Chapter 1 - Chp1

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📖 Chapter One: The Flame of Empire

The Grand Line was no stranger to chaos, but few islands dared whisper the name Nova Imperia—a new nation rising in the shadow of ancient powers.

Once a forsaken cluster of barren isles swallowed by eternal storms, Nova Imperia now gleamed with the golden domes of citadels, engines humming with unnatural silence, and the scent of discipline in the saltwind. At its heart sat the Throne Spire, where the Emperor watched his empire rise, one calculated step at a time.

But he was no native of this world.

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Lucius Vantros had died once.

Or so he thought.

In his old world, Lucius had been a minor analyst working for a mega-corporation, lost to a tragic electrical fire caused by faulty systems he had warned about. He remembered pain. Then, nothing. Then... this.

He awoke in a body of strange strength and clarity, standing at the center of a shattered ruin atop a Grand Line island. Etched around him were ruins glowing with a light not of this world. The voice that spoke to him then had called him "Seed of Dominion."

And from the heavens, twelve beings fell with fire and thunder.

They were his Primarchs, each radiating an aura of command and brotherhood, none exceeding the might of a Yonko, yet distinct in their essence: pride, loyalty, fury, and wisdom. Not demi-gods—but paragons forged to command.

Around them, steel-clad warriors marched from shimmering stasis coffins—his Astartes, the Space Marines. Not planet-breaking behemoths like the myths of Warhammer, but elite soldiers with speed rivaling the Six Powers, and the will to challenge a Vice Admiral toe-to-toe.

Lucius named his new domain Nova Imperia, and the world began to take notice.

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Today, the stormwalls surrounding Nova Imperia parted only for those carrying the Imperial Sigil—a two-headed eagle gripping a stylized compass rose.

"Reports from the Westport," grunted General Kael Dorn, his Primarch of Strategy, sharp-eyed and scarred. "A Cipher Guild ship tried to slip through. They were vaporized."

Lucius, dressed in an ornate dark cloak over durable combat armor, nodded from his high seat. "Let it be known—Nova Imperia does not tolerate spies. What of the Revolutionary Army?"

Kael grimaced. "They watch from the east, but don't interfere. Dragon plays a careful game."

Lucius stood and moved toward the strategic holotable—an electro-magnetic projection of the Grand Line. "We're not yet ready to challenge the World Government. But it is time to send a message."

At his command, one of his Astartes stepped forward. Clad in reinforced plating designed from sea-prism alloy and seastone mesh, the marine bore the call-sign "Gideon Aegis."

"Mission, Lord?"

Lucius pointed to a southern island under celestial dragon rule. "Liberate Harbanos. No civilians harmed. You'll go with Primarch Sol Verion."

Sol entered then—a towering man, not inhumanly large but radiating the calm of a seasoned warrior. His haki sparked subtly around his fists.

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That night, Nova Imperia moved.

From deep within the Citadel Docks, a sky vessel, The Imperialis, launched. Crafted from shipwrecks fused with futuristic design, it moved through the clouds powered by wind dials and flame-dial turbines.

Within, Gideon and Sol prepared. Gideon loaded rounds carved from seastone, while Sol wrapped his fists in bandages laced with armament haki.

"Your Emperor," said Sol, "he sees more than conquest."

Gideon didn't reply immediately.

"He sees order," the marine said at last. "This world bleeds without purpose. He brings law where chaos thrives."

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Harbanos was a den of despair.

The Celestial-appointed governor—Baron Grell—was a pudgy tyrant surrounded by beast-like guards and twisted amusements. The citizens lived in shackled poverty.

That ended at dawn.

Sol landed first—exploding into the governor's plaza with a burst of conqueror's haki, stunning the guards. Grell stumbled back, eyes wide.

"Who—who dares?! I am sanctioned by the Celestials!"

Sol didn't answer. His punch split the governor's stage in half, sending him flying into a wine cellar.

Meanwhile, Gideon and a squad of Astartes surged through the city's barracks. Their movements were crisp, like CP9 operatives—fast, focused, lethal. Their rifles fired bursts of dial-charged projectiles, enough to knock out even Zoan-empowered fighters without killing.

By midday, the Imperial flag flew over Harbanos.

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Back at the Throne Spire, Lucius watched transmissions from the battle. His logia-like abilities—gifted by the mysterious Aurora-Aurora Fruit—allowed him to manipulate photonic energy in short bursts: flashes of blindness, solid-light barriers, blinding blades of solar light.

Not overpowered, but versatile.

A voice entered his thoughts—Kael's, via den den mushi.

"The Marines will react."

"I know," Lucius replied. "That's the point."

He turned to the rising sun.

"They must understand. This is no pirate crew. No band of rebels. We are the Empire of Mankind, reborn in a lawless sea."

"And we are here to stay."

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To Be Continued