Arlo's consciousness snapped back to his body with the force of a tidal wave.
He gasped, eyes flying open, heart hammering against his ribs. For a moment, he couldn't move. The afterimages of that battle—mountains split, sky torn, reality bending—burned behind his eyelids.
That was power.
Real, Fucking, world-ending power.
His small hands clenched into fists. He'd known intellectually that the top tiers of One Piece were monsters, had read about their feats, calculated their capabilities.
Witnessing it firsthand was different.
That level of strength wasn't distant anymore, wasn't abstract—it was real, tangible .
And he wanted it.
<
"Yes." The word came out hoarse. "Integrate everything. Now."
<
The first wave hit like euphoria.
Warmth flooded through him, starting at his core and radiating outward—pleasant, blissful, like every cell in his body was being gently optimized. His Davy Clan template began to merge with his Ancient Giant Royal physiology.
Two legendary bloodlines, intertwining, creating something that had never existed.
Arlo felt his bones restructure at the molecular level. Marrow shifting, density increasing, lattice patterns forming in mathematically perfect configurations. His muscles compressed, fibers weaving together in ways that maximized force-to-mass ratios. His cardiovascular system expanded, heart strengthening to pump blood through a body capable of impossible feats.
<
The Voice of All Things settled into his consciousness like a new sense organ. Suddenly, the world carried layers he'd never perceived—the tatami mats beneath him whispered stories of the plant they'd once been, the wooden beams hummed with decades of accumulated existence, even the air itself seemed to carry meaning, intention, will.
King's Domination integrated next, and the euphoria deepened into something darker, more intoxicating.
A presence began to emanate from him—invisible yet undeniable. The kind of gravity that made lesser beings instinctively lower their eyes. The mark of those born to rule, to conquer, to stand above all others through simple, inescapable truth.
I am superior.
And for just a split second, his eyes flashed crimson.
His irises blazed red, bright enough to paint the dim room in scarlet light. Above his head, translucent and ephemeral, a crown materialized—jagged, cruel, formed from thorns or nails, dripping with phantom blood.
The Crown of a Conqueror.
It lasted less than a heartbeat before vanishing, though the feeling remained—that certainty, that hunger.
<
But Raphael wasn't finished.
<
Knowledge flooded his mind—muscle memory, instinct, killing intent. His five-year-old body suddenly knew how to move, how to strike, how to kill with a blade despite never having held a proper sword. Rocks' wild, adaptive style merged with Harald's overwhelming power. Techniques that should have been incompatible wove together into something new, something perfect.
<
Each skill settled into place like puzzle pieces clicking home. His Observation Haki, already at 850 meters, suddenly exploded outward—two kilometers, five, ten. He could feel the entire estate and beyond, every living thing, every presence, mapped in his awareness with crystalline clarity.
His Armament Haki, previously requiring 0.5 seconds to activate, became instant—a thought, and his skin would turn black, another thought, and that hardening could flow through his body, concentrating in limbs, projecting outward as invisible force.
And his Conqueror's Haki remained dormant, unawakened, because Raphael could give him the knowledge, the technique, the framework—but Conqueror's Haki required something else, something that couldn't be copied or analyzed.
It required will.
The will to stand above all others. To impose your existence on reality itself. To make the world bend simply because you refused to break.
I'll awaken it naturally. On my own terms. When my conviction reaches critical mass.
<
Arlo let out a shaky breath, marveling at the changes. He felt complete, like pieces of himself he hadn't known were missing had finally been returned.
Then something else stirred.
Deep in his core, where the Codex resided—that impossible star of otherworldly light merged with his soul—the red spark that had ignited during the battle began to grow.
It pulsed. Expanded. Fed on the integration process, on the new power flooding his system, on the King's Domination settling into his bones.
And it was hungry.
Arlo gasped as sensation crashed through him—a need that transcended reason.
He was starving.
The hunger clawed at his insides, whispering dark promises. Take. Consume. Devour. Make it yours. ALL of it.
His breathing quickened. Pupils dilated. That red spark grew brighter, more intense, until it dominated his internal landscape—a crimson sun burning at the center of his being.
And the Codex responded.
The star-shaped presence pulsed in rhythm with the spark, the two forces resonating, amplifying each other. The Codex understood his desire—had been designed to fulfill any wish strong enough. And this hunger, this need, was strong enough to reshape worlds.
<
Reality tore.
For an instant, Arlo's room ceased to exist—or rather, it existed in multiple states simultaneously. He saw his futon, his walls, his window, overlaid with something else: a vast, infinite darkness. A void that wasn't empty but full, churning with chaos, with the distilled essence of consumption.
Imaginary Space. A world of infinite size where everything mixed in chaos. His own personal dimension, born from desire and given form by the Codex.
Then the skill fully manifested.
Arlo's shadow moved.
It writhed, expanded, became something alive. Black tendrils rose from the darkness beneath him, neither solid nor quite immaterial—somewhere between matter and concept. They reached toward the ceiling, toward the walls, hungry and eager.
This was Predation. The ability to absorb anything—organic, inorganic, energy, even space itself—into his Imaginary Space for storage or consumption.
This was Universal Shapeshift. The power to transform into any target he'd analyzed, body taking on properties and characteristics equal to or exceeding the original.
This was Corrosion. The capacity to decompose and erode anything he touched, breaking down matter at the fundamental level.
This was Soul Consumption. The ability to devour souls, to kill the very essence of existence itself.
This was Food Chain. The skill that let him grant powers to subordinates while also receiving their growth, creating a network of exponentially increasing strength.
And binding it all together was the core ability—Beelzebuth itself. The Ultimate Skill of Gluttony. The power that let him consume, analyze, and make his own anything that entered his domain.
For a moment, Arlo felt it. The true depth of what he'd been given.
He could eat anything. Skills, powers, energies, entire dimensions. He could transform into any being he'd analyzed, surpassing even their original forms. He could corrode gods themselves given enough time. He could build an army where every member's growth fed into his own, creating a feedback loop that had no ceiling.
And something in Arlo's expression shifted.
His eyes, which had flashed red before, now stayed that color. Crimson irises glowing with eldritch light. His small face, usually innocent and childlike, twisted into something that didn't belong on a five-year-old.
A smile.
Predatory. The smile of something ancient and demonic wearing the skin of a child.
His shadow continued to writhe, black tendrils reaching, grasping, wanting. The air around him grew cold. Oppressive. Like standing in the presence of something that existed beyond mortal comprehension.
For just a moment—a single, crystalline instant—Arlo looked less like a boy and more like a demon king.
The Demon Lord of Gluttony, crowned in thorns and wreathed in shadows, who would one day devour the world itself if it pleased him.
Then the moment passed.
The red faded from his eyes. The shadows receded. His expression smoothed back into something almost normal.
The hunger remained though, coiled in his core like a sleeping dragon—patient, waiting.
<
Arlo took a shuddering breath, centering himself. The euphoria was fading, replaced by a strange sort of clarity. He felt different—fundamentally altered, like he'd crossed a threshold he could never uncross.
"Raphael," he said quietly, voice steady despite everything. "Status report. What am I now?"
<
"Do it."
<
A pause. As if Raphael itself was considering the weight of what it was about to announce.
<
<
Arlo sat in silence, processing.
Ascendant.
I'd been a laboratory scientist. Then a dying man. Then a reincarnator with cheat powers. And now...
Now he was something else entirely. Something that combined ancient bloodlines, impossible skills, and reality-bending artifacts into a package wrapped in the innocent shell of a five-year-old boy.
He looked down at his small hands. They looked normal. Harmless.
The hunger stirred again, whispering dark promises.
*You could rule everything. Take everything. Consume everything. Make the entire world kneel.*
He breathed slowly, the hunger settling into background noise—present, powerful, leashed through sheer will.
I am still Arlo.
The question echoed in his mind, unanswered.
<
A knock at his door made him freeze.
"Arlo-kun?" Sachiko's voice, muffled through the wood. "Are you alright? I thought I heard something."
Arlo's Observation Haki—now spanning ten kilometers—immediately locked onto her presence. She was concerned, curious rather than suspicious.
His shadows had fully receded. His eyes were back to their normal blue. The crown was gone. Outwardly, he looked like nothing had changed.
But he could feel her life force. Feel the rhythm of her heart, the flow of blood through her veins, the essence of her existence.
And part of him—that dark, hungry part—whispered how easy it would be to consume her, to add her strength to his own, to make her knowledge, her skills, her very soul another piece of his growing power.
The thought was there and gone in an instant.
Arlo closed his eyes, breathing slowly, letting the hunger settle back into dormancy.
"I'm fine, Sachiko-nee," he called out, proud that his voice sounded normal. "Just practicing python."
"python?" Confusion colored her tone. "What's python?"
"A... study technique. Something I read about." He paused. "It helps with focus."
"Oh." A moment of silence. "Well, don't overdo it. You're still growing. Come find me if you need anything, okay?"
"I will. Thank you."
Her presence lingered for a moment longer, then retreated down the hallway.
Arlo waited until she was completely gone before letting out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
<
"I know." He looked at his hands again. "I know."
*The hunger is there and would always be there. My constant companion, a dark mirror of my ambition. But I could use it, make it serve me rather than the other way around.*
Because that was the difference between a monster and a king.
Kings ruled their desires. Monsters were ruled by them.
*And I have every intention of becoming a king.*
Outside his window, the sun was setting. Painting the sky in shades of red and gold. Beautiful. Peaceful.
Completely ignorant of the fact that somewhere in Wano, in a small estate belonging to a noble family, something had been born that would one day reshape the world.
Ascendant.
████████████
But for now, I was still Arlo. Still five years old. Still learning, growing, adapting.
The future could wait.
He had time.
All the time in the world.
---
*End of Chapter 6*
*Next: Training begins in earnest. Sachiko notices changes. And somewhere far away, the wheels of fate continue to turn...*