Doflamingo narrowed his eyes behind his sunglasses, silently observing the uninvited guest.
The black-haired man stood atop a smoking ruin, slowly clapping. He was tall—exceptionally so. His short, jet-black hair and the long white cape trailing behind him fluttered gently in the gunpowder-scented wind.
Though technically a lowborn commoner, this man exuded an aura of nobility—feral, sharp, charismatic. He had the presence of a wild beast wrapped in elegance. A warrior's face. The kind of man who would laugh even through pain.
Strong, but composed.
Savage, but regal.
Ruthless, but sharp.
This was a man who always looked toward the horizon.
He wore a faint smile.
Doflamingo knew that smile.
He had shown that very smile to countless prey in the past. It was the smirk of a hunter staring down his catch—the gleeful cruelty of a cat toying with a cornered mouse.
And at that moment, something stirred deep in Doflamingo's chest. A suppressed, burning urge to destroy this man. Not fight—obliterate.
How dare he look at me like that?
That gaze... It was the same gaze those five old bastards of the World Government wore when he stood before them, holding his father's severed head.
"Doflamingo."
"Marine!?"
Trebol recognized the uniform immediately. With a start, he shouted, and in an instant, the air was thick with killing intent.
Shk-shk-shk!
Dozens of Donquixote Family pirates raised their rifles in perfect sync, aiming straight at the black-haired Marine. Hundreds of barrels pointed squarely at his chest.
They were the Donquixote Pirates. The Marine? Not a threat.
"Whoa there, pulling guns already?"
The man raised his hands in mock surrender, smiling pleasantly. At first glance, it looked like he was giving up.
Trebol and the others frowned, confused.
But then—something chilling.
"I really don't like having guns pointed at me."
As he said this, an unseen force rippled from the Marine.
The pirates suddenly felt their rifles jerked from their hands as if wrenched by an invisible hand. They floated, twisted in the air—and turned.
Barrels now aimed back at their original wielders.
What... the hell?
Panic swept through the pirates as their own rifles took aim at their foreheads. They'd never seen anything like this.
Click.
Safety latches snapped open.
Triggers began pulling back... slowly... on their own.
The silence was deafening. Time seemed to stop. The only sound was the soft metallic creak of hundreds of guns preparing to fire.
Fear slammed into the Donquixote Pirates like a tidal wave.
Someone audibly swallowed.
"Well, I'll say this much: having pirates surrender to their own guns? Borsalino would love this shot."
The Marine chuckled, then turned to the boy at the center of it all.
"Hey, Doflamingo. I want to talk."
Originally, Darren just wanted to rough up the twisted little brat, maybe teach him a lesson if he was in a bad mood. Or kill him quickly if he was feeling generous.
He could do it. Wipe out the entire Donquixote Family, and no one would ever know. Not even the World Government could trace it back.
As for his so-called "Celestial Dragon bloodline"? Darren couldn't care less.
The Shaldes Saint incident proved that even a Celestial Dragon's life had a price tag.
But then... Doflamingo said something that changed Darren's mind.
The kid was twisted, sure. He radiated destruction and madness. But he was more than just a monster—he was smart. Strategic. Calculating.
He wasn't like the average pirate, only capable of pillage and chaos.
He could control himself. Channel his desire for power. That made him dangerous. And potentially... useful.
With the right leash, Doflamingo could be a powerful tool. Even the World Government might think twice before crossing Darren if he had someone like this under his thumb.
"Talk?" Doflamingo sneered. "Fufufu... Marines and pirates have nothing to talk about."
"Not always. I'm not your average Marine."
Darren shrugged.
"Well, I have no intention of talking."
Doflamingo's face twisted. His smile turned feral. He whipped his hand forward.
"I just want to kill you."
Shing!
Invisible threads ripped through the air like razors. Two nearby buildings groaned, then split cleanly in half.
Clang!
A sharp sound rang out.
Doflamingo's eyes widened.
His threads had struck Darren's chest—but stopped. A shallow scratch on the Marine uniform... and that was it.
Sparks flew where thread met skin. The blades couldn't dig deeper.
"Impossible!!"
Trebol and the others stared in horror.
Their young master, even at twelve, had honed the String-String Fruit to a terrifying degree. His threads could slice ships in two!
But now? They couldn't even pierce this Marine's skin?
What... was this man?
"String-String Fruit, huh? Too bad you haven't learned Haki yet."
Darren looked down at the thread, still embedded in his chest.
With a flick of his fingers, he hooked it.
Doflamingo felt an overwhelming force drag him forward.
His body jerked off the ground, reeled toward Darren like a hooked fish.
"If you draw your weapon, you'd better be ready to die."
Darren smiled coldly.
Snap.
He clicked his fingers.
Bang bang bang bang!
Gunfire exploded like a thunderstorm. Hundreds of rifles fired at once.
One by one, the Donquixote Pirates fell. Each shot precise. Each fatal.
And by the time the last body hit the ground...
Doflamingo was just three meters away.
In the mirrored lenses of his sunglasses—
He saw Darren's smile.
Icy. Inevitable.
And growing closer.
---
To be continued...