-Broadcast-
The deepest secret concealed by the Pirate Empress had been ruthlessly exposed by the Sky Screen for the entire world to witness. This revelation proved more explosively scandalous than even Blackbeard's Trinity Devil Fruit phenomenon.
The world's most beautiful woman—that goddess who seemed to exist beyond mortal concerns—had once been a slave to the so-called "gods" themselves. Branded on her back with the Hoof of the Celestial Dragons, that permanent mark served as eternal proof of her status as "inferior" and "pathetic" in the eyes of those who'd owned her.
The so-called divinity, the detached transcendence, the untouchable perfection... all of it revealed as protective fiction masking profound trauma.
People across the world who received this broadcast reacted with visceral intensity. Some women who'd admired the Empress as an ideal wept bitterly, their fantasy shattered. Some men who'd coveted her body felt their defensive barriers crumble under the weight of uncomfortable truths. Others harbored the darkest thoughts imaginable—predatory calculations emerging from shadows where they'd always lurked.
There were even those who, upon learning of this "stain" on the Empress's perfect image, couldn't suppress secret satisfaction and perverse excitement. Many would join this carnival of stolen intimacy, this violation broadcast globally.
Morgans' newspaper presses were already running at maximum capacity.
Welcome to the real world, where even goddesses bleed.
Marshall D. Teach—the three-headed, six-armed demon incarnate—now maintained a body nearly ten meters tall. Standing before Boa Hancock, he resembled a black mountain: immovable, overwhelming, impossible to confront directly.
The Empress's body trembled involuntarily. She hurriedly covered her exposed back with delicate hands, attempting to shield the forbidden area that could never be touched. Her face displayed mingled shame and fury—the majestic expression that had defined her public persona now replaced by rage and grievance warring for dominance.
Crystal tears filled her eyes, threatening to spill over at any microsecond.
She clenched her teeth so tightly her jaw ached, as though attempting to physically chew up the resentment consuming her heart. The gnashing expression inspired profound pity despite her legendary strength.
Beauty and broken majesty intertwined in this moment, forming unique and terrible charm that inspired simultaneous awe and heartbreak.
"I want you dead," Hancock whispered, her voice carrying desperate intensity. "My secret cannot be known to anyone. I want you dead..."
Adrenaline flooded her system, temporarily masking the catastrophic physical damage she'd sustained. She raised her leg high, attempting to deploy Perfume Femur once more—desperate to kick the person who'd witnessed her shame into oblivion.
But from Blackbeard Teach's elevated perspective, Boa Hancock moved in pathetic slow motion. He needed only to free up a single hand to deal with this woman defending herself through shattered pride.
Just as the man anticipated, the Empress—driven by emotional collapse rather than tactical calculation—attacked with fundamentally flawed form. Marshall D. Teach easily identified and exploited the weakness.
Blackbeard transformed his palm into a fist, driving it directly into the woman's most vulnerable abdomen. The strike carried zero mercy, zero hesitation. Before Hancock's foot even approached the enemy, she was punched backward—body hurled more than ten meters through the air.
This time, Boa Hancock didn't rise again.
Blackbeard's single punch had nearly claimed the woman's life outright. If she hadn't reflexively hardened her abdomen with Armament Haki at the last microsecond, the fist might have punched completely through her torso.
Boa Hancock had sustained catastrophic internal injuries. Multiple organ systems hemorrhaged simultaneously. Blood flowed continuously from her mouth, staining the tattered cheongsam crimson.
Her face was pale as death itself, breathing shallow and irregular. Most ribs had fractured—some completely shattered. Every breath brought excruciating agony, as though her body was being systematically torn apart from within.
Adrenaline could no longer suppress the pain signals overwhelming her nervous system. She could only struggle within the abyss of pure suffering.
Her eyes filled with despair and agony. Her body shook uncontrollably. The vitality sustaining life was rapidly draining away, as though invisible force was gradually swallowing her existence entirely.
In this horrific tableau of the goddess's defeat, Boa Hancock's strength and fragility were simultaneously displayed with terrible clarity—inspiring profound sadness for her cruel fate.
The black lotus platform served as supernatural flying apparatus, carrying Marshall D. Teach back to the Empress's broken form. One massive hand grasped Boa Hancock's long black hair, yanking the woman upward by her scalp. The Empress felt her scalp tearing, nerve endings screaming. She was nothing more than a toy—unable to control her own destiny.
"I also come from humble origins," the leftmost head spoke conversationally.
"I won't despise your status as former slave," the center head added with mock sympathy.
"Boa Hancock—become my woman," the rightmost head concluded with finality.
As a supreme realist, Marshall D. Teach possessed neither noble character nor idealistic notions about exclusivity or "purity." As long as an intelligent creature proved strong enough and attractive enough to serve his purposes, a man didn't mind sharing acquisitions with his past and future.
All the Empress needed to do was become his possession. Share some of his power, share some of his life... until Marshall D. Teach grew bored of her body and discarded her after satisfying his desires completely.
"Never," Hancock spat. "You're dreaming."
The Empress expelled a large volume of blood directly at one of Blackbeard's three faces from point-blank range. The filthy discharge annoyed the man considerably.
Time to teach this spirited mare a proper lesson.
A black arm extended from behind Boa Hancock, placing its broad palm directly over the slave brand marking her back—the Hoof of the Celestial Dragons that had defined her trauma for years.
"This slave mark is genuinely an eyesore," Blackbeard mused clinically. "Let me help you remove it."
White radiance represented the Gura Gura no Mi's (Tremor-Tremor Fruit) devastating power. Black radiance represented the Yami Yami no Mi's (Dark-Dark Fruit) consuming darkness. They acted together upon the Empress's back, attempting to destroy the Hoof of the Celestial Dragons through the most violently direct means possible.
The Tremor-Tremor Fruit vibrated the Empress's skin at cellular frequencies, creating catastrophic structural damage. The Dark-Dark Fruit entered deep tissue layers, consuming the mysterious pigment compounds that Celestial Dragons employed for permanent branding—devouring them molecule by molecule from inside out.
This process was indistinguishable from deliberate torture.
Boa Hancock released several agonized howls that echoed across the ruined island. The pain exceeded her brain's processing capacity by catastrophic margins, triggering biological protection mechanisms. After approximately thirty seconds of unendurable suffering, she lost consciousness completely—her mind retreating into merciful oblivion.
"Even unconscious, she remains exquisitely beautiful," the leftmost head observed.
"Sleeping Beauty awaiting her prince," the center head added mockingly.
"I want to have many children with this woman," the rightmost head concluded with crude lust.
Marshall D. Teach's three heads conversed among themselves, all sharing the same predatory desire. Such a perfect feminine form as the Empress's body represented—destroying it now would constitute unforgivable waste.
Bring her back. Imprison her. Make her bear children until her usefulness expires.
That was the beautiful plan men like Teach cultivated in the darkest recesses of ambition.
-Hancock's Inner World-
Boa Hancock's consciousness was shrouded completely in pain and despair, trapped within an endless dark cage of her own construction. She'd closed the door to her heart, preferring to immerse herself in the pure land of internal refuge rather than face the horrific reality of the outside world.
In the pure land of her heart, there existed only peaceful dead water. She floated alone, thoughts drifting without direction or purpose. Pain followed her like a persistent shadow—like sharp thorns embedded deep in her soul. Despair was a heavy dark cloud, pressing down until she couldn't draw breath.
The Empress within this mental sanctuary wore tattered rags that seemed to be relics from her time as a Celestial Dragon's slave. The once-gorgeous and precious cheongsam that had defined her public persona had gradually become distant—a costume from a performance she could no longer maintain.
From the very beginning, I never escaped the past. The Celestial Dragons left too many psychological scars. Getting rid of my traumatized self is too difficult. Most people in the world cannot accomplish it—they can only live muddled, broken lives.
This time, Boa Hancock didn't have her two beloved sisters by her side to help her survive the worst and most difficult moments. There was no great hero like Fisher Tiger to save her from ownership and degradation.
Loneliness magnified the emptiness consuming her heart from within.
And in that emptiness, something that shouldn't exist was about to manifest in the pure land of her broken psyche—something dark, something hungry, something that had been waiting for this exact moment of absolute vulnerability.