Namor McKenzie In One Piece

Namor McKenzie stood in his royal chambers, the weight of his crown heavier than ever. The ocean outside his palace windows was calm, yet it betrayed the storm brewing in his heart. His eyes, piercing and sharp, rested on the figure standing before him—Susan Storm.

"You should leave," Namor said, though his voice lacked conviction.

Sue looked at him with a mix of sadness and defiance, her golden hair shimmering under the faint glow of Atlantean crystals.

"I'm not sorry," she said simply.

Namor let out a bitter laugh, turning away from her to gaze at the endless ocean. "Neither am I," he replied, his voice laced with a strange mixture of regret and pride.

Their affair had been a spark in the darkness of her life, a moment of passion that had shaken both their worlds. For Namor, it was not merely an indulgence but an assertion of his sovereignty, his right to take what he desired. Yet even as he tried to justify it to himself, he knew there would be consequences.

And they came sooner than expected.

The door to his chamber exploded inward, a surge of force and light scattering debris. Standing in the threshold was Reed Richards, his body twisted unnaturally in his rage, stretching in ways that made even Namor uneasy. In his hand was a weapon—something sleek and foreign, glowing with a sinister energy.

"Namor!" Reed's voice was raw, a mixture of pain and fury. "You dare—" His words faltered as his eyes fell on Sue, who stood defiantly beside the Atlantean king.

"I did what you couldn't, Richards," Namor said, his arrogance unshaken despite the situation. He stepped forward, placing himself between Reed and Sue. "I gave her what she needed."

"Stop it, Namor!" Sue hissed, her voice trembling.

Reed's hand tightened around the weapon, its glow intensifying. "You took everything from me," he said, his voice shaking.

Namor straightened, his trident leaning against the wall but within reach. His calm demeanor only fueled Reed's rage. "If you think your petty inventions can harm the king of Atlantis, then come, Richards. Face me."

Reed didn't hesitate. The weapon discharged a beam of energy, searing through the air faster than Namor could react. The impact struck his chest, sending him crashing against the crystalline walls. He grunted in pain, blood staining his royal armor as he struggled to rise.

"Stop this!" Sue cried, stepping between the two men.

"Move, Sue," Reed said coldly, his focus unwavering.

Namor coughed, tasting blood but refusing to let it show. He forced himself to his feet, his trident now in hand. "You're a fool if you think this will end well for you, Reed," he said, his voice still carrying that regal defiance.

But Reed's fury blinded him. He fired again, and this time, Namor knew it was the end. The energy pierced his chest, the pain radiating through his body like fire. He stumbled, his trident slipping from his grasp and clattering to the ground.

Sue screamed, but her voice was distant now. Namor fell to his knees, his vision blurring. Blood pooled around him, dark and viscous, staining the pristine floor of his chamber.

Reed stood over him, his expression unreadable. For a moment, there was only silence, broken by the sound of Namor's labored breathing.

"You'll never take Atlantis," Namor managed, his voice weak but unbroken. He looked up at Reed, a faint smirk on his lips despite the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "Your wife felt amazing."

With those final words, Namor's body collapsed. The once-mighty king of Atlantis lay still, his golden trident now dim and lifeless beside him.

…

…

Namor's consciousness drifted through darkness. He felt no pain, no weight, only the faint echo of his own thoughts. Memories of his life flashed before him—his battles, his lovers, his pride, his downfall.

"Haa… So this is how it ends," he thought bitterly.

A light began to pierce the void, growing brighter and more intense. Namor felt himself being pulled toward it, his body weightless, his mind foggy.

When the light faded, he found himself lying on a warm shore, the sound of waves gently lapping at the sand. The air smelled of salt, fresh and vibrant. He opened his eyes, his vision blurry but slowly clearing.

Namor tried to sit up, his body feeling strange, unfamiliar. He glanced down at himself and froze. This was not his body—not the strong, battle-hardened form he had known. This was a younger, leaner body. His hands were unscarred, his limbs less muscular but still powerful.

"What…?" he muttered, his voice unfamiliar to his own ears.

Lying beside him in the sand was his trident, glowing faintly. He reached for it, his fingers wrapping around its shaft.

Namor stood, his legs shaky but he stood. He gazed out at the vast ocean before him, its waves stretching endlessly toward the horizon. This was not Atlantis. This was not his world.

But the ocean—it was still his.

"I don't know where I am," he said to the sea, his voice steadying. "But I will rule it."

…

…

Namor's bare feet pressed into the wet sand as he walked toward the ocean, his trident in hand. The rhythmic crash of the waves felt familiar, soothing even, as if they were calling to him. The water stretched endlessly before him, vast and full of potential. Whatever this world was, it could not contain him.

He raised his trident slightly, preparing to wade into the shallows, when a voice broke the tranquility.

"Oi, boy! What do you think you're doing?"

Namor froze, his greyish blue eyes narrowing. He turned slowly, his regal posture unyielding despite the strange circumstance. Standing a short distance away was an old woman, her wiry frame wrapped in a threadbare shawl. Her hair was a wild mess of white curls, and her weathered face was etched with lines of age and wisdom.

"Do you know who you speak to?" Namor asked coldly, his pride rising instinctively.

The old woman ignored his tone, squinting at him with an expression that teetered between confusion and concern. "Enough of your nonsense, boy. Get away from that water before you catch your death."

Namor's lips curled into a sneer. "You dare command me? Do you not recognize royalty when you see it?"

The woman snorted, stepping closer. "Royalty, my foot. You're half-naked, soaking wet, and barely standing. Now come along."

Before Namor could protest further, the woman grabbed his arm with surprising strength and began dragging him away from the shore. He stiffened, his body recoiling in outrage.

"Unhand me at once!" Namor barked, yanking his arm free and gripping his trident tightly. "You dare lay your hands on the king of—"

"King? Ha!" The woman's laughter cut him off. "You're no king. You're my grandson, and you've got a lot of nerve talking to your grandmother like that."

Namor blinked, momentarily stunned. "Your… what?"

"Come on, boy," she said, waving him toward a small, weathered house nestled at the edge of the forest. "You look half-starved. I'll get you something to eat."

Still reeling from her claim, Namor followed reluctantly, his pride battling his curiosity. He eyed the house warily as they entered. It was small and unassuming, with wooden walls that creaked under the weight of the salty breeze. The interior smelled faintly of herbs and smoke, a humble hearth crackling in the corner.

The old woman motioned for him to sit at a rickety table, and though his instincts screamed to assert his dominance, Namor complied. His body still felt strange, and the idea of food—though unnecessary for him most days—seemed oddly tempting.

As the woman bustled about, Namor leaned back in his chair, his expression skeptical. "Explain yourself. Who are you, and why do you claim to be my… grandmother?"

She glanced at him over her shoulder, stirring a pot over the fire. "What kind of question is that? Did you hit your head or something? I'm your granny, Rika. You were born in this village, same as your parents. Not that they've been around much."

Namor scowled, his patience thinning. "You're mistaken. I am Namor, king of Atlantis, ruler of the seven seas. I have no family here."

Rika turned, her brow furrowed. "Atlantis? Seven seas? What nonsense are you spouting now?"

Namor leaned forward, gripping his trident. "Do not mock me, woman. You cannot possibly believe I would—"

The sharp, savory aroma of cooking fish hit him like a tidal wave, cutting his words short. His nostrils flared, and his stomach twisted in disgust.

"What is that?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

Rika blinked, confused. "What's what?"

"That smell!" Namor growled, his fingers tightening around the trident. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "You dare prepare fish in my presence?"

Rika stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "What else am I supposed to cook? You've always loved fish!"

"Loved fish?" Namor's voice rose, his outrage palpable. "The creatures of the sea are sacred! They are my subjects, my allies. To consume them is an abomination!"

Rika's jaw dropped, and for a moment, neither spoke. Then she threw up her hands. "Well, I don't know what's gotten into you, but if you don't want fish, you'll have to eat bread or go hungry. Now sit down and stop making such a fuss."

Namor stared at her, incredulous. The audacity of this woman, to not only touch him but to serve him fish and dismiss his royal authority, was beyond comprehension. Yet something about her unshaken demeanor kept him rooted. He sank back into the chair, his pride still simmering but his curiosity growing.

This world… these people… none of it made sense.

"Very well," Namor said finally, his voice cold but measured. "Bring me… bread."

Rika muttered under her breath as she fetched a loaf from the counter. Namor's sharp ears caught words like "ungrateful" and "acting strange," but he chose to ignore them. For now, he needed answers.

As he tore into the bread—stale and uninspiring compared to the feasts of Atlantis—his mind churned. Who was this woman truly? And why did she believe herself his grandmother?

More importantly, how had he come to this place, and what was its connection to the ocean he once ruled?

Namor glanced toward the door, the faint sound of the waves calling to him once more.