Dom's appearance had changed so dramatically that he no longer needed to worry about the World Government issuing a wanted poster bearing his old face. Even if his former crewmates from the Flame Dragon Pirates stood directly in front of him now, they wouldn't recognize the transformed man he'd become.
But despite his physical metamorphosis, certain realities remained unchanged. There was no going back to his old life—no returning to Captain Bornans and pretending nothing had happened. His association with an escaped Celestial Dragon slave had burned those bridges beyond repair.
"Aren't you going to change?" Dom asked, watching as pedestrians began to emerge cautiously onto the streets.
The absence of white Navy uniforms patrolling every corner meant the blockade had finally been lifted. The World Government had apparently concluded that their target had either escaped Sabaody Archipelago entirely or had gone so deep into hiding that continued operations would prove futile.
Dom's eyes followed Oboro as the scarred man moved to stand before a cracked mirror, beginning to remove his shirt with casual indifference. In Dom's understanding, if Oboro possessed a Devil Fruit ability powerful enough to transform others so dramatically, surely he could alter his own appearance as well. Such a power would render any wanted poster meaningless, allowing them to walk the streets without fear of recognition.
The suggestion died in Dom's throat as Oboro's bare back came into view.
Burned into the flesh between his shoulder blades was an unmistakable mark—the twisted symbol that branded its bearer as property of the most untouchable beings in the world. The Hoof of the Soaring Dragon, seared deep enough that no amount of healing could ever fully erase its presence.
Dom's pupils contracted as he took in the full scope of what he was seeing. Beyond the slave brand, Oboro's entire torso was a roadmap of systematic torture. Whip marks created crosshatched patterns across his ribs. Burn scars formed irregular patches where heated metal had been pressed against skin. Knife wounds had left their silvery testimony to methodical cruelty that stretched over years rather than months.
And around his neck, the explosive collar remained locked in place—a constant reminder of his status as escaped property.
"It's okay..." Dom swallowed hard, forcing his voice to remain steady. "When the time comes, we can cover that pattern with a larger tattoo. Maybe something like a full back piece with flowers or..."
His words trailed off as he searched for anything that might offer comfort. The brand of the Celestial Dragons wasn't just a physical mark—it was a psychological wound that haunted former slaves for the rest of their lives. Most who bore it lived in constant terror of recapture, their every waking moment poisoned by memories of unspeakable abuse.
"Don't you think this pattern has a certain appeal?" Oboro's reflection smiled back at him from the mirror, his scarred features showing not shame or anguish, but something approaching genuine satisfaction. "To be honest, I've grown quite fond of it."
Dom blinked in confusion, certain he had misheard.
"This way, I'll derive so much more pleasure when I kill those pieces of garbage in the future."
The words were delivered in such a calm, conversational tone that it took several seconds for their full meaning to register. When understanding finally dawned, Dom felt ice water flood his veins.
Killing Celestial Dragons? The man had to be joking. Such a thing was not only impossible—it was unthinkable. Even the Four Emperors, monsters who could split islands with their bare hands, understood that some lines could never be crossed. The World Government's retaliation for harming a World Noble would be swift, absolute, and merciless.
But looking into Oboro's eyes as he spoke, Dom saw no trace of madness or delusion. Only cold, patient certainty that made his survival instincts scream warnings.
What Dom couldn't understand was the calculation behind such apparent suicidal intentions. Oboro had already made his decision about this world's fate. Since its governing will had marked him for elimination, he would respond in kind. This wasn't about revenge or justice—it was about survival on a cosmic scale.
The will of any world operated through its established systems and power structures. In One Piece, that meant the World Government, the Marines, the Celestial Dragons, and the carefully maintained balance that kept everything functioning according to predetermined patterns. Destroy those foundations, and the metaphorical tree that represented this reality's essential nature would begin to wither and die.
It was a lesson he'd learned during his time manipulating the Demon Slayer world, only now applied in reverse. Instead of nurturing growth, he would accelerate decay.
The Celestial Dragons represented the perfect starting point—symbols of this world's fundamental corruption who commanded enough respect and fear that their destruction would send shockwaves through every level of society. Their deaths wouldn't just eliminate individuals; they would shatter the illusion of divine authority that kept the entire system functioning.
"Actually..." Dom began hesitantly, struggling to find words that might dissuade his companion from what seemed like elaborate suicide.
He wanted to explain that there were other ways to achieve greatness, other paths that didn't require challenging the most untouchable beings in existence. Some injustices simply had to be endured—that was the reality of living in a world dominated by those with absolute power.
"What I gave you comes with a price. Do you understand?" Oboro's eyes met Dom's through the mirror's reflection, and suddenly the transformed pirate found it difficult to breathe. The weight of that stare was crushing, carrying implications that made his enhanced senses reel with primal fear. "I can grant such gifts, but I can also reclaim them."
"Yes," Dom managed to croak, his throat dry as desert sand.
Oboro pulled his shirt back on and walked over to pat Dom's shoulder with what appeared to be genuine warmth. His smile returned to its earlier friendliness, as if the moment of terrifying intensity had never occurred.
"Don't be so nervous," he said with something approaching paternal kindness. "You chose to become a pirate, which means you've already accepted that death is part of the game. Follow me, and you'll discover that life can be far more exciting than you ever imagined."
Without waiting for a response, he opened the door and stepped into the sunlight. Dom had no choice but to follow, his thoughts churning with questions he didn't dare voice.
Although the Navy's iron-fisted control had been lifted, patrol teams still moved through the more civilized districts of Sabaody Archipelago. Their presence served as a reminder that the manhunt could resume at any moment if new intelligence surfaced.
The lawless zones told a different story entirely. Small Navy units couldn't penetrate those areas without significant support, and even then, the danger of organized pirate resistance made such operations prohibitively costly. The past few days had seen those districts descend into something approaching open warfare as various criminal factions fought for territory and resources.
But with the official blockade ended, the underground economy was already reasserting itself. Pirates emerged from hidden strongholds, slavers resumed their grisly trade, and the thousand illegal enterprises that made Sabaody's criminal districts profitable began operating once again.
It was exactly as Oboro had predicted. Even the World Government's overwhelming force couldn't completely suppress the archipelago's criminal infrastructure without committing resources they simply didn't possess. The Grand Line was too vast, the threats too numerous, for them to maintain such intensity indefinitely.
The balance of power had been tested and had held, though not without casualties on both sides.
"Doflamingo's influence is truly impressive," Dom observed as they walked through streets that showed signs of recent violence—bullet holes in building walls, bloodstains not quite scrubbed clean from cobblestones, the lingering smell of gunpowder and fear.
"He's not the one with real influence here," Oboro replied, adjusting the half-mask that concealed the lower portion of his scarred features. "The Celestial Dragons are the ones calling the shots. Doflamingo is just a messenger—admittedly a very effective one."
"Boss, how do you know so much about Joker? Were you involved with his organization before...?"
Dom's curiosity was understandable, given the depth of insight Oboro displayed about the power dynamics at play. The title 'Boss' had emerged naturally as their partnership developed—a acknowledgment of who held real authority in their unlikely alliance.
Their conversation drew occasional glances from other pedestrians, primarily because Dom's transformed appearance marked him as something exotic. His reddish-tinted skin and the small horns barely concealed beneath his hat suggested a rare bloodline that might interest collectors of unusual slaves. The Celestial Dragons were always seeking new additions to their collections, and unknown races commanded premium prices at auction.
"Not familiar at all," Oboro corrected. "As I mentioned before, I wasn't a pirate until recently. I'm simply good at reading people and situations."
"Ah," Dom nodded, though privately he wondered how someone with no criminal background could possess such sophisticated understanding of the underworld's operations.
Their destination came into view as they rounded a corner—the auction house district where Doflamingo conducted his most profitable business. A massive banner stretched across the building's facade, depicting an ornate Devil Fruit that seemed to glow with inner fire.
The image was clearly this auction's centerpiece, designed to draw attention and generate bidding wars among the assembled pirates and criminals. Even if the fruit was only an Animal-type rather than the more coveted Paramecia or Logia varieties, any Devil Fruit represented power beyond most people's wildest dreams.
"How very like him," Oboro commented with mild amusement. "Always the showman, always understanding what motivates his audience."
The crowd around the auction house was substantial but not overwhelming—pirates, merchants, government officials, and shadowy figures whose affiliations remained deliberately obscure. The actual auction was still days away, but advance viewing allowed potential bidders to examine the merchandise and plan their strategies.
"Let's go inside," Oboro suggested, his scarred features settling into an expression of casual interest. "We should familiarize ourselves with the layout and see what other surprises our host has prepared."
Dom fell into step beside him, his enhanced senses picking up fragments of conversation that painted a picture of barely contained violence held in check by mutual profit. This was Doflamingo's domain—a pocket of controlled chaos where the impossible became merely expensive.
As they approached the auction house doors, Dom couldn't shake the feeling that they were walking into something far more dangerous than a simple reconnaissance mission. The man beside him carried plans that could reshape the world itself, and Dom had somehow become complicit in their execution.
The game was about to begin in earnest, and the stakes were higher than anything he had ever imagined.