Doflamingo's roar split the night sky.
In just a matter of weeks, two of the men he trusted most—his so-called family—had been cut down by that nameless, man-eating monster.
But it wasn't grief that burned inside him.
It was humiliation.
The fact that someone had dared toy with him—
mocked him like some fool—
was a crime Doflamingo would never forgive.
RUMBLE… BOOM…
From the ruins of the House of Toys, countless pirates and freed warriors burst forth, their human bodies newly restored.
"It's Doflamingo!"
"Don't be afraid! Kill him!"
"Eight years… eight damn years trapped in that cursed body! Doflamingo, I'll tear you apart myself!"
The mob surged forward, fury and vengeance in their eyes.
Doflamingo didn't even blink.
"Jora. Senor Pink." His voice dropped to a deadly calm.
"Go outside… and close the door."
The two executives exchanged a brief look. Then they dragged the shattered gates upright again, sealing the exit behind them.
But even with the door shut, the sounds couldn't be contained—
the screams, the pleading, the sound of flesh tearing under invisible threads.
The slaughter began.
Meanwhile, across town—
"Enren! Enren!"
Kyros's voice cut through the night as he spotted the familiar figure on the darkened road.
"Kyros."
White Flame exhaled a thin stream of smoke, his expression as unreadable as ever. "Looks like you've got your body back."
Kyros stopped before him, breathless, eyes shining. "Thank the heavens—you're alive! I thought you went to confront Doflamingo head-on! I was ready to fight by your side!"
He gave a nervous laugh. "But it seems you're much wiser than I imagined."
White Flame's gaze sharpened.
"I told you—now isn't the time. I want Doflamingo to feel loss. To taste helplessness. To drown in the despair of being outplayed."
He turned away, the ember of his cigarette flaring in the wind.
"Come. We'll move somewhere else. After tonight, Doflamingo's rage will burn through the city. He'll hunt for me himself, no matter the cost."
"The old factory's compromised. We'll need somewhere hidden. And, Kyros—make sure Rebecca doesn't mention me. Not once. You know better than anyone what happens to those tied to me."
Kyros lowered his head. "I understand, Enren. I owe you everything. I'll never forget what you've done for us."
White Flame's eyes flickered with a faint, cold light. "If you must thank someone… thank Doflamingo. His arrogance brought this on himself."
By morning, Dressrosa was quiet again.
The screams were gone.
The truth was buried.
The world outside remained blissfully unaware of what had happened in the dead of night.
But as the sun rose, small cracks began to show.
With Sugar's curse broken, families remembered faces they'd long forgotten—friends, lovers, children—people who'd vanished years ago.
Doflamingo's network moved fast, silencing rumors and sealing the borders tighter than ever.
But tension gripped the kingdom like a noose.
Seven days after Trebol's death—
another officer fell.
Machvise, user of the Ton-Ton Fruit, was found dead in the colosseum he'd just taken charge of.
When the guards arrived the next morning, there was nothing left of him—
only a white skeleton.
Ten days later—
Dellinger, the half-fishman prodigy, was discovered in the same arena's rest quarters.
His corpse, too, had been devoured clean.
By the twentieth day—
Gladius, wielder of the Popp-Popp Fruit, was patrolling Dressrosa's central district when it happened.
Witnesses claimed his chest simply—burst open.
A hole, neat and perfect, right through the heart.
Moments later, a creature of bandages and shadow devoured that heart whole—
along with every guard nearby.
By the time Doflamingo arrived, there was nothing left but bone and blood.
The streets reeked of iron.
Dressrosa was drowning in terror.
Anyone connected to the Donquixote Family—
officers, guards, even lowly soldiers—
was hunted down and erased, one after another.
No bodies.
No mercy.
Only bones.
Thirty days after the House of Toys massacre—
High above the city, under the moonlight, two figures soared through the air.
One was a rotund man bound in heavy chains, his massive frame suspended by spinning blades.
The other—a slender woman in a maid's dress, an eyepatch over one eye, cigarette hanging from her lips.
Buffalo and Baby 5.
The airborne duo of the Donquixote Family.
"Buffalo," Baby 5 called, her tone casual but wary, "you think that monster can reach this high?"
Buffalo's propellers whirred above the rooftops as he chuckled nervously.
"Relax. Even that freak can't fly! But still…"
He shuddered. "That thing's terrifying. Gladius, Machvise, Dellinger—all dead. Not even enough time to fire a signal flare. That means the bastard's fast. Too fast."
He glanced at her, voice dropping. "Baby 5, listen—if you see him, don't try to fight. Fire the signal flare immediately. Got it? I'm not facing that monster alone."
Baby 5 sighed, exhaling smoke. "Got it, got it. Honestly, for such a big guy, you're a coward."
"Dellinger wasn't," Buffalo shot back. "Look where that got him!"
"Only the Young Master can kill this thing now. The rest of us? We're just bait."
The two continued their patrol, their words carried by the wind—
unaware that directly beneath them, crouched on the rooftops below,
three shadowy figures were already looking up.
Three black ghosts.
Silent.
Watching.
Waiting.
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