The morning air was cool and crisp as Ivar stepped out of the cave. The sun was just rising, painting the horizon in hues of orange and gold. He stood still for a moment, the events of the night replaying in his mind. His hand brushed against his chest, where the faint outline of a hydra tattoo lay beneath his shirt. He could feel it there, not just as ink on skin but as something alive, something waiting.
He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. He didn't need to guess—something had changed, something big. The Devil Fruit had done its work, and now it was his job to figure out how to control it.
He walked through the forest, his boots crunching against the undergrowth until he found a small clearing. It was quiet, with enough space for him to move freely. Ivar tossed his pack against a tree, rolling his shoulders as he prepared himself.
"Time to see what I've got," he muttered.
He closed his eyes, focusing on the strange power that had taken root in his body. It wasn't hard to find—it was there, pulsing faintly in his chest, like a second heartbeat. He focused harder, willing it to surface.
The tattoo responded immediately. Heat flared across his chest, and the inked hydra head seemed to move, twisting as though it were alive. Power surged through his body, sharper and stronger than anything he'd ever felt. His senses sharpened; he could hear the rustle of leaves, the hum of insects, even the faint trickle of a stream far off.
Then came the wings.
At first, it was just a pressure at his back, like a muscle stretching. Then, with a sudden snap, two massive, black, leathery wings burst from his shoulders. They stretched wide, casting a shadow over the clearing. Ivar turned his head, staring at them. He could feel every inch of them, like they were an extension of his body.
He crouched low and pushed off the ground.
The force of his takeoff cracked the earth beneath him, and he shot into the sky. The forest fell away, the trees shrinking as he climbed higher and higher. Wind whipped against his face, and he grinned, the thrill of flight washing over him.
He banked left, then right, testing his control. It was easier than he'd expected, his wings responding instinctively. He dove toward the treetops, skimming them before pulling up sharply. For the first time, he felt free—no chains, no expectations, just the open sky.
After a few minutes, he landed back in the clearing, his wings folding neatly against his back before vanishing. His chest was warm, the tattoo faintly glowing before settling back into stillness.
"That's one thing," he said to himself. "What else?"
He drew his knife, staring at the blade for a moment before slashing it across his palm. The sting was sharp, but it didn't last. Almost immediately, the wound began to close, the skin knitting itself back together as though nothing had happened.
Ivar watched in fascination as his hand healed completely. He clenched his fist, testing it. There wasn't even a scar.
"Regeneration," he muttered. "That'll come in handy."
But he wasn't done. He could feel more potential buried within the power of the hydra, like a door he hadn't fully opened.
He focused again, calling on the tattoo's power. The hydra head on his chest flared to life, glowing faintly as heat spread through his body. Then a second head began to form beside it. The rush of strength that followed was immediate, almost overwhelming. His muscles tightened, his body feeling twice as strong as before.
Ivar walked up to a nearby tree, the thickest one in the clearing. He balled his fist and punched. The trunk exploded outward, splintering into pieces as the tree toppled over.
"Not bad," he said with a grin.
But there was more. He could feel it. He pushed harder, reaching deeper into the power. The heat in his chest turned into fire, his veins feeling like they were filled with molten energy. A third head appeared on the tattoo, its eyes glowing fiercely.
The power hit him like a wave, his strength doubling again. He swung at another tree, shattering it with even greater force, but the effort left him stumbling. His breathing grew ragged, and his body trembled under the strain.
The third head's power was incredible, but it didn't last. Within minutes, it faded, leaving him on his knees, gasping for air. Sweat dripped from his forehead as he stared at the ground, his chest burning.
It took several minutes before he could stand again. His muscles ached, but the first head's power had already stabilized, bringing his strength back to normal. He rolled his shoulders, testing his body.
"Three heads," he said to himself. "The first one, no problem. The second… I can handle it for a while. But the third…" He shook his head. "Not yet."
He looked down at the tattoo. It was still now, just ink on skin, but he could feel the power it represented. Seven heads. Seven times the strength. But every head came with a cost—time, stamina, control.
For now, the first head was easy to maintain, its power constant and reliable. The second pushed him further, but he could only hold it for about half an hour before it drained him. The third was on a completely different level, but he could barely keep it active for two minutes.
He picked up his pack and slung it over his shoulder. There was still so much to learn, so much to master. But he wasn't afraid. He was ready.
Looking up at the sky, he smirked. "Seven heads," he said quietly. "Let's see how far I can push this."