Chapter 2 – The Hammer and the Flame
The wind howled across the rusted rooftops of South Blue's slums, carrying the smell of salt, rust, and forgotten dreams. Gokusei stood on the rooftop of a dilapidated building, the weight of his war hammer Shinpan resting on his back. His dark eyes watched the horizon, his thoughts drifting back to the letter Sengoku had left behind before departing on his last mission. That mission had left more questions than answers.
Gokusei had been in the Navy for three years now, yet the justice he believed in seemed increasingly foreign among his superiors. Corruption festered like mold between the cracks of the institution. Pirates weren't always the worst; sometimes, it was those in uniform who smiled while betraying the helpless.
That day's mission was simple: intercept a band of traffickers who had captured an entire village under the pretense of protection. Their leader was said to be an ex-noble turned mercenary, a man named Rakkan. But Gokusei had already read beyond the report. He had seen the truth in the trembling words of the villagers who had escaped. There was no protection. Only pain.
As the ship approached the island, he closed his eyes and repeated the silent ritual that began every day of his life.
> "Am I still worthy?" he whispered.
The wind didn't answer, but his heart did.
A faint golden glow appeared around his eyes—the Ashura Ashura no Mi resonating faintly with his resolve. The mythical Zoan fruit, once dormant, now stirred in harmony with his sense of justice.
Upon reaching the shore, the air was heavy with the stench of fear. The cries had already started.
Gokusei walked calmly through the village's main path, the war hammer on his shoulder, each step echoing with quiet power. The cries grew louder. Soldiers of Rakkan began to surround him, laughter on their lips.
"Another hero?" one mocked. "You Navy types always think you can judge us."
Gokusei didn't stop walking. His head slowly transformed—an Ashura's visage, multiple faint arms flickering behind him like shadows.
The soldier's eyes widened as an ethereal scale appeared before them.
> "What weighs more—your heart or a feather?"
The Judgmental Radiance had been activated. On one side of the illusionary scale, a delicate feather hovered. On the other, the glowing manifestation of the man's soul.
The soldier collapsed, clutching his chest as if a thousand regrets pressed against his ribs. He screamed. He begged. And then silence.
Gokusei stepped over him without a word. Another came at him with a blade, but the war hammer Shinpan descended with the force of divine wrath. The man was flung through a wall. Bones shattered like glass.
The battle raged, but it wasn't a battle—it was reckoning.
By the time Gokusei reached the center of the village, Rakkan stood waiting. A tall man with silver hair and eyes devoid of guilt. He clapped slowly, mockingly.
"You really believe you're some sort of arbiter, don't you?"
"I don't judge. I reveal," Gokusei said.
Rakkan smiled. "Everyone's guilty of something."
Gokusei's eyes narrowed. "And some sins are too heavy to carry."
Their clash was thunder. Shinpan against twin sabers. Rakkan was strong—decades of battle had hardened his body. But Gokusei's strength wasn't merely in muscle or technique. His strength came from within, from the Flame of Conviction that burned brighter the more unshakable his ideals became.
As the battle reached its peak, Rakkan made a mistake. He tried to manipulate Gokusei's mind, whispering about gray areas, moral compromise, how his father—Sengoku—had once ordered a village to be sacrificed for the greater good.
But Gokusei stood firm. He had long prepared for such manipulation. The Mirror of Truth, another ability granted by his fruit, reflected those thoughts back into the soul of the speaker. Rakkan's face twisted as he was forced to face his own delusions. The final blow came with a roar, Shinpan crashing down like judgment day.
When it ended, the villagers were freed.
The Navy, as expected, covered up the truth. Rakkan's crimes were minimized. Gokusei was ordered to remain silent.
That night, Gokusei sat alone near a fire, Shinpan resting beside him. His father's vivre card flickered inside his coat. His thoughts were heavy—not with guilt, but with purpose.
He remembered the dream. The same one he had since childhood: a world where no child had to choose between stealing food or dying.
Then, a strange tremor passed through his spine. He looked up to the stars. Something… or someone… was watching.
Far away, on another island covered in white marble and shadows, a man in white robes walked calmly through a chapel of the damned. His name was Hokushin.
Worshippers lined the corridor, eyes glazed with fanatic devotion. Hokushin's steps were soft, but his presence crushed the air. His hands glowed with the cold energy of the Merciful Abyss, the Devil Fruit that erased pain—and will.
He had just "saved" an entire town by draining them of guilt and grief, leaving behind empty husks who followed him blindly.
He smiled at the candles that lit the altar. "Peace through purity. Redemption through obedience."
At his side hung his blade, Divine Kiss, a cruel and sacred weapon that granted no mercy—only release. Hokushin's power was revered, but none knew the truth behind his origin. A Celestial Dragon's blood ran through his veins, and he believed himself not just a leader… but a god.
Unlike Gokusei's path of introspection, Hokushin never questioned himself. His Conqueror's Haki bent the will of others through divine delusion, not empathy. Every life taken was, in his mind, a soul "saved" from chaos.
And he had seen something in his dreams as well—a flame that could not be extinguished. A hammer raised against heaven.
"The Ashura walks," he murmured. "And so shall the false god fall."
The next morning, Gokusei awoke in a cold sweat, eyes burning with premonition. The vivre card of his father had moved slightly. A sign. Trouble.
But deep in his core, it wasn't his father's safety he feared. It was the echo of a name he didn't yet know. One born of false divinity, of peace made from screams.
> Hokushin