Chapter 23: The Coliseum and the Castle
From his celestial vantage point, Arata became a silent witness to the drama unfolding on Dressrosa. His mind was a vast map, each Straw Hat a bright, moving pinprick of light. He observed with a scholar's detachment and a guardian's fierce attention.
He tracked Luffy's progress through the Corrida Coliseum, a cauldron of roaring crowds and clashing warriors. The sheer number of powerful individuals concentrated in one place was impressive. He felt the brutal strength of Burgess, the cunning of Jesus Burgess, and the surprising, noble power of the gladiators fighting for Ace's legacy. When Luffy, as "Lucy," unleashed his Conqueror's Haki to protect Rebecca, the psychic shockwave was a bright flare on Arata's internal radar. A proud smile touched his lips. His captain was learning, growing.
His primary focus, however, was split between two locations: the palace and Robin.
He felt the moment the facade cracked. The "death" of Doflamingo was a brilliant piece of theater, but Arata felt no such cessation of that particular malevolent aura. He felt the spike of panic across the island as the SMILE transaction was halted, and then the cold, triumphant resurgence of Doflamingo's presence in the palace as he reclaimed his throne, his strings pulling the entire country back into his grip.
The game was up. The undercover operation was over. Now, it was war.
He watched Robin and Usopp's mission with the SMILE factory. He felt their confrontation with Doflamingo's officer, Sugar, and the terrifying moment when Usopp's spirit seemed to flicker and almost die under the weight of her power. He felt the surge of desperate, cowardly courage that led to the "God Usopp" moment, a turn of events so bizarre it almost made Arata laugh despite the tension. The sudden, mass awakening of the toys was a psychic earthquake that shook the entire island, a wave of returning memories and reclaimed lives that was almost overwhelming to sense.
But his vigilance sharpened to a razor's edge when he felt Robin's aura move towards the royal palace. She was going into the lion's den, alongside the Tontatta warriors.
Inside the palace, the situation deteriorated rapidly. Robin and the Tontatta were ambushed. Arata felt it the moment she was trapped, her calm aura surrounded by the oppressive, string-like energy of Doflamingo's top executives. He felt the surge of her power as she used her Gigantesco Mano to protect the dwarves, but he also felt the overwhelming force she was up against.
He felt the cold, sharp aura of Diamante, and the brutal, crushing presence of Senor Pink. But most concerning was the man who now stood before Robin: Donquixote Doflamingo himself.
Arata's consciousness zeroed in on that room. He could almost see it through the echo of their Haki. Doflamingo's presence was a tangled knot of arrogance, rage, and profound, world-ending nihilism. He was a man who saw the world as a corrupt joke and himself as the only one with the right to burn it all down.
"Your friends are making a mess of my kingdom," Doflamingo's voice was a psychic sneer that even Arata could perceive. "But you... you are the key to everything, aren't you, Nico Robin? The key to the Void Century. The key to the secrets the World Government is so desperate to hide. With you, my power won't just be confined to this island. It will span the world."
Arata felt Robin's spirit tighten, not with fear, but with a cold, defiant resolve. She would not break. But the power disparity was too great. Doflamingo's strings shot out, too fast, too numerous.
This was the line.
Back on the Raiju, Arata's eyes snapped open. The air around him crackled to life, the very clouds darkening in response to his will. He didn't need the stone. He had felt the shift, the imminent danger.
It was time for the sword to fall.
In the palace throne room, Doflamingo's strings were a hair's breadth from ensnaring Robin when the world turned white and sound became a physical entity.
The entire stained-glass window of the throne room, and a large portion of the wall surrounding it, vaporized. Not exploded. Vaporized. There was no shower of glass and stone, only a fine, hot dust and a gaping hole that looked out over Dressrosa.
Standing in the center of the hole, wreathed in fading golden light, was Arata. He had not run. He had not flown. He had translocated, moving from his ship to this spot at the speed of lightning itself. His feet hovered just above the scorched floor, his storm-grey hair lifting in an unseen wind, his golden eyes fixed on Doflamingo with an expression of utter, terrifying calm.
The Warlord stared, his sunglasses hiding his eyes but not the shock and rage that tightened his jaw. "Who... are you?" he hissed, the words strangled.
Arata ignored him. His gaze shifted to Robin, ensuring she was unharmed. The relief in her eyes was a reward greater than any victory. He then returned his attention to the string-puppeteer.
"My name is Arata," he said, his voice quiet but carrying an impossible weight, silencing the chaos in the castle. "I am the storm you failed to forecast. And you have just tried to pull the strings of the one person in this world under my absolute protection."
He landed softly on the floor, the energy receding into his body, but the promise of its return hung heavy in the air.
"The game has changed, Donquixote Doflamingo. Your kingdom is a stage. But I am no longer in the audience." He took a step forward, the air cracking around him. "I am the critic. And your performance has just been condemned."