New World — somewhere beneath a sky thick with storm.
A vast canopy of thunderclouds smothered the island, black and oppressive, its weight pressing against the sea like a lid. Lightning writhed through the clouds, its brilliance fleeting, its roar like dragons bellowing in the heavens.
Encircling the island was a white Birdcage — glimmering threads forming a seamless barrier that sealed every path of escape.
The lush jungle below had been reduced to a smoldering wasteland. Charred craters pocked the ground, flames devoured the broken trees, and black smoke rose like mourning banners. Amid the inferno, the earth itself bore the scars of countless intersecting gashes.
"Damn it… who the hell are you people?"
Philkas stood trembling amid the ruin, his flesh flayed and burned, blood matting his shredded skin. The once-feared pirate captain—his bounty more than a hundred million berries—now looked like little more than a broken corpse.
"The Marines… and pirates… working together?" His voice rasped in disbelief.
He had cut his way from the South Blue to the New World, carving his name into blood and salt. He'd built a crew of over a thousand, amassed power, and felt his ambition finally cresting toward greatness.
Until he met them.
Now all that remained was despair.
His pupils reflected a tableau of carnage—the severed halves of his flagship, the butchered corpses of his men, the crimson-soaked mud beneath his boots.
In less than three minutes, the empire he'd built had been annihilated.
Blood bubbled at his lips as he glared at the figure descending slowly from the air.
A pink feather coat. Short blond hair. A grin that dripped arrogance.
Doflamingo.
Invisible threads shimmered between his fingers as he walked through the smoke. The strings tightened around Philkas's body, slicing through flesh and muscle with surgical cruelty, carving a grotesque lattice of wounds into his frame.
Philkas screamed, his voice cracking. "Why?! We've never even met before!"
He couldn't understand. He'd never crossed this man. Never provoked him. Why had he come here—why slaughter his entire crew?
Doflamingo's grin widened, contempt curling at the corners.
"Heh heh heh… Why, you ask?"
He tilted his head, eyes glinting with sadistic amusement.
"Do pirates need a reason to kill each other? There's only one throne on this sea. Only one gets to sit on it."
He paused, a cruel lilt in his tone. "But if you must have a reason… let's just say your name happened to be on a list."
"A list…?" Philkas's eyes widened, the words sinking in too late.
Before the thought could form, Doflamingo flicked his finger.
Tch.
A single thread—blackened with Armament Haki—whistled through the air and punched through his heart.
A spray of blood burst from Philkas's chest. His body jerked once, then went still.
Philkas, the Bloodshadow Swordsman. Bounty: 117 million.
Eliminated.
A flash of blue split the clouds, striking the earth within the Birdcage. The bolt coalesced into the figure of a man, tall and sharp-eyed, lightning crackling faintly around him.
"Done already?" Doflamingo asked, not sparing the corpse a glance as he turned to his partner. "How many left?"
"The list had seventeen names," Momonga said evenly, unfolding a small, blood-spattered note. "Four are still alive."
He scanned the battlefield—the charred trees, the river of blood, the air heavy with iron and ash. His brow furrowed.
"Your methods are getting excessive."
Doflamingo's smirk didn't waver. "What, too squeamish for a little killing?"
Momonga exhaled slowly. "You've changed. Ever since we left the North Blue, you've been losing your restraint. The pleasure you take in it—it's dangerous."
Doflamingo chuckled darkly, dismissing him with a wave.
Momonga's gaze hardened. "If you can't control it, I'll handle the next ones myself."
"No," Doflamingo said coolly. "We do this together. The ones left aren't small fry. Each has a bounty over a hundred million. If either of us slips, we'll be the ones buried."
"And if the World Government catches wind that we're wiping out Shichibukai candidates…" He trailed off.
Doflamingo's grin sharpened. "That won't happen. Once the Birdcage closes, no one gets out alive."
Momonga's voice cut through the rain. "The Birdcage means nothing to me."
The smile on Doflamingo's face flickered—just for an instant.
He said nothing.
He wasn't a fool. He'd seen the Rumble-Rumble Fruit's power up close. Against lightning itself, his threads were useless. If Momonga wanted to, he could vanish in a heartbeat—and nothing Doflamingo did could stop him.
Even he wasn't arrogant enough to gamble on that.
"You don't need to glare at me," Momonga said calmly. "This cleanup benefits you too. I'm not your enemy here."
He folded the paper neatly, his tone steady. "As Darren once told me—caution is a man's greatest weapon. Women and children can afford recklessness. Men can't."
"And besides," Momonga added, "these are his orders."
The mention of Darren silenced Doflamingo instantly.
He didn't like being reminded that he was following someone else's plan—but the results spoke for themselves.
In two weeks, they had hunted down twelve of the targets. Each strike had been mercilessly efficient. The Birdcage would fall, lightning would rain, and when it cleared, not a soul was left alive.
They never lingered. They left nothing behind. No bodies intact, no signals transmitted. Even the CP agents had failed to find a single trace.
Finally, Doflamingo turned and strode toward the shore.
"Let's move," he said coldly. "Four more left. We finish this before dawn."
Momonga watched him go, his eyes narrowing. Beneath the sleeve of his Marine coat, something dark and sinister flickered briefly across his arm—then vanished without a trace.
To be continued...