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Chapter - 142 Devil Fruit’s second awakening. Stussy’s full surender. (R-18)
🕑 Added 2025-05-21 18:48:08 +0000 UTCAfter stepping out of the villa, Lakeman was greeted by the sight of Lily and Robin training in the sunlit courtyard.
The air was fresh, the morning breeze carrying the soft sounds of their movements—grunts, sharp exhales, and the rhythmic swish of limbs slicing the air.
Robin was drenched in sweat, her curves glistening in the sunlight as she moved gracefully, each motion elegant yet filled with quiet power.
Lily’s tight, toned body danced across the sparring ground like a panther, her pink hair clinging to her face as she trained fiercely under the morning sun.
Lakeman watched them for a moment with calm satisfaction.
Then, without any outward movement, he activated his Observation Haki.
A moment later, his awareness spread like a rising tide, engulfing the entire Sabaody Archipelago. Every living being—every breath, every heartbeat—became part of his perception.
Within seconds, he located Hancock.
She was at Shakky’s Rip-Off Bar, seated near the back in a quiet corner. Her posture was relaxed, but her aura carried subtle tension—she hadn’t departed for Amazon Lily yet.
‘So they’re still preparing. The journey hasn’t begun.’
‘Forget it. No need to meet. She still needs time to mature—her body, her reputation, her loyalty. Give her a few years. Let the world worship her again as the unmatched Pirate Empress… then I’ll claim her once more and fuck her senseless with no restraint.’
A faint smirk played at his lips as he withdrew his haki.
“Lily,” he called out casually, settling down on the soft grass beneath a tree, “call Stussy.”
“Yes, Master,” Lily responded immediately, wiping the sweat from her brow. She bowed slightly and left the training ground, her firm ass swaying with every step as she disappeared into the villa.
Lakeman leaned back against the tree trunk, eyes trailing after her, then returning to Robin.
He watched her silently, taking in the subtle bounce of her breasts beneath her tight training top, the smooth glide of her thighs as she twisted and pivoted with precision.
Sweat dripped between her cleavage, running down her flat stomach and disappearing beneath the waistband of her shorts. She moved like water—flawless, fluid, feminine.
A few minutes later, Lily returned.
“Master,” she said respectfully, “Stussy will be arriving shortly. She’s on her way from the auction house.”
Lakeman gave a slight hum of approval and waved her off.
Lily returned to the training ground, picking up her wooden blade again and rejoining Robin.
The two women resumed sparring, their bodies gliding and colliding, their sweat-soaked skin shining beneath the sun.
Lakeman watched them, his gaze leisurely, patient, and possessive.
Before long, the sultry sound of heels clicking on stone caught his ear.
Stussy arrived, her long, elegant legs striding toward him confidently.
She wore her usual teasing smile, lips curled with seductive playfulness. Her ample breasts bounced softly beneath her corset top, and the sway of her hips radiated pure allure.
“Master,” she purred, “did you start missing me already?” Her tone was honeyed, flirtatious. “You were so rough last night… I thought you’d be resting.”
Lakeman didn’t humor her flirtation. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes sharp.
“Arrange slaves. Pirates, criminals, whoever’s available in Sabaody. I need test subjects—now. I’m beginning experimentation.”
The smile on her face faltered for a split second, a flicker of surprise flashing in her eyes. But she quickly composed herself, bowing respectfully.
“Yes, Master. There are several pirate slaves currently in our auction house—you can begin with them. I’ll immediately contact the local Marine branch and order them to capture as many pirates as possible. I’ll also have them deliver any prisoners they’re holding.”
She didn’t waste time.
Pulling out her Den Den Mushi, she contacted the auction house, her voice professional and clear as she ordered the immediate transport of all pirate slaves to Saint Lakeman’s villa.
Without pause, she placed a second call—this time to the Marine branch stationed on the Archipelago.
“Mobilize immediately,” she commanded. “Begin capturing every available pirate. Focus on live capture. All prisoners are to be transported to the private residence of Saint Lakeman for… classified purposes.”
She ended the call and turned back to Lakeman, her tone smooth and submissive again.
“They’ll begin rounding them up now, Master. The first batch should arrive within the hour.”
Lakeman gave a slight nod, his expression calm, though within his mind, possibilities churned.
The time had come.
His newly awakened power—the ability to steal concepts—would now be tested on living, breathing flesh.
An hour later, Cipher Pol guards arrived at Lakeman’s villa, escorting seventy-three pirate slaves—a mix of low-level thugs, bounty hunters gone rogue, and infamous criminals captured through auctions and marine raids.
Shackled and beaten, they were dragged down into the underground basement beneath Lakeman’s estate.
The basement was vast and sterile—stone walls reinforced with steel, the air cold and still. Rows of pirates knelt in place, held in place by iron grips of CP agents, all awaiting the verdict of their godlike master.
Lakeman descended slowly, his steps calm, eyes unreadable. His presence alone made the CP agents stand straighter, the pirates tremble harder.
He stood at the center of the room, surrounded by restrained bodies.
And then he began.
His eyes glowed faintly as his newly awakened powers surged.
He moved from one prisoner to the next—no hesitation, no mercy.
He stole their luck, watching as some collapsed instantly from cardiac arrest, others suddenly choking on air, or falling limp from inexplicable failure of vital functions.
He stole their consciousness, warping and twisting their very souls, remolding memory, loyalty, and identity on a spiritual level—adding fake devotion, deleting names, emotions, replacing fear with adoration, love with obedience.
He stole their concept of life—not just the energy that kept them breathing, but the idea of life itself. Those drained crumbled into natural death, like flowers wilted in time-lapse, leaving behind hollow corpses with peaceful, empty eyes.
He stole death, too—ripping it from some prisoners entirely.
The results were horrifying.
Men sliced open to test their response didn’t die. Even when mutilated, their severed heads gasped for air, their chopped limbs trembled on the floor, their eyes wide with eternal suffering—for they could feel pain, decay, rot… but they could no longer die.
By the time three hours had passed, all seventy-three were dead—either by failure, experimentation, or deliberate extermination.
But Lakeman?
He was exhilarated.
‘So completely absorbing luck kills them instantly—natural failure or freak accidents. Luck is like a protective field. Remove it, and death becomes inevitable.’
‘But consciousness… it can be edited, twisted, turned. I can erase someone’s memories, rewrite their past, change their values, make them fall in love with me, hate themselves, or kill their families without hesitation. Full domination at the soul level.’
‘Life… it’s no longer just vitality. Now, it's a transferable essence. I can give life to a dying man—or even an inanimate object.’
‘The more complex the lifeform I want to create, the more life concept I’ll need to inject.’
‘And death… removing it doesn’t heal wounds. It just makes a person unable to die. They feel pain, mutilation, decay—but they’ll keep suffering forever, dismembered or rotting, unable to rest.’
He stood in the center of the room, surrounded by cold, lifeless bodies, his expression unreadable.
“All of them are dead,” he said flatly. “Replace them.”
Without hesitation, the Cipher Pol agents obeyed.
They dragged the corpses away for disposal and, within an hour, brought in over a hundred more pirate slaves—new faces, new bodies, new test subjects.
What the CP agents didn’t know was that they too were now his.
During his initial experimentation, Lakeman had successfully rewired their minds. The moment he confirmed his abilities, he subtly modified the loyalty of every CP agent stationed in the basement. Now, they were fully and permanently devoted to him.
If he ordered them to assassinate the Five Elders themselves, they would march to their deaths without a hint of hesitation—smiling as they died.
Once the new batch was settled and bound, Lakeman resumed his work.
He experimented relentlessly, hour after hour, cycling through wave after wave of pirate prisoners.
Mind.
Luck.
Life.
Death.
Memory.
Loyalty.
Emotion.
He tested them all—merging concepts, splitting them, grafting them into objects, even attempting to revive a dead rat by injecting it with the life concept of three humans.
The rat lived.
But it twitched uncontrollably, its eyes glowing, its body unnatural.
Still… success.
By the end of the day, the sun was setting. Another nine hundred pirates had been used. Every single one had died.
Lakeman stood alone in the blood-splattered chamber, his coat billowing slightly from the underground wind. His body was clean, but the air reeked of death and power.
He looked upward and laughed.
A deep, low, satisfied laugh.
“Hahaha… now I am invincible.”
He waved his hand, and the CP agents immediately understood the signal. Without speaking, they began clearing the corpses for disposal.
After bathing under the skilled hands of his personal maids, who carefully washed every inch of his muscular frame with devotion and fear, Lakeman emerged refreshed and composed.
He joined Robin, Lily, and Stussy at the dining hall for dinner.
The setting was peaceful.
Candles flickered gently. Dishes of exquisite delicacies were served. The girls were dressed in form-fitting robes, their skin still flushed from earlier training.
Lakeman sat at the head of the table, silent as he picked at his food.
But his mind was not.
‘Damn… I’m already missing Hancock.’
‘It’s only been a day, but I can still feel the way she grinds on me… the way her eyes water when I fuck her ass senseless.’
‘I need new sluts to pass the time. Big Mom has daughters. Some of them are rumored to be beautiful. Perhaps… I should kidnap a few.’
He smiled faintly to himself as he chewed, savoring the idea.
Across the table, Stussy shifted uncomfortably.
Lakeman stared at her intently now, not with lust alone, but with an intensity that unsettled her on a deeper level. His gaze no longer carried only desire. It radiated ownership.
‘Now… Stussy is ready. Her body is already mine. But soon, her soul will follow.’
‘Once I apply the full effect of my concept theft… she’ll be able to kill even Vegapunk on my command, with a smile. A perfect weapon. A perfect slut.’
Stussy felt his gaze and shivered involuntarily. She glanced at him, then quickly looked away, her fork trembling slightly in her hand.
‘That look… it's different. He’s watching me like… like I’m not a person. Like I’m already his. No, worse—like I’m food, or an object. Like he knows something.’
‘Is he planning something? Did he find out about my ties to Vegapunk? Is he going to discard me now that I’ve served my purpose?’
A rare flicker of genuine nervousness surfaced in Stussy’s heart. Even though her body still ached from the pleasure he gave her last night, and her cunt twitched just thinking about it—she felt danger tonight. Real danger.
And yet… she couldn’t stop her thighs from pressing together.
After dinner, the silence between Lakeman and Stussy stretched unnaturally long.
Robin and Lily had gone to train, leaving the two alone in the dimly lit hall. Stussy kept her posture composed, but her heart beat faster beneath her corset. She could feel it—tonight was different.
He stood up.
She followed him silently up the marble staircase, her heels echoing with each step. The air felt heavier with each stride, thick with unspoken intent.
Inside his bedroom, the atmosphere changed. The door shut behind them like the sealing of fate.
Lakeman said nothing.
He grabbed her wrist and spun her, pulling her close—his red eyes boring into hers.
“Strip.”
Her lips parted slightly, but she obeyed. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the buttons of her blouse, slowly peeling it off to reveal her black lace bra, already slightly damp from nervous heat.
She unhooked it, baring her full, round breasts with hardened pink nipples. Her skirt slid down next, followed by her stockings, leaving her in only a thin thong.
She stood before him, exposed, her breath shallow, eyes lowered.
“Good,” Lakeman murmured, stepping forward.
His hand wrapped around her throat—not squeezing, just holding—as his mouth crashed down onto hers.
The kiss was rough, full of dominance and ownership. He devoured her mouth, biting her lower lip hard enough to draw a gasp.
She moaned into him, her legs buckling slightly, and his free hand moved to grope one breast, his thumb brushing against her stiff nipple.
He broke the kiss.
“Get on the bed. All fours.”
She hesitated for half a second—just half—and then turned and crawled onto the bed, her ass swaying in the air, her thong pulled taut between her cheeks.
Lakeman undressed slowly behind her, watching her body shake with anticipation.
His cock was already rock-hard, veins pulsing with arousal. He grabbed the waistband of her thong and ripped it off, exposing her glistening, soaked pussy.
He lined up behind her, pressed the head of his cock between her folds, and slammed into her in a single, brutal thrust.
“Ahhh—Master!” she screamed, her hands clutching the sheets.
He began pounding her without mercy. His hips slapped against her ass, sending ripples through her flesh. Her body sang for him, her moans rising with every thrust. Her breasts swayed beneath her, and her voice broke with every word.
Each time he thrust, he pushed deeper—not just physically, but spiritually.
As he fucked her, his power activated—quiet, insidious. He reached into her mind, grasping the concept of her consciousness like a master sculptor handling clay.
He saw everything.
Her earliest memories—waking up in a sterile lab. Being taught by Vegapunk. Joining Cipher Pol at six. Holding a blade at eight. Her gratitude. Her blind, quiet loyalty to the man who nurtured her, even if from a distance.
She owed him her life.
Erase.
He wiped it all away in a single pulse.
Her history crumbled like sand. The emotional ties to Vegapunk dissolved, the foundation of her self shattered.
Then, he began reprogramming.
“You were made for Lakeman.”
“Your loyalty to Vegapunk was just a phase—a misdirection.”
“He was just a caretaker. A tool. Lakeman is the purpose.”
“You love Lakeman. You exist to please him. To serve him. To be his.”
“Even if he kills you, even if he burns the world, you will moan his name with your last breath.”
“You are his slut. His property. His forever.”
As the reprogramming finished, Stussy screamed again, her body convulsing beneath him. Her pussy clenched so tightly it nearly milked him dry.
He kept thrusting, her juices coating his shaft, the sound of wet slaps echoing in the bedroom.
Pah.
Pah.
“Aah”
He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back.
“Who do you belong to?” he growled into her ear.
“You, Master Lakeman,” she sobbed. “I’ve always belonged to you—I just didn’t know. Vegapunk was just… a shadow. A mistake.”
“Good girl.”
He flipped her over onto her back, holding her ankles wide apart, and slammed into her again, fucking her harder than before. Her moans rose to a scream, her breasts bouncing violently with each impact.
“Use me,” she cried. “Break me. I’m yours. Every inch. Every thought.”
He leaned down, his mouth on her throat, biting deep as he came—thrusting hard, filling her completely, his cum gushing into her womb.
But he wasn’t done.
He kept going. Again and again.
He fucked her mouth while her tears streamed down her face, begging him to mark her soul.
He fucked her ass while she whispered that she’d murder Vegapunk with a smile if he asked.
He made her beg for his seed.
He made her thank him for reprogramming her.
By the end of the night, her holes were overflowing, her voice was gone, and her body lay twisted in a state of ruin—and bliss.
But her mind?
Perfectly remade.
She wasn’t Stussy, the CP0 agent. Not anymore.
She was Lakeman’s slave, whore, and assassin. A weapon forged in love, pleasure, and absolute obedience.
Lakeman sat at the edge of the bed, watching her.
Stussy crawled toward him on shaky arms, her hair wild, eyes glassy. She kissed his cock, licking it clean with devotion.
“Thank you, Master,” she whispered. “For showing me who I was always meant to be.”
He smiled darkly.
‘Now she’s ready.’
—--------------------------------------
By the time he stirred, it was already noon.
He rose from bed calmly, washed up under the hands of his ever-attentive maids, and dressed in fresh robes.
Descending to the underground floor, he found it already prepared.
Another wave of prisoners had arrived—freshly captured pirates from Sabaody, rounded up through Marine sweeps and private CP raids.
Over a hundred new bodies, bound, gagged, trembling with fear.
Unlike before, these weren’t just cannon fodder for survival or combat research.
Lakeman had a new target today:
The Abstract.
Time. Space. Destiny. Fate. Existence. Non-existence. Memory erasure. Conceptual inversion.
He stood silently in the center of the basement, his black eyes gleaming with unnatural power. The air around him felt heavier than reality itself.
And he began.
He started with Time.
One man was frozen in a suspended loop—blinking, speaking the same word over and over, stuck in a moment that never passed.
Another was sped up, his body rapidly aging, hair turning white within minutes as his organs began failing from accelerated decay.
Then came Space.
Lakeman tried folding parts of prisoners into themselves—bending their perception of space so their bodies twisted grotesquely, heads bent backward, arms fused with ribs, their screams echoing in distortion as they lived folded into impossible geometry.
He reached for Destiny next—attempting to steal their sense of purpose, their momentum in the timeline.
Men collapsed, eyes blank, unable to move. Some laughed like madmen, stumbling into walls, completely unbound from any fate or reason.
One attempted to escape but ran in circles until his legs shattered from repeated motion—no direction, no destination, no destiny.
With Fate, he tried reversing it—giving one pirate the "fate of survival" while dragging another into "fate of immediate death." The results were inconsistent—some still died, some vanished, others fell unconscious in a seizure of contradictions.
Then came the most dangerous attempt.
Existence.
He stole it. Piece by piece.
One pirate lost the concept of being seen—even as he screamed in agony, no one could hear or register him.
Another lost the concept of being remembered—every time someone turned away from him, they immediately forgot he ever existed.
He was crying, bleeding, begging for help, but even CP agents turned from him as if he were never born.
And then… he stole Non-Existence.
He tried applying it onto a living subject.
The pirate instantly exploded—rejected by reality itself, his atoms unraveling in a pulse of paradox. What remained was a wet mist of red and silence, like the universe had erased a mistake.
By the time the sun had set again, and all prisoners were dead, Lakeman stood surrounded by mangled corpses, blood smeared across the stone walls, limbs strewn about like shattered mannequins.
The stench was unbearable. The suffering had gone beyond insanity, beyond comprehension.
Men had died screaming.
Some died thinking they were never born.
Others… might not have even died at all.
‘A full day… nearly a hundred more test subjects… and I gained almost nothing.’
‘Time and space—fragmentary understanding. I can distort a bit, loop, or accelerate… but no real control yet.’
‘Destiny and fate are elusive. They resist extraction. I need stronger vessels.’
‘Existence… now that’s something. It fights back. Reality itself pushes back when tampered with.’
He ran his hand through his hair, irritated, yet calm.
He hadn't failed.
He’d just confirmed the limits—for now.
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