Namor McKenzie In One Piece

The night had settled over the village, the stars above glimmering like scattered jewels in the vast, dark sky. Namor sat perched on the roof of the small house, his legs crossed and his trident resting at his side. The salty breeze brushed against his tan skin, carrying with it the distant roar of the ocean. It was familiar, but not enough to quell the storm of thoughts raging in his mind.

From the moment he'd arrived in this strange world, everything had felt wrong. The air was lighter, the sea smelled different, and his own body felt… foreign. Despite its youthful strength, it lacked the raw power he once wielded as the king of Atlantis.

He closed his eyes, focusing inward. The body he inhabited was not his own, yet it held memories—fragments of a life lived in this world. Namor had spent the last few hours prodding at those memories, pulling them to the surface like pearls hidden in the sand.

This boy—this vessel—had been named Kairo. He was seventeen, a fisherman's grandson raised in this tiny coastal village. Kairo had known a simple, unremarkable life, one that revolved around mending nets, hauling in catches, and dreaming of adventures beyond the horizon.

Infact, his body was totally useless and very weak. It had only changed drastically when Namor had inhabited the body, it even kept his winged ankles and the gills behind his elongated elf-like ears.

Namor's lips curled in distaste. Such a life was beneath him, a far cry from the grandeur of Atlantis. Yet he delved deeper, unraveling the threads of Kairo's existence. Through his memories, Namor learned about the world he now inhabited—a world unlike his own.

It was a world of islands scattered across a boundless sea, of towering mountains and deadly storms, of pirates and marines locked in an endless struggle for power. Strange abilities known as Devil Fruits granted some individuals unimaginable powers, though they came at the cost of losing the ability to swim.

Namor scoffed at the thought. Losing one's connection to the sea for the sake of power? Absurd. Yet the more he learned, the more intrigued he became.

Through Kairo's memories, he pieced together the hierarchy of this world. The seas were divided into four vast regions—the East Blue, West Blue, North Blue, and South Blue—all of which bordered the treacherous Grand Line. The Grand Line was where legends were made, where pirates chased their dreams and sought the ultimate treasure: the One Piece.

Namor's eyes narrowed at the thought of pirates. Kairo's memories held fleeting glimpses of them—ships adorned with skulls and crossbones, men and women who lived outside the law. They were not unlike the surface dwellers Namor had despised in his own world, plundering and polluting the seas without regard for their sanctity.

Yet not all were the same. Among the chaos and brutality, there were whispers of pirates who sailed not for greed but for freedom, for adventure. It was a contradiction that piqued Namor's interest, though he dismissed it as unimportant for now.

He opened his eyes, staring out at the horizon. The ocean stretched endlessly before him, its surface shimmering under the moonlight. This world's sea was alive, vibrant, and untamed. It called to him, just as the oceans of Atlantis once had.

"This world is chaos," Namor muttered to himself. "Its people are reckless, its seas untamed. Yet the ocean is mine to rule, no matter where I stand."

The memories of Kairo faded into the background, their usefulness exhausted for the moment. Namor tightened his grip on his trident, its weight grounding him in this strange reality.

He would learn the rules of this world, master its secrets, and carve out his place within it. Whether by diplomacy or force, the ocean would bow to him once more.

Namor's gaze shifted to the small house below, where Rika slept soundly. The woman claimed to be his grandmother, a notion he found both laughable and oddly comforting. Though her mannerisms were infuriating, there was a stubborn kindness in her actions that reminded him faintly of his own people—of the loyal subjects who had once stood by his side.

"Hmm… I'll have to write her something before I leave, else she'll become a bother," Namor mused, though his tone was dismissive.

For now, he would leave this small island, learn what he could, and explore this new ocean. The sea was vast, and Namor had no intention of staying bound to this village forever.

He stood, his silhouette outlined against the night sky. The waves below whispered promises of power and freedom, and Namor vowed to claim them both.

"This world will know my name," he said, his voice steady and resolute. "Namor, the king of the seas."

With that, he leapt gracefully from the roof, landing silently on the soft sand below. The night was still young, and Namor had much to do.

Namor sat at the small wooden table in the dim light of the house, a quill in his hand and a piece of parchment spread before him. The soft scratching of the quill echoed in the quiet night as he wrote, each word deliberate and final.

He glanced toward the small room where Rika slept, her faint snores carrying through the thin walls. For reasons he couldn't quite place, he felt a pang of guilt for leaving her like this. The woman had shown him kindness, even if she was infuriating. But Namor knew he couldn't stay.

This world was vast and dangerous, and staying here would only bring her harm. He had no interest in putting her in danger, nor did he have the time to play the role of a dutiful grandson.

When he finished writing, he set the quill down and read over the note.

---

Granny Rika,

I owe you a debt for taking me in, though I do not understand why you believe yourself to be my grandmother. For your safety, I must leave. The life I lead will only bring trouble to your doorstep, and you deserve peace.

Know this: I will honor the name you gave me, though I will take measures to protect you. From now on, I will be known as Namor McKenzie. However, I will keep the middle name you gave me, for it seems… fitting. I'll be Namor D. McKenzie from now on.

Do not search for me. Farewell.

---

Satisfied, Namor folded the note neatly and placed it on the table. Beside it, he left a small bundle containing the few belongings he had found in the house that could be of use—some swimming trunks and a waterskin.

He stepped outside, the cool night air brushing against his face. The ocean was calm, its waves lapping gently against the shore as if bidding him farewell.

Namor walked to the water's edge, his trident in hand, and paused. For a moment, he glanced back at the small house, its windows glowing faintly from the hearth inside.

"She'll be fine," he muttered to himself, though the words felt hollow.

He turned back to the sea and waded into the shallows. The water welcomed him, wrapping around his legs like an old friend. Namor could feel its power, its boundless potential.

With a final glance at the village, Namor raised his trident and thrust it into the water. A surge of energy rippled outward, propelling him forward like a bullet through the waves.

The village disappeared behind him, swallowed by the horizon. Namor's heart was steady, his resolve unshaken.

…

The ocean stretched endlessly in all directions as Namor skimmed the surface, the water parting effortlessly before him.

"Was I always this slow? Is it because of this new body that I have become weakened?" Namor's slit eyebrow twitched at the thought, nonetheless, he was still confident in his abilities.

His trident rested in his hand, its weight reassuring as he pushed forward, his keen eyes scanning the horizon. The memories of this world spoke of pirates, and Namor had decided they would be his first step toward understanding the seas he now found himself in.

It wasn't long before he spotted a vessel.

The ship was a strange thing, its sails tattered but functional, its hull adorned with crude decorations resembling sharks. From the deck, Namor could see the crew—a motley group of hulking figures with webbed hands, sharp teeth, and skin in hues of blue, green, and gray. Fishmen.

Namor's brow furrowed as he stopped just beneath the surface, observing them. He recognized their features immediately; they were akin to the denizens of Atlantis in appearance, though rougher, cruder. The boy's memories confirmed their nature: Fishmen, beings who ruled the seas with strength and arrogance but were reviled by many on land.

With a powerful kick, Namor surged out of the water, the small wings on his ankles fluttering as he took to the air. Water cascaded from his body as he hovered above the ship, his trident glinting in the sunlight.

The pirates below froze, their wide eyes locking onto the figure in the sky.

"Who the hell is that?" one of them muttered, his voice laced with unease.

"A Devil Fruit user?" another speculated, gripping the hilt of his cutlass.

"But he came out of the water!"

Their confusion only deepened as Namor descended slightly, stopping just above the ship's mast. His posture was regal, his gaze cold as he looked down on them.

"Fishmen," Namor began, his voice calm but commanding. "I am Namor, king of the seas. You stand in my domain."

The pirates exchanged glances, their confusion giving way to incredulous laughter.

"King of the seas?" the largest of them burst out laughing, a shark-like Fishman with jagged teeth and a scar running down his face. "What kind of joke is this?"

Namor's eyes narrowed, his patience already wearing thin. "This is no joke. I am your king, and you will address me with respect."

The laughter stopped abruptly, replaced by scowls and muttered curses. The shark Fishman stepped forward, his muscles rippling as he pointed a clawed finger at Namor.

"Listen here, 'king,'" he sneered. "This ship belongs to the Arlong Pirates. We don't bow to anyone, least of all some fancy airhead human flying around like he owns the place."

Namor tilted his head slightly, unimpressed and his impatience reaching a peak. "Arlong Pirates? I care not for the name of your crew. You are Fishmen, children of the sea. As such, you fall under my rule."

The audacity of the statement sent the crew into an uproar. Swords were drawn, rifles cocked, and the air grew tense with hostility.

"Big talk for someone who's outnumbered," one of the pirates snarled.

Namor's face twisted in fury, the idea of these fishmen looking down on someone with such an authority as his was simply blasphemy. "Outnumbered? Perhaps. But outmatched? Hardly."

The shark Fishman bared his teeth, his patience gone. "Kill him!"

The order was met with a volley of gunfire as the pirates opened fire, bullets ripping through the air toward Namor.

With a swift motion, Namor spun his trident, the weapon moving faster than the eye could follow. The bullets ricocheted off the trident's shaft or veered off course entirely, splashing harmlessly into the water below.

Namor hovered there, untouched, his expression turning from furious to disdainful. "Is this the best you can do? Pitiful."

Enraged, the shark Fishman lunged forward, leaping into the air with his massive jaw wide open. His teeth gleamed as he aimed to clamp down on Namor, but the king of the seas was faster.

Namor surged upward, the wings on his ankles propelling him with ease. He twisted in midair, swinging his trident downward with the precision of a seasoned warrior. The weapon struck the Fishman squarely in the chest, sending him crashing back onto the deck with a deafening thud.

"Hmm… that should've destroyed the whole ship—so I am truly weakened after all." Namor rolled his eyes in displeasure.

The other pirates hesitated, their confidence faltering as they saw their leader sprawled on the deck, coughing and groaning in pain.

Namor descended slowly, landing gracefully in the center of the ship. He rested the butt of his trident on the wooden planks, his gaze sweeping over the remaining crew.

"I will give you one chance," he said, his voice like steel. "Kneel and pledge your loyalty to me, or suffer the consequences."

The pirates bristled at the demand, but the sight of their leader struggling to rise left them uncertain. They looked to one another, their fear growing with every passing second.

"You're insane if you think we'll kneel to you!" one of them shouted, stepping forward with a cutlass raised. "We're the Arlong Pirates! We—"

Namor moved like lightning, his trident thrusting forward and stopping an inch from the pirate's throat. The Fishman froze, his breath hitching as he stared down the gleaming weapon.

"You are nothing," Namor said coldly. "Now take me to the leader of these 'Arlong Pirates', or die."