Dressrosa, New World
"Fufufufufu… A man with no past, no history… no identity."
Doflamingo lounged back in his chair, the gold-rimmed goblet of wine swirling slowly in his fingers as his eyes scanned the front page of the World Times. The headline read:
"The Giantsbane Rises: Marshall D. François Appointed as the Newest Shichibukai!"
The newspaper bore a vivid image: a lone figure standing atop a mound of colossal heads—giants, all slain by his hand. His face, as always, hidden behind that plain, featureless mask. His posture regal. Unmoving. Inhuman. Doflamingo's grin widened, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"To present the heads of a giant pirate crew at the gates of Enies Lobby and demand a seat at the warlord table…" he muttered. "Now that takes balls."
But it wasn't the audacity that unsettled him. It was the invisibility. No past. No paper trail. No whispers. Not even a whisper from Mary Geoise, and that was saying something.
Despite bearing the cursed "D." initial—the name of those believed to be the natural enemies of the gods—the World Government had still welcomed him in. That was what made Doflamingo's blood run cold.
"Senor... have we managed to trace anything? Any information at all?" Doflamingo asked quietly, the chill beneath his grin growing sharper.
Senor Pink, ever composed, poured steaming tea into delicate porcelain cups for Doflamingo and the man seated beside him—Issho, the blind swordsman and one of the few Doflamingo trusted implicitly.
"Nothing. Not a birth record. Not a bounty poster. Not even a rumor. It's as if he didn't exist before this year."
Senor Pink's voice was grave. "Shyarly attempted to use her divination ability to uncover his identity… but she stopped."
Doflamingo's gaze lifted. "Stopped?"
"She said something… sinister blocked her vision. Maybe some form of haki. Something older. More primal. Like the void itself pushed back."
"She feared he would sense her intrusion, it seems to have taken quite the toll on her. She's resting now."
Doflamingo exhaled slowly. For Shyarly—whose powers had once predicted the death of the Sea King himself—to retreat from a vision meant only one thing.
"Fufufu… Even the future doesn't want to look him in the eye."
Issho, silent until now, set down his cup. "There are only two kinds of men who walk without shadows, Doffy. The first is a ghost. The second… is a monster who buried his past."
Doflamingo leaned back, staring at the ceiling fan spinning slowly above him. "Which do you think François is?"
"Neither," Issho replied, his voice like a slow-moving storm. "I think he's something worse."
A beat of silence passed. Outside, the waves lapped gently against Dressrosa's majestic castle by the cliffside. Inside, tension gripped the room like a tightening noose.
"And now he's entered the New World," Senor added. "Our informants say he's set course for a kingdom that recently declared independence… a kingdom now under Whitebeard's protection."
"Bold." Issho muttered.
"Foolish," Doflamingo countered—then paused. "Or maybe not."
Issho nodded. "To knowingly strike at a nation under Whitebeard's banner… either he's mad, or he believes he can take the world's strongest man head-on. And very few in this world can say that."
Doflamingo's grin returned. But this time it was tense. Thin. Almost… nervous.
"Fufufu… This should be entertaining. The seas have grown far too quiet. Perhaps this 'Giantsbane' will stir the pot."
"That's what worries me, Doffy-kun." Issho said. "When he acts, others will too. Kaido, for one."
The mention of Kaido soured Doflamingo's mood instantly. The former emperor's name was like poison on his tongue.
"Kaido…" he spat. "That beast still eyes the Tontatta after all that has happened. If François distracts Whitebeard long enough, Kaido will make a move."
"And we will be ready if Kaido really makes a move." Issho's voice was grim. "But it won't be easy to push back that monster, especially with Rosinante absent. Even if we are strong, we might have to sacrifice a limb or two to bring Kaido down..."
Doflamingo stood, pacing slowly to the edge of the balcony, staring out over the city of Dressrosa. His hand tightened around the wineglass until it cracked faintly.
"I haven't forgotten Kaido. Or what he did to our family all those years ago. I'm going to take his head, Issho. One day… I'll offer it to the graves at Green Bit."
He turned, eyes burning behind his shades. "Until then, we watch the storm roll in and prepare ourselves for any anomalies that come our way. François might be a herald of something greater—something that could change the tides of the world."
"Or," Issho murmured, "he might be the storm itself."
"So, tell me…" Doflamingo's voice cut through the heavy silence like a razor. He set the World Times down on the lacquered desk as he returned back to his chair, his grin never quite leaving his face. "With the entire world's attention now turning toward the chaos in the New World… what are those pigs in Mary Geoise up to?"
He leaned forward, fingers steepled beneath his chin, his shades gleaming in the low light of the chamber.
"Unleashing a monster like François as a Shichibukai—into the heart of the New World, no less, against Whitebeard himself—feels too theatrical. A decoy, maybe. A curtain to distract the world while the real act unfolds in the shadows."
Senor Pink stepped forward, his tone measured but steady; he knew how keen his master was when it came to scheming.. "Yes, Master Doffy. There have been… suspicious movements." He placed a thick file down on the desk, revealing coded reports and intercepted transmissions.
"We've tracked unusual activity in the Grand Line and across the Four Blues. Mysterious figures—strong, disciplined, and clearly not native to the Blues—have been moving quietly. Their objective seems singular: devil fruits. They're combing the world with unnatural precision. They're offering absurd prices in the underground market."
Doflamingo's eyes narrowed slightly. "So those pigs think they can move unnoticed…? And who's funding these acquisitions?"
"All signs point toward the World Government," Senor continued. "More specifically… I suspect the God's Knights, Master Doffy. Because the authority of these people even exceeds the CP0 agents and even their director, who are being mobilized like common servants."
That name of God's Knight alone made the air in the room feel heavier. Even Issho straightened where he sat. Most of the world didn't know what the name truly meant. But the Donquixote family did.
Thanks to Rosinante, they knew not only about the sword and shield of Imu but also about what these God's Knights were hunting for, the God Fruits—special devil fruits said to contain the will of the ancient gods themselves. Fruits that shaped legends, distorted history… and may have even defied death.
"Fufufu… And here I thought those tales my little brother told me were just part of a myth only suitable for children's bedtime stories." Doflamingo leaned back, resting his boot on the edge of the desk. "But now the World Government is desperately hunting for them… I suppose the old gods are waking up."
He paused. "Any word from my dear cousin?"
Senor shook his head. "None. Mjosgard-sama reports that any information regarding the God Fruits has been sealed tighter than the Vaults of Pangaea. Not even the Gorosei are whispering. Whatever they're planning, it's buried deep."
Mjosgard—the last remaining blood relative of the Donquixote brothers still embedded within the Celestial Dragon elite—had proven to be one of their most valuable assets. Though publicly loyal to the Elders, his hatred for the Celestial Dragons had been set in stone after his own father was hunted for sport. His true loyalty lay with Doflamingo and Rosinante—his real family.
Issho stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Perhaps we should stop trying to search blindly for these fruits… and start watching the ones who are."
Senor nodded. "Agreed. While we can't uncover the fruits' descriptions directly, we can track the movements of those searching for them. If the God Knights show interest in any fruit, we intercept. Neutralize. Confiscate."
He paused, then added, "Also, we should remember what Young Master Ross warned us: these fruits aren't ordinary. They're alive in a sense. Mythical Zoans have a will of their own… but these? These embody the very essence of gods."
Issho's voice lowered, like thunder beneath the earth. "If what Ross says is true… then the fruits will only reveal themselves when they want to be found."
"Tch…" Doflamingo clicked his tongue, annoyed. "So we're not just up against the World Government… we're playing a game of divine hide and seek with the wills of forgotten gods."
His gaze shifted toward the window, overlooking the streets of Dressrosa below. The sunset bathed the horizon in blood-red light.
"Then we adapt," he declared. "If the fruits won't come to us, we'll make sure the ones looking for them never find them first." He turned to face his trusted cadres.
"Track every movement of these God's Knights. Any fruit they move toward—we move faster. Buy every devil fruit on the black market, no matter how common. If there's one battlefield where we can outplay the World Government…"
He smirked. "…it's the battlefield of wealth."
Senor gave a rare nod of agreement. "Understood, Master Doffy… I will pass down the instructions through our entire network."
"Let them play with warlords and chaos. Let them stir the seas with monsters like François. But when the dust settles, when this all ends…it will be the Donquixote family that controls the will of the gods."
Doflamingo's laughter echoed in the chamber—mad, glorious, and full of fire.
"Fufufufufu… The age of dragons is ending. And the gods? If they do return… They'll kneel to me."
Knock… knock.
The quiet tapping on the chamber doors shattered the heavy air like distant thunder. All heads turned as the door creaked open. Giolla stepped inside, her expression grave, followed by Reiju, whose normally confident demeanor was dulled by sorrow.
"Master Doffy…" Giolla's voice was soft, almost reverent. "It's time. She won't make it past the night."
The room fell into a suffocating silence. Even Doflamingo's ever-present, sinister grin faded. For once, his eyes darkened not with malice, but with a rare, quiet gravity. He rose to his feet without a word. Issho stood as well, silently joining him. Together, they followed Giolla and little Reiju out of the chamber and down the long, dimly lit corridor of the Dressrosa palace—toward the private wing that had been set aside for the family that years ago had survived the horrors of Flevance.
A wing that had, in many ways, become sacred. Here resided the remnants of a once-proud family broken by a government's lies. A family whose suffering had ignited the storm of vengeance in the heart of Trafalgar D. Water Law, a little boy who was forced to mature beyond his age due to the horrors of this world.
As they arrived at the bedchamber, the weight in the air was palpable. Nearly every core member of the Donquixote family, young and old, had gathered, standing quietly in vigil. Those present in the room were some of the most hardened pirates in the New World—men and women who had faced monsters, toppled kingdoms, and defied the World Government itself. Yet now, they stood humbled.
Not by an enemy… But by grief.
On a large, king-sized bed—draped in silken sheets and surrounded by gentle candlelight—lay a woman whose body had been ravaged by Amber Lead Syndrome. Her skin, once radiant, had turned pale and thin, almost translucent. Veins blackened by the poison threaded across her arms and neck like withered vines. Her breaths were shallow, rasping through cracked lips.
Seated at her side was her husband, barely able to sit upright; both of them had staked their lives to once liberate the Kingdom of Flevance from the curse that was known as Amber Lead.
His hand, skeletal and shaking, held onto hers with desperate tenderness. He too bore the unmistakable signs of the same cruel affliction. The disease had stolen everything from them—health, dignity, and a future with their children, years they would never get back.
By the bedside, two young children wept. Law, eight years old, no longer the naive little child from Flevance but a child who had come to realize the true cruelty of this world and of those who lived within it—his little shoulders shaking violently, fists clenched against the linens as he pleaded:
"Mom… please… please wake up… You promised you'd stay with us…"
And beside him, little Lami, three years younger than her brother, her sobs softer, choked, her tiny hand clutching her mother's arm.
"Mama, don't go… I'll be good… I won't cry anymore… I promise…"
The sight twisted something deep inside Doflamingo. He remained by the doorway, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the floor. In that moment, the memories returned unbidden. His own mother, lying in a bed not unlike this one, coughing blood into her hands as Rosinante tried to wipe her tears.
The helplessness. The rage. The injustice of it all.
"This world… always takes the ones who shine the brightest," Doflamingo muttered, more to himself than anyone else. His voice—usually dripping with arrogance—was barely above a whisper now.
Issho, standing beside him, lowered his head in silent respect. He had seen enough death in his lifetime, but this… this was the kind that always carved the deepest scars.
"They gave everything for the good of others," Issho said quietly. "Even after what the World Government did to them… they still chose to help them all. They could've let the world burn and gained a few more years to live comfortably with their children, and yet..".
"Fools," Doflamingo said flatly. But there was no venom in the word—only pain. "Fools… and heroes."
Robin knelt by the bed, gently brushing back strands of hair from the dying woman's face.
"You were kinder than most humans that I've ever known," she whispered.
Doflamingo's gaze lingered on the children at the bedside—Law and Lami, both trembling wrecks of grief, their small bodies wracked with sobs. Yet something else caught his eye. Something far worse.
Even through the veil of tears and sorrow, he couldn't ignore it—the subtle signs, barely noticeable unless you knew what to look for: the faint discoloration of the skin, the slight tremble in Lami's hands, the unnatural fatigue dulling Law's eyes.
Amber Lead Syndrome.
The poison wasn't just in their blood… it was in their legacy. A cruel, invisible curse inherited from the sins of the World Government. A death sentence masquerading as genetics.
By the small bed lamp, Princess Mansherry sat hunched, her tiny figure dim in the flickering candlelight. She had done all she could to ease the woman's passing, but not even her miraculous healing powers could reverse the irreversible.
The disease wasn't just physical—it was written into their very genes. Even Giolla, with her Restore-restore Fruit, had attempted to undo the damage. But the truth was simple, brutal, and final.
Nothing could save them. And then—
"Master Doffy… please…"
A small, trembling voice. Doflamingo looked down to see Lami—barely more than a foot tall—stumbling toward him. Her little legs shook with every step. Her face was a mess of tears, snot, and desperation. But she kept going, staggering like a wounded soldier, until she reached him.
She grabbed hold of his pants leg with hands far too small and far too frail, yet they clung to him with astonishing strength. She had to crane her neck just to look up at him. To her, he was a towering figure—more myth than man, the emperor of this strange, terrifying world.
But to her? To her, he was family. "Please…" she whimpered. "Please save them…" Her voice cracked. Her fingers tightened. "I-I'll serve you forever… just… you're strong, right? Everyone says you're strong. So… s-so please… save Mama and Papa…"
The words pierced through the room like blades. Everyone fell silent. Even the wind beyond the window seemed to still. Doflamingo looked down at her, and for the first time in a long time—perhaps since his own mother died—he felt it.
Helplessness.
Not the kind that comes from weakness. No. He had power—more than most could ever dream of. Enough to level kingdoms, crush fleets, and challenge gods.
But even that power… Even that monstrous might… Meant nothing against death.
The girl's sobs echoed in the hollowness of that realization. The towering Emperor of the seas, hailed as a devil by many, the man whose name shook the foundations of the World Government—stood motionless, staring at a child's pleading eyes.
His mouth twitched, but no words came. He wanted to lie. He wanted to promise her a miracle.
He wanted to tell her that everything would be okay. But he couldn't.
Because for once, Donquixote Doflamingo had no schemes to pull. No enemies to kill. No kingdoms to crush. There was no enemy here. Just the cruel truth of mortality.
"I…" he started—but his voice failed him.
He dropped to one knee, leveling himself with the child, something no one in that room had ever seen him do. Carefully, with hands that had shattered bones and wielded terror, he wiped the tears from her cheeks.
"Lami…" he said softly. "I'm sorry, there is nothing I…or anyone here can do to save your parents."
The little girl shook her head violently, her sobs growing louder.
"No! You're lying… You're strong! You're the strongest! You can do anything—so why not this!?"
Her fists beat weakly against his chest, barely even a tap—but they struck harder than any enemy ever had.
Doflamingo didn't stop her. He let her cry. He let her grieve. Because he understood now. No title, no throne, no warship, or so-called gods could save him from this moment. The monster who once called himself "Heavenly Yaksha" was being brought to his knees—not by an army… but by a child's tears.
The woman on the bed stirred, barely able to lift her head.
"Promise me… Promise me you'll find a way to cure them… Promise me you'll protect them… Law… Lami…"
Doflamingo stepped forward now, slowly, and stood over the dying parents. He knew that Law's father would also not see the sunrise tomorrow; he was simply holding onto his life with sheer will as the ailment had done much more extensive damage to him than his wife. Doffy said nothing for a long time. Then, to everyone's surprise, he made a promise to the dying mother.
"You have my word," he said. "As long as the Donquixote family lives in this world, no harm will ever come to them, and I promise that sooner or later I will help them find a cure."
Law looked up through a veil of tears, his breath hitching in his chest. Disbelief flickered across his young face. He had heard the promise Doflamingo made to his dying mother. A vow to protect them, to give them a future.
But Law knew the truth. No amount of protection could shield them from the slow, creeping death already eating away at their bodies. He and Lami both bore the signs—faint now, but unmistakable. Their time was measured, not in decades but in years, in a cruel countdown no one could stop.
And he also knew, with a terrifying clarity, that only one thing in the entire world could save them now: the Ope Ope no Mi.
The Ultimate Devil Fruit. The fruit of miracles. The one said to grant the user godlike control over life itself—even the ability to grant one immortality at the cost of their own life. A fruit so valuable that it was often called the "Ultimate Evil" because of the power it placed in mortal hands.
But Law also knew something else. Even with the Donquixote family's immense network of spies, merchants, and underworld contacts, they had failed to spot the fruit in these past years—the chances of finding it were almost zero. The fruit hadn't been seen in decades, possibly centuries. It was spoken of in whispers, in tales told behind closed doors. A legend… not a lifeline.
He wanted to scream. To tell Doflamingo not to make promises he couldn't keep. That kindness—no matter how rare or sincere—would not change their fate. That unless the impossible happened, he and Lami would soon be lying in the same bed where their parents now lay dying.
But he couldn't say it. Not now. Not with his father's body already limp, still clutching his mother's hand. Not with his mother's breath growing shallower by the minute, the light in her eyes fading like the final embers of a dying fire.
This wasn't the moment to speak of hopelessness. So he bit his tongue, choking back the storm of grief and helpless fury inside him. His hand tightened protectively around Lami's, who had crawled back to the bed, still sobbing softly, her tiny fingers curled around their mother's cold ones.
"Don't go…" she whispered, over and over again. "Please, Mama… please wake up…"
The room was silent except for the sound of her cries. And Law remained still, watching it all, swallowing the bitter truth that would never leave him: that if they were going to survive, if there was even a sliver of hope for a future free of this disease…
He would have to find that fruit. No matter what it took. No matter the cost. And in that moment, something hardened inside of him—not hate, not yet. But resolve.
His mother's eyes fluttered open one last time. Her gaze met Doflamingo's… and she smiled.
"Thank you…" she whispered, so softly that only he could hear. "For giving my children… a chance at future."
A long, rattling breath escaped her lips. Her chest rose… and fell. And then it didn't rise again. A stillness settled over the room. Not the stillness of silence. But the stillness of the end.