ITALY
POV GARP
BOOOOOOOOM
A massive explosion shook the ground around me. A giant dark blue mushroom cloud rose into the sky. Less than 100 meters away, I stood with both arms stretched out.
With one arm, I'd created a shockwave with masterfully controlled Haki, hurling the former prisoners out of the immediate danger zone. Some of them probably sustained a few broken bones, but for now, everyone had survived.
With the other arm, I'd punched in the direction of the explosion. Here, I hadn't held anything back. I'd put everything I had into that strike. A powerful wave of Emperor's Haki had surged out with my punch at the moment of the blast, clashing with the raw force of the explosion. For a brief moment, it was like watching two tsunamis collide, both forces holding each other at bay—until the explosion slowly gained the upper hand. But everyone was out of the danger zone... or so I thought until an intense heat wave hit me.
It felt like I was being cooked alive. An inhuman scream tore from my lungs. The pain nearly drove me mad, and I wasn't the only one. The others were hit by the heat as well, though at a lower intensity since they were farther away.
Through the agony, I pressed forward, driven by sheer willpower, refusing to give up. My skin was bright red, and steam poured from my body as every bit of moisture evaporated. Finally, after an excruciating 30 seconds, it was over. The heat had risen into the atmosphere, leaving us still warm, but no longer boiling.
I breathed heavily, in and out, as my body visibly began to heal. The rest ran toward me—at least those who could still move—to check if I needed medical help. Then I took a deep breath and laughed with my whole heart.
"Bwahahaha!" I laughed and laughed. Even though the situation had been dangerously close, I couldn't help but feel pure joy. I'd managed to save nearly everyone. The only casualties had occurred while the survivors fought their way to the surface. Finally, I closed my eyes and collapsed, exhausted from the heavy use of my Haki that day.
POV THIRD
Steve Rogers, aka Captain America, pulled himself to his feet after Garp had thrown him to safety just before the explosion. His dislocated shoulder sent a sharp pain through his body, but he ignored it. Limping slightly, he ran as fast as he could towards Garp to see if he had survived the intense heat.
The sight shocked him. Garp's entire skin was burned away, and the flesh underneath was bright red, cooked through. Slowly, the skin and flesh began to heal, but the sight was gruesome. The worst part, however, was the smell of roasted chicken wafting from Garp, nearly making Rogers gag.
Some of the prisoners, who hadn't eaten in days, found their mouths watering at the smell but immediately vomited at the thought.
'Shit, I'm never going to be able to eat chicken again… and lobster, that's out too after the last ordeal… being cooked alive is just too much!' he thought as he checked on Garp's condition. But Garp only laughed before closing his eyes and standing still.
"Vice Admiral, what should we do next?" one of the soldiers asked, but Garp didn't respond, standing there with his eyes closed.
"Is he dead on his feet?!" another cursed.
Rogers quickly checked Garp's pulse at his wrist and shook his head, relieved. "No, the stubborn bastard just passed out!"
"As if that's any better! How is that even possible?! How can someone keep standing while beeing passed out?!" asked Bucky, who had also joined the group around Garp.
Dugan, standing a few meters away, replied, "With pure fucking willpower… but seriously, we need to get out of here… who's in command?"
All eyes turned to Rogers, who looked back, startled. "ME?!"
Bucky laughed, "Zehahaha! Who else but our hero, Captain America!"
Rogers was quickly brought up to speed on the responsibilities, and, surprisingly, he managed well, though he often needed help from experienced officers like Dugan and Bucky. Garp was placed on a makeshift stretcher, and they began their journey back to their own forces.
They left behind only a massive crater and several kilometers of scorched earth. And finally, three days later, they reached the front lines and slipped out of enemy territory undetected.
It quickly became clear that Sergeant Nick Fury was missing—not only was he not among the prisoners, but, contrary to the hopes of the Howling Commandos, he hadn't already returned to the army camp either. As the leader of the Howling Commandos, Fury was a valuable asset to the Allied forces, but not enough to justify sending a rescue mission. He was officially listed as MIA, and a new commander was sought to fill his place.
Names like Dugan, James, and even Victor were mentioned, but Garp garnered the most support. However, he was still in a deep, exhausted sleep, and doctors couldn't predict when he would wake. Dugan was the logical choice as the interim leader, but the high command wanted a superhuman figure to lead, someone who could prevent incidents like Garp's with the batteries on the ship. A stronger leader would be better to lead all the freaks and stubborn Bastards.
Victor and James were quickly ruled out, both lacking any leadership qualifications. They were stubborn and self-centered. Garp was also considered less suitable as the command preferred someone who would follow orders exactly as given.
The Howling Commandos were expected to take on a critical mission, thanks to intelligence gathered from the freed prisoners and especially from Rogers' conversation with Schmidt. Hydra had separated itself from the Third Reich and was now pursuing its own agenda—or more accurately, Schmidt's agenda. The Howling Commandos was going to be the counter force against Hydra.
A week after returning to base, Rogers was scheduled to receive a medal for his heroism. Garp was also on the list for the medal, but he remained unconscious. By now, Rogers had been chosen to lead the Howling Commandos, as he met every requirement from the command. Above all, he was reliable, easy to direct, and had followed every order without complaint, at least until now.
This led to the iconic moment when Steve Rogers fully assumed the role of Captain America. His transformation was completed when Stark presented him with the iconic round Vibranium shield. Once Garp awoke, he would rejoin the Howling Commandos, especially as the brothers had been reassigned to the front lines in Japan.
Meanwhile
Dreamland
POV GARP
I found myself dreaming that same old, familiar dream. But this time, something was different—I knew I was dreaming. Normally, I'd be living some unknown life, just a passive observer, but now, I was fully aware of everything around me. I had the same body as I do in the real world, but I was younger—maybe 25 or 30, though I couldn't say for sure. I felt strong, stronger than I'd ever felt before, with an energy that pulsed within me.
It wasn't just the awareness in the dream that was new, though. The dream itself had changed. This time, there were no other people. I was alone in a graveyard of old ships, relentlessly pounding the hulls of these abandoned vessels with everything I had. I knew I could use Haki if I wanted to, but somehow, I knew it would just hold back my training.
Days went by, and I did nothing but tear down one wreck after another.
Strangely, I could feel my dream body growing stronger… an odd feeling, to say the least.
Then, after several days, a young man around my age approached me. He was nearly as tall as I was, which threw me off—I guess I'd gotten too used to towering over everyone. He had a short afro and wore a uniform similar to mine, though I'd never seen this style before. A large "M" was stitched on his chest, and he had a long coat that completed the look.
As far as I knew, no special unit in the U.S. military wore anything like that.
A name came to mind: Sengoku...
"Come on, Garp. It's time for Rokushiki training with XXX!" he said, turning without waiting for me. The name was a blur in my head, like it was just a jumble of sounds.
We left the ship graveyard and walked to an open training ground nearby. I watched myself, almost like an observer, as I joked with this Sengoku guy, stealing his rice crackers and munching on them.
A few minutes later, a big, muscular man arrived. His face was hazy, and I couldn't put a name to him, but he was clearly my instructor. After a few words, he started beating us into the ground. I'd never taken a beating like that in my life.
After that the instructor wasted no time, throwing us right into the training. He began by explaining something called "Rokushiki"—six techniques that, together, could push the human body to its absolute limit. I'd never heard of anything like it. The techniques sounded insane, almost impossible in theory. My dream self seemed to already know the techniques, if only a bit, and watched as the instructor demonstrated each move with precision and power. I, the real me, was just a silent bystander, observing in awe.
He began with Soru. The instructor explained that by kicking off the ground multiple times in an instant, one could move so fast they'd practically vanish, reappearing somewhere else in the blink of an eye. I thought it sounded absurd, like something out of a myth. But my dream self took to it with ease, his movements a blur as he zipped around the training ground. Every time he moved, he left a small cloud of dust, disappearing and reappearing faster than my eyes could follow.
Next was Geppo, the "Moon Walk." The idea was to stay airborne by kicking off the air itself, almost like stepping on invisible platforms. Flying by kicking the air seemed insane, but my dream self leapt up and effortlessly maintained his altitude by kicking with precise, controlled force. I could feel his exhilaration as he moved freely above the ground, each kick pushing him higher or changing his direction mid-air.
Then came Tekkai, a technique that made the body as hard as steel. The instructor gave a demonstration, showing how to absorb and withstand massive blows. My dream self braced himself, and his muscles seemed to harden, taking on an unbreakable tension. When the instructor punched him with all his might, my dream self barely moved, like a mountain that couldn't be shaken.
Shigan was next, a technique that turned a finger into a deadly weapon, piercing through with the force of a bullet. The instructor struck a thick log, driving his finger straight through the wood as though it were paper. My dream self followed suit, his finger piercing right through with precision. Watching it, I felt an odd pride, as if I, too, had learned this skill.
Then there was Rankyaku, where a powerful kick sent out a slicing shockwave, sharp enough to cut through solid metal. The instructor gave a single, controlled kick, and a blue arc of energy shot out, slicing a chunk of wreckage in two. My dream self did the same, his leg whipping around with a speed and strength that sent out a powerful shockwave, splitting a nearby ship's hull.
Lastly, Kami-e allowed the body to move like paper, dodging attacks effortlessly by bending and flowing. The instructor threw a flurry of attacks, and my dream self swayed around them, his movements fluid, almost ghostly, dodging each blow with a grace that seemed unreal.
Days went by in this strange dream world, my dream self's skills with Rokushiki growing stronger and more natural with each session. He sparred with Sengoku, who was right there beside him, mastering each technique, pushing themselves further each day. All the while, I simply observed in awe, marveling at how real each movement felt, how powerful I was in this dream.
As I watched, a strange thought crossed my mind. If this body is the same as my body in real life... is it possible to adapt the six techniques into the real world?!
(TO BE CONTINUED)
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