The sharp blade whistled through empty air, cutting nothing but shadows.
The gunman's bullet discharged with precision into vacant space, trailing smoke where his target had been mere milliseconds before.
Time itself seemed to fracture and slow, reality crystallizing into a series of impossible moments that defied comprehension. The few remaining auction attendees watched in stunned horror as events unfolded with nightmarish clarity.
Even the Celestial Dragons, those self-proclaimed gods who ruled the world through casual cruelty, found their minds struggling to process what their eyes were witnessing. Their limited understanding simply could not accommodate the concept that a "lowly being" would dare raise a hand against their divine persons.
The very notion violated every fundamental law of their existence.
Saint Charlos began turning his bloated head, his tiny pig-like eyes catching a glimpse of something that transformed their smug confidence into primal terror. A face emerged from the shadows, scarred, predatory, radiating the focused intensity of a hunting predator who had finally cornered its prey. Murderous intent rolled off the figure in waves that made the air itself feel heavy and suffocating.
"It's over!" the swordsman gasped, his voice cracking with horrified realization.
Both attackers stared in disbelief as their perfectly coordinated assault failed completely. They had sealed off every possible escape route, created a kill box that should have been inescapable even for someone with supernatural reflexes.
The gunman possessed exceptional vision, trained through years of professional violence. His enhanced perception caught fragments of Oboro's impossible movement, first deflecting the sword blade with a casual finger flick, then bending low just as the bullet left the barrel before snapping upright again. The dodge was executed with such fluid perfection that it seemed almost choreographed.
BANG!
Another gunshot echoed through the auction house, but this time the sound came from Saint Charlos himself.
The Celestial Dragon's mind had gone completely blank, his expression frozen in stupid bewilderment as his finger reflexively squeezed the trigger. The bubble helmet that protected his precious lungs from "commoner air" reflected the muzzle flash like a grotesque disco ball.
CRACK!
The sound of shattering glass accompanied the gunshot as bright crimson blood erupted across the dim lighting of the hall. Oboro's hands moved like twin tiger claws, crossing in a devastating strike that obliterated the protective helmet and sent fragments spinning through the air like deadly confetti.
The motion continued without pause, his arms sweeping through their deadly arc as Saint Charlos's head exploded like overripe fruit. Blood, bone, and brain matter painted the auction house walls in a gruesome abstract masterpiece that would haunt witnesses for the rest of their lives.
Silence.
Deathly, absolute silence that pressed down on the venue like a physical weight.
The swordsman and gunman stood frozen beside Oboro, their faces pale as corpses as their minds struggled to process the impossibility of what had just occurred. Their brains had simply ceased functioning, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what they had witnessed.
Not far away, several more figures stood motionless like statues carved from shock and disbelief.
The senior executives of the Donquixote Family, Trebol, Diamante, Lao G, and Gladius, had all begun moving the instant they recognized Oboro's hostile intent toward the Celestial Dragons. Their survival instincts screamed warnings about what would happen if any World Knovle died in their establishment.
Even if the murderer bore no connection to their organization, allowing a Celestial Dragon's death to occur in Doflamingo's auction house would bring consequences beyond imagination. The World Government's retaliation would be swift, absolute, and merciless.
They had never truly expected anyone to attack the untouchable gods who ruled their world. Such a concept existed beyond the boundaries of rational thought.
But the impossible had just become reality.
THUD.
Saint Charlos's corpse hit the auction house floor with the wet sound of dead meat striking stone. His bloated body lay sprawled in a growing pool of blood, the empty space where his head had been still steaming in the cool air.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
A piercing scream shattered the silence, jolting everyone's paralyzed minds back to horrifying awareness. The sound came from Saint Shalria, her beautiful features twisted into a mask of primal terror as she stared at her brother's mutilated remains.
For the first time in their pampered, sheltered existences, the surviving Celestial Dragons were experiencing genuine fear. The arrogant superiority that had defined their every moment was cracking like glass under the weight of an impossible reality.
Death had touched their divine circle, and suddenly they understood their own mortality with crystal clarity.
But killing one would never be enough.
While the others remained frozen in shock, Oboro had already shaken off the swordsman and gunman like annoying insects. His predatory gaze fixed on the remaining World Nobles huddled together in their elevated seating area.
If he was going to cross this line, if he was going to shatter the fundamental order that kept this corrupt world functioning, why settle for half measures?
His scarred face, still partially concealed beneath makeup and temporary tattoos, looked like something from a nightmare as he approached the surviving Celestial Dragons. To Saint Shalria and the others, he appeared less human than demon, a creature of pure violence and retribution that had crawled out of their darkest fears.
"Die!" Oboro's voice carried the cold satisfaction of someone settling a debt that had accumulated over years of systematic torture.
Just as he prepared to pounce on the terrified World Nobles, a strange battle cry echoed through the auction house. A powerful black shadow struck him with devastating force, the impact sending shockwaves through his enhanced physiology.
Oboro immediately raised both arms in a defensive cross-block, but the tremendous power behind the attack launched him through the air like a cannon shot. His body smashed through rows of expensive seating before slamming into the stone wall with enough force to crack the reinforced masonry.
Dust and debris rained down around him as he struggled to regain his bearings.
Lao G stood positioned between Oboro and the surviving Celestial Dragons, his elderly frame coated in the distinctive black sheen of Armament Haki. The old martial artist had struck one of his signature poses, though his weathered features betrayed the urgency of their situation.
Before Oboro could fully recover from the devastating kick, a curved blade flashed through the air like a striking serpent. Diamante's sword carved toward his landing position with lethal precision, the weapon's flexible nature allowing it to attack from impossible angles.
Oboro rolled away at the last second, using advanced footwork to create distance while scanning for defensive positions. But Diamante's assault proved relentless and terrifying, his Devil Fruit ability allowed the sword to extend and bend in ways that defied physics, covering vast areas of the venue with sweeping attacks.
Even when Oboro managed to temporarily escape the blade's reach, he found no opportunity to breathe or counter-attack. The constant pressure forced him into purely defensive movement, dancing between strikes that could have bisected lesser opponents.
"You cannot leave!" Diamante snarled, his voice trembling with barely controlled panic.
Despite his years of experience following Doflamingo through countless battles, despite his reputation as one of the most dangerous pirates in the first half of the Grand Line, he couldn't maintain his usual composure. Every person in the criminal underworld understood exactly what kind of storm would follow this night's events.
Oboro absolutely could not be allowed to escape. The consequences of his survival would be catastrophic for everyone involved.
"Too troublesome!" Oboro grimaced as he evaluated Diamante's sword techniques.
He had clearly dodged the physical blade and created substantial distance, yet somehow steel continued emerging from unexpected directions. The weapon's flexibility was genuinely incredible, its range seemingly unlimited, and the swordsman's skill made predicting attack trajectories nearly impossible.
Most concerning was the layer of Armament Haki coating every strike. Even deflecting these attacks would prove challenging given his current physical limitations.
As expected of a senior Donquixote Family executive, Diamante's combat capabilities were extraordinary. His decades of experience showed in how seamlessly he integrated his Devil Fruit powers with traditional swordsmanship.
Oboro's enhanced perception tracked the movements of other Family members as they moved to contain the situation. Gladius had rushed to seal the venue's exits, preventing any possibility of escape while ensuring no witnesses could spread word of what had occurred here.
Lao G remained positioned near the surviving Celestial Dragons, ready to repel any additional assassination attempts. His weathered features showed the kind of focused concentration that came from decades of life-or-death combat.
At the far end of the hall, Trebol was secreting massive amounts of viscous mucus while hurling chains toward Oboro's position. If any of that disgusting substance made contact, his mobility would be severely compromised and he would become helpless prey.
The Donquixote Family executives hadn't coordinated their response in advance, there had been no time for strategy or planning. Everything had happened too suddenly, too explosively for conventional tactical thinking.
They were acting on pure instinct and years of accumulated teamwork, predicting each other's movements and covering gaps in their formation without conscious communication.
One of Oboro's arms hung useless at his side where Lao G's devastating kick had shattered bone. The elderly martial artist might not possess the raw power of someone like Whitebeard, but his technical skill remained genuinely formidable.
His strength definitely warranted serious respect.
"As expected," Oboro murmured with grim satisfaction, "there's no opportunity for a follow-up attack."
He leaped upward to avoid both sword strikes and sticky mucus, landing gracefully with his feet balanced on the back of an undamaged chair. His original plan had been to exploit the psychological shock of Saint Charlos's death to eliminate one or two additional Celestial Dragons before anyone could respond effectively.
But their reaction speed had proved faster than anticipated.
"This is merely the beginning," Oboro announced with predatory satisfaction, his gaze shifting to the terrified World Nobles cowering behind Lao G's protective stance. "I am far from finished hunting you."
"We will definitely meet again."
At that moment, one of the surviving Celestial Dragons had already produced a Den Den Mushi and was frantically contacting World Government headquarters. The call would bring consequences that would reshape the political landscape of the entire Grand Line.
"Get out! GET OUT!" Dozens of auction attendees who had been paralyzed by shock suddenly burst into panicked motion, rushing toward the exits like animals fleeing a forest fire.
The swordsman and gunman who had initially tried to stop Oboro were among the first to run, their faces twisted with terror as they abandoned any pretense of heroism. Everyone understood that immediate escape represented their only hope of survival.
None of them could afford to face the Celestial Dragons' wrath. When World Nobles died, the government's response was swift and indiscriminate. Entire populations could be erased simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
If they didn't flee immediately, they would all die alongside the guilty.
Someone screamed at Gladius to move aside, their voice cracking with desperate urgency.
"Today," Gladius replied with cold finality, "absolutely no one leaves this place alive."
His declaration sent ice through the veins of everyone present. The implication was clear, the Donquixote Family intended to eliminate every witness to prevent word of this disaster from spreading.
Diamante pressed his hand against the auction house floor, activating his Flag-Flag Fruit ability. The solid stone surface immediately began rippling like water, creating waves that made standing impossible for most of the fleeing civilians.
Bodies tumbled and crashed as the ground beneath their feet became an ocean of shifting stone. The effect was both disorienting and terrifying, transforming what should have been stable footing into a nightmare of constant motion.
Gladius activated his own Rupture-Rupture Fruit powers in devastating coordination. His gloved palm touched the floor near the main exit, causing a massive spherical bulge of earth to erupt from the passage between the seats.
BOOM!
The explosion that followed was deafening, filling the air with fire, smoke, and the screams of those caught in the blast radius. Scattered pieces of flesh and broken limbs painted the walls as multiple figures were torn apart by the detonation.
Gladius was deliberately controlling the explosive force to avoid harming the Celestial Dragons on their side of the hall, but his restraint offered no mercy to those attempting to flee.
The battlefield immediately descended into absolute chaos. Smoke and fire obscured vision while the wounded and dying added their voices to the symphony of destruction.
"Give my regards to Joker," Oboro called out with casual arrogance, gesturing toward Diamante and Trebol as the void behind him began to shimmer and distort.
A familiar doorway materialized in the empty air, ornate wood and brass fittings that belonged to no architecture found in the auction house. The portal hung in space like a tear in reality itself, offering passage to dimensions beyond normal understanding.
"It's him!" Recognition struck the Donquixote Family executives like physical blows.
This supernatural ability was unmistakable, the same power that had allowed the mysterious thief to steal their Devil Fruit and vanish without a trace. The same technique that had enabled him to escape after murdering Delinger.
That damned criminal had never left Sabaody Archipelago. They had been completely deceived by his low-level disguise and misdirection, wasting precious time searching the wrong locations while he moved freely through their territory.
The dimensional door snapped shut and disappeared into nothingness, taking their target with it and leaving behind only the aftermath of unprecedented catastrophe.
Once again, he had escaped safely while leaving them to face the consequences of his actions.
But this time, those consequences would reshape the world itself. The death of a Celestial Dragon would bring the full might of the World Government crashing down on Sabaody Archipelago, and nothing would ever be the same.
In the smoke-filled ruins of what had been the Grand Line's most prestigious auction house, the surviving witnesses understood that they had just witnessed the opening shot of a war that would consume everything in its path.
The age of the Celestial Dragons' unchallenged supremacy was over, and what rose from its ashes would be written in blood and fire.