Deep within the dim, salt-crusted cavern, the sound of two simultaneous bites echoed against the damp stone.
"Vile. It's like chewing on a mass of Sea King innards that have been rotting in the sun for a month."
Ace's brow furrowed, but his expression remained a mask of iron. He forced the putrid, anti-human stench down his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing once as he swallowed the golden flesh. For a man with the self-control of a king, even the most wretched taste in the world couldn't break his composure.
Beside him, Sabo gagged, clutching his throat as he swallowed his own orange-red fruit. He opened his mouth to complain, but the words died as his body suddenly went rigid.
"Ace... my hand."
Sabo watched in disbelief as his right hand—the one gripping his alloy staff—simply dissolved. Skin, muscle, and bone vanished, replaced in an instant by swirling, incandescent orange flames.
BOOM!
Without any conscious effort, a manic explosion of fire erupted from Sabo's core, enveloping him in a pillar of heat. The ancient chill of the cave was banished in a heartbeat, the flickering orange light dancing off the obsidian walls.
"Is this the power of a Logia...?"
Sabo stared at his flaming limbs. He experimentally threw a punch. A massive stream of fire roared outward, instantly melting a stalactite ten meters away. There was no pain, no burning—only a strange, weightless clarity, as if he had become an extension of the sun itself.
But as Sabo marveled at his new destruction, the air behind him grew heavy. The atmospheric pressure spiked, turning viscous and suffocating.
Thump... Thump...
A rhythmic, ancient sound—like the beating of a primeval war drum—echoed from within Ace's chest.
Ace lowered his head, his fists white-knuckled.
If a Logia awakening was an outward explosion of elements, a Mythical Zoan awakening was a violent, cellular reconstruction from the inside out. Ace felt his muscle fibers—already pushed to the human limit by Garp's training—being torn apart by a vast, divine life force, only to be woven back together into a denser, more terrifying form.
Hum—!
A crimson-gold light ignited in the depths of Ace's eyes.
Suddenly, a cluster of flames rose from his shoulders. They were nothing like Sabo's manic orange fire. These were pure, crimson-gold embers—silent, noble, and radiating a sense of lofty majesty that felt older than the sea itself.
"Ace, what is that?" Sabo turned, his eyes wide with shock. "It's fire, but... it feels like it's alive. It feels like it's breathing."
Ace didn't answer. He slowly raised his head. Across his cold, handsome features, ancient crimson-gold patterns emerged, mimicking the feathers of a divine bird. His pupils shifted, narrowing into dark-gold slits—the predatory, indifferent gaze of a mythical creature.
"Zoan Class... Human-Human Fruit... Mythical Model..."
Ace's voice resonated with a strange, metallic echo that shook the cave.
As he spoke, the clothes across his broad back were incinerated. Two massive wings, forged from solid crimson-gold fire, burst from his shoulder blades!
Half-Beast Form!
The wingspan exceeded six meters, the edges of the "feathers" as sharp as high-grade swords. Every slow, rhythmic flap left trails of golden stardust hanging in the air. His forearms and shins were now encased in a fine, scale-like plumed armor—a peerless, indestructible suit of divine mail.
The Suzaku Form.
The moment the transformation completed, the temperature in the cave hit a lethal critical point.
The obsidian beneath Ace's feet turned cherry-red before slumping into a pool of glowing magma. The water from the waterfall behind them didn't even reach the floor; it was vaporized mid-air, filling the cavern with a thick shroud of white steam.
Even Sabo, a Logia flame-user, had to coat his body in Armament Haki just to withstand the ambient heat.
"The temperature... it's insane!" Sabo looked at his brother, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Standing amidst the steam and molten rock, Ace no longer looked like a pirate. He looked like an ancient deity who had descended into the mortal realm to pass judgment.
Ace stood in the magma, feeling the inexhaustible ocean of vitality surging through his veins. He slowly drew his heavy machete. Without a word, he flipped the blade and slashed it across his own left palm.
The wound was deep, exposing the bone. Blood welled up, but it never had the chance to drip.
Sss—
A cluster of crimson-gold Flames of Nirvana ignited over the gash.
In less time than it took to blink, the wound closed. The flesh knit together, the skin smoothed over, and the blood vanished. Not even a scar remained.
He felt it—the five years of micro-fractures and muscle strain from Garp's "Fist of Love" were being purged. His body was being washed clean by the Suzaku's life force.
Super-speed Regeneration. Eternal Vitality.
As long as the divine fire burned, Ace's body was an unshakeable abyss. He was truly immortal on the battlefield.
"Powerful," Ace whispered.
He sheathed the machete. The wings retracted into his back, and the divine patterns faded from his skin. Except for his incinerated shirt, he looked like a young man again—though the air around him still shimmered with heat.
"Let's go."
Ace turned, his dark eyes fixed on the prehistoric jungle outside. A trace of genuine, burning passion finally flickered in his gaze. If the sea had given him such a gift, he would repay it with absolute destruction.
"The island is big enough," Ace said, his boots hissing as he stepped through the cooling magma. "Let's go see what we can really do."