Host Profile
Simulation Points: 140
Name: Lazarus
Marine's Rank: Lieutenant
Attributes: Endurance 360, Strength 383, Agility 354, Spirit 500.
Abilities: Bubble-bubble fruit (Master), Haki: Observation Haki (Novice) and Armament Haki (Novice)
Battle Skills: Sniper (Expert), Six Styles: Moonwalk (Novice) and Finger Pistol (Novice), Hand-to-hand combat (Intermediate)
The holographic profile shimmered before my eyes, each number a tiny, mocking ghost of my inadequacy. Eight months, I seethed inwardly, the digital readout a stark testament to the plateau I'd slammed against. Endurance: a frustrating 360. Strength: a stubbornly resistant 383. Agility: a sluggish 354. Only Spirit, that elusive, internal furnace, blazed at a smug 500. Eight damn months, and this is all I have to show for it? The early thrill of hunting those low-life pirates had curdled into this monotonous, soul-crushing grind.
A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Max out before the silver sim," I muttered to the sterile, uncaring walls. "What a glorious delusion." My spirit, the one thing I could bend to my will, had surged ahead, leaving the stubborn physicality of my being choking in its dust. But the real fight, the one that mattered in two days, wasn't about willpower alone.
Two days. The thought landed like a physical blow, stealing my breath. The attack. Zephyr's hunt. And I, Lazarus with the flashy purple hair and the middling stats, would be right in the thick of it. I slammed a fist against the wall, the dull thud a poor substitute for the pirate skulls I yearned to crack. "No one dies," I vowed, the words a low growl. "Not this time." The silver simulation… it was a desperate gamble, a promise of power I hadn't yet earned.
With a violent swipe, I banished the holographic tormentors. The recycled air, thick with the ghosts of my sweat and exertion, offered no comfort. I raked a hand through my vibrant purple spikes, the color a stark contrast to the grimness settling in my gut.
My Devil Fruit. The Bubble-Bubble. A Master-level absurdity, capable of crafting shimmering shields and concussive blasts with a flick of my wrist. Yet, against hardened steel and Haki-laced fists… they felt like children's toys. And my own Haki? A cruel joke. Observation: a fleeting whisper of intent, like trying to hear a pin drop in a hurricane. Armament: a phantom flexing of my knuckles, a mental hiccup that offered no tangible defense.
"Sniper: Expert," I acknowledged, a flicker of grim satisfaction. "At least I had one reliable weapon." But then the bitter taste returned."Moonwalk: Novice. Finger Pistol: Novice." Clumsy, weak, requiring conscious thought when instinct was all that would matter. And hand-to-hand… "Intermediate." Pathetic. I needed to be a whirlwind, a force of nature, not this hesitant, half-formed thing.
My gaze snagged on the cluster of iridescent spheres drifting lazily in the stale air. The bubbles. My curse and my potential. "What if…" I breathed, a dangerous spark igniting in my eyes. "Armament Haki. The invisible armor. Could I, with my pathetic Novice grasp, somehow… weave it into my bubbles? Make them shields that wouldn't shatter, projectiles that could actually hurt?" It was a ludicrous idea, a desperate flailing in the face of the inevitable.
I sank into a meditative stance, the recycled air suddenly feeling heavy. I closed my eyes, reaching deep within, grasping for that elusive core of spiritual energy. It was a different kind of burn than muscle fatigue, a focused intensity behind my eyes. I recalled the fleeting sensation of my knuckles hardening, that almost imperceptible resistance. I tried to push that feeling outward, to extend my will beyond the confines of my own flesh, towards the nearest shimmering orb.
Harden, I commanded silently, my mental muscles straining. Resist. Endure. I pictured the delicate membrane thickening, becoming dense, an invisible layer of pure willpower solidifying around it.
Time stretched, each silent second a battle against my own limitations. Sweat beaded on my forehead, my purple hair damp against my skin. A faint tingling sensation bloomed in my fingertips, a fragile thread of warmth extending towards the bubble cradled in my palm. "Is… is something happening?" I whispered, afraid to break the fragile connection.
Slowly, cautiously, I poked the bubble. It wobbled, but held. Encouraged, I applied more pressure. It yielded slightly, but didn't burst. A faint resistance pushed back against my touch. A subtle firmness that hadn't been there moments before.
"By the gods…" I breathed, a jolt of pure adrenaline coursing through me. "It was working. Not perfectly, not yet. But the bubble felt… different. Stronger. I was imbuing it."
For hours, I toiled, a silent, desperate dance between my will and my Devil Fruit. Each bubble became a focus, a tiny canvas for my nascent Haki. Some attempts were failures, the shimmering spheres remaining stubbornly fragile. But others… others held. They gained a resilience, a density that defied their airy nature. And then… something unexpected happened.
As I poured my Armament Haki into a particularly dense bubble, focusing with an almost painful intensity, the shimmering surface began to… distort. It wasn't just hardening; it was changing. The light within seemed to coalesce, to take on a familiar shape. My shape.
My eyes snapped open. A smaller, translucent version of myself wavered within the hardened bubble, its purple hair a faint shimmer. It mimicked my movements, a ghostly echo trapped within the iridescent sphere.
"What… what is this?" I stammered, utterly bewildered. I focused my will on the bubble-me, and it twitched, mimicking the clenching of my fist. It was a clone, a miniature phantom of myself, contained within a Haki-infused prison of my own making.
I experimented further, creating more hardened bubbles, pouring my Haki into them with deliberate intent. Each time, the same bizarre phenomenon occurred. A translucent double, a bubble-born echo of Lazarus, formed within. They were fragile, I could sense that, lacking the full substance of my physical form. But they were there.
A wild, desperate hope surged through me, eclipsing the earlier frustration. This wasn't just about making tougher bubbles. This was… something else entirely. A new ability, born from the unexpected synergy of my Devil Fruit and my struggling Haki.
"Clones…" I whispered, a manic grin spreading across my face. "I can make clones." They might be fragile, but they could be distractions, diversions. In a chaotic battle, a handful of shimmering purple phantoms could buy me precious seconds, create openings, sow confusion.
After one day focus on my devil fruit, I was exhausted, my body screaming for rest. But the despair had receded, replaced by a frantic, exhilarating energy. But now I had a new, unpredictable weapon. An army of fragile, bubble-born me's, hardened by the barest whisper of Armament Haki.
"System, I wish to exchange the Gold Simulation." I am informing the system.
I want to ugrade my armament haki.