How Does One Be Like Water?

"I am formless and changing."

"I am formless and changing."

"I am formless and changing."

The boy dubbed Azazel Morningstar chanted his sermons. The past few days had been relatively peaceful, and with his martial talent, bestowed upon him by his bloodline, he tried to create his own martial art, just like Bruce Lee.

Nobody interrupted him while he was remembering his study of various forms during his previous life, but those were tailored for Earth. Not the monstrous world of One Piece, where mountains were sliced like butter.

Of course, he would have to adapt his martial art as he got stronger, but for someone who was like water, adaptability would be the least of his problems.

*BANG*

A guard interrupted his fruitful session, awakening him from his thoughts, "You!" He shouted, pointing at Azazel, "Out now!" Azazel knew the procedure by now, the guards didn't even bother putting in shackles for most, all he needed to do is walk into the arena.

'Arrogance has a limit. It controls the mind of everyone here well. This will only make it easier for me.'

Azazel followed the guard, welcoming himself as he saw the sun once again.

Screams bounced off the walls of the arena, all wishing for death. A gate closed shut, chopping his exit, and Azazel scanned his opponent.

'Old, worn out, little to no real combat experience judging from the way he is postured, lacks firm will, not surprised that I'm a kid.'

People say the eyes are the window for the soul, it was through this that Azazel often made it a habit to derive what he could from them. It was no exaggeration to say he was a mini Sherlock.

Weapons were scattered along the arena, accompanying it the dried pools of blood, and heart wrenching smell. Azazel watched as the old man picked up a sword and rushed at him crazily.

'Arrogance as usual. He doesn't even see me as a danger.'

Taking in a deep breath, Azazel dubbed his southpaw stance, with his hands just below chin height, prepped in a martial style. He formed countless moves in his mind, but discarded them as he couldn't underestimate his opponent. Following a plan could lead to his demise, to react and attack based on his opponents movements would never go wrong if you had the ability. Of course, it all depends on the opponent, but that's the way of water. Adapt and change.

The man looked slow in his eyes, approaching him with intent to murder. His sword swung down vertically, aiming for his neck.

With a swift dodge to the left, he grabbed the opponents arm, extending it outwards, delivering a back fist to his temple.

*CRACK*

What Azazel didn't expect however, was for the old man's neck to snap from the concussive force of the strike. The old man's body went limp, crashing to the floor.

'This certainly won't help me. I need stronger opponents, for the chance to realise my martial prowess. Hanma's evolve through hardship in battle, not bullying the weak.'

Scoffing at his situation, he walked toward the gate, awaiting its opening.

*CLANK*

The gate opened, but not his.

The crowd roared even louder than before.

*WHOOSH*

Azazel tilted his head to the side, dodging a dagger that crumpled off the wall. Turning around, a middle aged man graced his appearance. One he could tell was much stronger.

"Pick up a weapon, boy." He sneered.

"Weapons are useful tools." Azazel picked up the dagger inspecting it, slightly shaking his head, "But your greatest weapon is your mind and body. Be proud of it heathen." Chucking it away, Azazel dubbed his stance.

To rely on such a crude weapon, when his greatest was his own self? That would be blasphemy.

"Fine. I shall give you a quick death."

The warrior rushed toward him, making the silly mistake of holding his grip horizontally, revealing his move. Of course, Azazel noticed this, prompting a slight smirk.

The attack slashed, aiming for his torso, but such an inelegant attack could never touch Azazel. He stepped forward, raising his left arm to intercept. Using his forearm as a shield, it collided with the man's hand, slightly surprising him.

'Not bothering to use your other hand? I should escape from here soon if this is what I'm fighting against every day.'

Azazel grabbed the man's forearm, raising his right elbow upwards to strike the chin. If completed correctly, the pinpointed force would rattle his chin, causing his brain to shake violently, resulting in death, or the loss of consciousness.

The elbow struck its target as intended, causing the warriors head to snap upward. Azazel, then followed, taking advantage of the split second he had, delivering a spinning back fist, aiming downwards at his enemy. A violent crunch played, and another body lay accompanying the old man.

Flashy moves would promote interest and fame, which would further garner his greed for a harder fight.

The crowd once again erupted, showing their interest for this new contender.

Azazel smiled, revelling in the heat of the moment. This would be his starting point to supremacy in way of the martial arts. He stood calmly, awaiting his next opponent, not making the same mistake of thinking it was over.

And his opponent soon came. A clear level up from the one prior, now lying lifelessly on the ground. Azazel saw, as a huge man, likely around 6ft 4 approached him.

Muscles unbefitting of a martial artist, but more akin to likes of a bodybuilder, a behemoth stomped his way into the arena. His muscles were bulging, trying to escape the confines of his fleshy prison, and he then picked up a large broadsword, placing it firmly on his shoulder.

"They're putting me up against brats now?" The Goliath muttered, "Oh well, guess this one won't take long to break.'

'This is better. An opponent that makes me come up with innovative ways of killing them.'

Azazel could already pinpoint the obvious weak spots of this huge man. The eyes, balls, throat, or the countless nerves imbedded in his body. But he couldn't rely on those at the moment. He did not know if the physiology of the one piece inhabitants were different from the ones on Earth.

'I will have to study this later.'

The towering figure rushed toward Azazel, swinging his large sword in a frenzy. Azazel dodged the attacks, leaving no margin for error. For if he were to be struck by such an attack, he would end up like the two on the ground.

'He is aiming for my arms and legs. What a bitch.'

"You are formless, however, in the wrong way." Azazel's cold voice flew into the man's ears whilst dodging a wild swing aimed at his left shoulder.

Twisting slightly, Azazel crept forward, but as he did, a bulky arm outstretched toward his neck.

Ducking under, he pushed forward, reaching the torso of the enemy. With his finger, outwards, slightly bent and knuckle clutched. He prepped his favourite and most devastating move.

A pinpoint of accumulated force, utilising every muscle in his body at his disposal, he thrusted a one-inch punch, directly puncturing the man's stomach.

The warm touch of the man's innards gripped his hand, and out spilled his intestine.

*THWUCK*

A rather swift kick met Azazel's torso. His body flew backwards, meters before, regaining his balance in the air, landing on his feet.

A dribble of blood crept from his lip.

'My durability is not too bad. And judging from the ranks in this world, my opponent is likely around commander/lieutenant rank, considering from the force of his attack, which sent me flying.'

"YOU BASTARD! I WILL HAVE YOUR HEAD!" the man ran furiously toward Azazel, who was calmly standing still, but just as he was about to swing, his eyes started to lose their light, and he dropped on his knees.

"Y-You!" The man struggled to get his words out, prompting Azazel to come closer.

Azazel raised his leg high above his head, concluding the fight to be over, with a dangerous axe kick that caved the man's skull, ending his suffering.

The crowd paused. Who wouldn't? They just witnessed an amalgamation of muscle get butchered by a seemingly 11 year old boy, standing at the height of roughly 5ft 8.

But as always, the cheering boomed as they chanted for more, loving the brutal but elegant way he dispatched his enemies. It was unlike anything they had seen before. Like an Asura desecrating his foes.

"A-SU-RA"

"A-SU-RA"

The gate for Azazel's side opened, concluding his first deployment inside of the battleground, and the first step in his plan of achieving freedom.

"Use the peoples interests to benefit my own. This is going to be one fucked adventure." He muttered.

And with a smirk he disappeared into his quarter.