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Chapter Text

How odd, Doflamingo thought, the cell was unguarded today. Not unheard of, he supposed, but Magellan had taken to sitting just outside the iron bars like a disgruntled guard-dog. Though as amusing as the image was, he suspected it might not be far from the truth. Whatever moves Marie Geoise had made to silence Doflamingo had clearly started the old devil. Enough at least to sacrifice most of his free time to act as Doflamingo’s personal babysitter. 

Magellan was a brute, and one with an obnoxious odour at that. But he was an amusing presence. The perfect blend of serious and grouchy. Plus, it helped that the former jailor tended to indulge Doflamingo in his ramblings. It could not be said that Donquixote Doflamingo didn’t enjoy a little stroking of the ego. 

Any other day, he would have expected the large man’s persistent presence, but today he was alone. Perhaps more suspiciously, there was not a single guard posted in replacement. Not that any human they sent down would be worth the company they provided, but it did help to have another puppet within reach in case his boredom grew beyond the limits of his imagination. 

How he missed Dressrosa. The country is filled with ignorant fools who would lap up his every word, all while ignorant that their friends and family were toiling away beneath their feet. They were in the palm of his hand, both literally and figuratively. 

Though at times it was hard to find some time for himself. Even his own bedroom was victim to the constant barrage of questions from Trebol or Sugar about where to send the weapons or what to tell the marines. At the time, it had grated on his skin. Even as a king, he had to bite his tongue and fulfil his role. His only taste of freedom came when he would leap out of his window and swing out onto the seas where nobody could demand anything of him.

But miles under the ocean in a solitary cell, the only noises were the groaning of the waves against the stone walls. He missed the sun on his skin. How long since he’d felt any source of light but the flickering of torches? He missed the roar of laughter and music that carried through on the gentle breeze outside his palace window. He missed the meaningless questions that his crew would ask him, their leader, no matter how moronic they may be. 

At times grating, they were still better than nothing, and they did their best to fill the void inside his chest. Now his only company was his own mind, and what a cruel place that could be. 

The situation was so strange that it took a few moments for him to notice the shift in the area. One moment, nothing. And then there was the clamour of what sounded like a whole entourage. For a shameless second, Doflamingo wondered if somehow some of the other prisoners had managed to stage a breakout. But that hope was snuffed almost instantly when the unmistakable lurking silhouette of Magellan lumbered through the torch-lit hallway. He was followed by the hurried shuffle of other guards. The sight of such a large group of prison staff alone would be cause for curiosity, but it was the hooded figure stalking just behind them that caught Doflamingo’s attention.

The figure carried himself with an air of confidence that could scarcely be seen outside of perhaps some of the top brass Marine soldiers, a few of his former warlord colleagues, and of course, the ever loathsome celestial dragons. 

Once just outside the cell, Magellan wrestled his fingers into his pocket and plucked out a key. Doflamingo raised his eyebrow, despite the futility of the gesture.

“What a lovely surprise, don’t tell me I have my own visitor,” Doflamingo drawled. He bared his teeth in a lazy grin to the former warden, but to his surprise, his question was met with silence. In fact, Magellan's attention seemed transfixed on something elsewhere. The brute wasn’t even looking at him!

“Not quite,” a new voice answered instead.

 The cloaked figure strode forward, shadow creeping up behind him. “If all goes as planned, after today, you won’t need to worry about visitors anymore.”

 Doflamingo attempted to crane his neck up, trying to get a view of the figure. His hood shielded his face, and shadows draped over any exposed areas to the point that identifying any features would be impossible. 

The figure motioned, and Magellan twisted the key into the cell. The doors flung open. Seastone be damned, it was the first glimpse of freedom he’d gotten in months. This was truly a special day.

The figure turned to Magellan now, and Doflamingo almost missed the way the former warden stiffened.

Suddenly, it dawned on Doflamingo that this man was not just the cause for the nervousness of the other guards but also for the subdued hesitancy with which Magellan seemed to be conducting himself. Marines and staff at Impel Down may work together, but when it came to the underwater prison, it was the staff that held jurisdiction. No doubt, Magellan would show respect to important naval figures, but fear? Unless he was encountering someone not only incredibly powerful, but also superior in hierarchy, he couldn’t imagine anything causing the jailor fear. Yet here he was, eyes glued to the cloaked figure with an intensity he had never seen in the man. Perhaps he truly had been protecting him from the meddling forces of the government, Doflamingo thought. Or perhaps he simply valued the procedural aspect of his job above any pleasure he got from excessively tormenting the prisoners. Either way, there was nothing he could do now. Without a doubt, the man before him was part of the celestial dragons. One with enough power to force his way here.

“That will be all,” the figure stated. Magellan hesitated for a second, then, perhaps sensing the impatience growing in front of him, nodded hastily. He lumbered away with the remaining guards floundering after him. Doflamingo suppressed a chuckle as his mind conjured the image of a trail of ducklings shuffling after their mother. Satisfied that they were now solitude, the figure turned back to the prisoner restrained on the floor.

“Donquixote Doflamingo,” the man greeted.

Doflamingo gritted his teeth. “How kind of you to trek all the way down to the pit of hell from your cosy perch in Marie Goeise,” he sneered. “I would tell you to make yourself comfortable, but I think you’ll find that quite difficult.”

The figure didn’t so much as blink in response to his taunting. At least he wasn’t one of those pompous self-righteous bastards who flew off the handle the second they were insulted. “The journey was tolerable, as it always is,” the man explained. “It is quite common for my duty to take me quite far from the Holy Land.” 

“Your duty?” Doflamingo hissed. He suspected as much. There was only one kind of celestial dragon that would make their way down here among the reek of humanity without a bubble over their head. “I take it you’re part of the God’s Knights then.”

“I suppose knowledge of the world around you was a necessity for the schemes you pulled, Joker .” He didn’t miss the way the man’s voice grunted out the last word. Like a particularly disgusting thing that tainted his mouth by being spoken at all. 

“The existence of God’s Kights is hardly comparable to some of the other secrets I know.” He watched for a reaction. To his credit, the stranger didn’t give anything away. Doflamingo prided himself on his ability to worm his way into the head of his opponents. 

It was a fun game to try and unravel someone. Sometimes they’d splinter apart immediately like a puppet whose strings have been sliced. Others took more effort, requiring a tug over time until eventually the thread holding them together unravelled completely, leaving nothing but a tangled mess. He found the latter to be the most amusing. And if he was lucky, he could try and piece them back together, in his own way, of course. 

But right now, the man didn’t seem interested in playing.

“Knowledge can be a dangerous thing,” the figure mused. “But only if you have the chance to share it.”

Doflamingo snorted. “I figured as much. So what,” he hissed. “Are you here to silence me once and for all?” Laughter racked through his body, rattling the chains digging into his skin. “I would have suspected a bit more subtlety, though I suppose you already tried that… Magallon prefers to do things by the book.” 

“If that was my intention, I assure you, you would be dead already.”

Doflamingo eyed the sword strapped to the man’s waist. It glinted in the torchlight. It carried with it a kind of energy, dancing with a desire that made it feel alive. "Oh, I don’t doubt that,” he purred. “Though I would be remiss to overlook the fact that any victory over me now wouldn’t be much of an indication of your abilities. I’m not quite feeling like myself right now, what with all these chains.” 

“Perhaps,” the figure said, tilting his head thoughtfully. “Though I wouldn’t underestimate my abilities regardless.”

Doflamingo hummed thoughtfully. “Confident are we?” Perhaps this man would make a better conversation partner than Magallen. He seemed to think highly of himself, at least. “And who exactly are you?”

“I am the commander of the God’s knights,” the man replied. He lifted his hood back so hair sprang loose in a red cascade down his neck. His bangs parted on both sides of his face, and another portion was sectioned off in a braid that wrapped around his head. The hairstyle was achingly reminiscent of the one mother had worn all those years ago. At least when she was still glowing with life. Before the mortal realm had squandered her. 

He shuddered to recall the way her face had grown pale with sickness and eventually cold and lifeless.

The man in front of him was quite beautiful for a celestial dragon - at least compared to some of the ones Doflamingo vaguely recalled in his youth, or seen in passing during warlord business. That aside, it wasn’t the beauty that made his face striking. Doflamingo had seen this face in wanted posters. He’d seen it under headlines in the papers. He’d seen it in person once during the Summit War. But this was not Red-Haired Shanks, one of the four emperors of the sea. 

“I am Figarland Shamrock, eldest son of Figarland Garling,” the man before him explained, as if sensing Doflamingo’s curiosity. Something about both names stirred a memory in Doflamingo that he felt must have been important to him at some point. A man with hair curled into a crescent shape and a perpetual sneer. Perhaps there was even a time when Doflamingo had wanted to be like him, though now it is all a foggy haze. 

“I suppose that means I’m not the only pirate to have a noble lineage,” Doflamingo said, testingly. Shamrock’s expression remained stiff, but something about it felt more guarded. 

“My brother has his own ideas about the world,” was the only answer he got. And wasn’t that just so? How loathsome it was to have a brother, and how agonising it was not to, Doflamingo thought. He didn’t know the stranger before him, but perhaps they had more in common than he suspected. It wasn’t quite kinship, but at least a sort of understanding.

“And you? What do you think of this world?” Doflamingo asked.

“It matters not what I think,” Shamrock replied. “The world is as we require it to be; we are its gods. We are the world.”

“We?” Doflamingo paused, his grin loosening slightly despite himself. “Perhaps you’ve been missing something, but your lot threw me out ages ago. Unless you’re using a royal ‘we’, I don’t have much to do with the world now.” Loath as he was to admit it, it was true. When before he could subtly manipulate the world to his liking through his underground connections, now he had but empty threats. He may get the occasional newspaper to keep him up to date on the major events, but there was little he could do inside his cell. Even his taunts to Magellan had stayed largely baseless. He was not the world. 

At least not yet. 

Shamrock examined the bonds on Doflamingo carefully, as if they were pitiful. “This age is coming to an end as I’m sure you’ve begun to suspect recently.” Doflamingo’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “All sorts of factions have begun to make their plans, including my own.” Shamrock stepped forward into the cell itself. He was not nearly as tall as Doflamingo, but he held the advantage of not being flat on his back. “We’ve taken notice of certain individuals.”

Doflamingo huffed, “I suppose that explains this little get-together. But you still haven’t explained what you want from me.” 

“It's less what we require from you and more what you may stand to gain from us.” Shamrock turned his gaze away for a moment. Doflamingo couldn’t help the flare of hatred he felt for the man. Here he lay tied down and powerless, while this stranger droned on. “We’re offering you an opportunity, a chance at redemption, you could say. You see, we’re in need of filling our ranks with powerful allies who can see the world as we deem it.”

For a moment, Doflamingo thought he was hallucinating. Surely this man was not insinuating what he thought he was insinuating. Perhaps this whole interaction was just a large joke, a play at his expense. Surely the figure before him would turn and laugh before leaving him to rot in his cell. But what would be the point of that?

“You were turned away many years ago, it’s true, but you were still born with noble blood.” Doflamingo wanted to hiss at him that he already knew all this. That it was he who’d been shunned when his father had been the fool. “Your path has strayed to more unsavoury areas, but with how things are changing, we’ve been reminded of what matters. What better candidate to join the ranks of the God’s Knights than someone who has known both life as a Celestial Dragon and a pirate?” Shamrock finished, a proud glint in his eyes. Doflamingo couldn’t respond for a second, too dumbstruck by the suggestion. 

“It’s an honour to even be considered,” Shamrock added, sensing his hesitancy.

Finally, Dodlamingo found the words that had coiled inside him. They sprang.

“Why would I ever want to work for the likes of you?” he snarled. He bared his teeth in a smile, any hint of friendliness vanishing. A deep-seated hunger for blood bared its teeth again. A desire to kill, to destroy.  It’s rage so intense he almost couldn’t see anything in front of him but red. It was blinding. It was painful. How dare he? How dare they! 

The pressure in his head ached so intently he was certain it would pop. “I’ve done nothing but work towards your destruction since I was ten, when you fools trained your gun on me for daring to come home. You may have let me have Dressrosa, but only as long as it benefited you and when that came undone, you sent your Marine dogs after me. You couldn’t even leave me well enough alone in my cell without trying to silence me!”

Shamrock frowned, but his composure remained intact. “Perhaps you misunderstand the offer. We aren’t simply letting you work for the Celestial Dragons. By joining as a member of the God’s Knights, you would very well become reinstated as one yourself, including all the privileges and powers that come with it,” he explained cooly. He leaned down slightly as if speaking to a child. Doflamingo only noticed his own harsh breaths in the pause of sound as Shamrock studied him. He could feel his mask cracking. 

“What exactly are you saying?” he asked. And if his voice wavered, Shamrock made no mention of it. He only grinned in triumph.

“You’ve satisfied yourself with being a King, now how about becoming a god?”

Chapter Text

Doflamingo blinked up at Shamrock, a peculiar feeling rising inside him. If this was not a ploy, then he was certainly missing something. It would do him no good to go rushing headfirst without testing out the waters.

“In exchange for what?” he prodded, shuffling the arms and legs that were bound so they dragged on the floor. “Do you expect me to believe the world government is doing this out of the goodness of their hearts?”

Shamrock hummed thoughtfully, and Doflamingo wondered if his skull was filled with nothing but hot air. 

“Primarily? Capable fighters,” the God’s Knight explained. “You’ve already worked as a warlord before,” he tilted his head slightly to the side in what Doflamingo could only register as disapproval, “albeit perhaps more unruly than we would have liked,” he added ruefully. A smirk crept its way onto Doflamingo’s face at the memory of his time as a warlord. Even before gaining his status, he’d been quite the thorn in the government’s side, attacking the heavenly tribute with no regard for consequences. 

“You would be released from your cell, of course, with access to your haki and strings. Many in our ranks are also equipped with devil fruits, so it would be good to have your full arsenal.”

“If capable fighters were all you were looking for, you could have hired more pirates. Or better yet, prevented the warlord system from being abolished in the first place,” Doflamingo mused. Though he made no mention of his own role in its abolition. If that damn Crocodile hadn’t tried ripping off his scheme maybe things would have lasted. “You’ve made quite a few formidable enemies, but there are always those willing to submit to the highest bid.”

“And bring in outsiders?” Shamrock asked. He spoke with a patient but knowing voice, circling around with his answers like this was a game to him. “Things are delicate now, it’s better to keep it between those already in the know.”

Doflamingo snorted, “So that’s it. Turn your potential threats into allies. I can’t leak information if I’m working for you.”

“Perhaps,” was his only answer. There was something equally fascinating as there was infuriating about the man before him. 

He had an air of arrogance to him that Doflamingo was no stranger to, but beyond that, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Shamrock was less a real flesh-and-blood person and more a carefully constructed impression of one. Like one of those pointillism paintings that Giolla was fond of. A board filled with an array of scattered dots that danced across the page, meaninglessly. Only when you stepped back and squinted did the shapes blend together to resemble people and landscapes. He’d asked her once what the point of it was.

 He could remember the way she smiled at him, eyes crinkled with a playful glow. “Sometimes it takes distance to see something for what it really is,” she’d said.

Perhaps that was the case with Shamrock. Up close, he couldn’t surmise anything, but in time? There might be more he could glean about who the man truly was. Then again, Doflamingo now had valuable currency, information he possessed over the God’s Knight, but the red-haired man before him had hardly twitched an eye.

“It’s up to you,” Shamrock said. “Though you’re choices are limited.”

Doflamingo frowned and tried to silence the part of him that screamed to accept. He couldn’t shake off his apprehension. Besides, he had to keep his wits about him. He had a reputation to uphold, and it would do him no favours to seem desperate. After all, was it not he who pulled the wool over an entire country for ten years? Surely he could handle a negotiation.

“If I were to accept,” Doflamingo said, cautiously, “what would become of the rest of my family?”

“I would imagine you would have no trouble with them,” Shamrock responded with a raised eyebrow. “There are plenty of celestial dragons that have taken a position in the god's knight.” It took a moment for Doflamingo to register the misunderstanding, and he cursed himself internally. Then he cursed Shamrock, too, for good measure.

“Not my blood relatives, I meant my crew. Many of them are being held here in Impel Down. As a God’s knight, surely I could bring them back with me?” he suggested. 

For once, Shamrock paused and seemed to consider. Then he shook his head. “I’m afraid any of your crew in Impel Down will need to remain here,” he said. Doflamingo tried to hide the way his teeth gnashed together in anger. “Should you find any subordinates at sea that you wish to take back as a slave, that would be well within your rights. I’m sure you’ll find replacements easy enough.” 

No, Doflamingo thought. He would never find anyone as loyal as the Donquixote Family. Willing to worship him, willing to die for him. Humans, sure, but they were his. 

“I assume you have a ship?” Doflamingo asked. 

“A top-ranked marine vessel that will travel straight past G1 and to the Redline.”

He could envision the journey in his head, leaning against some railing with the salty sea wind in his hair. It would be odd to be on a ship as anything but a pirate. “I suppose that is the fastest route.”

“No,” Shamrock said. It wasn’t an angry response, but something about it told Doflamingo that the man was being dead serious. “There is a faster way that could get you to Marie Geoise. Almost instantly, in fact. But only those with a mark can travel through the Abyss.” The concept wasn’t completely foreign. He’d heard his fair share of tales about the abilities of the God’s Knight and the being they served. Now he would be given a chance to parse fact from fiction.

“I suppose have that ability?” he said. 

“As will you, should you become initiated as a God’s Knight.”

He should refuse, he thought, save his pride and refuse. But what would be the point? The world would soon flood, according to Vegapunk. He might not care about whatever inventions that old madmen had concocted, but he was called a genius for a reason. He could stay here until the water poured in through the upper levels like a waterfall and washed him away with the other rats in their cages. Maybe try to make an escape once Magallen attempts to move the prisoners? But then what? Dressrosa was gone, his crew was unreachable at this point, even his allies had been defeated. Even if this was a trap, this was the only chance at making something for himself again. Tucking away the resentment and pain he felt at the thought of Marie Geoise with all the other complicated things about his past, Doflamingo smiled.

“Very well.” 

“You’ve made the right decision.”

Wasn’t much of a choice, Doflamingo thought, but said instead, “What happens next?”

A pair of keys dangled between the man's gloved hands. “Now we leave.”

He’d almost forgotten what it felt like not to be suffocated by the presence of seastone. His nerves were alight with feeling that had been locked up for the past few months. Walking as well was harder than he anticipated. He relished in the extra feet his height provided him over Shamrock, but the feeling was somewhat soured by how often he found himself stumbling around, legs stiff from disuse. At least he’d been given something to wear other than the striped prison uniform, and his coat had been returned to him. He could almost feel a little bit like himself, or the version of him that had existed before being slammed through tonnes of Dressrosian architecture.

Prison guards tensed as they marched past, some even bowing their heads in an almost reverence. Doflamingo wanted to sneer. He recalled some of the faces, from when he was first transferred in as well as when they would occasionally visit his cell to hurl insults. Now they stood powerless as one of their biggest threats literally walked out through the front gate. 

He was led to the elevator up the levels of the prison. The doors opened, and he slid in after Shamrock, trying not to stand close enough to brush shoulders with him. At each stop, he wondered which member of his family he was abandoning.

“There’s something I’ve been wondering,” he said, itching to distract himself. “What was your mission if I had refused?”

Shamrock waited patiently beside him. “I was to eliminate you,” he said smoothly.

The door opened, and he stepped out. Doflamingo hesitated for a second, then followed. 

Several guards waited outside, and Doflamingo considered slicing them in half just for the hell of it. But it was best not to rock the boat before he was more certain of his position within the world. Celestial dragon or not, he doubted Shamrock would stand by and let him massacre perfectly functional prison guards and marines.

They made their way across the dock towards a large vessel decked out in blue and white. One of the poles hoisted a flag with a seagull that fluttered in the wind in a motion that reminded him of Diamante’s sword. So this was their ticket to the Holy Land.

Shamrock had already stalked up the plank on board by the time Doflamingo forced himself to follow after him. For almost all his life, stepping onto one of these ships was a matter of life and death. He’d boarded some to kill marines onboard or to plunder their wealth, but even as a warlord, he found them discomforting to inhabit for too long. 

Now both on board, the ship departed from the dock of Impel Down. A few marines made themselves busy on deck, but he made no move to aid them. Instead, he drifted to the stern and watched the imposing figure of the prison retreat into the distance along with all its inhabitants. 

It was only after what must have been an hour or so that he perceived something peculiar. A group of marines had paused their duties to form some kind of lineup toward him. Among them, one marine stepped forward. Doflamingo watched with disdain as the man shuffled closer to him, eyes averted. He couldn’t help but recall the disapproving looks and comments he’d get upon waltzing into the warlord meetings. Oftentimes it was about how his behaviour was ‘unacceptable’ or that he was dressed ‘completely inappropriately’. He was about to snarl something at the man when a shaky hand held out a small transponder snail. 

“It’s for you, sir,” the man said shakily.

That’s right, he remembered, they served the celestial dragons. Which meant that now they served him. Though it seemed to be stirring up conflicting emotions among the marines appointed before him, if their wary glances were anything to go by.

The snail in the man's hand unfurled and looked up at him sternly. 

“Doflamingo,” it said.

All at once, Doflamingo felt his apprehension vanish, and in its place he was met with a surge of glee. He didn’t bother suppressing the bubble of laughter erupting from inside him. “Miss Tsuru,” he purred back in greeting. “How good to hear from you.”

She snorted back in disbelief. “Forgive me if I find that doubtful.” 

“How could you say such a thing?” he chuckled. “I’m hurt.”

“Good.”

“Come now, don’t we know each other well enough by now to forgo the hostility? I’m disappointed you weren’t there to greet me in person for my release, or better yet, accompany me onboard this escort ship.”

“Don’t give me that attitude, boy, you know as well as I do that I have more important things to attend to than whatever mess you’ve gotten yourself into.” That woman never changed, he mused. He should very well be able to control her with the flick of a finger. His status had been reaffirmed, and her duty was now to serve him, but despite how his circumstances had shifted, she remained unwavering. He liked that about her, he supposed.

“Believe me, I’m just as surprised as you are,” he admitted with a steady hum. “To think that just this morning I was contemplating spending the next few years in a dreary cell, and now I’m being handed the world on a silver platter.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said whistfully. 

The line was quiet for a moment, and Doflamingo almost wanted to say something just to fill the silence. Then he heard a strained sigh, and the snail’s eyes softened. He could almost picture her expression on the other end.  

“You’re going home,” she observed. “Are you excited?”

He felt a tug of indignation. “Of course I’m excited!” he hissed tightly. “A mistake has been rectified, and now I will be back where I belong.”

“It’s been a long time,” she pointed out, “Things might have changed.” The underlying ‘you’ve changed’ hung thickly in the air between them. Never mind, he thought, that apprehension was back. As entertaining as it was to talk with Tsuru, what with her unparalleled ability to tell it like it is, that quirk of hers also had the habit of squeezing out the few lingering doubts he’d attempted to bury.

“I thought you said you were busy.”

“Congratulations, boy,” the snail said gravely. He felt his eye twitch in response. “You’re about to get what you’ve always wanted. I hope it makes you happy.”

Then the line went dead, and the marine scurried back into the safety of his comrades. Doflamingo paid him no mind, eyes too busy drifting to the empty horizon.

Chapter Text

He only had a few memories of Marie Geoise left from his youth. In his mind, there was before. A time when the world had made sense. He could conjure only a buzzing sense of safety and happiness. More than that, though, he’d had power. He hadn’t realised it at the time - never having experienced any other way of living -  just how deep that loss could scar.

And then there was after. A time coloured by pain, hunger, and the distinct feeling of hot flames licking at his feet. Most of his memories from before had faded to fuzzy fragments in his mind, taken from him, like everything else from the life he’d held. In their place, suffering ate into his childhood till the whole experience left a bad taste in his mouth. 

But there were times when, if he tried hard enough, he could pick out a specific feeling from before . If there was one thing he could recall, it was his mother.

She’d been a delicate woman, even before their journey drained her of all her strength. Before that haunting image of her frail, lifeless body in her bed cemented itself in her mind. She’d been kind, he supposed, though if he was being honest, he couldn’t recall much of her character outside of the fact that he’d loved her and she’d loved him. 

She wore pink, which he knew because it was something he took after her. When she picked out her outfits, he’d find himself trying to match her. 

Her hair had been a soft creamy shade, far lighter than his brother's and father’s, and even his own. He remembered this too, because when he was younger, he’d been upset by his fact. It was unfair that the only feature he’d inherited from her was her eyes, which he rarely showed to anyone anyway. Later on, his bitterness grew. As grateful as he was that he didn’t inherit other aspects of his father’s sensibilities, he couldn’t stand the fact that every time he looked in the mirror, it was with that same shade of gold that adorned his father's head. And even further on, he realised with scorn, the same shade that had adorned his brother’s head. 

His mother used to sit by the large window looking out at their garden. Just before dawn, when the first beams of light decorated the world. They’d meet her head and set each strand of her hair alight. The section she’d wrapped in a braid around her head became a halo.

It was there that she’d sit, dainty hands folded in her lap and a twinkle in her eye. He remembered how she’d tell them stories with hushed breath. Sometimes it was about the world below, sometimes it was tales of their history. He’d remembered she’d told them stories, but he’d never remembered what they were about. 

That is, except for one. That evening, lightning had crackled in the sky above their head. He must have been no older than four years old.

She’d hushed him and his brother, beckoning them to sit by the ledge with her. She’d asked them if they wanted to hear a story then, and both he and Roci had nodded vigorously. She sat there for hours with them, speaking about all sorts of things that would fade in Doflamingo’s mind. Eventually, though, she grew weary.

“Alright, off to bed you two.”

Doflamingo flopped back onto the ledge propped out from the window, brows furrowed. “It’s not even that late!” he whined. “Besides, why do I have to go to bed at the same time as Roci? I’m older!”

“I wanna stay up later too!” Roci wailed.

“Well, maybe you two aren’t tired yet, but I sure am,” she huffed playfully, arms on her hips. 

“Just tell us one more story,” Doffy begged. “Please?” He nudged Roci, prompting his brother to give her the roundest, wettest puppy-dog eyes he’d ever seen. Though at times he found it frustrating that his brother’s softness was so easily weaponised, there were times when it could come in handy.

“Alright,” she relented. “One more story, then it’s off to bed.”

They sported matching grins. “Of course, mother!” Doffy said.

“Now let me think of one I haven’t told you.” She stroked her chin thoughtfully. 

A boom. 

Roci drew closer.

“It’s scary outside,” Roci said when he saw her raised eyebrow. He clutched tightly at her dress as another loud boom sounded. Doffy didn’t voice his agreement, but he’d be lying if he said the deafening thunder rattling the sky every so often didn’t put him on edge.

“It’s just thunder, dear, it can’t hurt you,” she soothed. She cupped his face in her hands gently, eyes crinkling with a kind smile. “We’re perfectly safe in our home, don’t you worry.”

Roci pondered this for a moment before meeting her gaze with a beaming grin. 

“See Roci,” Doffy said, “nothing can hurt us. We’re gods.”

His mother glanced over at him then, a strange look passing across her face. “I wouldn’t say that, Doffy.” She looked both ways as if to make sure nobody else was listening, then leaned closer with a hand cupped around her mouth. “Have I ever told you about the ‘D’?” Doffy exchanged a glance with Roci and was relieved to see his younger brother seemed just as confused as he was. 

“No.”

“Hmmm,” she replied. “I suppose you boys are old enough, every celestial dragon has to find out about them eventually.”

“What’s a D?” Roci asked, fidgeting with the piece of her dress still wrapped in his chubby hands. 

“It’s a letter,” Doffy answered cheekily, “don’t your tutors teach you anything?” 

His mother pinched his cheek softly “Now, now, Doffy, that isn’t what your brother meant.” He giggled, and Roci stuck out his tongue at him. She continued, “You see, this particular letter is special. There’s a legend of a group of people who carry the initial D in their name.”

Doffy scrunched up his face. “Don’t we? Donquixote Doflamingo. See? It’s there twice?”

She scrunched her face oddly, and he wondered if it was fear that he detected in her. But then the moment passed, and her expression settled back into amusement. “It’s a middle initial. If you were a D, it would be Donquixote D. Doflamingo.”

“Three ‘D’s? That’s too many,” Roci complained. 

“Or maybe Donquixote D. Oflamingo?” Doffy thought out loud. Then, “That just sounds stupid.”

“You aren’t a D, dear,” she said. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“So what is it?” Roci whined again. 

“Yeah, what is it?” Doffy agreed.

“Alright, alright. I think I know what story to end with,” she said. She rested her arm against both their backs and held them to her. Roci’s eyes shone nervously, and he glanced over quickly at Doffy. Seeing his brother’s excitement, he grinned too. 

“There was once a little celestial dragon boy who lived in Marie Geoise,” she said. “He was a very naughty boy who would often misbehave.”

“Was his name Doffy?” Roci asked.

Though Roci was only teasing, Doffy couldn’t help but admit that the boy did sound a little bit like him. Not that he didn’t listen to his mother, he did his best to please her. But his mother was easy to please.

No, the one he found it hard to follow at times was his father. His father, who always said the wrong thing at parties, always angered the wrong people. Doffy’s friends would mock the man, and while he still loved his father, he had to admit that there were times he agreed with them.

But he could never say any of that out loud, so instead he hissed, “That’s not even my full name,” and nudged Rocinante’s shoulder with his own. “You just can’t pronounce Doflamingo.”

“Can too!” Roci bit back. 

His mother chuckled amicably. “Boys.”

“Oh yeah? Say it then!”

Rocinante furrowed his brow in concentration. Then he opened his mouth, but the jumbled name that came out was not in fact ‘Doflamingo.’ 

“See? I told you!”

“No fair!”

“Also, the boy's name was Rocinante.”

“What!?”

“Boys.” They both ceased their bickering and turned back to their mother. “Do you want me to continue the story or would you rather head to bed?” 

“Yes. Sorry, mother,” Doffy said, ducking his head sheepishly.

“Sorry,” Roci repeated.

“Very well.” A pause, the two boys held their breath in anticipation. “You see, the naughty boy never listened to his parents. He would wander around Marie Geoise unsupervised and get into all sorts of trouble.”

“Like what?” Doffy asked.

“Don’t tell me you’re trying to get ideas,” she teased. 

He puffed out his chest indignantly. “Of course not.”

“Well, he would never wear his proper robes,” she explained, “which meant that sometimes the guards would mistake him for a slave.”

Doffy shuddered at the thought.

“Thankfully, he carried his pistol, but it could be quite the shock for his parents to find out that the guards had seized their son and he’d shot them.”

He’d never liked the traditional garb they were expected to wear. It clung to his skin in a stiff fashion, like a bandage that couldn’t be taken off. He didn’t like it, but he supposed it was better off wearing it than ever being mistaken for a slave.

“Sometimes, he’d go around feeding devil fruits to any slave he could find,” she went on. “As you can imagine, this would be very surprising for the other celestial dragons. One day their diligent caretaker was themself and the next they’d transformed into a horse!”

Doffy suppressed a giggle, and she ruffled his hair. “At least they could still ride it around,” he offered.

“Well, maybe not a horse then, maybe their slave would start melting all the walls of their mansion.”

“Can devil fruits really do things like that?” Roci asked hesitantly. 

“I heard there’s a devil fruit for anything,” Doffy replied.

“There may as well be, but it’s a good thing we don’t do handing them out like that,’ she said. “And the boy sometimes liked to run into Pangaea castle and wander about.”

As her story stretched on, Doffy found himself bouncing between amusement and horror. Every strange custom that at times he questioned, broken so unabashedly by this strange imaginary child. 

“The boy got away with it for years, until one day on a very dark and stormy night, much like this one, he saw something. No… someone. A stranger in the Holy Land, not a celestial dragon or a slave. No, he looked more like a pirate.”

Roci gasped in terror and ducked his face in his hands. Doffy edged closer to his mother. He thought about some of the pirates he’d seen in Marie Geoise. Slaves taken from the blue seas. Their eyes always had a hardness to them that set him off. Rebellious, he’d heard other dragons call them. His parents never bought any of them, of course, they’d always said it was too cruel. Too dangerous even.

“The celestial dragon parents told all their children to hide, but the boy didn’t listen. Instead, he approached the man, foolishly, thinking he was just a regular intruder. He thought to himself that he’d go and punish this stranger for trespassing, easy enough. What the boy didn’t know was that he was no ordinary human. No… he was a D!” she hissed. “And as the boy got closer, the D leapt forward…” 

A pause.

“And then?” Doffy whispered.

“And then…” she dropped her voice to a hushed whisper. Doffy and Roci leaned forward in anticipation, eyes wide like saucers. “He gobbled the boy right up!”

 She tackled the two boys in her arms with quick fingers, tickling them viciously. The boys giggled and gasped in joy. When she finally relented, Doffy had a goofy grin plastered onto his face.

“I don’t like the D clan,” Roci said. 

“Me either,” Doffy agreed.

His mother sighed affectionately, then patted them on the head. “It’s gotten quite late, you two, now it’s really time for bed,” she said, then sensing that the oldest was about to complain, “unless you want to get gobbled up by the D?”

Doffy relented, slipping down the ledge and following her back to his bedroom, Roci trailing along beside him.

He hadn’t thought much of the story, not until later on, long after she’d passed away and he’d heard rumours. Rumours of pirates like Gol D. Roger, who the government tried to cover up as Gold Roger. Then later on, Monkey D. Dragon, the fearsome leader of the revolutionary army. As an adult, he knew much of the story must have been rubbish. A children’s tale to encourage the children of the Holy Land to listen to their parents. But fears stemmed from somewhere after all, and the D were enemies of the gods. 

Dark clouds shifted in the sky, showering cold rain onto the deserted deck of the Numancia Flamingo. His crew waited in their rooms at his request; no use catching a cold this far out at sea. He rested against the window ledge in his cabin, studying the storm outside. Droplets pelted against his window in a steady, almost rhythmic slapping. The churning waves rocked the ship back and forth in a dizzying motion, but he’d had his fair share of hangovers. This was nothing, really. 

It wasn’t until one bolt of lightning lit up the sky in a fierce display, like tendrils of light stretching out to claw at the ocean around them. Then the scene was followed by a deafening crackle.

He heard footsteps racing up to his door, and then the barrage of tiny fists. With a flick of his wrist, he swept open his door to reveal the shivering forms of Baby 5 and Buffalo. Her lips wobbled as he met her eyes, pinpricks of tears forming at their edge.

“Young Maaaasster! Young Maaaaster,” she wailed, arms outstretched. She looked like a ragdoll that had been tossed in the trash. He smiled and beckoned her closer. She dashed forward across the space and launched herself into his arms, sobbing into his coat. Buffalo followed after her sheepishly.

“What’s the matter with you, Baby?” he asked when she was coherent enough.

“I don’t like the thunder,” she wept. “It’s loud and scary, and it makes the ship rock.” She clutched at the feathers on his coat, and he couldn’t help but think of Roci’s tiny hands on their mother's dress.

“We don’t want the ship to sink,” Buffalo added, eyes glued to the floor and a rosy tinge dusting his face.

Doflamingo chuckled wryly. “The ship won’t sink; this is just a small storm.” That seemed to reassure Buffalo to some degree, but Baby still pouted. He huffed in frustration.

 “Do you really think this is bad? Believe me, there are many scarier things out in this world.” He said, and met her eyes gravely. She blinked back the tears. 

“There are?”

“Absolutely,” he said, and for a moment, he could vividly recall that scene from his childhood. “Why don’t I tell you a story?”

“Do you need me to listen?” she asked faintly, all traces of fear gone in an instant. Doflamingo considered his response for a moment. He didn’t doubt that if he said yes, she would be attentive, stop crying and blubbering all over his clothes. He could tell her he needed her to listen, and then she wouldn’t bother him for the rest of the night. Part of him wanted to, just as he’d done many times before. She was his after all, and if she wanted to be needed, then who was he to deny that of her? She was his. But he didn’t need her to listen, did he? And he didn’t like the way her eyes darted up at him nervously, like she was afraid she’d done something wrong. 

“If you’d like,” he said instead. That seemed to settle her at least. She snuggled in closer beside him, and he even felt the ledge dip under the weight of Buffalo, who lumbered up after her.

“Do you know what a ‘D’ is?” he asked.

She shook her head. In the corner of his eye, he spotted the hunched figure of Corazon leaning against the door with his painted lips downturned. The clumsy fool must have been woken up by the commotion. He met his brother’s uneasy gaze. 

“They are the enemies of the gods,” he said. “And unlike this weather, the storm they bring is worse than anything you could imagine. 

Shamrock approached him several hours later with a smoothness that bordered on terrifying. “We’ll be there in a few minutes,” he stated. Doflamingo nodded wordlessly and tucked himself more thoroughly into his coat. The grandline weather was unpredictable, and the chilly rain did not help soothe his senses. But perhaps it wasn’t the weather that made him shiver. This storm was unremarkable. 

He played over the memories in his mind like a broken record. He had not been gobbled up by the D. No, he had been chewed and gnashed, but ultimately spat out. Still, the combined efforts of that Monkey boy and his former protege had taken all that he had. What was he to have done? The warning had been null. Monkey D. Luffy might have flaunted his status to all that he encountered, but he doubted Law had been as generous with revealing information about his true name. 

He wondered what he would have done had he known sooner. If his brother had been able to inspire such loyalty in a supposed enemy of the gods, then perhaps the Will of D could be overcome. 

His musings were interrupted when, sure enough, he could see the scarlet streak on the horizon that signalled their proximity to the Redline. And at the top, home. 

He only had a few memories of Marie Geoise left from his youth; everything else had been scorched away by the flames of this hellish world. There was before, and then there was after. But as the marine ship pushed through thick channel waters towards an unseen kingdom several kilometres atop the crimson-streaked continent, he realised that for the first time, there was now.

Chapter Text

They had reached the red line. The cerise rock waited before them as they disembarked from the marine ship. On its face in big letters, the words “World Govt” accompanied the weighty logo - four circles connected through a thin line to an identical middle one. The cliff stretched up above the cloud line, obscuring the city he’d dreamed of both burning and rejoining. 

It seemed now, at least, he’d get one of those outcomes. 

Their ship had halted at one of the numerous docks surrounding the Red Port. The telltale signs of the Yarukiman Mangrove trees bobbed and floated in the air like orbs. 

His first step on the stone surface felt like an ending. In some ways, he supposed, it was. He was no longer a pirate from this moment forward in all senses of the word. 

Streaks of blue and white dotted the peripheral of his vision, followed by the flurry of hurried footsteps. Marines anxiously cleared a path for the two celestial dragons. And wasn’t that idea strange? He mulled over the thought just as it had appeared in his head, still trying it on for size. It’d been a long time since he’d been considered a celestial dragon. He’d long suspected he’d outgrown the title.

Shamrock stalked ahead briskly, his cloak rippling in the wind. He’d donned the hood again, presumably to avoid questions from the few locals still milling about the Red Port that might recognise his face. Doflamingo trailed behind. 

He tried to disregard how off-putting it felt, not leading the group. Ever since Trebol and the other executives had found him, he’d always been at the front of the group. Even when he was just a child, he could always expect to be ushered ahead, the rest trotting at his heels. Perhaps in some ways, it was reassuring that Shamrock was in front now. He had a guide who, if necessary, could take the fall for him. But he couldn’t help the queasy feeling in his stomach that gnashed its teeth at the idea of being subservient to anyone else.

A few humans who didn’t look to be marines watched them closely. He could make out the distinct sound of whispering as their eyes lingered on him for a little longer than necessary. Apparently, news of his release had not been issued to the common folk. He turned to smile sharply at them and took pleasure in the way their faces paled. 

If Shamrock noticed, he said nothing. Instead, he continued on his march in silence until they broke through the line of buildings towards the cliff itself. 

In front of one of the Bondalas, a group of marines stood around with waving arms and harsh voices. Smoke rose from the contraption in a gust of grey, and faint flames curled among the carnage. Doflamingo studied Shamrock for any concern, but he showed no surprise at the development. This was not a new issue then, he realised. He wondered if it had anything to do with why he was asked to join the God’s Knights.

When one of the marines finally noticed the approaching newcomers, he broke off from the group hastily. 

“Your eminence!” he huffed, stopping a few meters from Shamrock. The man paused for a second before seemingly collecting himself. He knelt down before the God’s Knight. “I’m afraid another Bondala has been destroyed. It looks like they aren’t taking any chances,” he said.

“I see,” was Shamrock’s only response. Doflamingo was really starting to hate the way he did that.

The marine glanced up, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead. “Shall I attempt to ready another one?”

“That won’t be necessary.” 

“O-oh… of course,” the marine answered. He stood there dumbly, gaze flicking back and forth between the two figures before him. 

Doflamingo, having had enough of being left out of the conversation, took a step closer to the bondala. “And what exactly was this meant to be transporting?” he hissed. He levelled a pointed finger at the bruised door that lay crumpled at his feet.

The marine shrank back in fear, but before he could answer, Shamrock waved him off. “It was going to be our means of arriving in the Holy Land, but we will have to reconsider.”

Doflamingo scoffed. “Don’t tell me this is the doing of the Revolutionary army,” he muttered. Shamrock said nothing. It appears they’d been up to more than just their little stunt at the reverie, he thought. “So, how are we getting back up?”

“Ideally, we would be able to get there instantly, but seeing as you can’t travel through the Abyss yet, we’ll have to settle for your Devil Fruit.” 

Doflamingo blinked.

“You want me to fly up to the Holy Land?” A pause. “And how will you be getting up…?” The lack of response yet again was answer enough. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the idea. Was he really going to have to carry this man up the cliffside? What had the God’s Knights come to?

“You are capable of the task, are you not?” Shamrock asked. For most of his adult life, Doflamingo had never had much issue intimidating other people. Some it could be chalked up to his physical presence - he recalled with delight how he’d felt after his first growth spurt put him several heads above most normal humans - yet for some reason, he couldn’t quite get a footing when it came to menacing someone like Shamrock. In some ways, the man reminded him of his warlord colleagues. Dracule Mihawk was a good bit smaller than he was, and yet stood just as straight and proud when they encountered each other. 

Doflamingo gritted his teeth, but tucked away a barbed reply and settled for a nod. 

“Excellent,” Shamrock said. 

In the next moment, Doflamingo found himself being led away from the group of marines towards an empty spot near the cliff edge. Shamrock scanned the cliffside cautiously, and Doflamingo waited. He tried to determine what Shamrock was looking for, but before he’d even gotten the chance, his companion spun back around to face him with arms crossed. The man gave him a stern look. Expectant, Doflamingo realised. Though he really could not get a reading on this man.

With a sigh, Doflamingo uncoiled the powers of the string string fruit from inside him with a flourish of his fingers. Wiry strings leapt out to cling onto the cliff and form a pathway up. Perhaps he was showing off a little, but it had been some time since he’d gotten to use his abilities, and with an audience no less. So what if he enjoyed the look of awe and horror from the marines who’d gathered a little ways away, or the pleased gaze that settled onto Shamrock’s face?

Once a suitable pathway was created, he bent down slightly so he was level with Shamrock. 

He refused to initiate. 

Perhaps taking pity on him, Shamrock moved first. Arms wrapped around his neck, not too tight to restrict oxygen but firm enough not to slip loose, and legs swung up into his arms. 

Doflamingo suppressed the shudder. His cell in Impel Down had been empty, and while Magellan visited him more frequently now, it was always at a distance. Not that he’d ever want to get physical with the warden, but it had been some time since he’d been in contact with someone for reasons other than tightening his chains. 

Silently, he thanked fate that Shamrock was covered in fine fabrics. He couldn’t say the same for his own outfit, but buttons undone and chest bare had been his style for some time. 

He didn’t need to make any calculations to know that any action he took to minimise the discomfort would draw even more attention to the awkwardness of the situation. 

Besides, it wasn’t the first time he’d had to carry someone like this, even a man. Though never under these circumstances. 

Where Vergo’s grip on his shoulder felt like a steadying weight, Shamrock’s struck an uneasy chord within him. And though Doflamingo was no stranger to invading other people's personal space, especially when it came to his enemies, this was different. The close contact felt cold and distant from the person in his arms. Perhaps that was intentional. 

He ascended, reminding himself to be slightly more careful than usual. It would be quite the fiasco if he dropped Shamrock now after coming all this way, and he wasn’t confident he could play it off as a mistake.

 Though ironically, the same could not be said for his passenger. 

Even as he leapt up onto the path, balancing his toes onto the places he sensed his strings, the man hardly reacted. Not to gasp or tense when they were in the air, nor even to smile from exhilaration. He might as well be holding a statue.

When they finally reached the top, Doflamingo was beyond exhausted. He watched Shamrock, who had long since dropped onto the surface, brush off lingering debris. It wasn’t the extra weight or even the journey itself that made Doflamingo’s muscles tense. 

He’d had plenty of experience travelling miles with his string path. The delicate dance of leaping from string to string was instinctual at this point. It wasn’t even the fact that he’d done nothing but lie down on his back for the past few months, though he didn’t doubt that was part of it. No, it was the overwhelming feeling of finally being gifted what he’d longed for. He tried to ignore the way his legs suddenly became unstable. 

His breath caught in his throat as the warmth of the sun bathed his face, glimmering down on the palace of his youth. It was the same, despite how long it had been. 

The last time he’d been here with any shred of hope, he was 10.

His fingers were caked in dirt and blood. In one hand, a gun gripped tightly like a lifeline and in the other, the rotting curls of his father’s severed head. He remembered screaming at the guards that approached him, the arrogant eyes of the other celestial dragons flickering behind them. He remembered their laughter, their gasps of shock and horror. He remembered the first one to level him with a finger and order their guards to shoot.

There was no audience this time, not nearly one as large anyway. 

A few meters ahead were a group of guards huddled around one celestial dragon who was whispering to them harshly. Closer to the cliff itself, though several feet to the left of where they’d landed, a few guards stood stationed. He figured they must have been expecting them to arrive via the bondala. When they caught sight of Doflamingo, they jumped up in fright like little toy soldiers. 

He stifled an amused chuckle. He couldn’t help how that brought back memories of Dressrosa. 

Eventually, though, the guards recovered their cool and stood alert.

“Apologies, your eminence,” one of them barked out. “We weren’t sure how you were going to come back here.”

“Not that we doubted your abilities,” the other shot out quickly. 

“Of course not!”

Shamrock looked unperturbed. He waved them off with a flick of his fingers and marched toward the larger group. The circle of guards parted like he’d cut through them to reveal the furious form of the celestial dragon. The man was a bit taller than Shamrock, but he hunched over so he was closer in height. His course blond hair sprang up on his head into the signature arc. His hands wrestled with each other for control in an unsteady grip. He met Shamrock’s gaze with a shaky grin that didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Ah, I see you’ve arrived,” the man greeted. “Always a pleasure,” he said, though his face betrayed that it was not, in fact, a pleasure.

“Saint Sancho,” Shamrock said.

The celestial dragon laughed humourlessly back, like he was uncertain how to respond. Then his face lit up as his attention shifted to Doflamingo. “A-and of course, Saint Donquixote Doflamingo,” he said. His gums glinted up at Doflamingo, bared in the stiffly stretched grin across the man's face like strings had been tugged taught on both sides of his lip. “Welcome home.”

Doflamingo stared back blankly, unsure if he was supposed to answer this man. He liked the Saint in his title, of course, but something about the way the man said it made him want to claw the words out of his mouth.

“I assume you are not just here for the idle conversation?” Shamrock asked.

Sancho coughed. “Ahem. Uh- no. I uh-came to deliver a message,” he stuttered out. He unfurled his hands to reveal a pristine letter envelope with the letters ‘DQ’ written in bold, golden ink. Floral patterns stretched across the surface of the paper and caught in the sunlight. “To uh- him, actually.” Sancho fiddled with it in his grasp as he peered at Doflamingo’s glasses.

“For what purpose?” Doflamingo asked. 

“Well… uh- you see- the Donquixote family is planning a dinner in a few days. Seeing as you’re one of us- uh- we’ve elected to invite you.”

Doflamingo couldn’t help the way he stiffened. He wanted to snap at him for calling them the Donquixote family, even if that was technically what they were. He might have retroactively given his crew the name, but to him, it would always be the real version. “I take it you’re Donquixote Sancho?”

“Uh- yes, indeed.” The envelope hung in the air between them as they stared each other down. Well, Sancho wasn’t really staring him down, more like darting his eyes around nervously to where he assumed his pupils would be. Doflamingo tried to rack his brain to think of any recollection he had of the man before him. If not from when he was still in Marie Geoise, then maybe when he returned. Was Sancho one of the leering celestial dragons who spat at him to ‘get lost?’ Or maybe part of the crowd that goaded on the guards as they trained their guns on him?

He couldn’t remember. 

Maybe Sancho was too young to have been there. He looked like he could be Doflamingo’s age, older perhaps, but then again, there were many celestial dragons who looked far beyond their years on account of all the inbreeding. 

Doflamingo snatched the letter from the man before him and returned a grin that was all teeth. “My thanks,” he purred. The celestial dragon before him tensed, as if expecting to be attacked, and shuffled back out of reach. He supposed he should expect some of them to be afraid of him after living most his life as a pirate, but this was just pathetic. Surely there was a Donquixote with some fire in their blood?

When he seemed to determine Doflamingo was not planning an attack, Sancho let out a wheeze and rubbed his head. “Can we uh- look forward to your…presence?” he asked meekly. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Doflamingo caught Shamrock’s scrutinising gaze. “If my schedule allows it,” Doflamingo answered, “then I will be there.”

Sancho’s head bobbed up and down like one of those toys and once again, Doflamingo couldn’t help but think of Dressrosa. “Wonderful, we uh- hope to see you there,” Sancho said. “A-and again, welcome back,” he choked out. Apparently, in the time to took to hold their conversation, the man had expended all his energy. Or perhaps his courage.

 Sancho spun around rapidly, and the circle of guards closed in once more as they trailed along after him. Doflamingo watched the figure go, face wrinkled in displeasure. What were they thinking, inviting him to some ridiculous diner after abandoning his family in their time of need? At least Shamrock and the God’s Knights had some kind of plan for him. Where the hell had the rest of the celestial dragons' sudden change of heart come from? He thought.

“You’re schedule will permit it,” Shamrock said eventually. “We will make one more stop now, then you can retire to the chambers we’ve set out for you. The next few days are yours to do as you please before any more missions are assigned.”

Doflamingo examined the letter in his hand. “How lovely,” he said.

“Of course, you could choose not to attend,” Shamrock added. His face was relaxed, and dare he say, amused. Not for the first time, Doflamingo felt truly disconnected from what was going on. 

He hated it. 

Information had been one of his many weapons. Secrets from both his time as a celestial dragon and an underground broker had proven to be priceless. Whatever was going on here was a joke to Shamrock, one that he knew but Doflamingo did not. He doubted Shamrock would fill him in even if he asked. The one mercy was that at least he didn’t seem to be insinuating Doflamingo was obliged to attend. 

“You mentioned we have one more stop,” Doflamingo reminded him.

Shamrock nodded. “I don’t expect you would have ever been there before, at least not more than once.” That piqued Doflamingo’s interest.

“Am I being granted an audience with the Gorosei? So soon?”

Doflamingo waited for a frown or a harsh remark. Instead, Shamrock tilted his head curiously. “Not quite. The being you’ll be meeting is higher than even that.” 

Oh , Doflamingo thought. There was only one person that they could be visiting, he realised. With a sudden flurry of anticipation, he followed Shamrock as they stalked along the stone pathway to Pangea Castle. There was no doubt in his mind, their next stop was the empty throne.

Chapter Text

The journey to the throne room was made in silence. Each hallway they swept past in pursuit of their goal spurred the dread rising inside Doflamingo’s mind like a steam. His mind conjured thousands of different possibilities, but inevitably settled on a memory. It seemed to have been doing that a lot lately.

He had only been there once before, as one of his father’s misguided attempts to introduce him to their history. His father had explained that long ago, their ancestors had been the royalty of a faraway country, that when the world was in danger, they banded together with other royalty to form the world government. He’d directed Doffy to the collection of swords scattered at the base of the throne like remnants of a gruesome battle. “So that we remember no one family rules above any other,” he’d said and gave his son that dopey smile of his. Doffy had loved that smile at one point. Or perhaps that was wishful thinking. The rottenness of the human world had spoiled everything related to that fool of a man. He’d learned it was best not to dwell on that particular aspect of his past.

Regardless, it hadn’t taken long for him to figure out that the lesson, along with so much else of his father’s frivolous ideas, had been a lie. 

The empty throne is a misnomer, he’d learned. He was probably the only one in his entire family who would ever be privy to that information, certainly now that he was all that was left. 

He wondered briefly how much Rocinante had gotten to learn about the truth of the organisation he’d sworn to serve, whether he’d still betray his brother if he’d known about Imu. 

Doflamingo frowned.

Ridiculous, he thought to himself. Of course, he would have. He’d stolen from the marines that day too, jeopardised his entire mission, all for one sick child. He betrayed you, his own flesh and blood. He forced you to kill him. It didn’t matter the amount of blood on the hands of the world government; Roci would never have chosen him. And look where that got him, hm? Now you’re a god again, and he’s rotting on some faraway island. 

He pushed the thoughts aside into the vault inside his mind, where he kept them locked up. His brother had been dead for thirteen years now, his father even longer; he shouldn’t even be thinking of them. 

So why was he?

The whisper in his mind did not answer.

Fortunately, he was soon confronted with a bigger problem that quickly overshadowed any inner turmoil about his loathsome family. For at long last, the onslaught of hallways and corridors had halted. Shamrock approached the final set of doors, pausing just outside. They were massive, hulking things. Distantly, Doflamingo wondered why they’d ever been designed to be that big. 

The two guards who’d been waiting for them by the cliff materialised from some hidden passageway. The trepidation he felt was not dissuaded by their ridiculous appearance and walk. If anything, it unsettled him. The two guards clad in tin each pushed open a different door, echoing their muffled grunts in the quiet hallway. The doors groaned against the floor and then finally came to a stop. 

The open door waited for them in all its glory. It was time.

Shamrock stalked ahead into the room, and Doflamingo knew he had no choice but to follow. There was no turning back now.

He took a deep breath, silently praying it would not be the last chance for him to do so. Doflamingo was not one to fear others; he was meant to be feared. But he couldn’t deny that there were individuals who terrified him, and the being just behind those doors was one of them. 

With a careful step, he crossed the threshold of the familiar into the chamber that would determine his fate. Almost immediately, a subtle shift in the air caught his breath, like the ghost of something breathing against his skin. A primal terror had gripped him in its sharp claws, refusing to release him. He wasn’t sure if it was his haki, but some part of him begged him to turn tail and flee. 

If he were quick, he could make it past the guards. He could escape the castle, this city. He could fly away on a sky path and never come here again. 

But he couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

He banished the thought with disgust. He was a conqueror, not a coward. He was not his father. He would not beg, he would not cry, and he would not run.  He suppressed the urge to shiver and tremble in terror, straightening his spine and marching forward.

It was a large room. It had to be, seeing as it was the supposed centre of the world. 

The light just above the throne was the only one of its kind in the room. Its dim glow outlined his target, but little else. Shadows bathed the rest of the pathway, obscuring anything behind the tall stone pillars. He doubted there was anybody hiding in the darkness, but the uncertainty would not dissipate. His steps echoed, barely cushioned by the scarlet carpeting that ran through the centre of the chamber up to the throne itself. 

Shamrock waited at its base, expression unreadable as always. Doflamingo met him there and waited. Usually, Shamrock might comment on the area or announce their next plan. He did not. Doflamingo was about to open his mouth himself to try and break the tension when someone else beat him to it.

“Donquixote Doflamingo. ” It was not a question or a greeting, but a statement of fact, as if the very words themselves commanded him into existence. “ Mu hath been expecting you.” Doflamingo scanned the room with his eyes, obscured behind his glasses. He didn’t turn his head, refused to give whomever it was the satisfaction. The voice was neither male nor female, at least not from what Doflamingo could identify. Instead, it seemed to oscillate between pitches like the sounds of many speakers mangled together, a distorted echo trailing behind every word. It was unnatural, that much he could ascertain.

The shadows dotting the corner of his vision converged into a silhouetted shape of a figure cloaked in both robes and darkness. Their head raised into the pronged form of a crown. But that wasn’t what drew his attention. 

God. Its eyes, he thought with unrestrained horror. Swirls of scarlet pierced through the darkness towards him. He wanted nothing more than to look away, but something compelled him not to. He had never been more grateful for his glasses than in that moment.

The figure ascended the stairs with a confidence that only came with ruling the world for eight hundred years, body merging with robes.

 Or was that its body itself? He couldn’t tell. 

It was not an abhorrent sight. While the melding of clothes and body bore mind to Trebol, its fluid movements was nothing like the sluggish gait of his former executive, who oozed through the world like a slug. No, its shape was refined and imposing.

After a minute of baited breath, the silhouette sat, at last, on the throne. Beside him, he was vaguely aware of Shamrock dropping to his knees in a bow.

“Oh great one, you grace us with your presence,” the leader of the God’s knights said. “I have acquired the prisoner as you requested, and he has agreed to our terms.”

“Thou hast performed thy task most commendably.” It drummed its dark fingers against the armrest of the throne. “Now ‘tis for the exile to demonstrate his merit.”

“Of course, my lord,” Shamrock said. He beckoned Doflamingo forward with a subtle tilt of his head. Now at the centre of the being’s attention, Doflamingo felt the full force of its presence boring down on him as it scrutinised him with its piercing stare, inspecting him like a mildly interesting prospect.

“Nerona Imu,” Doflamingo said, testingly, “I don’t believe we’ve met in person.”

“And yet thou art acquainted with mine essence.”

“I came across your existence by accident during my escape from Marie Geoise. It was certainly a revelation"

“Give heed, you wayward Donquixote, the God’s Knights are paramount to the success of our noble order; it is not for any mere soul to join their ranks. And thou hast been a pest,” it stated. “T’ is a fact of life that gods shan’t mingle with filthy commoners, shan’t turn their back on the very creators of the world…” Its voice teetered on the edge of a snarl. “Shan’t defy their  role by stealing the celestial tribute.” Doflamingo wanted to laugh; he wanted to scream. He hadn’t chosen to ‘mingle with commoners,’ he’d been forced to against his will. The celestial dragons were the ones who turned him away when he tried to correct that mistake. But he had the sense and the fear not to snap back at the ruler of the world.  

“And yet thou hast constructed a crew of insignificant worms.” He had no choice in the matter, Doflamingo thought. It wasn’t like there were any other celestial dragons who would join a pirate crew. Not loyal ones, at least. “Though hast thought himself a puppeteer, a mastermind who bends the world to his will.” Ah. He didn’t suppose he could argue that imitation was the highest form of flattery.

“That was a grave error. Make no mistake, there is only one who rules this world, and thou art not him.” A pause. The piercing eyes didn’t so much as soften as they did dim. “But Mu is a merciful god,” it continued. “Visions of the new era hast shown Mu new possibilities. Thou still has a chance at redemption. A way back in the holy land. To accept this offer, it is not enough to have this audience. Thou must also surrender fully and wholeheartedly to the control of the Abyss”

He didn’t notice Shamrock’s intense look; instead, Doflamingo gaped. 

“Thou may speak.”

He wondered if the being had some kind of devil fruit ability that stole his voice, if that was even a kind of devil fruit that existed. But he could still hear his breath. With shame, he realised it was fear that rendered him at a loss for words.

“Doth thou have nothing to say?”

“You are truly a noble lord,” Shamrock said. “Your offer is simply so generous that Doflamingo cannot find it in himself to answer, isn’t that right?” From where his companion still knelt, Doflamingo finally caught an eye from under loose red curls. 

Surrender was not in his nature; this Doflamingo knew. But there had been a time when that had not mattered, hadn’t there? He had been a celestial dragon serving under Imu, even if he had not known at the time. And hadn’t he bit his tongue to supply Kaido with the army of devil fruit users he’d demanded? It had been an acceptable loss, a calculated relinquishment of control on a path to more power and destruction. Kaido, whom he had found out recently, was not as insurmountable as he’d once thought. But this was no mere emperor; this was a being who had been around for hundreds of years. A being who, more than likely, had the power of immortality bestowed on them by the ope ope fruit.

But that also meant there was no choice. The weak do not get to choose how they die; that is what he had learned. No matter what choice he made, Imu was going to maintain its iron fist on the world. The question was not whether or not to argue, but rather, whether or not he’d get to be part of that.

He was, above all, a survivor. That is what he’d told the mob on that fateful day, when he’d unlocked his haki. He would not die. He would get his revenge. What better way to do that than to aid in the destruction of the world?

He dropped to his knees. 

Though his face felt the hot itch of mortification and his boiling rage simmered, it ultimately cooled against the frosty wind of his fear. He tried to quiet the memory of Trebol’s words. “You have the deposition of a king, Doffy, you were born to rule this world.” 

He had no choice.

There’s always a choice.

Not for me, he thought. Never for me.

“My father was a foolish man,” Doflamingo said at last, head bowed low. He tried his best to emulate the way Vergo had often behaved; that man had always known how to pledge himself. He tried to forget the reminder that Vergo, too, was dead now. “Though he condemned me to the lower realm, I have always known my true place was above. Believe me when I say I wanted nothing more than to rejoin my people, but I was denied. You generously offer me a chance to reclaim that place, and I humbly accept,” he swallowed. “And I swear my allegiance to you in spirit, mind, and body.”

He peered above the rim of his glasses to make out any reaction. Its body was too shrouded in darkness to make out a grin or a smile, but something about it seemed pleased.

“And will thou sever all bonds to the mortal realm once more?” 

Doflamingo scoffed. “Believe me, I’ve already done so.”

It seemed to consider that, mulling over his words in its mind. Apparently satisfied, it continued. “Thou is surely cognizant that this age hath a fleeting span?”

“The water levels rising?” he asked. “I figured. I had my hands in all sorts of pies as an underworld broker.”

“T’is more than mere trifles. The filth that dwells below shall soon be erased,” it tutted. “An era of great cleansing shall begin.”

He’d already made peace with the fact that he’d never see his crew, his family, again when they left. Was it worse if they were truly gone? Perhaps it was better this way. 

Doflamingo grinned. “I look forward to it.”

Excellent,” Imu hissed. Then it rose to its feet, one hand dropping into its amorphous body to pull out some kind of book. “At your feet, my knight, and thou shalt be granted the ability to travel through the abyss.”

Doflamingo obliged. 

For a second, he was confused as to what he should do. 

Then a sudden blinding agony tore through his arm, hotter than any flames or arrows he’d been sliced with. He glanced down, heart pounding. Solid darkness split his skin, carving under the flesh an ornamented marking that exhumed something wicked. There was no blood, no damage that could signal its destruction, but he knew with an abrupt clarity that his arm was gone nonetheless. 

He grasped at the wound, but recoiled in horror when the darkness of the mark radiated through the gaps in his fingers. It was as if it was made of pure darkness, sucking any light around it into a cosmic void. He looked back at Imu, breath coming out uneven and hard. 

He could swear he could make out the hint of a smile on its face, eyes curled into crescents. The book pulsed with life in its hands, breathing in tune with the mark on his arm.

He had the impression that the mark carried more than just a branding. He could feel a subtle touch in his mind, like fingers grazing over his skull. If it had been able to unsettle him before, now it seemed to have a physical hold. What had it done?

“Congratulations, thou art a god once more. Do not disappoint,” it stated, hands clasped together. “Go forth, Saint Doflamingo, bring victory upon us.” Then its body once again fused with the shadows of the room and was spirited away to he knew not where.

And with that, they were waved out. 

Shamrock took the lead, latching onto the undamaged arm and practically dragging him out of the room. Doflamingo tried to focus on walking, but the pain was unlike anything he’d experienced. It would be better if his arm had been sawed straight off, he suspected, at least then the pulsing burn would no longer gnaw at him. At least his disorientation didn’t seem to irritate Shamrock, who, by all accounts, seemed like he’d expected this reaction. Perhaps it was just a side effect of whatever magic was used. 

His mind was a blur for the next several minutes it took to flounder through the castle archways. By the time they reached a separate building entirely that seemed untouched, he figured it had been even longer. He couldn’t focus on the journey, though, distracted by the persistent sense of sickness on his body and mind.

He felt himself led to a master bedroom before being nudged. “This will be your mansion from now on. We’ve prepared some slaves for you already, but you may discard them to purchase more if you like,” Shamrock explained. He hesitated, noting the weary lines of tension on Doflamingo’s face. “A bath will help get your body readjusted, it’s always difficult to first get exposed to that kind of magic,” he added. “I’ll have some servants prepare a change of clothes for when you emerge.”

“What’s happened to me?” Doflamingo breathed.

Shamrock seemed taken aback for a moment, finally, though Doflamingo was in no state to saver it. “You’ve been granted insurmountable power, through our lord. In time, you will come to appreciate it.” 

Doflamingo simply nodded back, unable to come up with anything else to say even as Shamrock turned and marched out the door. 

He decided he might as well take the advice and run a shower. His bathroom was somehow larger than the palace one in Dressrosa, sprinkled with fine marble coating. He stepped into the large tub and let out a sigh of pleasure as he submerged himself in the warm embrace of its water. Steam rose around him, dusting the large vanity mirror they had provided him. He took the time to glance at his arm, which looked almost normal save for the dark symbol coating his upper shoulder. He couldn’t help but wrinkle his face in disgust. Why did it have to look so much like a brand? 

Brands were for slaves, not gods. So why did it feel like he’d just been branded with a sign of ownership? He sank down deeper until the water reached his ears. 

Just as Shamrock had promised, he’d found clothes folded neatly on his bed. There had been a time when he’d had a slave for practically everything. They would bathe him, dress him, and clean him. One of the few mercies of the lower realm was that he could care for himself without depending on someone that much. He knew many grown celestial dragons never made it that far, but at least it seems like the God’s Knights were more independent. 

He could not say the same for their style of dress. It was not the same ugly outfit as the rest of the world nobles, but it was still quite restrictive. It privileged class over comfort, and even more so, it concealed practically all of his skin. He considered ripping the shirt open and going out like that, but he didn’t have the same confidence in being able to get away with that. Besides, Dressrosa was a notoriously hot summer island; surely he could manage dressing slightly more conservatively?

As it turns out, he could not.

The clothes felt alien on his body. It had been so long since he’d worn this kind of fabric, these designs. The lack of colour was one thing, but the stuffiness was just unbearable. How had he once mourned the loss of these outfits?

The whispering of the wind howled outside the window on his balcony. He approached the railing, stepping carefully not to trip on the long garments. And wouldn’t that just be ironic? He was never the clumsy one.

The gardens sprawled out below him, carefully trimmed and blooming with majesty. Even the trees seemed to bow before the buildings around him, as if they knew of the nobility in the blood of those around him.

He stared hollowly at the land for what must have been hours, lost in thought. His teeth clenched. This was what he’d always wanted, the power that was rightfully his had been restored. But he couldn’t shake off the hell of living in that wasteland below. The misery of the lower realm hadn’t vanished; somehow, he carried it with him. 

Had the celestial dragons been right? Had he been tainted by those lowly humans? Maybe it was like some kind of infection that he’d absorbed by living there too long, like amber lead. After enough contact, he could never go back.

He shuffled back inside, ignoring the loud slam of the window behind him.

He had everything that had been taken from him. Everything that should have made him happy. So why did he feel nothing? No sense of accomplishment, of relief. No stirring of nostalgia. That deep ache in his chest remained, formed when he was eight and burgeoned with every year he spent running for his life. Perhaps it had consumed him fully, and now all that was left in him was a gaping wound that could never be filled. 

What had changed? What had satisfied him all those years ago. What was missing? 

He stared numbly at the mirror. For a moment, he was no longer looking at his reflection but at the face of another.

“Why?” he asked. The ghost blinked back. “It’s the same.” He was greeted with silence. Then it was gone, and his own eyes looked back at him. 

Ah.

 “But it's not the same, is it?” 

He slumped against the bed, a humourless chuckle erupting from inside him. His grin felt tight.

No, it wasn’t the same.

A single bird chirped outside the window.

This time he was alone.

Chapter Text

The waves thundered against Law’s side as Bepo ploughed through the water. His back slammed down over and over and over again. 

His eyes drifted open and closed as he felt the tendrils of unconsciousness seep into his vision. 

He couldn’t think, couldn’t talk.

His crew was back there in Teach’s clutches. His submarine was smashed to smithereens, sinking down into the murky depths of the shoreline. 

He thought of the blotch of red hair and dark glasses as they disappeared under the rippling current. He thought of the constant companion in the form of a man with a black and white hat, eyes obscured.

Sachi. Penguin.

Two of his first true friends. The two who were there when he’d first formed the Heart Pirates. They were his nakama, and now they were gone.

Jean Bart, Ikkaky, Uni, Clione, Hakugan. 

Gone like Cora. Gone like his parents. Gone like Flevance. Everyone in his life that he cared about was gone, gone, gone.

He tried to gasp out an order to Bepo. The others , he tried to say, we can’t leave the others . He wanted to plead with the mink to head back, but a surge of water gushed into his open mouth. Law gasped out. 

He could only blearily make out the movement of the water around him. His vision was ravaged by darkness.

No…

His body ached when he was able to open his eyes again, still pressed against the wet fur of Bepo’s back. The outline of Winner Island was gone, and with it any traces of the Blackbeard Pirates and his own crew.

He tried to shift his head to look around. The water around him was all the movement he could make out, for whatever reason, Bepo was not swimming. 

And that’s when he noticed the soft splashes of waves lapping at the base of a shore. And a little further off, the rocking sound of the hull of a ship crashing against the ocean current. 

Ah.

Bepo shifted them around so Law was cradled in his arms. He could feel himself clutching onto the wet fur of his friend. Harsh pants ruffled the hair around his ears.

“Bepo,” he rasped.

“Captain?” Bepo asked, shakily.

“You’re tired. We need to stop.”

He craned his neck to try and make out his friend's expression. His heart sank when his eyes locked with the pale face of terror. “What’s wrong?” he breathed. Bepo was silent, fixated on the ship crashing towards them. Law tightened his grip on Bepo. “Bepo, what’s wrong?” 

Bepo met his gaze, then a grim determination settled across his features. He leapt into action, hurtling them both at a breakneck pace through the water. Law felt his vision blur.

Why are we still running? He thought.

Land met his back. He felt himself dragged against the sandy shore and onto the beach. The sand was salvation against his cheeks. The salty seawater mingled with his own snot and tears.

He dragged himself onto his stomach to puke out seawater, coughing and gagging on the salty stench. His wounds stung against the bare surface of the ground. “Who is that?”

“Captain, come on,” Bepo hissed, harsher than he probably meant to. Law struggled to his feet and turned around. The ship was gaining on them, a bold flag boasting a giant ‘M’ flapping in the wind. Shit , no wonder Bepo had panicked. And it looked like the ship had spotted them, too.

Large paws fastened against his arm and dragged him forward into the cover of a lush forest. Abandoned or not, they had to hide on this island.

The wind whistled against his ears. His heart raced.

“I had to save you,” Bepo said. “Sorry.” Bepo was always apologising, but this time it didn’t sound like he meant it.

Law laughed weakly. He kept running, even as his legs screamed for a break. “Of course you did,” he rasped. Like an old scar had been carved open, he felt that familiar pang of resentment and despair. The pain of abandonment by people who never meant to leave, all over again, like a cyclical dance at the centre of his existence.

Bepo and everyone else in Law’s life were always making sure he lived. But what for? The burden of surviving when everyone else around him was eradicated? He’d finally been freed from the curse of thirteen years ago, had finally had a chance to live his life how he felt it. Look how that had turned out.

“We have to lose them somehow,” he said instead. 

The two of them leapt over a fallen log, and Law risked a glance back at the bay. The ship had stopped, but he could make out a shape soaring through the air above them. 

What the hell?

“Under there!” he beckoned to a thicket of brush that covered the sky above them. He slid under some leaves, wincing as the movement caused a loud crackle. Bepo lodged his way in beside them as they waited with bated breath. Bepo shifted closer next to him and Law unconsciously reached out to keep him there. 

His heart beat the familiar tune

not him too

Please

 not again.

Law bit his lip, scanning the sky. He saw movement again, just one person. His throat went dry. A tanned-skinned man with pine-green hair hovered several hundred feet in the sky, his legs extended down into gnarled knots of wood and roots. The dark glasses shielded his gaze, but Law didn’t need to see the man’s eyes to know they’d been spotted. 

Of course, they had. He hadn’t been present, but Straw Hat had told him about the events after the battle of Onigashima. How a Marine Admiral had flown all the way to Wano in pursuit of their head and bounty, had only been beaten back by some strange Haki miles away. 

Admiral Ryukugu was a force to be reckoned with.

The power of the Woods-Woods fruit ensnared them in its grip. Vines clutched at Law’s skin, digging into his tattoos like wires.

“Captain!” Bepo gasped out. 

Law felt himself snatched out of the forest and into the air, dangling above his friend. He was faced with the sluggish grin of the admiral.

“Surgeon of Death,” Admiral Ryokugu said. “I had heard you had an encounter with Emperor Blackbeard, but imagine my surprise when I saw you swimming by my ship.”

“Bepo, Run!” Law cried. Bepo shook his head, feet rooted to the spot.

“I won’t abandon you, Captain!” he snarled back. Vines whipped around him, drawing blood, but the mink stood his ground. Law gritted his teeth in frustration.

“That's an order,” he snapped.

“How noble of you to try and save your friend, but I’m afraid on this island I can feel every bit of movement,” the admiral sneered. As if to prove his point, the trees blossomed from the ground to gargantuan size, hooking Bepo in their grasp. The roots wrapped around Law relinquished their hold, and he fell into the branches alongside his friend. “It’s impossible for you to escape me now.” 

Law edged up in front of Bepo, teeth bared.

“What is a marine admiral doing out here? What do you want?” he snarled.

Ryukugu met the snarl with a grin of his own that had just as many teeth behind it. “I’m simply making an escort to Impel Down, but don’t worry, you two won’t make it that far. I have to stop by Marie Geoise, and I heard they are in desperate need of some new slaves. You two would make a fine addition to their collection, don’t you think?”

Law lunged forward, but before he could so much as scratch the man in front, he was struck by a stabbing pain in his back. He coughed out a yelp of pain. He didn’t need to activate his room to realise he’d been struck with a toxin. As his view faded once more, he felt the vines close around him and Bepo, shrouding them in darkness. 

Another cage.

Why ? He thought. Cora, you said I would be free.

He woke with a start, shooting up from his bed as the remnants of the nightmare were only just drifting from his mind. His heart thundered in his chest, blood roaring through his ears. He could feel the silk sheets cling to his sweaty skin. His fists at his side had locked onto the duvet in an iron grip that he had to concentrate on unclasping.

He reached out for a bottle of wine that wasn’t there, his hands grazing the empty air. 

That was odd. 

He blinked away any traces of moisture in his eye and scanned his room. The bedside table lay empty, no bottle in sight. He went to rub his eyes and realised with a tinge of shame that he’d fallen asleep with his glasses still on. They hung crookedly across his face. 

As confusion rose to panic, he took in his surroundings. He lay in a grand bed with soft cushions scattered around him. The room was large with a massive ceiling overhead and a grand chandelier dangling from it, glistening with the colours of jewels. He spotted a wardrobe that he suspected ran deep into the wall and was adorned with fanciful carvings, and adjacent to that was a long velvet couch. Hell, there was even a large fireplace some feet away underneath a large painting of a beautiful woman. He was not in his room in the Dressrosian palace, that much was for sure. 

Wait. 

Of course, he wasn’t. He hadn’t been for more than a few months now. But this wasn’t the hard floor of Impel Down either. No morning birds chirped outside his window in Impel Down. He never heard the shuffle of people moving out and about below. He didn’t feel the kiss of the sun on his skin as it leaked in through the window. 

He wasn’t at the bottom of the world, wasn’t in hell anymore, he realised. And his memories from the last day flooded back into him with a sudden force, like a wave crashing onto a sandy beach. 

He shifted onto his side as he examined his arm. It didn’t ache, that was good. The marking was still there, but it had lost some of its hungry glow, now just looking like it was made of ink. The paranoid feeling of Imu’s presence on his skin also remained, but felt diluted, more of an echo than a scream.

Part of him had hoped that his sorrow yesterday had been a fluke. Perhaps his joy at returning home at long last had been delayed rather than nonexistent. But it was a fleeting wish, snuffed out by the reality of the situation.

He wanted to break something. Normally, he had a bottle of wine on hand to chug down and toss aside. Maybe even some insignificant henchman to slice into bits for the crime of being in his presence. He supposed he could trash his room, but what would be the point of that?

He needed something familiar. Something to get his mind off of… everything. 

His salvation came in the quiet pururururu sound of a transponder snail. Upon investigation, he found it placed outside the entrance to his room. Had Shamrock come by this morning, or had he failed to notice its presence the other day? 

He picked up the small creature in one hand and examined its face. It looked to be a standard-issue mini transponder snail, presumably for portable use. As he answered the call, the snail made its standard ‘cah-lick’ noise. It was almost nostalgic. 

“I take it you’re finally awake?” came the muted voice of Shamrock. Of course, he should have suspected who would answer. How long had he been out, anyway?

“And here I thought I would get the luxury of sleeping in,” Doflamingo mused. “What is it now?”

“I’m afraid we don’t have any assignments for you at the moment, this is more of a formality check-in,” the response came. 

“I see,” Doflamingo huffed. “Well, I haven’t eaten in some time. I don’t suppose you could get the kitchen to cook up a lobster for me?”

He was met with a pause. 

Oh. That’s right. Though it was not public knowledge, he’d managed to glean information from Magellan a while back about the state of the food crisis in Marie Geoise. At the time, he’d found it rather amusing; those celestial dragons would get to feel an ounce of the hunger he’d felt as a child. Now, though, it was rather irritating.

“Never mind,” he said quickly. 

“We have some reserves for the high priority,” Shamrock said. “It isn’t anything luxurious, but it should sate your hunger for now.”

“That’s fine.”

The snail in his hands considered him. “That being said, there is a shipment of prisoners being brought into Marie Geoise with the help of Admiral Ryokugo,” Shamrock said through it. “I doubt the revolutionary army would attempt to sabotage their ride up the red line and risk killing them, so we should expect it to go smoothly.”

Prisoners? He didn’t dare hope any were being moved from Impel Down. “What kind of prisoners?”

“Quite a wide variety. With such panic in the Holy Land, it seems slaves are being executed at a much higher pace. A team of high-ranking Cipher Pol agents were tasked with rounding up replacements. Some will be pirates, I suspect, and others rebels or political prisoners. There might even be some Fishmen if they were lucky.”

“How fortunate.”

“As a member of the God’s Knight now, you get priority in picking out new slaves from the ensemble. I’d recommend attending in person, but you could always order an agent to go in your stead.”

“Ha,” he scoffed. “If they choose poorly, I’ll be stuck with some riff-raff.”

“Perhaps, but you would be well within your rights to punish them for that.”

He considered it. He could go back to sleep or explore more of this house. But this was a chance to gain something, whether that be a distraction or a personal chew toy. 

“I’ll take a look,” he said.

“Excellent,” Shamrock responded, and for once, the face on the snail actually did look pleased. “A servant will be there to escort you to the site momentarily.” And with that, the call ended.

Doflamingo examined his dress with disdain. He’d been careless the other day, choosing some soft, patterned robes to take to bed. No matter how comfortable they were, he didn’t think he could get away with wearing them outside. 

He swept back into his room and placed the snail onto the bedside table for safekeeping. Then, he swung open the doors to his large closet, which, as he predicted, was a walk-in. He cast his robes onto the stool at the centre and ruminated over his options. Shelves lined with an array of different clothes and accessories filled the room. Some hung on hooks, flayed out like animal carcasses at a butcher shop. A golden chandelier hung above him, lighting up the room with the candlelight inside.

 He chewed his lip in thought. Most of the clothes were probably too small for him, even the ones that seemed to be the largest size they’d have in stock. After a few minutes of rummaging, there was one outfit that he deemed serviceable enough. 

He ended up with a fine white linen shirt, tucked under a justaucorps. Intricate patterns weaved their way through the coat, made from expensive thread. Their edges were lined with golden buttons, also flaunting a small crest that took him a moment to recall as the symbol of the Donquixote Family. 

The original, that is. 

Three outstretched triangles touched at a circle in the centre; a pattern that always reminded him of a windmill. Small circles made to evoke sunflowers dotted the surroundings of the crest. 

His breeches were pretty plain by comparison, not sporting his usual zebra stripe patterns. The coat came with a jabot and cufflink set that itched against his neck. 

He inspected himself in the mirror with a scowl. The clothes were nice, nothing like the typical celestial dragon outfit with its obnoxious white ripples and gown. This one was refined. It was fit for any royalty.

But it wasn’t his style.

He would have to make do with that, he supposed. Maybe he could speak with Shamrock later about some imports of more exotic-looking clothing. At the very least, there was one thing he could do to spice up his appearance. He marched over to the couch where he’d tossed his coat last afternoon in a fit of exhaustion. It slung across his shoulders into place, and he could start to ignore the wrongness tugging at his chest. 

A few moments later, Doflamingo heard the scurry of footsteps. A short - well short in comparison to him anyway - man in a black suit with dark glasses approached him from the long corridor. 

Their eyes met, and the man bowed to the ground in an impressive display of speed. He’d missed this kind of power. The ability to make those around him bow. He’d found a substitute through fear, but it could never replace the sheer reverence that radiated off the servants of Marie Geoise. Down there in the mortal realm, nobody looked at him like he’d hung the stars in the sky or carved the red line into place. At least, no one outside his family. 

The family is gone now, he reminded himself, forget them. That is what he’d told Nerona Imu after all, what he needed to remember.

“Saint Doflamingo,” the man said, “are you ready to depart?” 

“I suppose so,” he answered. 

He moved forward to leave, but the man in the glasses coughed awkwardly. “Do you require a slave to transport you?”

“Of course not,” Doflamingo snapped. Did they really think he couldn’t walk himself? How helpless did they think he was? 

While perhaps he’d found himself sitting atop slaves as a child, it was never became he lacked the strength to carry himself anywhere. He recalled with pride how, among his peers, he was one of the few children who enjoyed walking to and fro the Holy Land. Oftentimes, he’d find his father strolling alongside him. It was, perhaps, the only thing of merit he ever saw in his father. “I’ll manage myself,” he hissed, ignoring the look of confoundment that jolted through the agent before him.

He bristled past the man and down the spiral staircase of his new mansion, only barely deciding not to jump out the window and fly down directly. His coat fluttered after him, leaving a trail of pink feathers. It wasn’t until he was outside in the golden sunlight that he realised he didn’t know where he was going.

Another rustle of noise from his mansion, and the man from earlier stumbled after him. “Apologies, your holiness,” he stammered, “I didn’t mean to offend you.” he waited till the man shuffled ahead of him. “Er… if you’d allow me to escort you?”

“Fine,” he hissed.

Ignoring the burn of shame, he trailed after the man and down the trimmed gardens of Marie Geoise. 

Even though it was quite late in the morning, a few celestial dragons were milling about. The few who did spot him paused in their movement and gawked unabashedly. Let them stare , he thought, they have no power over me now. But it was not the typical arrogance of the dragons that piqued his interest, but the curious glances from the slaves. Some were chained to castle walls or in the process of being dragged around by the chain latched onto their collars. He wondered if some of them recognised him from his time as a pirate. Most were civilians, who no doubt would have seen his bounty poster. Would it be odd to see a pirate in the Holy Land? Perhaps if that pirate was now a god themself. Maybe that was why he could detect a flicker of hope in their gazes. The fools. It was not lost on him that many were probably bought at the very auctions he owned, slaves he himself supplied to the Holy Land. If they saw a liberator in him, they would learn their mistake.

Chapter Text

The room they were taken to looked like an old theatre house. Its atmosphere seeped into the interior, dark and gloomy, and not helping the irritation from the seastone cuffs fastened on his wrist. Muffled voices expressed panic all around him as the shuffling of bodies flitted past his vision. He’d lost sight of Bepo when they’d taken him away to a separate section of the boat, and this new room betrayed no signs of his mink friend. 

There was a whole assortment of people - regular humans - members of the long-arm or long-leg tribe - a few pirates here and there, if the gruff faces and battered clothing were anything to go by. He even spotted a trace of fur, but his hope was squashed when he realised it was a dog mink, the only one that he could identify. 

Whatever this place or people were, they looked to be picked off from some random assortment of islands.

Ryokugu had mentioned something about being taken as slaves. At first, Law had assumed he was taunting them, resigning himself to spending the next few years in Impel Down. He’d dreaded which floor he might be placed in, all too familiar with some of the other guests currently residing there. But apparently the admiral had been truthful, because he knew the theatre he now resided in was on top of the red line. 

They were in Marie Geoise.

Three well-dressed men with dark glasses moved through the jumbling crowd with precision, herding them into different corners like they were sheep. In a way, they were. Law felt a familiar pit of dread in his stomach.

One of the people tripped in the commotion, tumbling onto the floor. He looked to be an older man, slender with cropped grey hair. The man clutched onto the floor, hacking and coughing. His face flashed red with exhaustion. The veins in his forehead pulsed in what was no doubt a headache. Law could guess the other symptoms: fatigue and a loss of appetite. He didn’t need to use his fruit to register the signs of Acute Altitude Sickness seeping across the man’s body. It could be dangerous if untreated, but it wasn’t generally fatal. It was to be expected, he thought, the red line was so much higher than most people had ever grown accustomed to.

“We don’t need anyone infecting the other prisoners; we’re already at a deficit,” one of the suited men said coldly to the one right in front of the prisoner.

Bang!

The gun gripped in the executioner's hand hovered from where he’d just fired a bullet through the sick man’s skull. The vomiting stopped, and in its place, a crimson pool of blood seeped onto the floor, surrounding the fresh corpse. 

Law felt sick.

It was too much. Too similar to Flevance. The world government had been the ones responsible after all; he shouldn’t expect anything less from the very perpetrators of the tragedy. 

But he could still hate them. 

“Prepare yourself for the presence of our God’s Knights,” another one of the suited men, who Law had determined to be a team of Cipher Pol Agents, announced to the crowded group of people. “These world nobles have been granted more power and authority than even the others among them. To be considered to be chosen as their slave is a high honour.”

A few of the prisoners looked at each other with confusion and fear. He could sympathise. The only instances of human trafficking that Law had witnessed had been at a distance and begrudgingly, excluding the incident at Sabaody at least, but he was still pretty certain this was unusual. 

“Kneel in their presence,” another one of the men hissed, “these are gods.”

There was no movement. The group of agents raised their guns at the people that they had slowly forced into rows along the wall. The first person under the line of fire gaped and flung themself to the floor. Like a ripple in water, all the other prisoners alongside them quickly followed suit, leaving Law to mimic the movement. If only he had access to his Devil Fruit, he could make an escape, but as it was, his best chance was to lie low. Even if these so-called God’s Knights recognised him and his Devil Fruit, they couldn’t know his whole history. Flevance, his secret name, the information he knew about the ancient weapon buried under Wano. He had to survive.

All too soon, the door at the front of the building was opened, and the blinding light from outside beamed along with it. From his place knelt beside a few shivering people, Law had to blink several times to adjust his eyes to the sudden shift, and even then, he found himself squinting.

A few figures stood at the entrance to the space, their figures cast in dark silhouettes from the backlight. A ring of light escaped from behind them, pooling around their heads like a halo. It reminded Law of the stained glass windows from the church back in Flevance. The saints and angels were often adorned with the symbol to denote their holiness. Of course, Law thought wryly, that was no doubt intentional. After all, the so-called gods of this world needed to make their entrance heavenly. 

The first to step inside was not a stranger. A flutter of hushed gasps rippled through the line of prisoners. The hair was longer and he had an extra arm, sure, but the face was undeniably that of Red Hair of the Four Emperors. 

“Behold the Commander of the God’s Knights, Saint Shamrock of House Figarland,” the agent announced.

Shamrock stalked into the room, his coat rippling behind him like a cape. The man scanned the selection of people before him, as if searching for something. His expression remained stiff and distant, but not angry. Perhaps that was good. 

Before Law could mull over what connection Red Hair must have with the celestial dragons, his thoughts were interrupted by another introduction. 

“Saint Sommers of House Shepard, the very same house of one of our five elder planets,” the agent said proudly. “He has mastered the abilities of the thorn-thorn fruit.”

Sommers was a tall man with a long pale curtain of hair blending into his boxed beard. Spiderwebs of wrinkles lined his face, betraying seniority. Despite that, there was nothing about him that struck Law as weary; if anything, he radiated an air of arrogant confidence. A single rose lay nestled on the right breast of his military coat, which in itself was adorned with numerous metals. Much to Law’s chagrin, his eyes were also shielded by small dark glasses, matching his uniform ensemble.  

Sommers smiled at the crowd before him like a tiger licking its lips before a hunt. Law was intimately familiar with that expression; he’d once been part of a crew of pirates that had been filled with that look. 

“Saint Killingham of House Rimoshifu, granted the mythical quirin zoan, he possesses all its abilities.”

Next was a man sporting dark spiky hair. His eyes were emphasised with dark eyeliner and long lashes that brought to mind some of the members of Eustass’s crew. He must have been several decades younger than his companion, but there didn’t seem to be any change in rank. Whatever this group used as a hierarchy, age didn’t factor into it.

“Saint Gloria of House Tudor.” Was that a hint of swooning Law detected? “She has conquered the abilities of the Colour Colour fruit.” A tall woman with piercing yellow eyes stepped forward, a long baton gripped in her hands. Sommers flashed her a lazy grin, along with some of the agents and even prisoners. It went on like that for a while, a bold proclamation from the agents followed by the grand reveal of the knights themselves.

There were five or so more supposed God’s knights that entered the room: two more women, each with their own peculiar appearances and three men. From what he could surmise, they seemed pretty typical as far as celestial dragon appearances went, that is, completely repulsive. One was slightly shorter than the rest, but looked to be wearing large platforms on his feet to try and give himself an edge. Another was a wide man with a protruding jaw filled with jagged teeth and a crisscross of scars across his face. One of the girls even seemed quite young, bizarrely not wearing any pants. He could faintly hear the echo of the musician of Straw Hat’s crew, with his assistance to seeing panties.

If any of the jovial chatter was true, there was supposed to be a new one arriving soon.

“Maybe he got lost,” Killingham offered to Shamrock.

“I suppose it’s been a while,” Sommers agreed.

It didn’t matter to Law if there was any more coming; they could all go to hell for all he cared. But it was something to note, he supposed, if it helped him in his chance at survival and eventually, at escape. As it was, he did his best to appear unassuming. Weak. Useless. What he could assume they did not want in a slave.

He had gotten stronger, but his sleep schedule and poor diet had left him with a less obvious figure than some of the other pirates in his generation. Perhaps he could pass himself off as sickly and avoid getting chosen at all. Then again, it might not be a good thing to be left here, who knew what they did with any ‘leftovers’. 

Sommers moved through the line and plucked a few women and crying children, herding them towards himself with what must have been his devil fruit powers. They wrapped around their targets and clutched at them, thorns biting into their skin. Law felt his own bruises from Ryukugu’s rough treatment ache. Killingham and the popular women were next, and he couldn’t find any pattern with the slaves they chose other than maybe how healthy the people looked. 

Just as Law was starting to feel a morsel of relief (and a bitter part of him wondered if also because), things had to turn sour for him as usual. A shadow cast over him. He darted his eyes to the source, followed by a lurch of dread that rattled in his chest when his face met that of the commander: Shamrock.

“So the admiral wasn’t lying,” the red-haired man said smoothly, “how convenient.” 

Before Law could respond, deft fingers snatched his face in their hands. “Trafalgar Law, your campaign of piracy is over at last.”

Shit shit shit. This man knew who he was, and not just that, seemed to have been expecting and looking for him. He tried to wrack his brain once again for what the God’s Knight could possibly want with him, and as usual, it always circled back to the dreaded power that had once saved his life. It wouldn’t be the first time some monster posing as a god demanded they make him immortal.

“Your face poses a lot of questions,” he managed to snap out. Shamrock narrowed his eyes.

“None which concern the likes of you.”

Fast as a viper, Shamrock moved his hands from their burning grip on Law’s face to the chain circling his neck and hands. A tug. In one simple move, Law was on his feet and swaying from the force. Then, he was dragged behind the man. Where the hell was he going now? 

“What have you found here, Commander?” Sommers asked hungrily. The old man had his hands fastened on several chains outstretched to a bouquet of shivering people. “That one’s one of the famous rookie pirates, eh?”

“The surgeon of death himself,” Shamrock answered. 

“I wouldn’t mind keeping that one,” Sommers said. Law shuddered. He couldn’t think of a single good thing that this old man would want with him, though some were definitely worse than others.

“We have another use for this one,” Shamrock said. The tension around his neck tightened as Shamrock pulled him closer to examine. “A useful fruit like his is too good to be wasted on such a filthy pirate.” The celestial dragon’s eyes tracked Law, narrowing in on him like a predator going in for the kill. “I doubt anyone here is that attached to the host, anyway.”

“Hmm,” Sommers agreed. “Suppose not.”

The panic returned in full force, no longer a soft, diluted pain. 

They were going to kill him. 

Of course they were, he thought to himself, what else did he expect? As soon as he’d found himself at Marie Geoise, he should have known.. 

The very treasure that Corazon had procured for him would also become the thing that sealed his fate. How ironic. He wanted to laugh, but the only sound that came out was a choked exhale.

A ruffle sounded at the door, but Law was too focused on the thundering sound of his pulse in his ears. Sommers turned from his intense staredown of Law to the commotion, even prompting Shamrock to flick his gaze as well. 

“Finally arrived,” Sommers chuckled aloud. 

“I don’t suppose you left any for me?” the voice echoed from the entrance.

Law felt his heart freeze over, calcified in the pit lodged in his ribcage. Though the people around him kept moving, they seemed to slip away into another world. He must be imagining it, surely.

(It’s Him.)

No. It can’t be, he reasoned.

(It has to be.)

How?

(RUNRUNRUNRUNRUN)

His thoughts chanted like a mantra inside his head. 

But he had said he was from Marie Geoise, maybe some of his family sounds similar. Hell, Red Haired Shanks seems to have harboured a twin brother here. Maybe.

(No.)

He slowly turned to the figure at the door. It was unmistakable. Though the outfit looked out of place on him, there was no denying that pink feathered coat and crimson glasses shielding his eyes. The cruel snarl of his lips struck a sharp chord in his memory. 

(It’s Him .)

Doflamingo almost didn’t recognise him without that stupid hat of his. The same one he’d worn since he was that 10-year-old child with the dead grey eyes. The same hat he wore 13 years later when he came back at last to destroy Doflamingo. Without it, the brat looked almost naked, like a fundamental part of him was missing. Or perhaps it was the haunted look in his eyes as he was shuffled forward, lips pursed together and fists clenched. Nothing hid his face from view anymore. 

But it was him. 

The very same boy who had escaped him all those years ago. The same man he’d torn the arm off and nearly caved the face into a puddle under his heel. The man who was supposed to be his right-hand man, but instead crumpled his empire as part of some pointless vengeance for his traitorous brother. 

Law .

Their eyes locked, and immediately, he knew that a similar thought process was racing through Law’s head. What the hell is he doing here? 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Doflamingo snapped on instinct, the words escaping his mouth just as he registered what they were. Shamrock raised an eyebrow at him questioningly. Doflamingo wasn't a prude when it came to swearing, but he'd lived long enough in Marie Geoise as a child to know it was frowned upon. He felt a bile of anger in his throat; he usually had a better grip on himself. “What I meant was rather, what is this?” he asked pointedly. 

The brat stiffened, scowling at him in confusion. 

“This filthy pirate doesn’t belong to anyone,” Shamrock huffed. “Not yet anyway. So we’ve decided to move his fruit to a more suitable host.” Behind Shamrock, Doflamingo saw another member of the God’s Knight - an older man whom he hadn’t bothered to learn the name of - mimic a slicing motion across his neck.

Another sudden rush of rage welled inside Doflamingo, this time hotter than the first. How dare he , a voice hissed in his ear. But he quieted the anger, compartmentalising it for later as he’d learned to do so often. There was nothing quite like a controlled burn.

“Is that so? We’ll i’m afraid I can’t allow that,” Doflamingo hissed. He only barely managed to conceal the muted fury behind a row of teeth. “He’s mine.”

“This… pirate?” Shamrock asked. His steely gaze remained fixed on Doflamingo, and for once, he had the peculiar feeling of judgment. 

“I was a pirate too,” Doflamingo reminded him. “And he was part of my crew. I believe you mentioned that, should I encounter any of my remaining stragglers, I would be well within my right to keep them.”

“I did.”

“You are a man of your word, are you not?”

“This isn’t just any subordinate; he is quite valuable to the world government. He would be worth more than ten slaves.”

“Fine by me, I only need the one.”

A flicker of something passed through Shamrock’s gaze. “And how can I be certain he really was one of yours? After all, he was one of the pirates who lead to your arrest, was he not?”

For a heartbeat, Doflamingo was uncertain. It was the truth, of course, but what proof did he have? Some old photos that had been lost back in Spider Miles? He doubted the brat was going to side with him in this disagreement. Then he felt the spark of an idea.

“He’s practically branded himself with my Jolly Roger,” Doflamingo said. 

The little traitor slapped his chained hands over his chest in what must have been a vain attempt at shielding it, but Shamrock tugged them aside with ease. His shirt was parted to show the dark ink painting his chest. While not identical, the resemblance was uncanny. Anyone would be a fool not to see the unmistakable grinning face of the Donquixote Pirates staring back at them.

The brat continued to stare at him intently, but made no comment. Good.

Doflamingo continued, “My four executives were Trebol, Diamante, and Pica. I was only missing one.”

“Corazon,” Shamrock offered. Doflamingo had to force himself not to flinch, only taking satisfaction in seeing the brat fail at the same task. “I suppose that’s why he named his crew the Heart pirates.”

“I thought it was because of his fancy heart-ripping powers,” Sommers cut in, brushing his fingers through his beard.

“That was after the fact,” Doflamingo said.

He stared down Shamrock for what felt like hours, both ignoring the voices and movement around them. He was pretty sure Sommers had lost interest and moved on, while some of the other God’s Knights had marched past them. At last, his opponent relented.

“Fine. You may keep him alive as your slave for the time being, but if he causes any trouble that might jeopardise our plans, he will be immediately executed,” Shamrock said. “Understood?”

“Of course.”

Sensing that his goodwill was rapidly depleting, Doflamingo wasted no time in seizing the reins of the chains for himself. 

“Leaving already?” Shamrock asked, testing. 

“As I said,” Doflamingo repeated, “I only need the one.” He tried to keep his gait to a calm walk as opposed to a hasty retreat, all too aware of the scrutinising gaze following after him. 

He liked Shamrock better when he was unbothered, but he supposed he should be grateful the man was at least expressing emotion. If only he could channel that into things other than micromanaging Doflamingo’s every move.

Doflamingo had almost forgotten about the shuffling form behind him, so intent on dragging them both back to his assigned mansion. He had in fact, gotten lost on the way to the theatre house, assistance from the servants be damned. It would not do him any good to run into any of the God’s Knights again on his way back in case they changed their mind about their decree.

Why did he bother anyway? He’d already tried to kill Law himself, and the brat had already proved to be a faithless traitor. But he’s mine , the voice hissed again, o nly I can make that decision . He ignored the curious notion that had started to take hold of him, which pondered whether or not he would even want to kill the brat at this point anyway. 

Speaking of which. All at once, the little resistance he’d felt up to this point ceased and his hands were tugged harshly back. The brat stood, feet planted a safe distance away from him with a hardened glare. 

“What?” he hissed.

The brat glared at him. “What the fuck was that?” he snapped. “You know damn well this mark is not for you.” 

Doflamingo met his glare with a grin. “What? Would you prefer to have been branded like cattle? Or gone with Shamrock to a trip to the execution yard?”

“Better than spending another second with you,” Law growled.

Doflamingo scoffed and began marching away. “Now really, is that necessary?” He left some slack in the chain, but after a brief pause, he heard the telltale signs of steps stalking after him. Heh. Poor thing really can’t help himself, can he?

“I don’t owe you anything, least of all kindness,” the brat sniffed. “Why bother helping me?”

“Maybe it was just a whim.” 

“Bullshit, you have some kind of plan.”

“And if I do?”

He was silent again, marching after the taller man. For a moment, Doflamingo thought the exchange was over. Then he heard a laugh.

“So what, you’re a celestial dragon again,” the brat scoffed. Doflamingo felt his eye twitch under his glasses.

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“What happened to wanting to destroy everything they held dear?”

What indeed. He didn’t dignify the brat with a response. “What next, gonna sit and stay if they promise to give you a treat? Gonna roll over?”

“Don’t presume to know something you know nothing about.”

“Really? Because you know what it looks like to me?” the brat hissed. “You let them fuck you over, and when they say they’re sorry and promise not to do it again, you come crawling back.”

“And I suppose I should be satisfied with spending the rest of my life rotting in that cell with the rest of the insects, being wiped out when the floods hit? Or follow your example and let them execute me like some common criminal.”

“At least I'm not the world government’s bitch,”

Doflamingo stopped his march, and Law, chained and trailing after him, almost collided right into his back. He barely had time to react before Doflamingo whipped around to face him, pink feathered buffeting out behind him.

 “You should watch your mouth, you ungrateful wretch,” Doflamingo breathed. He snapped his hands around the coat of the brat's jacket and dragged him forward till he was only inches away, forcing him to crane his neck upward to meet his gaze. The infuriating brat matched his stare unrelentingly, and for a tense moment, he considered slicing him in half. “The only thing you’re good for now is that fruit of yours, and I’m not about to let it fall into the hands of those dimwitted nobles. If you’re here, I can only imagine that your crew is dead, your allies are gone, and you have nothing and nobody. The only way you have even a sliver of making it out of this mess alive is by shutting up and doing exactly as I say. You don’t know this place, these people, but I do. I was one of them, and now that I am again, I can do whatever the fuck I want. And I'll be damned if I let some ignorant fool try and preach about integrity. ”

The brat was silent for a minute, staring straight through him. The only sound was their mangled breath and the occasional rustling of trees in the wind. Then at last, the brat spoke in a soft voice, quiet against the thundering of Doflamingo’s heart. “I'll never make you immortal,” he whispered, “you’re a fucking monster.”

Doflamingo turned away with a grimace. “You think that’s what I'm after still?”

The brat let out a sigh and hung his head. “Then what do you want?” he breathed, and there was a familiar aching sadness that clung to his words. “What are you looking for, Doflamingo?”

Doflamingo stared at him. He opened his mouth, then closed it. “Nothing you could understand.

Chapter Text

The dull ache subsided after what felt like hours, and Doffy rolled onto his side. There was only one spot where his skin had been broken, a small gash on his knees from being slammed into the rocks and dirt. The rest of him bore dark bruising from the repeated blows of the villagers. 

He tried to stifle angry tears that pricked at the corner of his eyes as he staggered to his feet. It had only been two slices of bread, nothing that would even have been missed. Just a year prior, Doffy had devoured an entire buffet filled with lobster. Now they’d been forced to settle for any scraps they could come across.

Beside him, a small shape crawled closer, equally battered. 

Roci .

He hobbled over to his brother, shaking him gently. They had better leave soon, he thought anxiously; it would do no good for them to get caught by another group. Especially once they realised the bread thieves were the same celestial dragon family they’d been hunting for the past few months.

 Roci didn’t budge, face buried in his knees.

“Roci, come on,” Doffy sighed. No response. Roci’s whole body trembled. It took a moment for Doffy to register the quiet sniffling as tears.

“Stop crying,” he hissed. “The villagers are gone now, we don’t want to alert them.” No matter how much he prodded, the shivering boy didn’t move. Doffy bit his lip, almost enough to draw blood. He couldn’t understand how they’d been reduced to this state. The boiling pit of rage ignited inside him, and he wished it would devour the man he called father, along with the entire cursed town he had stranded them in. 

Finally, he sighed and dragged Roci closer so his arms could engulf his brother. He pressed him to his chest, perhaps tighter than necessary, but he couldn’t help the flame of anger inside him. Anger at himself for letting them get caught, anger at his brother for needing him to protect him, anger at his father for tossing them into this hell to begin with. Anger at the world. 

“They didn’t find where we hid the bread,” Doffy said. “Let’s go dig it out and have some now, I’m hungry.”

Eventually, the soft shaking stopped, and he could make out the watery eyes of his brother from beneath blond curls. Roci sniffed. “I don’t even like bread,” he said softly. 

He found Roci the next day, still nursing the wounds on his back. Their hovel was empty, as usual, their bastard of a father missing. The empty bed in the centre served as an eternal reminder of their dead mother.

“Roci, you should eat something,” Doffy said. Roci unfurled himself from the assortment of blankets he’d swallowed in. Doffy held up the small can, a strained smile on his face. “I found some pickled plums, you like those, right?” Roci’s eyes widened as they fixed upon the tin. 

“How did you get that?” he asked.

“I managed to steal some from the market when nobody was looking,” Doffy explained. When he noticed the flash of guilt on his brother’s face, he added hastily, “There were plenty of others, I’m sure they won’t notice.” He didn’t tell him about the pain in his wrist from the shopkeeper who’d tried to grab him. He’d almost certainly sprained it while making his escape.

Roci tentatively took the can into his hands, eyeing his brother for approval. Doffy nodded. His own stomach churned in hunger, but he pushed it down as he saw Roci’s beam at him. His smile enveloped the cold shack they’d stumbled upon, warm like the sun. It was a small can, only enough for one person, but it didn’t matter. The pure joy that washed across Roci’s face as he swallowed the food was enough. 

Spider Miles was not a pleasant place. Its residents were mild-mannered at best. Mountains of garbage littered the island, reeking of decomposing waste. The numerous factories stationed around the port town let out plumes of smoke that fostered dark clouds in the sky, filling his lungs with the taste of despair. 

The first few days he’d arrived had been spent hacking his already exhausted body into a state of immobility. The discarded junk cluttered about had served as make-shift shelters, but they didn’t offer any refuge when it rained, nor did they ease the fog of anguish in his mind. 

It wasn’t a pleasant town, but it was still better than Flevance. Foul it may be, the stench of garbage waste had nothing on the putrid scent of disease and burning bodies. 

Spider Miles was a haven for things lost and discarded by the world, which is probably why it was the base for the Donquixote Family. 

After he’d first approached the pirates, it had been with the grim knowledge that it was his only chance for some purpose in his final years. He’d lost faith in all that he’d held dear up until that point.

Kindness.

Trust.

The very idea of a higher power. 

All of it had crumbled along with the hospital in a sea of flames, leaving only his anger.

When he’d stabbed Corazon, he’d figured that would be the end of it. He’d be killed by their captain for daring to touch his little brother, his name and existence erased forever. What he hadn’t expected was a place on the crew, and beyond that, the possibility of becoming the captain’s right hand. 

He still didn’t trust Doflamingo, or anyone for that matter, but the idea did offer an outlet for his rage at the world. Perhaps he could learn from this monster.

So it had been equally surprising to find himself placed at a table for a so-called ‘family dinner.’ The captain sat at the head, of course, his cronies placed haphazardly around him.  There was an assortment of different foods that the crew dug into, little regard for who ate what.

Law wrinkled his nose at the sight. His own plate had been loaded with an array of different junk food, most of it pelted on by the others around him. He’d never liked much of it, but now with the Amber Lead, his stomach groaned in pain. His appetite had been one of the first things to go. 

“Care to eat, Law?” Doflamingo asked through bared teeth, finger pointed accusingly at the pile of food still untouched on his plate. “You must be hungry after the ordeal you went through.” Through his tinted glasses, Law could make out his own malnourished reflection. He was a pitiful sight.

Law hesitated, flicking his gaze back and forth between the man and his food. He eyed his sandwich. “I…don’t like bread,” he said at last. From the corner of his eye, a few of the other crewmates paused to stare at him in shock.

The smile carved across Doflamingo’s face twisted into a scowl. 

“You’d better eat what you’re given,” he said darkly, “you never know when you’ll have to go hungry.” It was as much a threat as it was a statement, but said so seriously that for a moment, Law wondered if Doflamingo truly believed in what he was saying. Law’s stomach grumbled, as if in agreement.

“I’m not starving anymore, am I?” he pointed out, “I’m sure successful pirate crews like yours come across food all the time.” 

The man’s lips pulled into a thin, taut line. “I didn’t think you, of all people, would need to be reminded of how quickly things can change,” Doflamingo hissed, “how fast an entire city can be eradicated in less than a week?”

Law tensed, trying to ignore the burning in his cheeks and eyes. He refused to cry in front of them. He heard Buffalo snicker from around the turkey leg he’d stuffed into his jaw. 

“Ne ne ne, Doffy’s right,” Trebol drawled, “you can’t afford to be a picky brat if you want to be on our ship.” The slimy man slunk over to Law, peering down at him with strands of mucus slipping down his face. Law cringed back to prevent the mucus from dripping down onto his body. Behind small black glasses, dark eyes examined him.

“How did someone like you even manage to escape the White Town?” he heard Diamante sneer.

Before Law could snarl out a retort, he felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck. His gaze snapped back to Doflamingo just in time to see the man raising a hand at him, fingers contorted in a strange motion. Law felt his arms move on their own to lift the plate in his hands, hovering it over the table’s edge. If he dropped it now, it would shatter. “Finish your food,” Doflamingo ordered, voice chilled, “or you don’t eat anything.” Law’s mouth felt dry. He couldn’t control his body, like some invisible force had him in its grasp. He tried to breathe, but it came out in harsh gasps. What the hell was happening?

Another set of eyes was boring into him now, the dim-witted little brother of his new captain. Whatever Corazon thought of this, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he simply turned to his brother from where he’d been placed next to him, holding up a piece of paper. Doflamingo, momentarily distracted, relinquished his hold on Law, who let out a gasp of breath, feeling his lungs expand on their own again. His nerves were his once more.

Doflamingo examined the note, brow furrowed. He let out a hiss of air.

“Doffy? Doffy?” Trebol asked eagerly. “Aren’t you gonna teach him a lesson?” 

Law ignored him in favour of clutching at his shorts till his knuckles turned white. He glared at the pink-feathered man, now fully in control of himself again. Doflamingo did not glare back.

“What food do you like?”

Law blinked in shock. “What?”

“You said you don’t like bread? That rules out most of the food here,” Doflamingo explained curtly, as if he were speaking to a child. (Law hadn’t felt like a child for some time). “So what would you eat?”

Law paused, at a loss for words. Doflamingo didn’t seem angry anymore, if a little frustrated. Finally, Law managed to speak. “Onigiri,” he said quietly, “and grilled fish.” 

Corazon smiled.

Trebol looked startled, gazing back and forth between Law and his captain. “Doffy, what are you doing?”

Doflamingo didn’t acknowledge him. He let out a shallow sigh, pinching his brow. Then he turned to the woman who’d been doing her best to ignore the whole scene, too busy tearing into a colourful pasta. “Giolla,” Doflamingo said, causing her to jump and knock her knees against the table. “You said Dellinger caught some fish the other day. Is it still in stock?” His eyes did not leave Law.

“Ne ne ne, Doffy, what are you doing?” Trebol asked again, sliding away from Law now.

Giolla composed herself, brushing aside the spilt crumbs on her dress. “Yes, I believe so, Young Master.”

“Señor Pink, you’ve finished already,” Doflamingo said, turning to the finely dressed man. “Go grill up the fish for Law.”

“Of course, Young Master”, Señor Pink said as he slid his chair back and sat up gracefully. With a bow, he excused himself from the group and headed to the kitchen, where Law heard the unmistakable sound of the grill being turned on. 

He sank back into his chair. 

After some time, Pink returned with a freshly grilled salmon and set it down onto Law’s plate. Law looked down at it, breathlessly. The rest of the family, who had not been dismissed and apparently would not be until Law had finished eating, looked equally eager at the offering. 

Law hovered his hands over the food, trying to ignore the pang of hunger in his stomach and the way his mouth watered in anticipation. He looked over to Doflamingo for approval, still dumfounded at the turn of events. Doflamingo nodded at him. Law let out a sigh of relief and sank his teeth into the fish at last. Within a few minutes, he’d devoured the entire thing, even the skin, which he usually always passed off to Lami. Once he was done, he savoured the feeling of being full. 

It had been some time.

He only noticed Doflamingo’s intense gaze on him when he managed to open his eyes again, cooling down from the feeling of bliss. 

Law still hated the man, hated the world, but he was not stupid. “Thank you,” he said softly. Doflamingo said nothing.

As he shuffled away from the table with the rest of the crew, he heard Doflamingo turn to his brother. “You're right, Corazon,” the man said quietly, “you don’t let family starve.”

Law had expected to be tortured once they made it to the looming mansion at the foot of one of the celestial dragon neighbourhoods. Doflamingo might have needed him alive, but that didn’t mean he would come out unscathed. Especially not after he’d been partially responsible for his downfall in Dressrosa.

What he hadn’t been expecting was to be seated at one of the many tables in the house, chains wrapped around his chair to restrict his movement. Across from him, Doflamingo drummed his hand on the wooden counter. A few servants entered the room, carrying some food on their trays. They didn’t meet his eyes, nor did they attempt to look directly at Doflamingo. Instead, they simply placed the food in front of them and scurried back out the door. Law had the brief flash of a memory from years ago, being served grilled fish. 

A couple of slices of bread and a glass of wine had been provided to Doflamingo. Law tried to rack his brain to remember if that had ever been something Doflamingo enjoyed. He supposed so, after all, celestial dragons could get anything they wanted. Though the fact that the land seemed to be in some kind of crisis put that into question. 

He studied his own plate. Onigiri.

“Well, are you going to stare at it all day or eat?” Doflamingo snapped. Law glared at him, then back at his food.

“Why are you giving me food?” he asked. 

Doflamingo scoffed, swirling the cup of wine in his hand. “What good is a slave who starved to death?” was all he responded. Law surveyed the other man’s plate. “Besides, you don’t like bread.”

Chapter Text

Their meal was over in several minutes once the hunger pangs in Law’s gut outweighed the apprehension he felt. He managed to scarf down the Onigiri in a few bites, eyes darting back and forth between his plate and the monster seated across from him. Part of him had been paranoid that this was a sick prank, that he would be denied food as soon as he took his first bites. But to his cautious relief, that fear never blossomed into reality. Instead, he found himself left alone for the most part to enjoy the food.

It wasn’t much, but it still managed to subdue the knot of hunger in his stomach for the time being. He had gone without food for longer anyway.

Once he finished, the servants who had been hovering around the space anxiously skittered away from sight. His chest was still fastened to the chair, though his arms allowed limited movement on account of needing to use them for eating. Despite it, he still felt helpless.

His fruit was sealed away by the cold stone, ensnaring his wrists, and his neck was decorated by what he assumes to be an explosive collar.

He refused to meet the eyes of his loathsome companion. He stared at the table in front of him.

The wood must be mahogany, he thought. Then again, he’s never been one to study botany. His talent had come from understanding the biology of humans.

He wondered how many people bled to provide the wood to the top of the continent. With how cruelly the celestial dragons operated, it was probably hundreds. Cruelty for cruelty’s sake.

“So,” the other drawled, interrupting his swirling thoughts, “things have certainly heated up in the world.” Law forced himself not to flinch. He only briefly looked up to the source of the sound, not enough to determine if the sour expression he’d seen was directed at him.

“Seems that Straw Hat of yours went on to make some big waves. Big Mom and Kaido are no more, and now, of all people, their spaces are occupied by a clown and a fool.” The bastard paused, looking around as if expecting something to fill the silence. Nobody did.

“And apparently he was just with Vegapunk doing who knows what,” Doflamingo continued almost to himself. “And now Vegapunk is dead.”

The man had his face nestled into his right hand and occupied the other with ridiculous hand motions. A flick of the wrist here, a fist there. He cast an invisible ball into the air in an exasperated motion. “The world government must be seething. I’d expect Straw Hat’s bounty to go up again after this fiasco.”

The silence in the air was almost permeable with how unbearable it is. Doflamingo sighed.

“Really, you have nothing to say?” There was hint of disappointment in his tone that sends a prickle of nervousness down Law’s spine. “Your so-called friend is well on his way to becoming the biggest nuisance the world has ever seen, and all you can do is stare at nothing.” Once more, he was greeted with silence.

Doflaming scoffed and leaned back in his chair so it teetered dangerously close to falling. “You were so quick to jump to his defence before, practically risked your life for his honour, what changed?”

His lips quirked up almost immediately, smile bitingly sharp. “Fufufu, pirate alliances don’t tend to end amicably. Don’t tell me you parted on bad terms, is that it?” Law ground his teeth, looking away. Doflamingo must have taken that as confirmation because he let out a cackle. “Is that how you were captured? Sold out by your ally?”

Law didn’t bother correcting him on his obvious mistake. Normally, Doflamingo was so sharp when it came to these observations; it had been the hardest part about facing him in their battle at Greenbit. Perhaps he just had a blind spot when it came to things involving Luffy.
Law dug his fingers into his legs, trying to ground himself.

“It would explain how the little shit has managed to make his way so far after his little stunt in Wano, while the other two who had been involved have drifted off the radar. At least it’s obvious now what happened to one, anyway.” The chair clicked back into place as Doflamingo leaned forward. “And Straw Hat, I can’t imagine someone like him working with the navy,” Doflamingo mused, “though I suppose it’s always the ones you least expect.” There was a bitter edge to that comment that burrowed under Law’s skin like a needle. His nerves prickled. If his thoughts before had been mostly nonsensical ramblings, this was the first true sting.

“Well, anyway,” Doflamingo said, “you’re here alone, so your crew must be in,” he trailed off as his grin widened in amusement, “heh, well, shambles.” Law wrinkled his nose in disgust. His leg bounced anxiously, and he forced himself to be still.

The whole conversation felt like some kind of drawn-out performance, the goal of which Law couldn’t decipher. The other’s words coiled tightly, each barb another ring added to a serpent waiting to strike.

“A pity, I would have liked to meet them,” Doflamingo said smoothly. Another coil.

Then his face contorted from neutral to furious in a split second, “The heart pirates,” he spat out, “Would they still be called that after I’d plucked their beating hearts from their ribcages?” Law expected a shudder of horror and disgust to rise from deep beneath him, but instead, he feels numb. Any remnants of fear a comment like that would normally bring rang hollow. He couldn’t even bring himself to shiver. What good was a threat like that when they may very well be lost to the depths of the sea with his obliterated Polar Tank?

Another sigh from Doflamingo, this one more pronounced. “Though I suppose I should have expected as much,” Doflamingo said. He waveed his arms outward, unleashing more of the poison that dripped from his mouth. A serpent hissing its warning. “First it was your home, then it was my crew, and now it's your own.” The snake uncoiled. “It seems everything you involve yourself in ends in death and ruin. A pointless sacrifice,” and attacked, “just like my brother.”

Law's nails dug through his jeans into his skin, scarlet crescents in their wake “You don’t know anything,” Law spat out.

It was a broken sound.

Doflamingo’s smile just split wider until it nearly reached his eyes. “Oh? Is that so?”

“Straw Hat and I finished our business, that’s all,” he snapped back. “Once we parted ways from Wano, we each chose separate islands. It seems whatever route he chose was the correct one.”

Doflamingo retreated slightly, but the menace in his voice didn’t. He looked almost playful. “And what route did you happen upon?”

Law scowls. “Blackbeard.”

Doflamingo frowned disapprovingly, his hands stilling from their motion to drum at the table like they had during their meal. “I hear he’s quite the collector of devil fruits,” he said. “Strange man somehow managed to get two during the Summit War, I saw so myself.”

“He probably planned on taking mine, too,” Law scoffed. He was met with a scrutinising gaze, part curious and part unsettled.

“And?”

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I? He obviously didn’t get mine.”

“I wonder,” is all Doflamingo responds. Law furrowed his brow at the implication. Devil Fruits can’t simply be extracted from someone; they only transfer hosts after one dies. Though it was also true before Blackbeard that only one person could have one fruit, so he supposes Doflamingo’s suspicion was somewhat warranted. And then, what purpose would Law provide without his powers? If he were just a man, a skilled surgeon and pirate, but a man nonetheless, he doubted Doflamingo would be so insistent on keeping him around.

“Take these cuffs off and I’ll prove it to you,” Law hissed. He glared, lips set in a thin line. He could feel the crackling tension in the room. Conquerors haki, he suspected. He had none to combat it but his own hatred and will to stand firm. He wouldn’t relent. Refused to.

The man glared back, a subtle fury written across his features. Unlike his usual fire, which burned with an orange glow and scorched everything, this anger was cold and methodical. Testing and prodding but not destroying. Searching for something he could not name. Law could only meet the intensity with his own as he fixed his gaze on the man before him. The man who had once held his dreams and then later haunted his nightmares. And now, the man who held his future. Law had nothing, no crew or powers, not even his own freedom. And with a sickening anger, he realises that right now, Doflamingo had everything. Not just power from his devil fruit, but status, command. He has what he’d once dreamed of, or at least, almost everything.

There was a beat where Law wondered if this was it for him, as he stared into the mirrored lenses and saw his own face looking back. Perhaps Doflamingo really would kill him this time.

Law would die, and Doflamingo would realise he was wrong when the power moved to some nearby fruit. It wouldn’t matter then, though. He would pass it on to some servant or slave, force them to make him immortal. Then he really would get everything he dreamed of.

But that didn’t happen. The tension deflated, and Doflamingo looked away.

“Hmph, I suppose those seastone cuffs wouldn’t be nearly as effective if he’d managed to extract that power from you,” he said instead.

Law scrunched his eyes shut, tilting his head downwards so Doflamingo wouldn’t see the relief on his face.

It was a strange feeling to be glad to be alive. There had been a time when he had refined himself to death, welcomed it even. His only goal had been to destroy Doflamingo, even if it cost him his life. But ever since Dressrosa, and then later on Wano, he’d found himself with a new purpose. His crew may be dead, but Bepo wasn’t. Even if they were the only ones left, he had to figure out the meaning of his name. He wouldn’t die yet.

But that also meant he had to play along with his former captain, if only to survive long enough to get away. If he managed to kill him during his escape, that would just be a bonus.

The chair dragged across the floor as Doflamingo stood up. “I’ve grown tired of watching you sit there and mope,” the man sneered, fastening his coat further onto his back so that the pink feathers brushed against his chest. “Get up.”

Law glared at him and motioned with his head to the chains still keeping him to the chair. He exhaled a sharp gasp as strings sliced through the air and threaded through the loops of the chain, tugging on them just so in a way that loosened their grip on Law’s body.

Eventually, they fell away, and Law was left to stumble to his feet, grimly reminded of the metal encasing his neck.

Doflamingo turned sharply and set a brisk pace down one of the long corridors furthest from the table, leaving Law with his mouth agape. With no other direction, he shuffled after the other, trying to burn a hole through the mountain of feathers ahead of him with the fire in his eyes.

They crossed a few thresholds, each room bigger than the last and equally gaudy. It struck law how empty everything seemed, only the scurrying of servants as they hurried out of sight. Even though the palace in Dressrosa was probably around the same size, his brief time there hadn’t felt nearly this lonely. There had always been people hovering about, sipping on some alcohol or playing cards.

The family, he realised. Where were they?

Now that he noticed the discrepancy, it was all he could see. Last he’d seen of Baby 5, she’d joined the gladiator from Kano country, so there was no surprise there, but where was the lumbering shape of Buffalo as he stuffed food into his mouth?

Why wasn’t Giolla darting around one of the many empty rooms, easel in hand, as she prattered on about artistry, Dellinger trotting around behind her with sharp teeth in a grin?

Why weren’t Gladius and Pink crouched over a table as they spoke in hushed voices about some future shipment?

He half expected the small shape of Sugar to lounge into view with the grapes tucked into the basket on her side, plucking them into her mouth with a terrifying tenacity.

Where were the executives? Trebol’s absence lingered like an echo, Doflamingo’s stubborn shadow who could always be expected to be nearby, or more often, much too close to his captain.

The tall frames of Diamante and Pica hadn’t marched through any corridors either.

They had gone to Impel Down, that much he’d seen, but their fates after the fact were uncertain. For a brief moment, he wondered if they’d all been executed.

He felt a bittersweet burn in the back of his throat, a sense of wrongness. The smallest part of him considered the idea upsetting; he realised with disgust. He couldn’t help the sliver of sadness escape him, even if he’d never much liked them, even when he’d been part of the crew.

The same twisted part of him that had sought out a home in those pirates, and in the briefest of instances had felt a purpose with them.

He buried it down as soon as he became aware of the traitorous ache in his heart, reminding himself of the much stronger hatred he felt for them and all they stood for. Besides, if they’d been executed, he couldn’t possibly justify to himself how Doflamingo was still alive.

If Doflamingo noticed his conflict, he gave no indication. That was for the better, probably.

Law had to quicken his steps to keep up with Doflamingo’s fairly even stride, nowhere near as tall as the other man, much to his chagrin. At least as a child, he had the excuse of his age and the deadly disease ravaging his body; the fact that he barely made it up to the Celestial Dragon’s chest as a 26-year-old was maddening.

As he followed after Doflamingo, his eyes caught the sheen of the sun rippling off a sheet of paper. Tucked to the side atop a gorgeous wardrobe was a fancy envelope with the initials DQ in golden ink, accompanied by floral markings.

Before Doflamingo could so much as utter a word, he darted from his path and snatched it into his hands. His ‘guide’ snapped his head back, his expression morphing so quickly it was hard to tell what he was thinking. Law thought he caught the journey from confusion and irritation to surprise and panic and eventually righteous anger.

“What’s this?” Law asked, waving the envelope in the air. He couldn’t be sure, but he suspected that Doflamingo’s eyes were darting back and forth between him and the envelope in his hand, tracking its movements like a hawk.

He ignored the sudden sting in his wrist as a thin string wrapped around it, keeping it firmly in place. Doflamingo stalked forward and snatched the letter back from his hands roughly before disposing of it somewhere in the bundle of feathers.

“Arrogant brat, didn’t anybody ever teach you not to go through someone else’s things?” he snapped at him.”

Law scoffed. “I lived with pirates for three years, stealing wasn’t exactly off the menu.”

Doflamingo let out a puff of air that sounded like a hiss between his clenched teeth. He stalked forward, releasing the string’s hold on Law with one hand while the other moved to immediately replace its rough grip. The man in question leaned down and bared his teeth at Law. “I never made you steal from me.”

“How was I supposed to know it was yours?” Law shot back, “I figured you weren’t the type to leave that kind of stuff strewn about.”

“Who else would it belong to?

“It says DQ, right?” Law pointed out, “For Donquixote, right? Figured it was addressed to or from the Donquixote Family.” Law didn’t miss the way Doflamingo stiffened. He let a breath of silence pass between them before breaking the spell. “It is from the Donquixote Family, isn’t it?” he said quietly, eyes narrowed, “just not the right one.”

Doflamingo’s lips twitched downwards, but otherwise remained closed. The man had nothing to jab back with. Ah, Law thought with satisfaction, so he was right. For whatever reason, the deal Doflamingo made with the world government did not include his so-called family. Noble blood was never one to be inclusive, he supposed.

But the other celestial dragons with the Donquixote name had sent their wayward clan member a letter. Curiosity itched at his mind at the possibilities of its contents, but he didn’t want to push his luck.

His wrist was still caught between Doflamingo’s long fingers, pressing in tightly enough to hurt. He half expected Doflamingo to continue on their walk through the mansion like that, dragging Law behind him in a death grip like an unruly child. Instead, the man let out a tired sigh. “You have no decorum.”

Law snickered unkindly, resisting the urge to flip him off. “Manners have never been my thing, I’m sure you of all people remember that.”

“You ought to learn some,” was the reply as Doflamingo relinquished his merciless grip on the other’s wrist. Law was shoved backwards with enough force to leave him stumbling, but otherwise unharmed. “Or you won’t make it very far here.”

Doflamingo turned to leave, but Law couldn’t help the words pouring from his mouth. “This place is a prison, you know that, right?” When his words weren’t met with an instant shot in the head, he continued. “You say everything I touch turns to ruin? Maybe you’re right, but I’m not the only one who is the sole survivor of their family, and your crew is gone now, too. This is what all your efforts, all their sacrifices have brought you.”

Doflamingo let out a dark laugh, sending a shiver down Law’s spine. “Does that scare you, Law? To be back in a birdcage.”

“No,” he hissed. “You said it yourself, things are heating up in this world.” He flickered his gaze to the window where sunlight streamed in from the glass pane. The glistening tall buildings around them in all their glory waited beyond, and thousands of miles below them, people waited with bared teeth and claws. “How much longer do you think the Celestial Dragons can hold onto their power?”

“It doesn’t matter. One way or another, when things come to pass, it will mean destruction for the ways of this world.”

Law scoffed, turning back to Doflamingo to fix him with a frown. “A perfect opportunity to slip by unnoticed and fill in that power vacuum.

“Hmmm,” Doflamingo agreed, “but only those that survive will be around to do that.”

He exhaled shakily, fists clenched together. “If there’s one thing I’m good at,” he breathed, “it’s surviving despite all the odds.”

Doflamingo fixed him with an odd look that he couldn’t quite decipher. He shifted uncomfortably. “I suppose that’s true. I should know, given how hard I tried to kill you,” he sniffed. “Quite the cockroach you are, brat.”

“I could say the same for you,” Law growled.

Doflamingo just smiled, “I suppose I am.”

As Doflamingo finally turned to march away, Law blinked in surprise. He didn’t miss the off-kilter atmosphere their conversation had created. He had never really noticed before, but he supposed now it was quite odd that a Celestial Dragon would ever compare themselves to a human. From the ‘D’ clan, no less. I called him a bug, he thought with a snicker of amusement, some God he turned out to be.

When he finally hurried up to follow after Doflamingo, it was not with the same trepidation that it had been before. Something was off about Doflamingo, that much he was certain. He may not have the same skills at manipulation, but there had been a time when he’d been trained by the best.

He would bide his time, he decided, keep up whatever strange game of cat and mouse his captor seemed intent on playing.

And when Doflamingo’s guard was down, he would use his chance to turn the tables.

Doflamingo was keen on surviving this new era, but he must know now that it was never up to him.

After all, the weak don’t get to choose how they die.