The Devil of the Sea

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The cold embrace of the ocean was the last thing he remembered. The relentless pull of the current, dragged him deeper into the dark, inky depths, as the life slipped away from his body. He fought to stay afloat, his limbs thrashing uselessly against the overwhelming force of the sea. The weight of the water pressed down on him, filling his lungs with its icy grasp until there was nothing left but darkness.

His thoughts were a chaotic jumble of fear and acceptance. He'd always known that the sea was unforgiving, that it took as easily as it gave, but he'd never imagined his end would come like this—drowning, alone, in a world that was as indifferent to his existence as it was to his death.

As the darkness closed in, a strange calmness settled over him. The struggle was over. There was nothing left to fight against, nothing left to hold on to. He let go, surrendering to the abyss.

But then, something changed.

The cold darkness surrounding him began to shift, to twist and churn as if the ocean itself was alive and aware of him. He felt a strange, almost painful pressure in his chest, as though something was pulling him, dragging him upward. His vision, a blur of black and blue, began to brighten.

'Is this… the surface?' The thought flickered weakly in his mind. But no, it was impossible. He was too far gone, too deep for the light to reach him. And yet, the brightness continued to grow, until it was blinding, searing through the darkness.

A sudden, violent jolt wrenched him from the depths, and he was thrown onto something solid, his body hitting hard wood with a sickening thud. Pain flared through his limbs, bringing with it a rush of awareness.

He was no longer in the water.

His eyes snapped open, and for a moment, he was disoriented, his vision swimming as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. He was lying on the deck of a ship, the wood beneath him slick with seawater. The air was thick with the smell of salt and decay, and the sound of creaking timbers filled his ears, accompanied by the rhythmic crash of waves against the hull.

He pushed himself up, his hands slipping on the wet wood, and looked around. The ship was massive, its towering masts and tattered sails cutting through the mist that clung to the water. The deck was littered with debris—broken barrels, tangled ropes, and strange, twisted shapes that he couldn't quite make out in the dim light.

His breath caught in his throat as he realized that the shapes weren't debris at all. They were… bodies. Twisted, monstrous figures, half-human, half-sea creatures, their skin mottled and rough, with barnacles and seaweed clinging to their limbs. Their eyes, milky and lifeless, stared up at him from where they lay scattered across the deck.

Panic surged through him, and he scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding in his chest. 'Where the hell am I?' he thought, his mind racing as he tried to piece together what had happened. The last thing he remembered was drowning, sinking into the depths of the ocean. And now he was here, on this nightmarish ship, surrounded by… whatever these things were.

He staggered toward the edge of the deck, desperate to get away from the bodies, but his legs felt weak and unsteady as if they didn't belong to him. His whole body felt wrong like it wasn't his own. He reached out, grabbing onto the railing to steady himself, and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the water below.

He froze, his breath catching in his throat.

The face staring back at him was not his own.

It was a monstrous visage, twisted and deformed, with skin that was rough and mottled, like that of a sea creature. His beard, once a simple goatee, had transformed into a mass of writhing tentacles, and his eyes—his eyes were a piercing blue, glowing with an unnatural light that seemed to cut through the mist.

He stumbled back, his heart hammering in his chest. This couldn't be real. It had to be some kind of nightmare, a hallucination brought on by the trauma of nearly drowning. But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, the truth was staring him in the face.

He had become Davy Jones.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him. He knew this face, knew it all too well. Davy Jones, the fearsome captain of the Flying Dutchman, the legendary pirate cursed to sail the seas for eternity, collecting the souls of those who died at sea. But Davy Jones was a character from a movie, a fictional villain from a world of fantasy and adventure.

And yet, here he was, staring back at him from the water's surface, as real as the ship beneath his feet.

His mind raced, trying to make sense of the impossible situation he found himself in. He had been an ordinary man, living an ordinary life, and now he was… this: a monster, a legend, a myth brought to life.

'This can't be real,' he thought, panic rising in his chest. 'This has to be a dream, some kind of nightmare.'

But the pain in his limbs, the cold air on his skin, the smell of salt and decay—it all felt too real, too vivid to be a dream. He was awake, alive, and somehow, impossibly, he had become Davy Jones.

He took a shaky step back, trying to distance himself from the reflection, but the movement sent a jolt of pain through his chest. He doubled over, clutching at his heart, and felt something hard and cold beneath his fingers.

He looked down, his eyes widening in horror.

There, embedded in his chest, was a heavy, iron key, twisted and rusted, its jagged edges digging into his flesh. He knew what it was, and recognized it instantly from the movies. It was the key to the Dead Man's Chest, the cursed chest that held Davy Jones's heart, the source of his immortality and his torment.

The key pulsed beneath his hand, sending waves of pain through his body. It felt like it was alive like it was connected to him, to his very soul. He could feel it throbbing in time with his heartbeat, a constant, agonizing reminder of the curse he now bore.

He tried to pull his hand away, but the key seemed to hold him in place, its cold metal searing into his flesh. He could feel the curse spreading through him, wrapping around his heart like a vice, squeezing the life out of him.

A voice echoed in his mind, cold and distant, yet filled with an undeniable power. 'Welcome to the Grand Line, Captain Jones.'

He whipped around, expecting to see someone behind him, but there was no one. The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once, reverberating through his skull like the tolling of a bell.

'You are the new ruler of the seas, the harbinger of doom, and the keeper of the souls of the damned. Your ship, the Flying Dutchman, is bound to you. Your curse, your power.'

The voice faded, leaving him standing alone on the deck, the weight of its words sinking in. He was no longer an ordinary man. He was Davy Jones, the cursed captain of the Flying Dutchman, bound to the sea for eternity.

He looked around the ship, his ship, taking in the twisted, monstrous crew that lay scattered across the deck. These were his men now, his cursed crew, bound to him just as he was bound to the ship. They were as much a part of the curse as the key in his chest, twisted by the sea into something less than human.

A sense of dread settled over him, heavy and suffocating. This wasn't just a nightmare he could wake up from. This was his new reality, his new life. He was trapped in the world of One Piece, bound by the curse of Davy Jones, with no way to escape.

'What am I supposed to do?' he thought, panic clawing at the edges of his mind. 'How do I survive in this world?'

The answer came to him unbidden, whispered by the same cold, distant voice that had welcomed him to the Grand Line. 'You survive by becoming what you were meant to be. The Devil of the Sea. The ruler of the damned.'

The thought sent a shiver down his spine, but there was a strange, undeniable truth to it. He had been given this power, this curse, for a reason. He had been brought to this world not as a victim, but as a player, a force to be reckoned with.

He looked down at his hands, his fingers rough and twisted, like the limbs of some ancient sea creature. He could feel the power coursing through him, the same power that had once made Davy Jones the most feared pirate on the seas.

'If this is my fate,' he thought, a cold determination settling in his chest, 'then I will embrace it. I will become Davy Jones, and I will carve out my place in this world.'

He straightened up, the pain in his chest subsiding as he accepted the truth of his.

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Something that I have started to write, I have the plan of about 30 chapters. 

hopefully you guys like it :)