Haki Monster in One Piece World - Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Hunting Chew

The information Nojiko provided was precise, whispered urgently during a brief, clandestine meeting deep within the woods: Chew, Arlong’s Archerfish Fishman officer, had a routine. Every few days, usually mid-afternoon when the tides were right, he’d slip away from Arlong Park alone to a secluded cove a couple of kilometers down the coast.

There, surrounded by jagged rocks and crashing waves, he’d practice his water bullet techniques, firing powerful, compressed blasts from his elongated mouth at driftwood and unfortunate seabirds. Alone. Vulnerable.

Mike processed the intel, his mind immediately shifting from training Purgatory to hunting mode.

Chew. The sniper.

He remembered the name from his encounter with Kuroobi and Hatchan, and recalled the Fishman’s smug face from manga panels.

While Nojiko confirmed Chew wasn’t considered one of the physically strongest officers, his ranged attacks were notoriously fast and deadly accurate.

For Mike, whose current fighting style revolved around Armament Haki enhanced close combat, a sniper represented a unique and lethal threat. If Chew spotted him at a distance, Mike might not even get the chance to close the gap.

But he clearly remembers that Chew level is around level 22.

Mike glanced at his own status, a grim determination settling in his gut.

— STATUS —

Name: Mike [Host]

Race: Human

Condition: Hungry

Core Attributes:

Physique: Lv.36 (150 / 703 EXP)

Haki: Lv.41 (85 / 903 EXP)

Vitals:

Fatigue: 59%

Skills:

Conqueror’s Haki: Lv.2 (0 / 10,000 Proficiency)

Armament Haki: Lv.2 (948 / 10,000 Proficiency)

Observation Haki: Lv.3 (154 / 100,000 Proficiency)

—

Physique Level 36 versus Level 22. The physical advantage was overwhelmingly his.

If – and it was a significant if – he could get within arm’s reach, Chew stood no chance.

The Fishman’s strength, even with the species multiplier, wouldn’t match Mike’s Haki-trained human potential at this stage.

The plan was simple, brutal, and had zero margin for error: get close, get quiet, strike fast, eliminate the threat before it could react.

This wouldn’t be a fight; it had to be an assassination.

His preparation was minimal but focused. He ensured he was well-rested, his Fatigue negligible at 59%.

Hunger gnawed faintly, but adrenaline would handle that. He wouldn’t be punching trees today.

He first ate something, so his fatigue can decrease as much as possible.

He retrieved the weapon Nojiko had managed to procure for him – not his flimsy multi-tool, but a sturdy, somewhat rusted fishing knife with a thick spine and a wickedly sharp edge, likely liberated from a neglected shed.

It felt solid, lethal in his hand. He spent a few minutes practicing, coating the blade with his now reliable Armament Haki Lv.2.

The air around the steel seemed to shimmer almost imperceptibly, and he could feel the invisible edge of force extending from it, humming with contained power. This, combined with his speed and strength, would be enough. It had to be.

He set out under the midday sun, moving parallel to the coast but staying deep within the jungle fringe, Observation Haki humming on its energy-efficient Lv.2 setting. The 500-meter bubble of awareness swept ahead, tasting the environment, searching for Fishman signatures. He encountered one small patrol, easily sensed and avoided long before they were anywhere near detecting him. The hours passed, marked only by the shifting patterns of light through the dense canopy and the growing anticipation tightening his nerves.

As he neared the area Nojiko described, he slowed his pace, moving with deliberate stealth. He switched Observation Haki intermittently to Lv.3, sending out wider pulses to pinpoint his target. There. A single, distinct Fishman signature, several hundred meters ahead, right by the coastline, isolated. The signature felt… smug. Arrogant. Definitely Chew. Mike felt a cold knot of determination tighten in his stomach.

He began the final approach, dropping into a low crouch, using every rock, every giant fern, every shadow as cover. The sounds of the jungle faded, replaced by the rhythmic crash of waves against rocks and the sharp, percussive thwock of Chew’s water bullets impacting something further down the cove. Mike switched Observation Haki to Lv.3 full-time now, ignoring the faster fatigue drain. He needed the edge, the flicker of precognition.

Peering through a screen of salt-stiffened leaves, he finally saw him. Chew stood on a flat, wet rock, his back mostly turned to the jungle, firing concentrated blasts of water from his puckered mouth at pieces of driftwood bobbing in the surf. He was laughing occasionally, clearly enjoying his target practice.

Mike analyzed the scene through his Haki: Chew’s Lv.22 Physique felt almost flimsy compared to his own Lv.36. His Haki signature was present but weak, unfocused – this Fishman clearly relied on his innate abilities, not trained Haki.

The terrain offered multiple approach vectors over barnacle-encrusted rocks and patches of coarse sand.

Mike tracked Chew’s movements, his breathing, the subtle shifts in his stance picked up by Observation Haki. He felt the flicker of intent just before Chew inhaled water, the tension before firing, the brief relaxation after. He waited, heart pounding a steady, controlled rhythm against his ribs, adrenaline beginning to sing in his veins. He needed the perfect moment – when Chew was most distracted, furthest from turning, ideally right after firing when he might be momentarily relaxed or preparing his next shot.

The moment came. Chew fired a particularly powerful blast, shattering a piece of driftwood. He let out a self-satisfied “Chuuu!” noise, turning slightly to admire his handiwork, his back almost completely exposed to Mike’s position among the rocks about twenty meters away.

Now.

Mike exploded from cover.

He didn’t sprint upright; he moved low and fast, a blur of motion across the uneven rocks, Physique Lv.36 lending him speed and agility that felt almost unnatural. Observation Haki screamed Chew’s reaction fractions of a second before it happened – the flicker of surprise as a peripheral sound registered, the intent to turn, the widening of eyes, the beginning of the muscle contraction to inhale water.

Too late.

Mike was already closing the final meters, the fishing knife held low, blade coated in the shimmering blackness (visible only to Haki users, perhaps, but palpable as pure force) of Armament Haki Lv.2. He didn’t shout, didn’t hesitate. As Chew began to turn, Mike surged forward, using his shoulder to slam into the Fishman’s side, knocking him off balance on the slippery rock.

Simultaneously, he drove the Haki-coated knife upwards, under Chew’s jaw, aiming for the throat and severing the spinal column. The blade, enhanced by Armament Haki, sheared through the Fishman’s surprisingly tough skin and cartilage with far less resistance than bare steel would have met.

There was a choked, wet gurgle. Chew’s eyes bulged wide with shock and sudden, absolute terror. His body convulsed once, webbed hands flailing uselessly. Mike didn’t relent. He used his superior strength to pin the struggling Fishman against the rock, twisting the knife brutally, ensuring the kill was absolute. The fight, if it could even be called that, lasted less than three seconds.

Warm, surprisingly dark blood sprayed across Mike’s hand and the rock face. The smell – briny, metallic, undeniably fishy – filled the air. Chew’s body went limp, sliding down the rock into a shallow tide pool, staining the water a dark crimson that was quickly dispersed by the next small wave.

Mike staggered back a step, breathing heavily, the knife dripping in his hand. Adrenaline roared in his ears, making his hands tremble slightly. He looked down at the body, at the blood on his hands, then quickly scanned the cove with Observation Haki. Nothing. No other signatures nearby. He was alone with his kill.

A wave of nausea washed over him, the reality of what he’d just done hitting him full force. He’d just killed someone. Not a monster beetle, not an alien rabbitoid, but a sentient being, however cruel. He’d planned it, stalked him, and executed him with ruthless efficiency. The brutality felt… necessary, but deeply unsettling. This world, this path he was on, demanded blood. His training wasn’t a game anymore.

System notifications flashed, pulling him partially back from the grim realization.

[Opponent Defeated: Fishman Officer (Chew, Physique Lv.22). Reward: Haki Attribute EXP +2253]

[Haki attribute level up]

[Haki attribute level up]

[Current Haki attribute: Lv43]

[Combat Application Detected: Armament Haki Lv.2 utilized successfully in lethal takedown. Armament Haki Proficiency +1350]

[Combat Application Detected: Observation Haki Lv.3 utilized successfully in anticipating action. Observation Haki Proficiency +429]

[Combat Exertion Detected: Physique EXP +20]

[Fatigue Increased to 9% due to Combat and Sustained Haki Use.]

The rewards were substantial, especially the Armament proficiency boost. A cold, pragmatic part of his mind registered that combat yielded far better Haki skill progress than simple maintenance. But the thought brought no comfort now.

He knelt by the tide pool, rinsing the blood from the knife and his hands in the cold seawater, the salt stinging the scrapes on his knuckles. He didn’t feel pride, only a grim sense of necessity met, and the heavy weight of the act itself. He looked at Chew’s lifeless form, partially submerged, eyes staring blankly at the sky. One down. Arlong, Kuroobi, Hatchan… several more to go. And they would be much, much harder.

He couldn’t afford to linger. Retrieving his knife, he gave the cove one last sweep with his Haki, then turned and melted back into the dense jungle fringe, leaving the tide to deal with the evidence. He moved quickly, putting distance between himself and the scene, the image of Chew’s dying eyes burned into his mind. The hunt was successful, a crucial step taken. But the cost felt heavier than just the 8% fatigue he’d expended. This path required sacrificing parts of himself he wasn’t sure he could afford to lose. Yet, turning back wasn’t an option. The memory of Coco Village, of Nami’s mask, of Nojiko’s desperate hope, hardened his resolve. The brutal necessity of it all settled over him like a shroud. The hunt had just begun.