Titan of the Blue (A One Piece Fanfic)

Patch opened his eyes to silence.

He stood in the center of a colossal stone chamber, a perfect circle carved out of some material that looked like stone—but wasn't quite stone. The air was still, dry, and oddly cool. A faint humidity hung in the air, but not enough to feel wet. The lighting was dim but clear—like twilight, just after the sun dips below the horizon. He could see, but barely.

He took a slow step forward. The sound echoed faintly, like the room was absorbing most of the noise. There was nothing around him. No cracks in the ground, no furniture, no tools, no hint of who or what made this place.

And then he saw it.

A "door."

That word didn't really do it justice. It was more like a wall with the shape of a door carved into it. Maybe three houses wide and taller than the clocktower in Lunelith. It had no visible handle, just faint seams between slabs of polished black stone. Ornate, but not decorative.

Something about it felt... ancient. Like it wasn't made for people.

A sudden ping brought up a System notification.

---

> [SYSTEM ALERT]

> Form Evaluation Initiated.

> Environment: Combat Testing Arena

> Objective: Defeat successive threats to determine form compatibility.

> Enemies will scale in strength. Rest periods granted between rounds.

> Evaluation Begins.

---

Patch tensed.

"Here we go," he muttered.

With a low rumble, the giant slab began to split open down the center. Dust—not real dust, something faker, like effect dust—floated outward. From the growing crack, a single figure stepped into view.

Tall. Thick. Heavy.

It looked like a knight—straight out of an old storybook. Full plate armor, all black steel, no eyes behind the slit in its helm. It carried a mace the size of a tree limb. Not that decorative kind—the flatten-your-skull-in-one-hit kind.

"Okay," Patch muttered, taking a breath. "We're starting with a brute."

He circled the knight slowly, trying to gauge its motion. It turned to face him, its movements stiff, mechanical, but methodical. There was no wasted motion.

Patch made the first move. A quick jab toward the chest. His studded gauntlet connected with a sharp clang—but nothing happened. Not even a dent.

The knight didn't even flinch.

"Cool. Totally fine," Patch said under his breath. "Not horrifying at all."

He barely ducked in time to avoid the retaliatory swing of the mace. It smashed into the ground with a soundless impact. The floor didn't crack. No shockwave. Just pressure. Controlled violence.

Patch leapt back several feet.

He narrowed his eyes. "Alright. Slow. Strong. Probably tanky. Let's test that."

He danced forward again and feinted high. The knight didn't bite.

He jabbed low toward the knee—it lifted its leg before contact.

"Hmm. Reflexes not terrible."

He circled again, dashing toward the side this time, then pivoting to strike from behind. The knight rotated just fast enough to parry him with the haft of its mace.

"Alright, so it can track."

Patch bent down and grabbed a rock from the floor—except there wasn't one. No debris. Nothing loose. He settled for stomping hard, trying to test vibration response.

No reaction.

"Not reactive to sound. Maybe not even to light." He frowned. "Vision-based? Or some kind of passive detection?"

He began prodding. Inching closer, throwing punches only to pull them back right before contact. The knight didn't swing unless he committed. It was like it needed a signal—something that confirmed danger—before it acted.

That was something.

He tried tapping the knight's chest again. Then again. Nothing. The moment he punched with intent, though, the mace came swinging.

"Yup. Aggro-based. Only triggers when I'm serious."

He panted slightly, already sweating.

Then he saw it. A gap.

Under the elbow. At the knees. Along the neck. Each joint had narrow breaks in the armor, maybe an inch thick, likely to allow movement. Covered well, but vulnerable if you were looking for them.

He lunged and threw a feint at the neck. The knight tilted its head slightly, guarding it.

Patch backed off. "Good. That means it knows where it's weak."

He charged again, this time pretending to aim for the shoulder. When the knight reacted, he dropped low and hammered a punch straight into its inner knee.

The knight buckled—just slightly.

"Gotcha."

He stayed on the outside, never in range longer than a few seconds. Every thirty seconds or so, he launched another attack at a joint. Always different. Always testing.

The knight started to slow—tiny delays between its attacks. Its torso twisted slower, head turning with a lag. It didn't tire, per se, but its responses were clearly governed by an internal logic, and that logic had limits.

Five minutes in, Patch was panting hard. His arms burned. He hadn't taken a single hit, but that didn't mean he wasn't losing. He could feel the fatigue dragging on him. One mistake, and that mace would end it.

"No choice."

He baited again—one final combo.

Feint to the neck. Knight raised its arm to block.

Patch dropped to a crouch and swept the leg—not enough to knock it over, but enough to offset its balance.

As it staggered, he surged forward and slammed a straight punch directly into the exposed gap under the chin.

Crack.

The helmet snapped back. The body froze.

And then, it fell.

A thunderous clang echoed through the chamber.

The knight didn't get back up.

---

> [SYSTEM]

> Round One – COMPLETE.

> Rest Period: 30 minutes.

---

Patch dropped to one knee, gasping for air.

His fists were throbbing, his shoulders burned, and his lungs ached. He hadn't been hit—but it felt like he had.

A soft shimmer lit up in front of him. A waterskin floated into view and dropped onto the ground.

He didn't question it.

He drank deeply, not even stopping to breathe. It was the best water he'd ever had. Cold. Clean. Probably magical, but who cared.

He laid back, staring up at the impossible ceiling. A dome of seamless stone, glowing faintly.

"How the hell is this a test for a form," he muttered, letting his head rest against the floor. "What's it even looking for?"

But he knew the answer.

It was looking at how he fought. Not just strength. Not just stamina.

But decisions. Risk. Precision. Instinct.

And he was still standing.

One down.

Six to go.

He closed his eyes and waited for the next door to open.