Donquixote Doflamingo prowled the edges of the western tower, strings weaving among the battlefield like an elaborate web. His pink feathered coat, somehow still immaculate despite the chaos around him, fluttered in the cold wind. He watched the slaughter like an artist surveying a half-finished canvas, his perpetual grin widening at particularly creative kills.
"Ne, ne, Sengoku-san…" he murmured to himself, stringing up another unconscious pirate to puppet forward into a minefield. The body jerked and twitched in a grotesque dance, limbs moving at impossible angles. "You sure you're still the Buddha, and not the Demon King?"
The pirate's body exploded in a shower of blood and viscera as it triggered the mines. Doflamingo's laugh cut through the screams that followed.
But his grin faltered slightly as he watched the main plaza, where something had changed in the last few minutes. The methodical precision of Sengoku's trap was still intact, but there were cracks forming, not in the strategy, but in the hearts of those executing it.
He had seen Luffy's arrival, had watched the boy's desperate charge with Jinbe at his side. More importantly, he had witnessed what came after, Akainu's brutal execution of the fish-man, and the primal howl of rage that had torn from the Straw Hat's throat.
"Fufufufu... Now this is interesting," Doflamingo whispered, his strings twitching with anticipation. "The little rubber boy is about to break, isn't he?"
His smile widened as he caught sight of a group of retreating pirates trying to circle around to the eastern docks, seemingly oblivious to the drama unfolding at the execution platform. With a flick of his fingers, invisible strings shot out, wrapping around their throats and limbs.
"Puppet Performance: Slaughter Dance," he whispered, manipulating his fingers like a conductor before an orchestra.
The pirates turned on each other, expressions of horror frozen on their faces as their bodies betrayed them. Blades meant for Marines instead found homes in the flesh of comrades. Screams of confusion and betrayal filled the air as friend killed friend, powerless to stop the carnage.
But even as he orchestrated the macabre ballet, Doflamingo's attention remained divided. The real show was happening on the main stage, where Luffy knelt beside Jinbe's burning corpse, his body shaking with a fury that seemed to warp the very air around him.
**************************************
Nearby, Mihawk sheathed Yoru with a fluid motion, having cleaved through five captains without breaking his pace. The black blade slid home with a soft click that somehow carried over the battlefield noise.
"I'm done here," he said flatly, golden eyes surveying the broken bodies at his feet with detached disinterest. But his gaze, like Doflamingo's, was drawn to the scene unfolding near the execution platform.
Mihawk had fought many opponents driven by rage, had seen fury transform ordinary swordsmen into berserkers. But this was different. The boy's anguish was so pure that it seemed to resonate with something fundamental in the world itself.
He turned to leave, his stride purposeful, but his movement was mechanical, his mind was analyzing what he had just witnessed.
Sengoku's voice cut through a nearby Den Den Mushi, the tone brooking no argument. "Hold position. You're a deterrent. If Shanks appears, you engage."
Mihawk didn't respond verbally, but he stopped walking. His hand remained on Yoru's hilt, fingers tightening imperceptibly at the mention of the red-haired emperor. His golden eyes shifted toward the bay entrance, then back to where Luffy still knelt in the plaza.
Doflamingo cackled, leaping down to land beside the swordsman. "Fufufu! Ah, so our leash is still tight after all. Even for the great Hawk-Eye!" He leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, but his eyes remained fixed on the drama unfolding in the distance. "Tell me, would you really cross blades with him if he showed? Especially now, with little Luffy looking ready to tear the world apart?"
Mihawk's expression didn't change, but the temperature around him seemed to drop further. "Mind your puppets, Joker. Before someone cuts your strings."
He walked away, taking up a position with clear sightlines to both the bay entrance and the execution platform. His posture remained relaxed, but his eyes tracked every movement in the plaza where Luffy now faced Akainu across Jinbe's smoking remains.
The swordsman had lived long enough to recognize the moments when the world balanced on a knife's edge. This was one of them.
**************************************
At the execution platform, the confrontation between Luffy and Akainu was drawing every eye on the battlefield.
Akainu stood over Jinbe's burning corpse, his expression as impassive as carved stone. Steam rose from his clenched fists as he regarded the kneeling Straw Hat with cold satisfaction.
"Good. Now you understand," the Admiral said, his voice carrying clearly across the suddenly quiet plaza. "This is the price of defying justice. This is what happens to those who protect criminals."
Luffy's response was not words but action. He rose slowly, his legs trembling not with exhaustion but with barely contained fury. The air around him began to shimmer, reality itself seeming to bend under the pressure of his will.
Doflamingo licked his lips, recognizing the signs. "Conqueror's," he whispered, delighted. "And not just any Conqueror's Haki. This little rubber boy might actually be dangerous."
The pressure wave that erupted from Luffy was unlike anything most of those present had ever experienced. It rolled across the battlefield like a physical force, dropping weaker Marines where they stood and causing even veteran officers to stagger. The sheer intensity of it spoke to grief so profound it had transformed into something approaching divine wrath.
But Akainu remained unmoved, his own iron will meeting Luffy's explosive emotion without flinching.
"Impressive," the Admiral acknowledged. "But power without discipline is meaningless. Allow me to demonstrate the difference."
He stepped forward, magma bubbling from his clenched fists, ready to add another D. to his collection of extinguished flames.
That was when the first interruption came.
"Desert Spada!"
A blade of pure sand carved through the air, slicing between Akainu and Luffy with lethal precision. The Admiral was forced to step back as the sand blade embedded itself in the stone plaza, creating a barrier between him and his target.
Akainu's eyes narrowed as he turned toward the source of the attack. "Crocodile."
The former Warlord emerged from the smoke and chaos of the battlefield, his golden hook gleaming as sand swirled around his scarred form. His clothes were torn and bloodstained from fighting through Marine formations, but his expression remained coldly determined.
"Don't get the wrong idea, Marine," Crocodile growled, lighting a fresh cigar despite the battlefield conditions. "I'm not here to save him. But that boy is my ticket out of this frozen hell, and I'll be damned if I let you incinerate him before he serves his purpose."
Behind him, more figures emerged from the battlefield's chaos. Emporio Ivankov leaped into view, their massive frame battered but defiant, makeup streaked with sweat and blood.
"STRAW HAT BOY!" Ivankov called out, landing with a thunderous impact. "Death Wink!" A pressurized blast of air forced several approaching Marines to dive for cover.
Daz Bones materialized beside Crocodile, his blade-enhanced arms crossed, ready for combat. Inazuma appeared moments later, their scissor hands already cutting through Marine weapons with surgical precision.
"Well, well," Akainu said, his body temperature rising as magma began to bubble more aggressively around his fists. "The Impel Down escapees. How convenient. I can eliminate multiple threats at once."
But the interruption had achieved its purpose, Luffy was no longer alone, isolated in his grief and rage. The arrival of his allies had created a complex battlefield dynamic.
From the execution platform, Sengoku watched the developing situation with growing concern. The arrival of Luffy and his Impel Down allies had been anticipated, even planned for. But the emotional intensity the boy brought with him, combined with the tactical complications of multiple high-level combatants converging on a single point, was proving to be a destabilizing factor.
The Impel Down escapees had fought their way across the entire battlefield to reach this moment, and their desperation showed in every movement. They had nothing left to lose and everything to gain, a combination that made them exponentially more dangerous than their individual power levels suggested.
Crocodile stepped forward, sand beginning to swirl more aggressively around his form. "Marines, pirates, doesn't matter to me. Anyone who gets between me and my freedom dies today."
Ivankov struck a dramatic pose despite their injuries. "And vee will not let our little Straw Hat boy face this monster alone! Isn't that right, Crocco-boy?"
"Don't call me that," Crocodile snarled, but his position remained firm between Akainu and Luffy.
The convergence of so many powerful individuals in one location was creating a pressure cooker effect. The very air seemed to vibrate with barely contained violence, and everyone present understood that the next few moments would determine the fate of multiple high-profile individuals.
**************************************
Ace, still kneeling in his sea-stone restraints, had watched Jinbe's death with horrified eyes. Now, seeing his sworn brother protected by the very criminals who had risked everything to reach him, his own despair began to transform into something approaching desperate hope.
But Luffy's attention remained fixed on Akainu, his body still coiled with barely contained fury. The presence of his allies had grounded him somewhat, but the rage burning in his eyes hadn't diminished, if anything, it had focused into something more dangerous than blind fury.
The battlefield held its breath, multiple factions sizing each other up. The Impel Down escapees formed a loose protective formation around Luffy, while Akainu calculated the tactical implications of facing multiple opponents simultaneously. The other Admirals maintained their positions but were clearly reassessing the situation.
It was then that Bartholomew Kuma moved.
Not toward the confrontation, but to a position where his abilities could affect the outcome if necessary. His Bible remained open, pages fluttering in the wind as his mechanical systems processed the rapidly changing tactical situation.
And in the shadows cast by the execution platform, Monkey D. Garp slowly rose to his feet, his legendary fists clenching as he watched his grandson prepare for what might be his final battle.