One Piece: Ulquiorra Template

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A small boat drifted across the vast ocean, having crossed the Red Line and now approaching the peak of Reverse Mountain.

A lone figure sat within, a black, chaotic-bladed katana strapped to his back. It was the legendary black blade, Yoru, one of the twelve Supreme Grade swords.

His identity was unmistakable: Dracule Mihawk, the world's strongest swordsman.

With dark hair, a white-plumed top hat, a burgundy floral shirt, a black trench coat, black boots, white trousers, and a crucifix pendant around his neck much like Moria's—the very same pendant he’d used to toy with Zoro—his presence commanded attention.

His hawk-like gaze was sharp and piercing, the source of both his epithet and his uncanny ability to perceive the essence of things, a gift that had honed his unparalleled swordsmanship.

“Black-Winged Demon! You’re the one who captured Moria-sama and left me homeless… Now I'm stuck with this cold, unfeeling man!” Perona shrieked upon spotting Ian, her voice filled with indignation. In the original story, while Moria disregarded the camaraderie of others, he was fiercely protective of his own crew.

It was likely a consequence of the trauma he suffered twenty years ago when Kaido slaughtered his entire crew, leaving him emotionally scarred. This explained his actions during the Paramount War, where Absalom risked his life against two Warlords, Kuma and Doflamingo, to rescue him, and Moria later venturing into Blackbeard's territory to search for Absalom.

Ian hadn't anticipated that even with Moria's premature demise, Perona would still become Mihawk's daughter-like figure. Their shared gothic aesthetic certainly made for an interesting pairing. Ian, however, couldn't be bothered to argue with her.

His green eyes swept over her, not as sharp as Mihawk’s, but somehow more unnerving.

Thump, thump, thump…

Perona heard her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, and then, without a shred of her usual composure, she clung to Mihawk, her voice trembling. “So mean! How can you look at me like that?!”

As Mihawk drew closer, his hawk-like gaze sent shivers down the spines of those watching from the mountain.

The very air seemed to crackle with unseen blades, the wind carrying a sharp, stinging sensation.

Even among the strongest individuals, few could withstand Mihawk’s gaze. But…

Currently, there were a handful who could: Garp, the Marine hero, Crocus, the former Roger Pirates’ doctor, Ian, the Black-Winged Demon who had defeated two Warlords, and Brook, the enigmatic pirate who had dared to call Roger a “rookie,” despite feigning fear. His true strength remained to be seen.

Five powerful forces converged in this unlikely location. Mihawk's sword intent was sharp, honed to a razor’s edge yet restrained, a dormant power that promised devastation upon release. The mere sight of him was enough to make one’s body tremble.

“A worthy opponent… I thought you needed more time to mature, but it seems I underestimated you.” A glint of battle lust flickered in Mihawk’s eyes.

From this brief encounter, he could sense Ian’s formidable power. He was only slightly weaker than Mihawk, a gap bridged by his exceptional physical prowess, something Mihawk lacked.

Throughout the encounter, Mihawk remained impassive, his small boat drifting closer, even with Perona clinging to him.

His composure remained unshaken, but the atmosphere grew heavy with anticipation. The two locked eyes, a silent battle of wills – hawk versus demon, green eyes blazing, one clad in black and white, the other in a vibrant array of colors.

Crocus, his face grim, finally broke the silence. “I never thought I’d encounter three titans of the sea in one place, on Reverse Mountain no less. Dracule Mihawk, the world’s greatest swordsman, Garp, the Marine hero, and the Black-Winged Demon.”

“Quite the coincidence.” Ian stood with his arms crossed, his gaze unwavering as he met Mihawk’s.

A simple exchange, but their eyes held a mutual respect, a shared understanding. Both men valued freedom above all else.

Mihawk, however, also craved battle, seeking to test his strength against Admirals and Yonko alike. Ian, on the other hand, preferred a more laid-back approach, content to wander the world freely. But he knew that in any world, freedom required strength to protect it. Without power, one could only dream of true liberation.

“A friendly spar?” Mihawk suggested, a slight smile playing on his lips as he drew Yoru from his back.

With a single step, he vanished from the boat, reappearing on the Red Line in a flash of movement.

“I was hoping you’d ask.” Ian nodded, a smirk forming on his face.

He drew his Zanpakuto, and as the blade left its sheath, Mihawk’s eyes widened slightly.

While not necessarily of higher quality, it possessed a certain… perfection.

It resembled the light blades created by Admiral Kizaru's Glint-Glint Fruit, yet it felt different, its power rivaling that of his own Yoru, a Supreme Grade blade honed over decades.

A strange sensation emanated from the blade, a subtle pull that seemed to tug at his very soul, an unnerving power that whispered of consumption.

An ordinary person wouldn't perceive it, merely noting its exquisite craftsmanship. But Mihawk, with his discerning eye, recognized its true nature.

“This is your sword?”

“Indeed. This is a Zanpakuto, a blade that devours souls.” Ian confirmed.

“Don’t disappoint me.” Mihawk replied, his anticipation growing.

“Are they going to fight? The Black-Winged Demon, the Marine rookie who defeated two Warlords, against Dracule Mihawk, the world’s strongest swordsman… What kind of battle will this be?”

On Garp’s dog-shaped warship, the Marines exchanged nervous glances, the oppressive atmosphere making it difficult to breathe.

Brook and Tashigi, their hands resting on their own swords, watched intently.

In this world, swordsmen reigned supreme.

To witness a duel between two master swordsmen was a rare opportunity, a chance to glean valuable insights. Each swordsman possessed their own unique style and intent. Blind imitation would never lead to greatness, but careful observation and adaptation could pave the path to mastery.

By experiencing the swordsmanship of numerous masters, analyzing their techniques, and incorporating their strengths into one's own style, a swordsman could achieve incredible heights.

Those less gifted could choose a single path, a style that resonated with their own nature, and hone it to perfection, achieving remarkable results.

Mihawk’s strength stemmed from his countless duels against the world's finest swordsmen, tempering his own sword intent in the crucible of battle. His keen perception allowed him to elevate his skills to the pinnacle of swordsmanship.

Without a word, their sword intents soared into the sky, a wave of killing intent washing over the area. The wind, passing between them, transformed into invisible blades, slicing through the air.

The Marines, caught in the crossfire, felt a stinging sensation on their faces, their clothes suddenly riddled with tiny cuts.

Both men focused their minds, their bodies poised, their Armament Haki flowing through their blades, imbuing them with a dark, metallic sheen.

The swords became extensions of their bodies, their wills manifested in steel. Hum!

Mihawk, his gaze fixed on Ian, raised Yoru above his head with a single hand and brought it down with a swift, decisive motion.

BOOM!

A massive, azure wave of sword energy, seemingly endless in length and height, tore through the earth, hurtling towards Ian with terrifying speed.

Sword energy filled the sky, sword intent radiating outward.

“This is your swordsmanship? A pure, refined slash… impressive power.”

As the azure wave of energy approached, threatening to cleave him in two, Ian’s face remained impassive. A glint of excitement flickered in his eyes.

He raised his own sword and swung, unleashing a verdant wave of energy that mirrored Mihawk’s attack, tearing through the earth and colliding with the azure slash.

The two waves of energy clashed, a deafening roar shaking the very foundations of Reverse Mountain. The earth beneath them cracked, a deep chasm forming and spreading outwards.

Mihawk’s azure slash overpowered Ian’s verdant energy, continuing its trajectory towards him, though its intensity had diminished. Ian casually dispersed the remaining energy with a flick of his wrist.

“You are strong.” He had expected his attack to be weaker than Mihawk’s.

Mihawk's sword energy was almost tangible, a force of nature. During the Paramount War, Jozu, the Third Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates, had managed to block Mihawk's slash, but only by redirecting its force skyward, not by directly withstanding its power.

This level of condensed sword energy represented the pinnacle of swordsmanship. Their initial clash had only been a test of Mihawk's standard attack, yet it had consumed nearly half of Ian's spiritual pressure. He knew the battle was far from over. He tapped into the eight Devil Fruits within him, specifically the Spring-Spring Fruit he’d absorbed from Bellamy.

Instantly, his fusion rate surged to 47%… his spiritual pressure replenished.

The remnants of the clashing sword energy dissipated, and Ian stood his ground, unfazed, his expression unchanged. His clothes were slightly torn, but the damage was quickly repaired by his replenished spiritual pressure.

“He blocked it?”

“He perfectly countered Mihawk’s slash…”

Those who had anticipated Ian's defeat were stunned. He had not only survived but also matched the world’s strongest swordsman.

However, his sword energy was clearly weaker. He still couldn't defeat Mihawk. They suppressed their surprise and continued to watch the duel unfold.

“Interesting.” Mihawk’s eyes gleamed with a newfound intensity.

He abandoned his ranged attacks and charged towards Ian, Yoru raised high above his head, ready to strike.

Ian responded in kind, his Zanpakuto meeting Yoru in a clash of steel, a sharp, ringing sound echoing through the air.

The force of their collision tore another chasm into the Red Line, the earth splitting beneath their feet, the fissure stretching towards the horizon.

Even under this immense pressure, Ian remained unmoved, like an unyielding rock amidst a raging storm.

Sensing Ian's resilience, Mihawk's eyes narrowed, finally understanding the source of his strength.

In terms of pure swordsmanship, Ian was inferior. But his physical prowess was on a completely different level.

Was this the power of a Mythical Zoan Devil Fruit?

Those watching from afar were awestruck. “He blocked Mihawk’s attack again!”

“It seems this young Vice Admiral is formidable… I wonder how many blows he can withstand against the world’s greatest swordsman?”

Ian's Zanpakuto, in its essence, surpassed even the Supreme Grade blades. However, Mihawk's Yoru, coated in Armament Haki, remained unscathed.

The Haki also shielded him from the soul-damaging properties of Ian's spiritual pressure. But even without the Haki, the effect would likely be minimal. After all, Mihawk was the world's strongest swordsman, standing at the pinnacle of his craft.

He was among the world's elite, his power rivaling that of Admirals and even Yonko.

Taking a deep breath, both men focused their minds, their grips tightening on their blades. Sword Aura flickered, sword pressure radiated outward, sword intent surged, and sword energy filled the sky.

Whoosh!

They moved simultaneously.

Pure swordsmanship and Haki, amplified to their limits, every ounce of their power channeled into a single, decisive strike.

Their focus narrowed, their minds honed to a razor’s edge. In a clash of this magnitude, a moment of distraction could spell defeat.

Whoosh! In a blur of motion, Ian and Mihawk clashed, their swords meeting in a blinding flash of light. Their swordsmanship was simple, direct, and devastatingly effective.

Clang! The sound of steel meeting steel reverberated through the air.

Their figures blurred, passing each other in an instant.

A shockwave erupted between them, the sea churning and roaring, the earth trembling beneath their feet. Time seemed to stand still.

Mihawk, standing at the pinnacle of swordsmanship, knew that prolonged exchanges were unnecessary. A single, decisive blow would suffice.

Ian sought to measure the gap between his own skills and those of the world’s greatest swordsman. Both men believed in the power of the single, perfect strike, the culmination of years of training and dedication.

There was no need for elaborate techniques. Like Garp, their power was raw, unbridled, capable of shattering any obstacle in their path.

Their clash was surprisingly quiet, devoid of the explosive effects one might expect. It appeared almost… ordinary.

Then, the aftershock hit. The sea roared, the Red Line split open, two massive chasms stretching for thousands of meters.

A large chunk of the Red Line, sliced clean off, tumbled into the ocean, creating a colossal wave that dwarfed even the largest ships.

High above, the clouds parted, the sky itself seemingly torn asunder.

The two figures stood back-to-back, the red earth beneath their feet cracking, the fissures spreading rapidly towards the horizon.

Those watching from afar were stunned into silence, their faces etched with disbelief.

The sky… the Red Line… they had been split open…

Such power… was it even possible?

The young Vice Admiral, the Black-Winged Demon, had not only fought against Dracule Mihawk, the world's strongest swordsman, but had also matched him blow for blow. It was unthinkable.

First, there had been Shiki’s daring raid on Marineford to rescue Roger, clashing with Garp and Sengoku, destroying half the base. Now, there was Ian, the strongest rookie, defeating two Warlords and battling Mihawk to a standstill on Reverse Mountain. The world was changing.

Slash! Both men bore deep wounds, gashes that ran diagonally across their bodies, blood splattering onto the ground. Yet, neither fell. Was it a draw?

Those who had witnessed the duel were speechless, their hearts pounding with excitement.

“So this is… a battle between the world’s greatest swordsman and the strongest rookie… Incredible…”

“Did you understand any of that?”

“No.”

On Garp’s warship, several young Marine swordsmen exchanged confused glances. Aside from the raw power on display, they hadn’t grasped any specific techniques. Perhaps this was the essence of true mastery, where simplicity and power converged.

“So, who won?”

Unable to comprehend the intricacies of their swordsmanship, they focused on the outcome. It was the most tangible measure of their strength.

Both Ian and Mihawk bore deep wounds, gashes that ran from their right shoulders to their left hips, blood flowing freely. The injuries appeared equally severe.

“A… a draw?”

They looked at each other in disbelief. Ian was only eighteen. Many believed he was a secret weapon cultivated by the Marines.

Only they knew the truth. He had been rescued from the brink of death by Momousagi just months ago, a former captive of pirates who had somehow gained incredible power.

If he had relied on a powerful Devil Fruit, it would have been understandable. But in this duel, he had used only his swordsmanship.

Was this the power of vengeance?

After all, even the most powerful Devil Fruit was useless in the hands of a fool. A skilled user, however, could achieve incredible feats with even the most seemingly mundane ability.

“You lost, and you won. You cannot defeat me yet, but the gap is not insurmountable. You didn’t even resort to your Mythical Zoan powers. Most importantly, you’re still young, full of potential.”

Mihawk examined a small, almost insignificant wound on his body, a strange expression flickering in his eyes. He had pierced Ian's defenses, but the nature of their injuries was vastly different.

Ian possessed a Mythical Zoan Devil Fruit, granting him superior physical resilience. While the outcome appeared to be a draw, the underlying reality was different. Ian had yet to unleash his full power, and the gap between them would likely close in the future.

What truly unsettled Mihawk was the realization that he, despite standing at the pinnacle of swordsmanship for years, had reached an impasse.

Neither he nor Shanks had been able to overcome this invisible barrier. All he could do was stand at the precipice, gazing into the abyss. There was no path forward.

But in Ian, he saw something different. While Ian hadn't reached that barrier yet, he possessed the potential to surpass it, to forge a new path.

“Thank you.” Ian turned to face Mihawk, a hint of resignation in his eyes.

Mihawk had already reached the peak of this world. His path forward was limited. Ian, however, was different. With the Dimensional Template System and Ulquiorra's powers, as long as he had enough souls…

He didn’t know his limits. And as someone from another world, he knew that there were far greater heights to reach. This world, this sea, was just one step on his journey. The vast cosmos awaited.

Sheathing Yoru, Mihawk nodded towards Garp before returning to his small boat, Perona still clinging to him, their figures receding into the distance.

“No one can remain at the top forever…”

Ian watched Mihawk depart, a sigh escaping his lips. His wounds had completely healed thanks to his High-Speed Regeneration, leaving the Marines awestruck.

What kind of monstrous resilience was this?

He didn’t belong to this world. He was destined to transcend its limitations. His goals extended far beyond this sea, this planet. While Mihawk considered him a worthy rival, Ian knew he wasn’t strong enough. His outward calm concealed a burning ambition.

Within him, the Devil Fruit tree shrunk slightly, the Spring-Spring Fruit vanishing.

He felt a pang of regret, like losing Shinji Hirako’s Sakanade ability. But with the Rumble-Rumble Fruit, perhaps he could develop something similar to Sasuke Uchiha’s Chidori Sharp Spear, a long-range lightning attack.

His fusion rate had reached 47%.

His spiritual pressure was depleted, and it would take time to recover. Unlike his physical body, it lacked the regenerative boost of High-Speed Regeneration.

As he watched Mihawk’s boat disappear over the horizon, Perona still glaring at him, Ian shook his head and stepped onto the ocean surface, returning to Reverse Mountain.

Only after both figures had vanished from the Red Line did the Marines on Garp’s warship recover from their shock, their gazes fixed on the sky, their minds blank, their faces pale.

“So that’s… a battle between the strongest Marine rookie and the world’s greatest swordsman… Are they even human?”

Above them, the clouds remained parted, a deep chasm etched across the sky, a testament to the power they had witnessed.

A mixture of emotions surged through them. They clenched their fists, their eyes closed, their hands instinctively gripping the hilts of their swords. Their gazes hardened, their resolve strengthened. Some even contemplated switching to the path of the sword.

“A draw, then.”

Dracule Mihawk, the world’s greatest swordsman, had fought to a draw against a young Marine Vice Admiral? A rookie who had defeated two Warlords and now matched the strongest swordsman in the world?

Though his swordsmanship was slightly inferior, he was also a Devil Fruit user. And Mihawk had managed to wound him as well. A draw was the only logical conclusion.

“The world… is about to be turned upside down…”

A new powerhouse had emerged, a figure rivaling Dracule Mihawk, the world's greatest swordsman. Even the New World, the most dangerous sea, would tremble at his arrival.

After all, individuals of this caliber were not common.

A shared thought echoed through their minds, leaving them in stunned silence.

As expected, news of Ian’s duel with Mihawk spread like wildfire across the sea. The initial reaction was universal: disbelief.

A Marine rookie, barely a few months into his career, had sent one Warlord to Impel Down, killed another, and now fought the world’s strongest swordsman to a draw? It was preposterous!

The Yonko remained relatively calm. Defeating Crocodile and Moria, and matching Mihawk was within the realm of possibility. Shanks expressed surprise, as Mihawk was a close friend. Doflamingo, however…

He reacted as if he’d seen a ghost. “Did the Marines orchestrate this? Are they protecting this kid from me? Afraid of what he’ll become? Another Admiral, perhaps?”

He crushed the wine glass in his hand, the red liquid splattering like blood, shards of glass mixing with the crimson fluid. A chilling laughter echoed through the room.

Despite his arrogance, he knew he couldn’t defeat Mihawk. He could escape, perhaps, but victory was beyond his grasp. Crocodile was on a similar level. And now, this news…

“They’ll go to any lengths to protect him. But don’t think I’ll give up…”

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Word Count [3417]

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To Be Continued..

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