After gaining power from his other self—the one who lived in the One Piece world—Elric made a choice.
He left the crumbling, war-torn skeleton of the city behind and ventured deep into the ancient forest, far from the sound of gunfire and falling rubble.
There, among whispering leaves and endless trees, he built a home. By hand. Alone.
No contractors. No blueprints. Just wood, stone, rope, and fire. A quaint wooden cabin tucked into the heart of the forest—his own little kingdom.
From then on, he lived quietly. Hunting for food. Foraging herbs. Selling what he didn't need to towns traders for a few coins.
He lived like a man from the medieval era—an old-world hunter in a new age.
Compared to his old life... this was heaven.
Lazy days. Quiet mornings. No bombs. No bullets. Just peace.
And yet—It's not like he didn't want to leave this place behind.
No, he wanted to.
Desperately.
He'd spent sixteen years here. Born in war. Raised in fire. Nearly died more times than he could count.
His parents? Killed. His friends? Some died in front of him. Others ran. Disappeared. Were they still alive somewhere? He didn't know.
And this place—Sokovia—was the graveyard of all his memories.
"I hate this place."
His eyes narrowed as he adjusted the grip on his hunting bow.
"I hate it so much... I can't leave it behind."
That hatred wasn't weakness. It was fuel. A promise.
He didn't want to escape. He wanted to change it. Break it. Rebuild it.
Make it in his own image.
As revenge. For everything this place had taken from him.
But right now... he was still weak. So painfully weak.
His power from the One Piece world was a blessing. But also a reminder.
That version of him had been born in the West Blue. Not much better than here, really.
He remembered clearly—Even in that world, his other self had lived a quiet life, never even trained. No Devil Fruit. No Haki. No swordsmanship. Not even basic martial arts.
He was just... a hunter.
But at least that body had grown strong on nutritious meat and daily survival. After six years of that life, he had physical strength comparable to a trained adult human.
In this world, that made him roughly equal to someone like...Captain America. Well—Captain America without the shield or fighting skill.
In short—he was strong.
But a single bullet from the right angle could still kill him.
He had no powers, no abilities that could deflect bullets or dodge explosions.
And this was the Marvel Universe.
Even though it was currently the year 2007, and nothing world-shaking had happened yet—No Iron Man. No aliens. No cosmic threats...
That didn't mean the world was safe.
In fact, it made it more dangerous.
The superhuman underworld was still in the shadows. Hidden by organizations like SHIELD and HYDRA.
He couldn't just walk into one of their bases and steal some ancient artifact or top-secret serum.
"What do I look like, Deadpool?" he muttered bitterly.
He wasn't that foolish.
And he wasn't impatient, either.
His current life was peaceful. He had food. Shelter. Warmth.
And more importantly—
He wasn't alone.
There were others. Other versions of himself. Other soul fragments scattered across unknown worlds.
And every time they came into contact—They shared power. Shared knowledge. And eventually, they'd become one.
That white space between worlds...That strange, endless void where time didn't exist...
That was their sanctuary. Their convergence point.
And once he met enough of himself, once their strength all came together—
He would be invincible.
Even if no one else ever showed up again—Even if every other soul fragment died out in some far-off worlds—
He was confident.
With the power of just the One Piece version of himself...
He would still carve his path forward, there is to many way to became stronger in marvel universe, he just need a little capital before acting.
"I can wait... I have time..." he told himself.
But lately...It was getting harder, he is getting impatient.
Six months had passed since his last visit to that white space.
No echoes. No calls. No sign of anyone.
Just... silence.
"Tch."
Clicking his tongue in irritation, Elric grabbed his bow—handcrafted with layered yew and polished with oil from crushed pine nuts. From the workbench, he picked up a small quiver of handmade arrows—each one tipped with carved stone, bound tightly with wild boar sinew.
"Let's get this over with."
He slung the bow over his back and stepped outside.
The forest greeted him with cool air and golden sunlight piercing through the canopy. A fox darted across his path. Birds fluttered between branches. Somewhere far off, the wind carried the low, distant rumble of another explosion from the city's edge.
Elric didn't flinch.
This was just another day.
The hunt had begun.