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Arthur burst from the depths, soaring into the sky.
The sea breeze, the warm sun—it was a welcome change from the oppressive darkness of the anglerfish's stomach.
"Where am I?" He scanned the horizon, trying to get his bearings. He'd been flying blindly, disoriented. He knew he was some distance from Totto Land, but his exact location…it was a mystery.
He rubbed his temples, frustrated. Then—his eyes lit up.
The Log Pose Shakky had given him on Risky Red—he'd stored it in his bracelet, fearing it would be shattered during his battle with Roger. A stroke of genius, as it turned out.
He chuckled, retrieving the Log Pose from amidst the mountains of food in his storage bracelet.
Unlike a standard New World Log Pose, which had three needles, this one had only a single, unwavering needle, pointing towards Raijin Island.
The needle, encased in a round glass dome, vibrated violently, indicating the extreme danger of the route ahead. Most pirates would avoid such a treacherous path.
But Arthur wasn't most pirates.
He transformed into lightning, streaking towards Raijin Island.
Hours after Arthur's departure, the Moby Dick reached Wheat Island.
The Whitebeard Pirates, spotting the unfamiliar Jolly Roger flying from the island's highest peak, were enraged.
That lightning bolt, clutched in a disembodied hand—It was Arthur's mark. Even a fool could recognize it.
Whitebeard's Observation Haki, while powerful, couldn't encompass an entire island like Arthur's. He didn't know if Arthur was still there.
He led his commanders ashore.
"COME OUT, YOU LIGHTNING BRAT!!!" Whitebeard roared, his naginata in hand, his massive frame radiating power, his voice shaking the very foundations of the island.
The waves crashed against the shore, the tremors from his voice sending ripples across the water.
The wheat stalks in the fields bowed under the force of his aura.
The islanders, terrified, cowered in their homes.
Vit Novich, the village elder, gathering his courage, approached the Whitebeard Pirates, his son at his side.
Learning that Arthur was gone, that they'd missed him—Whitebeard's fury intensified. He almost destroyed the island then and there.
But Whitebeard, despite his fearsome reputation, wasn't a wanton destroyer. He spared the islanders, turning and leaving with his crew.
Before departing—Marco, in his phoenix form, soared to the island's highest peak, tearing down Arthur's flag.
The villagers watched helplessly, unable to intervene.
To destroy a pirate's flag—it was a direct challenge, an insult.
Arthur had coveted this island since he'd first heard its name.
His epithet, "Thunder God," was already known throughout the New World. Raijin Island—Thunder God Island—It was a perfect match. He wouldn't let anyone else claim it.
No other island held such a powerful allure for him.
As he approached, dark clouds gathered, lightning crackling, the air thick with a raw, untamed energy. He felt a strange pull, a sense of connection, as if the island itself were calling to him, urging him to merge with the storm.
"What a wild lightning..." Arthur stared at the island, perpetually shrouded in storm clouds, its peak hidden from view, a sense of awe—and excitement—washing over him.
Natural lightning could reach voltages of 500 million—even a billion volts, its destructive power immense, though fleeting. And the super-bolts unleashed by ancient, colossal storm clouds—their power was unimaginable.
Arthur, a being of pure lightning himself—could sense the terrifying power contained within Raijin Island's storm clouds—a power far exceeding his current 200 million volt limit.
"This place... It's perfect. The perfect place to unlock the Rumble-Rumble Fruit's true potential." A brilliant blue-white aura erupted around him, his desire to claim this island, to harness its power, absolute.
The Rumble-Rumble Fruit had changed his life. Raijin Island would accelerate his growth, pushing him to new heights.
The island, shrouded in lightning and torrential rain—a terrifying sight to most—was, to Arthur, the most beautiful landscape he'd ever seen.
"Hahahaha! My New World journey begins here!" His laughter echoed through the storm as he plunged into the heart of Raijin Island, embracing the chaos, the raw, untamed power.
Arthur's arrival in the New World, his bold defiance of its established order—it was a spark, igniting the simmering tensions, the hidden currents of change, heralding the dawn of a new, chaotic era.
Roger wasn't dead yet—but the struggle for his throne had already begun, Arthur himself having lit the fuse.
Roger, on Risky Red, had tried to stop him, to prevent him from plunging the New World into further chaos, to preserve the fragile peace before his own plan came to fruition.
But he'd seen Arthur's unyielding determination, his reckless abandon—and realized he couldn't be stopped.
Raijin Island, battered by constant storms, shrouded in perpetual darkness, was practically uninhabited.
The harsh environment, the constant threat of lightning strikes—it was too dangerous for ordinary people.
"Roger has a few months left. He'll conquer the Grand Line, become the Pirate King—the only one in history. Then, the Roger Pirates will disband. In 1498—he'll turn himself in. Executed."
"It's early 1497 now. I have a little over a year. Enough time, I hope—to reach a new level of power. To give that great man a proper send-off."
High atop a mountain peak, surrounded by swirling storm clouds, lightning crackling around him—Arthur sat in quiet contemplation, his eyes glowing with blue electricity, his body wreathed in chains of lightning.
A subtle shift—a flicker of purple within the blue—a sign of his transformation, a change that had begun the moment he'd set foot on this island.
His electric wave sense, his ability to perceive the world through electromagnetic currents—was overwhelmed by the island's chaotic energy. He couldn't sense the subtle shifts in the lightning, the nuances of its power.
So, he'd chosen this spot, as close to the heart of the storm as possible, seeking to understand—to master—the deeper secrets of his Devil Fruit.
This profound transformation wouldn't happen overnight. He knew that. He was prepared to wait.
But if he hadn't achieved his goal within a year and a half—he would abandon his training and head to Loguetown—the beginning and the end of Roger's journey.
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