Everyone looks over when Eliane screams.
"Let go of me!"
Rosward Don J. Puth has one arm around Eliane's neck. His other hand holds a gun—shaky, trembling—pointed at her head.
Eliane yells, "Let me go!"
Luffy blinks. Then his brow furrows. "HEY! Let her—"
Rosward interrupts. He steps back, dragging Eliane with him. His voice shakes.
"I... I... I... will be compensated!"
He swallows nervously. His stutter thickens.
"It c...c...c...cost a small fortune to get that spec...spec...spec...specimen and now I have nothing!"
Aurélie asks, her voice flat, "You were the one who acquired her and brought her here?"
Rosward nods. His head bobs frantically.
"Y...y...yes and now, now I have noth...nothing to show for it."
He looks to Doflamingo. His voice cracks.
"F...f...f...fix this. Y...y...y...you said t...t...t...this was a s...s...s...sure thing."
He swallows hard.
Luffy's tone turns dark. He punches his fist into an open palm. "Let her go..."
Jannali tells him, "Rack off, mate. He can't touch her. She can look after herself."
Luffy cracks his knuckles.
Jannali calls out to Eliane, "How long ya gonna take that bloke pushing ya around?"
Eliane shrugs. She yells back, "I thought you wanted to know how he got Uta off the island."
Jannali nods. "Fair point, love. But Rubber Boy's a bit toey. Let's wind it up."
Eliane shrugs. "Okay."
Rosward yells, "Stop talking, or I w...w...w...will!"
Eliane looks over her shoulder at him. She grins.
"Sorry, mister. But it's time for me to go."
Rosward screeches.
He falls back as Eliane's fire flares from her back. Her wings sprout—black feathers spreading wide—and she flies away, leaving him sprawled on the floor.
Luffy perks up. "AW! You got away all on your own! You are pretty strong then!"
Eliane beams. "Yeah, Mr. Straw Hat! I can do all sorts of things."
She lands next to Jannali.
Jannali tells her, "Good onya! Thought Rubber Boy was gonna tear the place down for ya there for a moment."
---
Rosward squeaks again.
He scrambles backward down the aisle as Shanks and Beckman slowly walk after him. His feet slip on the ice. His gun clatters to the floor.
"Donquixote Doflamingo! H...h...h...help m...m...m...me!"
Doflamingo leans back a little more in his seat. His grin is sharp. "There is nothing I can do for you!"
Rosward looks to Kuzan. The former admiral stands and watches—still, silent, his expression unreadable.
Rosward squeaks again when Beckman picks him up by the collar. He holds him aloft—feet kicking, dangling in the air.
Shanks glares. His tone is dark. His posture menacing.
"How?"
Rosward swallows hard. "H...h...h...how did I, what?"
Shanks glares. His Haki bleeds out—just a fraction, just enough to make the air grow heavy, to make the ice beneath their feet crack.
Rosward squeaks. He squirms, trying to cover his face.
Beckman drops him into a heap on the floor..
Rosward Don J. Puth cowers on the floor, arms locked over his head. His voice splinters between breaths—each fragment another lie collapsing beneath the weight of the truth.
"T…t…t…the top-secret administrative archives were unsealed."
He swallows hard. His throat bobs. His eyes dart—left, right, up, down—never settling on anything.
"F…f…f…former Cipher Pol and Fleet Admiral black-budget records. Y…y…y…you see, they revealed an administrative anomaly. Elegia was never classified as d…d…d…destroyed. Or d…d…d…depopulated."
He pauses. His hand drifts to his mouth. He bites at a thumbnail—quick, reflexive—and draws a bead of blood. He doesn't notice.
"CP0 continuously funneled clandestine resources. Automated food drops. Atmospheric stabilizers. To a secure b…b…b…bio-containment grid deep beneath Elegia's ruins. Under a project code named Aegis-Voice."
His voice cracks. He looks up at Shanks—at the Emperor's eyes, at the fury burning behind them.
"I…I…I…used this information and…"
He trails off. His gaze drifts—lost, distant, caught in the web of his own scheming.
"…and I…I…I…found the ledger. The…the…the…the one that detailed the vessel. The preserved asset. The…the…the…"
He blinks. He seems to forget where he is. His fingers twitch toward his tarnished pendant.
"The b…b…b…body. The surrogate. Uta. I…I…I…knew what it was worth. What it could b…b…b…bring me. I…I…I…"
His voice drops to a whisper. His eyes are glassy.
"I just wanted to b…b…b…be important again."
Shanks stares down at him. His Haki bleeds out—just a fraction—and the ice beneath their feet cracks.
"ENOUGH!"
Rosward squeaks. He cowers, his arms wrapping tighter around his head.
---
Everyone looks up.
They sense it before they see it—the weight of eyes pressing down on them, the chill of being watched by something ancient and patient.
Dark silhouettes stand in the rafters. In the balcony. Their masks gleam in the icy light—porcelain visages that carry no expression, no humanity, no mercy.
One of them speaks. The voice is deep. Ominous. It echoes through the theater like a bell tolling in an empty cathedral.
"The tides are shifting. You must go."
A pause.
"Mist Wielder."
Marya's gaze locks on the masked figure.
"The flame burns new. And you are its custodian. Do not forget."
The silhouettes do not move. They do not breathe. They simply watch—and wait.