One Piece : Brotherhood

I watched Mansherry examine Shiki's broken form, her tiny, delicate hands hovering over wounds that seemed to penetrate far deeper than flesh. Anyone who'd known Shiki in his prime wouldn't recognize the figure lying before us now.

He was all skin and bones, every muscle wasted away, his once formidable presence reduced to a frail, skeletal form barely clinging to life.

Jack stood off to the side, a restless storm in his eyes. He had insisted we keep Shiki's condition as secret as possible, so I respected his wish and had brought only Mansherry, my best healer, aboard this small ship to examine Shiki's condition. She finished her assessment, a solemn look darkening her little face.

Mansherry shook her head slowly. "This… even with my powers, even with everything, I'm not sure if I can bring him back from this." Her voice was thick with regret, but her eyes held a resolute, professional sadness. This was a healer who knew the limits of her gift—and she didn't seem hopeful.

Jack's whole body tensed, and in a flash, he stepped forward. The desperation in his eyes was raw, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white.

I extended an arm, stopping him from moving closer. When everything feels helpless, people often act out of desperation, and I wouldn't risk him lashing out at Mansherry in his panic.

"Please…" Jack's voice was hoarse, broken. "Please, there must be something you can do. I know the Heal-Heal Fruit's powers… they're legendary. They're supposed to bring people back from the very jaws of death."

His tone was practically a plea, filled with the aching devotion he felt for his captain. The man who would do anything to save Shiki.

Mansherry quickly jumped onto the safety of my shoulder, clearly unsettled by Jack's intensity. But she held her ground. "It's not like there isn't a way," she murmured softly, her voice hesitant.

"But… I'm not sure if it will work."

Her words hit me like a jolt. Even with my Voice of All Things, I could sense how close Shiki was to death. It was as though he was already standing on the edge of the afterlife, with only a single, fraying thread tethering him to this world.

"Are you certain, Mansherry?" I asked, surprised but also curious. She rarely offered hope when it wasn't warranted, and I could see that even she was shaken by the severity of Shiki's injuries.

Mansherry nodded slowly, gathering her thoughts.

"I can try… but the price that needs to be paid…" She looked down, as if searching for the right words. "It's not just vitality that he needs to be restored. His spirit has to be reignited, his very life essence revived. No matter how many Sea Kings or animals I could drain, it wouldn't be enough. It needs a soul as strong as his, or stronger."

I understood what she was saying before she even finished. To bring back a legend like Shiki, whose spirit had once rivaled even the greatest warriors, it would require more than just life energy. It would take a profound sacrifice—one that only the strongest could make.

Jack's voice broke the silence before Mansherry could continue. "Then take mine." His voice was steady, and his eyes bore a fierce determination. "I'm certain my life should be strong enough to bring him back."

The quiet that followed his statement was profound, every word hanging in the air like a solemn vow. There wasn't even a flicker of hesitation in Jack's eyes. No doubt, no fear. He was ready to give his life without a second thought. I could feel the depth of his loyalty radiating from him like an unyielding force, a loyalty that transcended life itself.

"Jack…" I started, but he cut me off, shaking his head as if he had already made peace with his decision.

"You don't understand, Ross. I owe everything to Shiki. He didn't just give me a place in his fleet—he gave me purpose, a reason to fight. He believed in me when no one else did. I know he's done terrible things, but he's still my captain. I'm his right hand, his brother in arms. If saving him means giving up my life, then that's a price I'll pay gladly."

He clenched his fists and stepped closer, looking directly into Mansherry's eyes. "Take everything I have. My life force, my very essence. If that's what it takes to bring him back, then so be it."

Mansherry's hands trembled, her voice barely a whisper. "Are you… are you really sure?" She knew what this meant. Transferring life essence wasn't just some casual exchange—it was a sacrifice that went beyond physical life. Jack's very spirit would be weakened, perhaps even broken beyond repair. But Jack met her gaze, unwavering.

"I'm sure," he said, the conviction in his voice unshakable. "If I die saving Shiki, then I die with purpose. And if I live… I'll know that I did everything I could for the one person who gave me that purpose."

The magnitude of his loyalty was overwhelming, a testament to the bond between him and Shiki. Jack's devotion wasn't about power, or glory, or fear—it was the kind of fierce, unbreakable loyalty that could drive a man to sacrifice everything without regret.

In a world where betrayal was common, and loyalty often had a price, Jack was an anomaly. A man whose loyalty was absolute. Mansherry turned to me wanting my opinion. I simply reassured her that no matter what decision she made, I would support her.

Mansherry took a steadying breath, the gravity of the moment settling over all of us. "All right," she said softly.

"I'll do it. But… understand, this is dangerous. It might not work. And even if it does, there's no telling what kind of shape either of you will be in afterward."

Jack simply nodded, his expression resolute. "I understand. Let's begin."

I watched as Mansherry started the process, her small hands glowing with the ethereal light of her fruit's power, a rare, sacred radiance that few ever witnessed. Jack remained still, his gaze fixed on Shiki's broken form, his determination unyielding.

This was the ultimate sacrifice, a testament to the kind of loyalty that defied reason, that went beyond any code or duty. It was loyalty as fierce as the sea itself, unwavering and boundless.

As Mansherry prepared, her face set in determination, she whispered the name of the technique:

"Soul Rend: The Last Offering."

It was a forbidden ability, the kind of power spoken of only in hushed legends—a technique that went beyond mere healing. It demanded more than life; it required the sacrifice of the very spirit, a gift of body and soul to another.

Jack's gaze never wavered as he knelt beside his captain, ready to surrender everything he was to bring Shiki back. Mansherry extended her tiny hands toward him, her fingers glowing with an ethereal light that shimmered like the first rays of dawn, casting a soft halo over Shiki's broken form.

As the light enveloped them, she began the ritual, her Heal-Heal Fruit's powers reaching deep into Jack's core. And slowly, the transfer began.

Jack's body immediately began to weaken. At first, it was subtle—a pale sheen spreading over his skin, his breathing turning ragged. But then, inch by inch, his body started to wither.

His muscular frame shrank, his skin tightening over his bones, and his cheeks hollowed as Mansherry's magic poured every last reserve of his strength into Shiki.

Mansherry's power was wondrous to behold, a force that could touch the very fabric of life itself. Under her hands, Shiki's wounds began to close. His bruised and scarred skin regained a faint, healthy hue, and his bony limbs began to fill with the strength he had once wielded as a conqueror of seas.

The light that once dimmed behind his closed eyelids grew brighter, and his chest, barely rising before, now breathed with renewed vigor.

But this miracle came at a price. Every healing breath Shiki took seemed to drain the life from Jack. His hair, once dark and full, turned brittle and white, and blood started to drip from his eyes, nose, and ears.

He was enduring the very pain Shiki had borne over years—the deep, scarlet wounds from countless battles, the fractures, the poisons, the effects of a life steeped in conflict.

Jack took it all in silence, his teeth clenched, his hands trembling but steady as he bore each wave of agony with unwavering resolve.

Mansherry worked tirelessly, and yet her face showed the weight of the ordeal. "He's… taking all the damage, every injury, even Shiki's oldest wounds," she murmured, astonished.

The terrible, infamous wound Shiki had carried since the Edd War, the steel wheel embedded in his skull, began to loosen, the injury slowly healing. With one final shudder, the wheel slipped free and clattered to the floor, a symbol of Shiki's rebirth.

The ritual went on for what felt like an eternity, every second passing like a lifetime. Jack's breathing grew weaker, his skin now deathly pale, his once bright eyes dull with exhaustion and pain.

But he never cried out, never faltered. He bore Shiki's suffering with a dignity that defied the very essence of pain. This was not just loyalty—this was devotion beyond words, the kind of dedication that bordered on the mythical, the sort of allegiance that defied the harshness of the seas and the cruelty of this world.

After almost half an hour, as the light faded, Shiki lay breathing steadily, his body whole and unscarred, his vitality returned to him. Jack, however, was almost unrecognizable. He slumped, his frame gaunt and emaciated, his strength completely drained, turnning completely to a husk.

His chest barely rose with each breath. His eyes, once fierce and determined, were now dull, empty, as if the very soul had been drawn from them. Every inch of him, every spark of what he was, had been offered up to restore his captain. Jack had given everything—his vitality, his spirit, his will, even his very self.

Mansherry looked at Jack, her eyes filled with awe and grief. This was no ordinary loyalty; it was a testament to the rare and profound bond that, even on these cursed seas, could transcend life itself. Jack's final act, his "Last Offering," would remain etched into her heart as both miracle and tragedy.

As Shiki's eyes snapped open, a wave of Conqueror's Haki erupted from him, unlike any I had ever felt—a surge of sheer dominance, raw and primal, pouring out of him like a flood held back for too long.

His gaze was sharp, his expression fierce, as though he had returned to the world not merely as a man but as something reborn, something greater. Instinctively, I unleashed my own Conqueror's Haki to clash with his, pushing back against the tide to protect Mansherry from the crushing weight of his aura.

"Shiki!" I roared, my voice booming over the raging sea, my own will pressing down like a storm, shaking the very air. The boat beneath us creaked and groaned under the titanic weight of our wills as my Haki clashed with his, sending waves across the sea that churned wildly in response.

Shiki's gaze fixed on me, a hint of recognition sparking in his eyes, yet his Haki did not abate. If anything, it intensified, as though the surge of power itself were defying even his conscious restraint.

Then, as if acknowledging the resistance, Shiki unleashed his Devil Fruit powers, and the world shifted. His mastery over his fruit had transcended mere awakening—this was something beyond, a level of control that defied limits.

His will stretched out, binding the sea itself, and with a sudden, overwhelming force, the entire ocean around us began to lift, as if gravity itself had been torn asunder.

The sea rose into the air, waves and tides bending upward, swirling into massive torrents. The very bones in my body could feel it—this was a power that no ordinary man could withstand.

But I had never been ordinary.

I pushed back, letting my own Devil Fruit powers rage to their limit. The skies above turned dark as my lightning answered my call, bolts flashing across the heavens, illuminating the turbulent sea that floated above us.

Each strike of lightning tore through the air, thunder rolling with a fury to match the rising tides. The clouds churned, thickening into an endless black storm that cast shadows upon us, turning the day into a fearsome night. It was as if the heavens themselves had descended to clash with the sea.

My lightning struck down, each bolt a spear of wrath, clashing against the rising ocean torrents Shiki controlled. With each strike, the air between us crackled with raw energy, arcs of lightning dancing in the space where our powers met, tearing reality asunder, as if the world itself struggled to contain the ferocity of our duel.

The thunder of our combined powers rippled out for hundreds of miles, shaking islands and mountains in the distance, a warning to the entire world that two powers beyond mortal reach had collided.

This was no longer a mere clash of men. This was a confrontation of titans, a battle of gods.

The power resonating from Shiki was something I had only seen in a few—the likes of Whitebeard and Garp, legends who wielded a force that went beyond strength.

There was a sense of finality in it, as though Shiki had grasped the one thing that had always set him apart from Roger. This was the power of one who had returned from the edge of death, a conqueror who had stepped beyond mortality itself.

His power continued to grow, lifting the sea even higher, as if he would raise the entire ocean to the heavens. And I responded, letting loose a fury of lightning from the skies, each strike brighter, faster, and more powerful than the last.

We were locked in a contest of will, both forces trying to tear apart reality, to bend the world to our desires. The sky and sea, the heavens and the earth, seemed to converge upon this point, where our powers clashed, each struggling to dominate the other.

Finally, as the tension mounted to a fever pitch, I prepared to end it, my hand going to Akatsuki, my blade glinting with unrestrained Haki as I prepared to release everything I had in one final strike.

But then, as if sensing the crescendo, Shiki's eyes snapped into full awareness. His Haki softened, the rage subsiding as he took in the scene, blinking in confusion and recognition. The sea around us, still floating in the air, began to descend slowly, returning to its natural state as he regained control.

His gaze drifted downward to the small ship beneath us, where Jack's lifeless body lay. For a moment, his expression faltered, realization dawning as he took in the husk of the man who had sacrificed everything to give him this second chance.

In that silence, the world itself seemed to exhale, the storm receding, the lightning fading as the sea settled. Shiki, the Golden Lion, had returned, but at the cost of a loyalty so profound that even the gods of this cursed sea could not help but bow to its strength.

He looked at me then, his fierce gaze softened, a glint of sorrow mingled with respect. In that moment, there was no need for words. We both understood what had happened, the weight of Jack's final sacrifice settling heavily between us.

The world would know that Shiki had returned, reborn through loyalty, will, and sacrifice—but it would forever carry the shadow of the man who had given everything so that he might rise again.

Shiki drew in his aura slowly, his formidable presence subsiding like a storm calming after its peak. He stepped softly onto the deck of the boat, eyes locked onto Jack's broken form.

For a man as proud as Shiki, known for his unyielding spirit and near-immortal defiance, it was jarring to see the hints of vulnerability on his face. His sharp eyes were unwavering, but to my observation haki which enabled me to read other's emotions, the depth of his sorrow was unmistakable, almost tangible—a silent tear glistening as it trailed down his face.

He knelt beside Jack's corpse, reaching out with hands that trembled slightly, a stark contrast to the fierce power that only moments before had threatened to tear the sea from its bed.

Jack had been more than a second-in-command to him. Since the day Shiki had fallen, struck down by the Ancient Weapon, Jack had fought relentlessly to protect him, to find a way to save him.

He had endured, searching far and wide, sacrificing everything he had—and in the end, Jack had succeeded. At the cost of his own life, he had given Shiki a second chance.

Shiki's voice was steady, but there was an unmistakable weight to his words, each syllable a testament to emotions he could barely contain. "It seems, Rosinante… that I owe you my life once more," he murmured, his usual proud tone shaky, softened by grief.

His hand hovered over Jack's corpse, carefully touching it as if afraid the body might crumble at his touch. He gazed down at the broken, brittle form, his face etched with a sorrow deeper than any wound, any loss in battle. For the first time since his early days as a pirate, Shiki felt an ache that went beyond physical pain.

I inclined my head, acknowledging his words. I knew too well the anguish of losing those we hold dear, and Shiki, for all his bluster and ambition, was no different from the rest of us in that moment.

He took a ragged breath, eyes fixed on Jack as he spoke, half to himself, half to me. "I always thought only someone like Roger—someone with a will that could split the skies—was worthy to be my right hand," he said softly, his gaze distant.

"But I was blind… I had someone even greater at my side all along." He lifted Jack's fragile body with a reverence that seemed to almost defy his fearsome nature, as if realizing too late the treasure he had lost. Each movement was careful, as though afraid to shatter what remained of his devoted friend.

"Sigh…" Shiki looked back at me, and for a moment, the proud Golden Lion of legend was just a man burdened by the weight of loyalty and loss.

"I don't know if I'll ever be able to repay what you've done for me, Donquixote. But on my name, as Shiki the Golden Lion, and on the name of my only true friend, Jack, I swear—so long as you and yours do not come for me, I will never raise my blades against you."

He gave a respectful nod, and I could feel the sincerity in his vow. It wasn't an ordinary promise; it was a pact forged in the depths of loss, bound by the loyalty of the man who had given everything so that Shiki might live.

He understood the harsh reality of this sea—that alliances and mercy were rarely granted without cost. My initial assistance to him back at Impel Down may have been spurred by a practical purpose, but Shiki knew that this time around it was Jack's final sacrifice that had truly restored him to life, a debt he would carry with him until his last breath.

Shiki's pride wouldn't allow him to voice it aloud, but he would remember the debt not just as a matter of honor, but as a bond woven with the strength of a friend's loyalty—a loyalty strong enough to bring him back from the very edge of death.

With a heavy sigh, he turned back to Jack's body, lifting it in his arms. And as the dawn broke over the horizon, casting light on the silent ocean, Shiki carried his fallen friend, the weight of a vow—and a life—etched into his every step. The sea, vast and indifferent, stretched before us, bearing witness to a loyalty so rare that even its cursed tides seemed to bow in reverence.