The Going Merry sailed on, a cheerful, magical sheep gliding over the deep blue of the Grand Line. On her deck, the sun was warm, the breeze was steady, and the atmosphere was one of palpable, pants-wetting terror.
At least, it was for Miss Wednesday and Mr. 9.
They were huddled near the starboard railing, ostensibly "swabbing the deck," but in reality, they were just pushing dirty water around with terrified, jerky motions. Their first twenty-four hours on this ship had shattered every preconception they had about "East Blue rookies."
They thought they had run into a small-time, amateur pirate crew. A rubber-brained captain, a loud-mouthed sniper, a thuggish-looking swordsman. They had planned to use them, rob them, at Whiskey Peak.
Then, they had been invited inside.
"It... it's not possible," Mr. 9 whispered, his voice trembling as he dunked his mop. "The outside... it's a caravel! A tiny, sheep-headed toy! But the inside... it's a floating fortress! The ceilings are a hundred feet high! The hallways... they go on for miles!"
Miss Wednesday—Princess Vivi of Alabasta, in the worst undercover assignment of her life—was gritting her teeth, her hands white-knuckling her own mop. "It's... magic, you idiot. He told us."
"He," she spat, her eyes darting to the captain's quarters, where the wizard had sequestered himself. Ben. The magician. The monster.
Their "internship" had come with a tour. And they had... accidentally... peeked into the training rooms. The crew had insisted, telling them, "Don't go in the training rooms! They're dangerous! You might die!" which was, of course, a blatant invitation.
What they saw had permanently scarred their psyches.
In the first room, they saw the ship's cook, Sanji. He wasn't just cooking. He was fighting three 10-foot-tall, solid steel golems at once, his legs a blur. But he wasn't just kicking them. He was running on the air, his feet dancing on nothing, his leg bursting into flames as he kicked a golem's head clean off its shoulders.
"An insult to mademoiselle Nami's beauty!" he had roared, before unleashing a tempest of kicks that melted the steel.
They had backed away, trembling, only to peek into the next room.
The swordsman, Zoro. He was sitting cross-legged under a waterfall... except there was no waterfall. He was just sitting there, under a crushing, invisible weight that made the very floorboards groan. He was muttering, "Harder... Tekkai... must cut steel... must be harder..." A golem had approached, its fist raised, and Zoro hadn't even looked. He'd simply drawn one sword, and with a single, lazy-looking flick, had sliced the golem's solid steel arm clean off at the shoulder.
They had fled from that room, only to see the main training hall.
The captain, Luffy. He wasn't the grinning, meat-obsessed idiot from the deck. He was... a blur. He was moving so fast, they couldn't even follow him with their eyes. He'd appear on one side of the massive room, his fist smashing a 2-ton punching bag through the wall, and then vanish in a sonic boom, reappearing on the other side.
"SORU!" he'd yelled, his voice sounding like it was coming from everywhere at once. "This is... so... coooool!"
Vivi and Mr. 9 had come to a simple, terrifying conclusion: this wasn't a pirate crew. This was a squad of monsters from the depths of hell.
And the scariest of all... was the wizard.
Luffy, Zoro, and Sanji were forces of nature. You could, perhaps, understand them. They were strong. But Ben... Ben was unfathomable.
He could appear and disappear at will. He could shoot lightning from his wand. He could make their feet stick to a whale. He could turn their weapons into rubber ducks (a brief, humiliating experiment Mr. 9 had suffered). He could do anything. He was a god, walking among them.
And right now, this terrifying god... was being the most infuriatingly petty, annoying, and demanding bastard Vivi had ever met.
He had been using her, personally, as his private servant all morning.
"Oh, Miss Wednesday~" his voice would chime from the deck chair where he was "sunbathing."
"Yes... Ben-sama?" she'd grit out, her smile a painful rictus.
"This sea breeze... it's slightly too... breezy. Be a dear and stand right there," (he'd point to a spot directly in front of him) "and block it for me. Yes, that's it. A perfect, blue-haired wind-break. Lovely."
An hour later. "Miss Wednesday~"
"YES?!"
"I've dropped my teacup."
"It's... it's in your hand, Ben-sama."
"So I have. How clumsy of me. Oh, look, I've dropped it for real. Do be a darling and give to me."
She hated him. She hated his stupid, perfect, white hair. She hated his glowing, all-knowing, winking blue eyes. She hated that he knew she was a princess; she was sure of it, and was still treating her like a glorified cabin girl. The only reason she hadn't stabbed him with her peacock-slashers was because she was 99% certain he would just turn them into actual, living, very confused peacocks.
---
While Vivi was mentally plotting Ben's demise, now Ben himself was finally, blissfully, alone. He was in his magically expanded private workshop. The room was a chaotic masterpiece—dragon scales were pinned to one wall, vials of Aqua Vitae bubbled on a burner, and complex, glowing runes were etched into the floor.
He held up his finished creation, admiring it in the light.
It was a pole, about five feet long, made of a deep, lacquer-red, unidentifiable wood. Both ends were capped in gleaming, polished gold, intricately carved with swirling, stylized animals: a dragon for the wind, a phoenix for the heat, a leviathan for the water. Separating the sections were three thin, golden rings. It was beautiful. It was elegant. And it was, Ben knew, lethal.
He had poured some of his best Dumbledore-level artifice into this. It wasn't just a stick. It was a conduit, a focus, a weapon fit for the future Queen of the Grand Line's weather.
He smiled. "Merry, my dear," he said to the air. "Would you be so kind as to ask Nami to join me in training room 3? Tell her... I have a present."
A moment later, the ship's bell dinged softly in affirmation.
Nami arrived a few minutes later, looking curious and slightly suspicious. "A present? Ben, if this is another 'prank' like giving Sanji a cookbook that insults his cooking..."
"I assure you, this is far more... practical," Ben said, his smile genuine. He led her into the massive, empty training room. "You're the crew's navigator. You understand the sea, the wind, the sky. But on the Grand Line, the weather isn't just a force—it's a weapon. And I believe... You should be the one to wield it."
He presented the pole.
Nami took it, her eyes widening. "Ben... this is... beautiful. It looks expensive. Is it gold? Can I sell it?"
Ben laughed, a rich, full-bellied sound. "No, Nami, you cannot sell it. Because, in a moment, it's going to be a part of you."
He produced a small, silver pin. "The staff first needs to attune to its wielder. It needs to know you. I need... a single drop of your blood."
Nami hesitated, but her trust in him (and her greed for a powerful, expensive-looking item) won out. "Okay..." She winced as she pricked her thumb, then pressed the single, ruby-red drop onto the central golden ring.
The effect was instantaneous.
The gold flashed, a bright, warm light. The animal carvings seemed to move, their tiny eyes glowing. The pole vibrated in her hands, and then, all at once, it became... nothing. It was still there, solid and real, but all its weight vanished, as if it were a part of her arm.
"Whoa..." Nami breathed, her eyes wide. "I... I can feel it. It's... warm."
"It's bonded to you, and you alone," Ben explained, his voice taking on a professorial tone. "It will now obey your every command. It is weightless for you, but should an enemy try to lift it... they will find it weighs as much as an anchor."
He ticked off the features on his fingers. "First, its physical properties. It's magically indestructible. It will also respond to your will. Try... commanding it."
"Uh..." Nami said, feeling silly. "Pole... grow?"
"Try to be more specific. Will it. Command it."
"Okay." Nami focused. "Tempest-Tact!" she declared, a name suddenly popping into her head. "Extend!"
FWOOOOSH!
The red pole shot upward, extending with impossible speed, not stopping until the golden tip hit the 100-foot-high ceiling with a solid THUD.
"Oh my god," Nami whispered, her eyes sparkling.
"And..."
"Tempest-Tact! Shrink!"
It retracted just as fast, shrinking down, and down, and down, until Nami was holding a tiny, red-and-gold stick the size of a sewing needle. "It's... it's adorable!"
"Try the width," Ben smiled.
She made it normal-sized, then willed it to thicken. It expanded, becoming as thick as a ship's mast, heavy and imposing, before she shrank it back down.
"That's... amazing, Ben! I can... I can hit people with it! From... really far away!"
"A fine use," Ben chuckled. "But that is merely its physical nature. It is a Tempest Tact, after all. It commands the weather. Or, more accurately, it creates it. Hold it up. Ask it for a Heat Ball."
"Heat Ball?" Nami asked, but she did as she was told. A small, red bubble, like a soap bubble but shimmering with internal heat, popped out of the golden tip.
"Now a Cold Ball."
A blue bubble popped out.
"And now... a Thunder Ball."
A yellow, crackling bubble of static electricity emerged, zipping around her head.
"This is... a party-trick stick?" Nami asked, her face falling. "Ben, I love it, but... bubbles?"
"Oh, Nami," Ben smiled, and it was a dangerous smile. "You, a navigator, should know better. What happens when you mix sudden, intense cold... with sudden, intense heat?"
Nami's eyes went wide. The navigator's brain, the scientist's brain, kicked in. "You... you get an unstable atmosphere. A... a localized low-pressure system. You get... a storm."
"Show me," Ben said, gesturing to a 10-foot, solid-steel, Tekkai-practicing golem that was standing dormant at the far end of the room.
Nami's grin was pure, predatory mischief. She looked nothing like a victim and everything like a queen.
"Okay, Tempest-Tact... let's see what you've got!"
She pointed the staff. "Give me a Heat Ball!" A red bubble floated out. "Give me a Cold Ball!" A blue bubble floated out. She sent them hovering over the golem's head.
"This is basic meteorology, you stupid hunk of junk!" she cackled. "Hot air rises, cold air sinks... you mix them, you get a thundercloud!"
And just as she said it, the two bubbles collided, creating a small, dark, crackling storm cloud that hung in the air directly above the golem, pulsing with energy.
"But a cloud is just a cloud," Nami said, "until it has a charge!"
She aimed her staff one more time. "Thunder Ball!"
The yellow bubble of static shot from the staff, flying like a tracer bullet, and slammed into the cloud.
"THUNDER TEMPO!" she roared.
The result was not a "tempo." It was a crescendo.
A massive, devastating, blinding-white bolt of pure lightning KRAKA-THOOOOOOOOOOOOMED from the cloud, striking the golem.
The sound was deafening. The light was blinding. When it cleared, the golem was... gone.
In its place was a pile of molten, smoking slag and two melted, twitching metal feet.
Nami stood, her hair blown back, her face a mask of pure, ecstatic, terrified awe.
"...Ben?" she whispered, her voice shaking.
"Yes, Nami?"
"...I think I broke your golem."
"You vaporized it, Nami. There's a difference."
"I... I... THIS IS THE GREATEST THING ANYONE HAS EVER GIVEN ME!" she shrieked, jumping on him in a hug. "I'M A GODDESS OF THUNDER! I CAN... I CAN SMITE PEOPLE!"
"One last thing," Ben said, prying her off. "The animal carvings... the dragon. It's for the wind. The final ability. Try... Mist Tempo."
Nami, still buzzing from the raw power, pointed the staff at the floor. "Mist Tempo!"
A thick, swirling, silver fog erupted from the pole, blanketing the floor. In seconds, Nami was completely obscured, her maniacal laughter echoing from within the fog. "I'm... invisible! This is perfect! For... uh... tactical retreats! Yes! Definitely not for... other things... at night... in people's cabins..."(she is talking about stealing from others.)
"I'm so proud of you," Ben said, deadpan. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go... not be in the room with the newly-minted Goddess of Thunder. Practice. Don't... destroy the ship."
Nami just giggled, a sound that was suddenly ten times more terrifying than Zoro's deadliest glare.
---
Hiding in a dark, magically-overlooked ventilation shaft above the training room, two figures were trembling so hard they were in danger of shaking the grate loose.
Vivi and Mr. 9.
They had been following Ben, hoping to find some... anything... some weakness, some piece of blackmail. They had been drawn by Nami's arrival.
They had seen everything.
Mr. 9's face was a pale, sickly, greenish-white. His "Mr. 9" bravado was gone, replaced by the primal fear of a small mouse watching a hawk convention.
"Did... did... did you see that?" he whispered, his teeth chattering.
Vivi couldn't speak. She just nodded, her entire body shaking.
They had thought the navigator... the woman... was the weak link. The normal one. The one they could maybe, maybe, take hostage if things went bad. She was the one who screamed, the one who was obsessed with money. She was... like them.
They had just watched her, with a stick, summon an indoor lightning bolt and vaporize a 10-foot solid-steel robot.
And then she had... laughed. That high-pitched, terrifying cackle.
They had been wrong. They had been so, so wrong.
This wasn't a pirate crew. This was a collection of gods and monsters.
The Captain was a speed demon.
The Swordsman was a steel-cutting demon.
The Cook was a flying, fire-legged demon.
The Wizard was, apparently, Satan himself.
And the Navigator... the Navigator... was Zeus in a skirt.
"We... we're going to die here, aren't we?" Mr. 9 whimpered, tears welling in his eyes. "They're not going to let us live. They're going to... she's going to turn me into a puddle!"
Vivi's mind was racing. Her entire mission... Alabasta... Crocodile... all of it seemed so small compared to the sheer, terrifying power in this one, tiny, sheep-headed ship.
They heard footsteps. Ben was leaving the training room.
"He's coming!" Vivi hissed.
They didn't wait. They didn't breathe. They scrambled backward in the vent, falling over each other in a desperate, silent-movie-comedy-routine of pure terror. They fell out of the vent on the other side of the hall and ran, flat-out, back to the deck, where they immediately grabbed their mops and began to swab with the desperate, all-consuming passion of people who were trying very hard to look like harmless, non-vaporizable interns.
Ben walked out of the training room hallway, a small, satisfied smile on his face. He looked up at the now-empty ventilation grate.
He tapped the wall of the ship gently.
"Merry, my dear," he murmured, his voice too low for anyone but the ship to hear. "Did they get a good show?"
The ship's main bell, located a deck above, gave a single, soft, affirmative DING.
Ben's smile widened. "Good. Let them be scared."
---
A/n: Give me Ideas for USSOP weapon