half-frozen and splintered. I dragged it out and flipped the latch.
Inside…
A folded, dark shinobi outfit. The fabric looked ancient, but somehow untouched by time. Beneath it, wrapped in silk, was something that made me whistle low.
A Kusarigama — black chain, curved blade glinting faintly blue in the dim light. The craftsmanship was perfect, too perfect. I could feel its weight through the wrappings — balanced, hungry, alive.
"Now this…" I murmured, pulling the weapon free, the chain coiling around my arm like it recognized me. "…this is a find."
It wasn't a stretch to say it was a Meitō — a Great Grade blade. Something that shouldn't exist in this form. A scythe and chain given the same reverence as the Supreme Swords.
I gave the blade a lazy spin, watching it slice the air cleanly. The sound it made wasn't metal — it was colder, sharper.
"Guess the world forgot you existed," I said softly. "Lucky for you… I didn't."
Outside, the tremors grew stronger. The distant crash of quakes and thunder split the horizon.
I sighed, letting the chain retract and hook the Kusarigama to my belt. "Alright, old friend. Let's go see what kind of mess the big guys are making."
I stood over the chest a little longer, my hand resting on the folded fabric. The closer I looked, the more familiar it became.
That pattern on the shoulder.
The cords.
Even the mask design.
"…No way."
It wasn't just any shinobi gear — it was almost identical to Kitsune's armor from Ghost of Yotei. One of my favorite characters, back when I still had time to waste on stories and pixels.
"Guess fate's got jokes."
I started putting it on. Easier said than done. The damn thing had knots everywhere — layers upon layers of wrap, fold, tie, pull. I think I fought harder with that outfit than I did with Xebec the day I woke up here.
But when I finally pulled the last knot tight and adjusted the shoulder plates, I caught my reflection in a cracked mirror against the wall.
It was perfect.
The black armor fit like it was made for me — layered scales over reinforced cloth, the mask carved like a fox's snarl. My eyes glowed faintly through the visor, the same violet hue cutting through the shadows.
The Kusarigama hung from my belt, the chain coiled like a sleeping serpent.
I flexed my fingers and felt the outfit move with me, light but guarded — quiet, built for killing without being seen.
"Not bad," I muttered, giving my reflection a lazy grin. "Guess the ghost of Yotei's got a successor."
A distant boom rattled the house. The ground trembled hard enough to send dust from the rafters.
Whitebeard. No doubt about it.
"Alright," I sighed, pulling the hood up and letting the mask settle. "Playtime's over."
The wolf's howl echoed faintly from somewhere deep in the city, like it was calling for me. The shadows around my feet stretched again, eager, restless.
"Yeah, yeah…" I murmured, stepping out of the ruined house and into the storm-lit streets. "I'm coming."
The frost crunched beneath my boots. The air shimmered with heat and smoke from the fight beyond the walls. Lightning split the horizon, and three powerful auras pressed down over the island like tidal waves.
Vice Admirals.
The wind howled, carrying the distant crack of Whitebeard's quakes and the thunderous laughter of Xebec.
I adjusted my new armor, cracked my neck, and smiled under the mask.
"Let's go make some chaos."
The sea tore itself apart as the Marine fleet carved through the storm. Rain hammered the decks, wind screaming between the masts, but no one on board wavered. These weren't rookies—they were soldiers led by three of the most dangerous Vice Admirals alive.
At the prow of the lead ship stood Shion Takahane, cloak drenched but unmoved. Even with lightning flashing above, the faint glow of blue flame danced across his shoulders. His expression didn't change as he looked toward the burning island of Veyra. "That's no pirate brawl," he said quietly. "That's Xebec."
A young officer behind him stammered, "Vice Admiral, should we wait for command? We weren't cleared to—"
Shion turned his head slightly, his golden eyes calm but sharp enough to cut steel. "If we wait for permission every time a demon surfaces, there won't be a world left to protect." His voice carried over the storm with effortless weight. "We move."
Behind him, on the next ship, Vargan Mochi adjusted his gloves, every motion measured. His uniform was immaculate despite the wind, his posture straight as an iron mast. "We move, yes," he muttered, "but we move in formation. The last thing we need is another Marine graveyard because someone wanted to play hero."
From the third ship, a bark of laughter cut through the storm. "You talking about me again, Vargan?" Raizel D. Kyron leaned lazily on the railing, flame flickering beneath his coat. The rain evaporated before it could touch him, the air around him shimmering with heat. "You really gotta loosen that stick in your ass, man. We're facing Xebec, not chasing smugglers."
Vargan shot him a glare that could've frozen magma. "One of these days, your recklessness will get you and everyone around you killed."
Kyron grinned wide, cigarette glowing red in the downpour. "Then you better stay close to keep me alive, rules-boy."
Before Vargan could snap back, Shion's voice cut in, calm and final. "Enough. Both of you."
They fell silent.
The storm bent around Shion as blue fire flared faintly at his back, forming the outline of massive phoenix wings. His voice stayed low, steady. "This island stinks of death and something else—something not human. Observation confirms at least two high-level presences and a third... unidentified."
Kyron's grin widened. "Heh. Sounds fun."
Vargan's tone stayed cold. "It sounds like suicide."
"Then let's die well," Kyron said with a smirk as he stepped up onto the railing. Lightning flashed, illuminating his face. "Besides, I've been itching for a real fight."
He launched himself into the storm, a comet of orange flame splitting the rain. The sea hissed in protest as he slammed into the coast, fire spreading across the sand.
Vargan cursed under his breath and followed, his body turning pale and rubbery mid-leap before hardening on impact. He landed clean, drawing both sabers in a motion as mechanical as breathing. "Every time," he muttered, looking back at Shion. "Every damn time."
Shion stepped forward last, calm as ever. His wings expanded fully, the rain vaporizing around him. "Children," he said quietly, almost to himself, before diving from the ship.
The three landed together on the burning beach, heat and frost colliding from the chaos in the distance. The earth trembled as Whitebeard's quakes rolled through the ruins, chunks of the palace collapsing into dust. Above it all came Xebec's laughter—wild, thunderous, almost joyful.
Kyron cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, flame licking the edges of his fists. "He's close."
"Stay sharp," Vargan said, already in stance. "And remember the objective. Capture if possible, kill if necessary."
Kyron scoffed. "If possible? You seen who we're fighting? There's nothing left to capture when Rocks D. Xebec walks into a city."
Shion didn't speak. He crouched slightly, pressing his fingers to the ground. Blue fire spread outward in thin lines, illuminating the wet sand with symbols that pulsed faintly. He closed his eyes, feeling the world through Observation. His voice, when he spoke again, was quieter—almost a whisper. "I see them."
Whitebeard and Xebec stood amid a field of shattered stone and frost, their auras colliding with hurricane force. Even from miles away, the pressure made the sand around the Vice Admirals vibrate.
Kyron's grin faded a little. "Tch… forgot how damn heavy their presence feels."
Vargan's hand tightened around his saber. "You feel that too, right? There's something else. Something darker."
Shion's eyes opened slowly, the blue flames behind him flaring. "Yes. Beneath the ruins. It's moving."
Before they could react, a distant explosion rolled through the city—massive and unnatural. Frost and shadow spilled from the heart of the ruins, rising like smoke, and in the center of it, a lone figure stepped into the open.
"Who the hell—" Kyron started.
Then they saw the violet eyes.
The figure moved through the mist with an easy, unhurried pace. He wore a black shinobi outfit, ornate and layered, the mask shaped like a fox's grin. A Kusarigama hung from his belt, its chain swaying lazily as he walked. Behind him, his shadow didn't follow—it crawled, twisting, alive.
Jinx stopped in the middle of the street, his head tilted slightly, gaze calm and empty.
Kyron's flame flickered higher. "So that's the third one," he muttered. "Didn't expect a damn samurai."
Vargan drew both blades fully now, stance perfect. "Eyes up. That's not just a swordsman."
Shion's Observation burned through the haze, his gaze narrowing. "No," he said quietly. "That's something far older."
Lightning split the sky behind Jinx as the wind howled across the ruins. The rain that touched his armor froze instantly, glittering like dust. He looked at the three Vice Admirals, voice low but clear enough to cut through the storm.
"Three flames in one storm," he murmured, his tone distant but amused. "Let's see how bright you burn."
Kyron smirked, sparks crackling up his arms. "Careful what you wish for, pretty boy."
The ground split beneath them as Jinx's shadow erupted outward, hundreds of tendrils snapping through the rain like serpents. The storm roared—and the battle for Veyra truly began.
The storm above Veyra had gone mad. Thunder rolled in endless waves, lightning cutting through columns of smoke, and every strike flashed across a war too big for the island that hosted it.
The three Vice Admirals moved first—each one with the kind of speed and purpose that only veterans carried. The sand split beneath them as their Haki flared, all three radiating different kinds of killing intent.
Whitebeard cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders as he rested his bisento across one arm. "Hah… so the Marines finally send men worth a damn."
Shion Takahane landed opposite him, calm as a prayer before a storm. His blue flames spread wide, shielding his men from the frost creeping through the ruins. His tone was composed, almost kind, but his eyes burned like tempered gold. "Edward Newgate… this island's already lost. Leave with your men, or drown with Xebec."
Whitebeard smirked, planting the base of his bisento into the ground. "You sound like you believe that." The air rippled around him as white cracks spread outward from his weapon. "Let's see if that faith can handle reality, birdman."
Shion's wings unfurled, feathers of azure fire stretching across the sky. He didn't reply. The wind answered for him as he launched forward, the clash shaking the entire coastline.
Their first strikes met in a blast that split the rain apart—quake against blue flame. The ground erupted, shockwaves tearing ships from their moorings. The sky itself seemed to crack.
Xebec laughed somewhere beyond the smoke, his voice carrying across the chaos. "KUAHAHAHAHA! That's the spirit!" He brought his sword down on Vargan Mochi, whose body melted into pale, elastic substance before solidifying and striking back in perfect rhythm.
"Your style's reckless and sloppy!" Vargan barked, every motion calculated and sharp. His twin sabers spun in clean arcs, the air itself rippling from the pressure. "You rely on brute force and intimidation! Marines fight with purpose!"
Xebec caught one saber bare-handed, blood streaking his palm. His grin only widened. "Purpose? The only purpose worth chasing is chaos!" He swung his other arm, tearing the air with raw strength. "Let's see your order hold up against a real storm!"
Their fight became a blur—iron discipline against unrelenting madness. Every clash sent out sparks that lit the rain, each one threatening to swallow the world.
And then there was Jinx.
He stood still in the middle of it all, the Kusarigama at his side, violet eyes watching as chaos unfolded around him. Kyron D. Raizel stood opposite him, flame flickering across his shoulders like wings of molten glass.
"So," Kyron said, exhaling smoke, "you're the quiet type, huh? Good. I hate talkers." He raised his hand, fire coiling around his arm. "Name's Kyron. Vice Admiral. Try not to die too quick."
Jinx tilted his head. His tone was flat, unbothered. "Jinx. Left hand of Rocks."
Kyron's grin sharpened. "Then this'll be fun."
He vanished in a blur of orange light, appearing in front of Jinx mid-swing. His fist, wreathed in flame and black Haki, slammed into the ground as Jinx twisted away. The explosion lit the ruins like a sunrise.
Heat washed over him, but the frost from his own body countered it instantly. Steam rose between them, hissing.
Kyron whistled. "So that's what it is. You're the one freezing the island. Cute trick."
Jinx didn't answer. His chain snapped forward, the scythe slicing through the air. Kyron ducked under it, countering with a burst of flame that forced Jinx back.
"You fight like a ghost," Kyron said, grinning through the smoke. "No rhythm, no tells. I like that."
Jinx's tone stayed cold. "You talk too much."
A dozen shadows erupted around him, crawling up the walls, taking vague, humanoid shapes. Each one mimicked his movements perfectly. When he swung the Kusarigama again, twelve scythes followed, cutting through flame and air alike.
Kyron's smile faltered for the first time as one of the shadows clipped his shoulder, black frost spreading briefly before his fire burned it off. "What the hell was that?"
Jinx's voice was barely above the storm. "Echoes."
Kyron's grin returned, sharper. "Then let's make some noise."
He stomped once, and the ground erupted in pillars of fire. The heat melted stone, turned puddles to steam. Every flame curved inward, condensing into a massive sphere that spun over his palm.
"Mera Mera no…" He smirked. "Let's see if ice can scream."
Jinx moved before he finished, slamming his hand into the earth. Frost spread outward like veins, splitting the ground in an instant. "Ice Age."
The world went white.
The ocean froze mid-wave, the firestorm halted, and even the air crystallized for a heartbeat. When the light faded, half the kingdom was buried under a glacial sheet, the other half burning.
Between the two halves stood Jinx and Kyron—one wreathed in frost, the other in flame, their breaths visible in the storm's eerie silence.
Kyron exhaled slowly, ash rising from his shoulders. "Now that…" He grinned wide, teeth glinting in the firelight. "That's more like it."
Jinx's chain uncoiled again, frost creeping along its links. "You still talk too much."
He blurred forward.
The scythe met flame, and the storm roared back to life.
The beach was a wasteland of ice and fire.
Half of it burned orange under Kyron's flame, the other half frozen solid, slick and silent under Jinx's touch. The waves at their feet were locked mid-crash, jagged ice walls rising from the ocean like crystal jaws. Steam rolled between them, whispering like ghosts in the wind.
Jinx stood with his shadow stretching long across the frost. His Kusarigama hung loosely at his side, its chain hissing where droplets of seawater froze against it. Kyron stood opposite him, heat rippling from his body, melting grooves into the ice beneath his boots.
"Nice view," Kyron said with a grin, sparks licking from his mouth as he spoke. "Shame you're about to ruin it."
Jinx didn't answer. His eyes flicked down — the sword strapped to his hip. The one he'd taken from the general back in the city. It hummed faintly now, reacting to something deep within the cold.
He reached for it.
Kyron tensed, shoulders raising, Haki flaring along his arms. "Don't even think about pulling that toy, freak."
But Jinx ignored him completely. He unfastened the strap, snowflakes drifting lazily through the air as he drew the blade in one clean motion.
The sound was pure — that sharp, ringing note that cuts through storms and stays in your chest.
The blade gleamed black with violet edges, like twilight caught in steel. It wasn't a true black blade, not yet. But it had presence. Power that breathed. The scabbard shimmered faintly in the light of Kyron's flames, its gold accents reflecting in Jinx's cold, violet eyes.
Kyron's grin faltered. "That ain't just steel."
Jinx tilted his head slightly, watching his reflection in the frozen ground. "No," he said quietly. "It's not."
The Vice Admiral's temper cracked. "Hey! I said don't-"
But Jinx wasn't listening. He ran his thumb gently along the spine of the blade, the steel exhaling frost as he whispered to himself.
"…I never gave you a name."
Kyron blinked, half-confused, half-furious. "You serious right now? We're in the middle of a goddamn war!"
Jinx's tone stayed low, distant, as if the flames and shouting were miles away. "Hyōmeishu," he murmured, the word rolling off his tongue like mist. "Guardian of the Frozen Underworld."
For a moment, everything went still. Even the waves seemed to pause.
Then the sword pulsed.
A thin wave of frost rippled outward from Jinx's feet, spreading across the ice, swallowing Kyron's flames in a slow, consuming hush. The beach groaned under the weight of the cold, cracks snaking outward like veins of light.
Kyron's jaw tightened. "Alright… screw it."
He stomped forward, fire bursting around his fists. "If you're gonna name your damn sword, I'll carve my name into your grave!"
He launched himself forward, fist wrapped in orange fire and jet-black Haki. The ice cracked beneath his steps as he blurred across the beach, aiming straight for Jinx's throat.
Jinx moved like flowing snow — no wasted effort, no warning. His sword rose lazily, but when the two forces met, the world screamed.
The impact sent a shockwave across the entire coast, melting the first twenty feet of ice before refreezing it in the same breath. Kyron skidded back, his arm steaming where the frost had touched him. He looked down and saw thin lines of ice still clinging to his skin, refusing to melt.
"You froze my Haki," he muttered, half in disbelief, half in rage. "How the hell—"
Jinx stood still, the tip of Hyōmeishu resting against the frozen ground. "It's not Haki," he said softly. "It's will."
Kyron spat on the ground, sparks flaring from his teeth. "Will, huh? Let's see whose will burns longer!"
He slammed his fists together, flames erupting around him like a furnace. The sand turned to glass, then to magma, and the air itself warped from the heat. He charged again, leaving a trail of molten steps behind.
Jinx met him head-on. The frost spread faster now, matching every flame with a storm of ice. Their clashes filled the air with thunder, steam rising so thick it looked like fog.
Each swing of Hyōmeishu left crescent trails of frozen moonlight. Each strike from Kyron tore craters in the sand, the heat screaming against the cold.
"Come on!" Kyron roared, grinning through the blood dripping down his jaw. "You're strong, but you're holding back! That all you got, ghost-boy?!"
Jinx's voice was quiet, almost serene. "No."
He stepped forward once more, frost crawling up his arm, into the hilt, into the blade. "This is."
The air around them dropped in an instant, the world turning white. Kyron's flames sputtered, his breath catching as frost formed on his eyelashes. Then he saw it — his reflection, multiplied a hundred times over in shards of black ice forming in mid-air around Jinx.
Every reflection smiled back at him with the same violet eyes.
Kyron's fire flared desperately. "What the hell are you—"
Jinx whispered, "Hyōmeishu… breathe."
The ice shards detonated outward, a silent explosion of frost and shadow. The entire coastline vanished in white.
When the steam cleared, Kyron was still standing — barely — one knee in the frozen sand, half his coat burned away, half encased in ice. His grin had turned into a grimace.
Jinx stood a few feet away, sword resting on his shoulder, his shadow coiling lazily at his feet. The edge of Hyōmeishu glimmered faintly violet, alive and calm.
Kyron wiped blood from his lip and laughed, hoarse and defiant. "You name your sword and pull this crap outta nowhere... you're insane."
Jinx tilted his head slightly. "Probably."
The Vice Admiral rose again, fire reigniting around him. "Good. So am I."
And with that, both men vanished in a blur — one burning bright, the other freezing the light itself. The battle on the frozen beach began again, louder, faster, deadlier.
The wind along the beach had gone dead quiet. Hyōmeishu shivered in Jinx's hand, the metal bleeding frost and something darker. For a heartbeat, the air bent around it—then the blade pulsed, and black fire roared to life.
It wasn't normal flame. It burned cold, every flicker edged in ghost-white light, and even the shadows on the ice twisted away from it. Both fighters stopped moving.
Kyron's grin faltered. "That… isn't your ice."
Jinx watched the fire crawl up the blade, his breath fogging in front of the mask. He gave the sword a slow test swing. The trail it left behind hung in the air for a second before fading, like a scar in reality itself. A small spark of curiosity cut through his usual calm.
"…Interesting."
He tried another swing, faster this time, and the flames coiled with the motion, wrapping the sword like a ribbon. Kyron clicked his tongue, irritation seeping through the heat. "You done admiring yourself, snow-boy?!"
Impatience won. The Vice Admiral launched forward again, boots skidding across the slick frost, his right arm a cannon of orange fire and Haki. The sound was like thunder cracking the frozen sea.
Jinx exhaled.
The world shrank to silence.
He shifted his stance, body low, left foot sliding over the ice. When he spoke, his voice carried like a whisper under the surf.
"Ghostflame Breathing—First Form."
He drew in one long breath, the exhale white and cold enough to sting the skin.
"Phantom Ignition."
Hyōmeishu moved in a smooth crescent arc, carving light through the mist. The blade passed through Kyron's fire, through his guard, through everything—without leaving a mark.
For a split second the Vice Admiral smirked, thinking he'd dodged nothing more than air. Then his expression changed.
The heat in his chest faltered. His heartbeat stumbled. His arms felt heavier, slower, as if the muscles themselves had forgotten how to obey. A chill spread—not over his skin, but under it. Deep.
Kyron stumbled back, clutching his chest, flames flickering unevenly around his fists. "The hell… did you just do to me?"
Jinx straightened, lowering the blade. The ghost-white fire still crawled lazily along its edge, feeding off the wind.
"Didn't hit your body," he said quietly. "Only your spirit."
Kyron's knees hit the ice. His Haki flared wildly to push the cold out, but it only made the exhaustion worse. Every breath felt heavier, the air like lead. His will itself was freezing.
He glared up at Jinx, teeth clenched, anger smothering the fear creeping in. "You think… that's enough to stop me?"
The black-white fire reflected in Jinx's eyes as he tilted his head, calm as ever. "No. It just slows you down."
He raised Hyōmeishu again, the ghostflame tightening around the blade like a living thing. The frozen ocean groaned beneath them, waiting for the next swing.
The frozen beach burned with two kinds of fire now—one orange and roaring, the other black and silent. Each time they clashed, steam hissed up like smoke from hell itself.
Kyron came in fast again, his whole body a comet of flame. He'd shaken off the chill a little, his Haki wrapped around him so tight the air shimmered. "You got tricks, ghost-boy," he shouted over the crash of waves, "but tricks don't win wars!"
Jinx didn't answer. He shifted his grip on Hyōmeishu, the ghostflame breathing softly along the blade. He moved, not rushing—flowing.
"Second Form—Specter Waltz."
He slid across the ice like smoke. Each swing of Hyōmeishu left a thin ribbon of cold fire hanging in the air, drawing a web around them both. Kyron's flame-punches cut through the trails, but the fire didn't go out—it bent, curling back into place, sealing him inside a cage of ghostlight.
Kyron stopped and glanced around. "You're kidding me—"
The flames touched him. They didn't burn the body; they burned something else. He felt it in his gut—his resolve faltering, that primal instinct screaming move, move, MOVE. He smashed through the barrier with an explosion of fire and Haki, but he stumbled out pale, eyes wide.
Jinx exhaled through the mist. His eyes glowed faintly behind the frost. "Still standing? Good."
Kyron gritted his teeth, heat spiraling around him. "You think that creepy dance is gonna—"
"Third Form—Hollow Ember Reversal."
Jinx's blade flashed once, then he turned his back. Kyron, furious, took the bait and lunged. His punch hit nothing—just a shimmer of ghostflame. Then the air itself flipped.
The flames bent backward, pulling his fire in, devouring it, before spitting it out as a wave of black-white embers.
Kyron screamed, half in pain, half in rage, as the cold fire chewed through his aura. He swung wildly, but Jinx was already moving, stepping around him in a spiral.
The next breath came slower, deeper.
"Fourth Form—Wailing Pyre."
Jinx thrust. The blade sang. The sound was horrible and beautiful all at once—a scream of souls trapped between worlds. A beam of ghostflame shot forward, hitting Kyron square in the chest. He staggered back, clutching at his face as voices filled his head—faces, moments, every person he'd burned away in duty and war.
His own guilt clawed at him like ice. "Get outta my head!" he roared, igniting a wall of fire that cracked the beach open.
The ice hissed, the sea boiled.
Jinx didn't stop. He spun with the heat, stepping through the steam. Frost formed under each step.
"Fifth Form—Frostburn Spiral."
He leapt high, twisting midair, Hyōmeishu a streak of black and white. A vortex of ghostflame spiraled outward from his swing, a storm of freezing fire that pulled everything in. Kyron's flames bent toward it, devoured and crushed. When he hit the ground, the circle of frost had grown wider, black sigils burned into the ice.
The Vice Admiral was panting now, sweat freezing on his skin. His fire flared again, desperate, stubborn. "You think you've won?"
Jinx touched the tip of Hyōmeishu to the ground. The blade dimmed, the ghostflame folding into the steel.
"Sixth Form—Soul Lantern."
The sword glowed faintly, like a candle in a tomb. The world around him darkened, details vanishing into shadows. But through that shadow, Jinx saw everything—every flicker of Kyron's aura, the ghostly threads of energy woven through the battlefield, even faint echoes of spirits trapped in the ice.
He smiled under his breath. "So that's what you look like."
Kyron growled, "You done talking to yourself?"
"Last one," Jinx said softly.
He inhaled again, the frost crawling up his arm. Hyōmeishu shone bright, black fire folding into white petals. The air grew still—eerily still.
"Seventh Form—Cold Inferno Bloom."
He swung once. Then again. And again.
Each slash released a petal of flame—thin, delicate, drifting like snowflakes. They hung there, dozens of them, glowing dimly in the mist.
Kyron looked up, sweat running down his neck. "What… what is that?"
The petals exploded.
Silent bursts of cold fire swallowed the beach, blooming like ghostly flowers. The shockwave froze the sand, split the cliffs, and turned the ocean to glass for a mile out. When the light faded, the only sound left was the faint whisper of waves under the ice.
Kyron was on one knee, steam rising from his body, armor cracked, breath ragged. His flames sputtered out, leaving only smoke.
Jinx stood over him, Hyōmeishu at his side, the blade still glowing faintly. "You're strong," he said quietly. "You'll live. Probably."
Kyron coughed, half-laughing, half-choking. "You're… a damn monster."
Jinx tilted his head, the ghostfire dying along the sword. "Not a monster," he said. "Just curious."
He sheathed Hyōmeishu, the click echoing across the frozen coast, and turned his eyes back toward the burning kingdom in the distance—where Xebec's laughter and Whitebeard's thunder rolled across the horizon.
The beach, for now, was his.
Kyron's body trembled, the fire around him thrashing violently like it wanted to escape his skin. His breath came out in ragged bursts, each one glowing hotter than the last. Pride—that damn pride that had driven him through a hundred battles—finally drowned out the pain.
"Don't you dare turn your back on me!" he roared.
His voice cracked the air, and the fire exploded around him in a wave of blue-orange light. The sand beneath his boots liquefied, the frozen sea shattered, and the night sky itself seemed to pulse with the heat. His aura burned high enough to melt his own blood to steam.
Jinx didn't turn. He kept walking, Hyōmeishu resting lazily in one hand, his shadow trailing like smoke behind him. The faint blue lantern-glow of the Sixth Form still lingered in his eyes—he could feel Kyron's spirit behind him. It was twisting, convulsing, burning itself apart in fury.
For a heartbeat, the world was quiet. Then the temperature dropped.
The frost came so suddenly it was like time froze. The steam solidified in the air, the waves stopped moving, and even the blue flames dimmed to ash. Kyron's charge slowed mid-step, his expression shifting from rage to confusion as every nerve in his body screamed that something terrible was coming.
Jinx spoke without turning. His tone was calm, almost tender.
"Black Maiden."
The ground beneath Kyron's feet cracked. A circle of runes flashed through the frost, and a second later, jagged pillars of black ice erupted upward. They curved and folded, twisting into the shape of a massive iron maiden, its surface smooth and reflective like obsidian glass.
Kyron's instincts screamed, but before he could move, the ice closed. The sound—sharp, final, echoing—snapped through the silence like a coffin sealing shut.
Inside, it was dark. The heat in his veins vanished. He tried to move, but the spikes bit in—thousands of cold blades piercing through flesh and flame alike. The fire in his chest guttered, replaced by a horrifying numbness that crept through every nerve. His scream never reached the air.
Outside, Jinx watched impassively as the black ice trembled once, twice—then shattered.
Shards burst outward like dark petals, glimmering in the faint light. Kyron fell forward out of the ruin, landing hard on his knees. His coat was full of holes, blood dripping in thin red trails down his chest. Somehow—by sheer force of will—he was still breathing.
His voice came out hoarse, almost childlike. "Who… the hell are you…?"
Jinx finally turned. His eyes glowed faintly violet, calm, detached. He studied Kyron for a moment, then shook his head.
"You don't deserve to know that name," he said quietly. "But you can call me…"
He lifted Hyōmeishu, the blade humming softly, cold mist gathering around the edge.
"…the Kitsune."
Kyron's eyes widened—whether in fear, recognition, or defiance, Jinx didn't care. He stepped forward, drew a slow breath, and his voice became a whisper carried by the wind.
"Moon Breathing. First Form—Dark Moon: Evening Palace."
Hyōmeishu flashed once, tracing a perfect crescent of light through the air. The strike was so clean, so quiet, that for a moment, it looked like nothing had happened. Then Kyron's head slipped free from his shoulders, the blue-orange flames dying with him.
Jinx exhaled slowly, the ghostflame on his blade fading to embers. The cold spread outward again, covering the blood, the sand, the sea—freezing it all into a silent, glassy grave.
He sheathed Hyōmeishu and looked out toward the horizon where lightning and laughter still clashed—Whitebeard's quake and Xebec's madness shaking the sky.
The Kitsune turned his back on Kyron's corpse and whispered, almost to himself,
"Rest. You burned bright."
Then he walked back into the storm.
The air around the kingdom rippled with chaos—fire, quake, and thunder tearing through the skyline like clashing gods. Every breath of wind carried screams and the thunderous collapse of stone. Yet in the midst of that madness, both Shion and Vargan froze.
A strange silence settled over them. It wasn't sound that reached them—it was absence.
The presence that had been burning on the far end of the island like a wildfire—Kyron's soul, his Haki, his heartbeat—simply vanished.
It was like a candle being pinched out in the middle of a storm.
Vargan's head snapped toward the frozen beach, eyes wide beneath his battle mask. "No… that can't be." His voice was rough, trembling despite himself. The mochi around his arms stopped mid-swing, quivering in the air.
Shion, who'd been matching Whitebeard blow-for-blow, staggered slightly, his wings faltering for the briefest instant. His Observation Haki reached instinctively toward the coast, searching, clawing at the void—only to find nothing. Not even the faint echo of Kyron's soul.
He gritted his teeth. "Kyron's gone…"
Whitebeard, towering before him with the calm of a mountain, felt the shift too. The old man's instincts sharpened—the way the Vice Admiral's focus flickered, the tiniest hesitation in his stance.
That was all it took.
"Too slow," Whitebeard rumbled, his massive hand pulling back. The air itself warped around his fist as his Conqueror's Haki flared. The trembling sky went white, and a cracking sound like glass shattering filled the world.
"Gura Gura no—TEKTON!"
He drove the quake-enhanced punch forward, and the shockwave hit Shion square in the chest. It wasn't just impact—it was implosion. The space between molecules fractured; bones liquefied under the pressure. For a brief instant, Shion saw his own heart in mid-beat before it disintegrated into light.
The force blasted him backward through the air, wings shredded, body spiraling into the ruined walls of the palace. The explosion that followed sent a column of dust and lightning hundreds of feet into the air.
Vargan screamed, his voice echoing over the sound of crumbling towers. "SHION!"
His fury erupted, and mochi blades hardened with black Haki shot out like spears toward the quake giant—but even then, he could feel it.
The cold.
The wrongness creeping across the island.
Even without Observation Haki, he could tell where it was coming from—the beach. That eerie, frozen stretch where Kyron had gone silent.
Whitebeard lowered his fist, his expression grave but calm, eyes flicking toward that same direction. He didn't know what had happened there, but he could feel it—a killing intent so ancient, so suffocating, it didn't belong to any human.
Vargan's next words came out low, more fear than rage. "What… the hell did you bring to this island, Xebec?"
From across the battlefield, Xebec's laughter rang out—mad, thunderous, wild. "Heh. Something beautiful, I'd say!"
And far in the distance, through the haze and frost, **Jinx—The Kitsune—**walked back from the beach, his blade at his side, black frost trailing behind every step.
Even from miles away, they could feel it—the deathly calm that followed him.
Kyron was gone.
Shion's body was breaking.
And now the tide had turned.