Chapter 22: Forged in Bone

The fire crackled softly as Vulcan sat by its warmth, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of roasted meat. The taste was strong and gamey, the beast's flesh tough but satisfying after the long and brutal fight. The night air was cool, a welcome relief after the sweltering heat of the day, and the stars above shone brightly against the dark canvas of the sky.

Vulcan stared into the flames, watching the embers dance and rise into the air as his mind drifted back to the battle earlier that day. The massive predator had nearly torn him apart—its strength and durability were unlike anything he had faced before. Even with his mastery of Soru and his growing control over Tekkai, the fight had pushed him to his limits.

As he tore another chunk of meat from the bone, Vulcan replayed the fight in his head. He had moved fast, dodging the creature's attacks with Soru, and his punches had been strong, especially when he used Tekkai to harden his fists. But it had still taken far too long to bring the beast down.

His eyes narrowed as he recalled the blows that hadn't done enough damage. His fists alone weren't enough. The beast's thick hide had absorbed most of his punches, and even when he had aimed for weak spots, the creature's size and power had made it difficult to land a decisive blow.

"Could have ended it quicker," Vulcan muttered to himself, tossing the bone aside. "If I had a real weapon…"

The thought lingered in his mind. His knife had been useful, but it was small, hardly enough to deal with a beast of that size. He had to rely mostly on his fists, but there had been moments during the fight when a well-placed strike from a stronger, longer weapon could have turned the tide in his favor.

His eyes wandered to the pile of bones he had discarded earlier—the remains of his latest kill scattered around the fire. The beast had been massive, its bones thick and sturdy. They weren't like the fragile bones of smaller creatures he had encountered before. No, these bones were different—solid, powerful.

Vulcan's gaze lingered on one of the larger bones, a long, curved rib that gleamed in the firelight.

A weapon…

The thought struck him like a bolt of lightning. He didn't need metal or special materials—he had what he needed right in front of him. The beast he had slain could provide more than just food.

He could make a weapon out of its bones.

The Idea of a New Weapon

Vulcan picked up one of the larger bones, feeling its weight in his hand. It was long and solid, with a natural curve that reminded him of something—a shape he couldn't quite place. He turned the bone over, inspecting its structure, the way it fit in his hand.

His mind raced with possibilities.

A larger weapon would give him reach, allowing him to strike from a distance without having to get in close and risk taking damage. If he could craft something sharp or sturdy enough, it would increase the power of his attacks. His fists were strong, but with a weapon, he could amplify that strength tenfold.

The shape of the bone reminded him of a polearm, specifically a naginata—a long weapon with a curved blade at the end. He had seen images of such weapons before, used by powerful warriors, but it wasn't until now that the image solidified in his mind.

He imagined a polearm with a curved blade, something that could slice through an opponent's defenses with ease, a weapon that would give him the range and power he needed. It would be similar to the weapon used by Whitebeard, though Vulcan wasn't aware of the connection just yet.

Vulcan grinned, his mind made up.

"I'll use your bones against the next thing that comes after me," he said aloud, glancing at the pile of remains. The idea felt right—taking the strength of his defeated enemy and turning it into a weapon for his own survival.

The Crafting Process

Vulcan didn't waste time. He gathered the largest bones from the pile, focusing on the rib bones and the thicker sections that had enough length and durability to serve as the base for his new weapon. He also collected smaller, sharper bones that could be used to fashion a blade.

His mind worked quickly as he planned out the process. Without proper tools, he'd have to rely on his knife to shape the bones and the natural materials around him to bind them together.

Using his knife, Vulcan began the painstaking process of carving the bones. He shaved down the edges of the larger rib bone, shaping it into a long, sturdy shaft. The bone was tough, but Vulcan's strength and determination carried him through. His muscles burned with the effort, but he pushed forward, driven by the thought of wielding his new weapon.

Once the shaft was complete, he turned his attention to the blade. He selected a long, curved bone from the predator's leg and began to sharpen it, using a combination of his knife and the rocks around him to grind the edges into a razor-sharp point. The process was slow, but as the hours passed, the blade began to take shape.

When the blade was ready, Vulcan used strips of sinew and vines to bind it to the shaft. He wrapped the bindings tightly, ensuring that the blade was secure and wouldn't come loose in the heat of battle. The final result was a long, curved weapon—a polearm fashioned from the bones of his latest kill.

Vulcan held the weapon up to the light, inspecting his work. The bone gleamed in the firelight, and the blade was sharp enough to slice through flesh and bone with ease. The weapon had a natural weight to it, balanced and sturdy in his hands.

It wasn't perfect—he could tell that much. But it was better than anything he had before. And more importantly, it was a symbol of his growth, his ability to adapt and use the resources around him.

Vulcan gave the weapon an experimental swing, feeling the way it cut through the air with a satisfying whoosh. The polearm was longer than his knife, giving him the reach he needed to strike from a distance. It felt good in his hands, natural, as if he had been meant to wield it all along.

"Perfect," Vulcan muttered, a grin spreading across his face.

Reflections and Resolve

As the night wore on, Vulcan sat by the fire, his new weapon resting across his lap. He felt a sense of pride in his work—he had turned the remains of his enemy into something that would help him survive the island's relentless challenges.

But more than that, the creation of the weapon had taught him something important: adaptability.

The fight with the predator had shown him that raw strength wasn't always enough. He needed to be smarter, to think ahead, to use everything at his disposal. The island was a test not just of his physical abilities but of his mind as well. Every challenge, every fight, was an opportunity to learn and grow.

Vulcan stared into the flames, his mind racing with thoughts of the future. The island was unforgiving, but he was starting to understand its rules. He had to be strong, yes, but also smart. He had to be adaptable, willing to change and evolve with each new challenge.

The Rokushiki techniques were important, but they weren't the only tools at his disposal. He needed to think beyond his fists and his speed. The world wasn't going to fight fair, and neither could he.

As the fire crackled and the stars twinkled overhead, Vulcan's resolve hardened. He would survive this island, no matter what it threw at him. And when he left, he would be stronger than ever.

His hand tightened around the shaft of his new weapon.

"I'll make you proud, old man," Vulcan muttered under his breath, the words spoken softly but with fierce determination.

The night wore on, but Vulcan didn't rest. His mind was too full of thoughts of the future, of the challenges yet to come. With his new weapon in hand and his growing mastery of the Rokushiki techniques, Vulcan was ready for whatever the island had in store for him next.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Author note:

can anybody make the art for the weapon.