"Damn that little brat…"
Golden Lion's glare burned into Darren and Doflamingo, his bloodshot eyes feral with rage. His fists clenched so tightly around his twin swords that the veins on his hands stood out like ropes, his knuckles white with strain.
At last, he understood it all.
From the moment whispers began spreading through the Underworld—that Roger held clues to the Ancient Weapons—it had never been chance. It had been Darren's scheme, laid out piece by piece, to ensnare him.
First, the bait: a rumor crafted with such precision that it could never be proven nor dismissed, compelling him to chase after Roger himself.
Then, while Shiki clashed with Roger in the New World, that Marine deserter—Dragon, the upstart brat—summoned a storm of unprecedented scale, obliterating his so-called invincible fleet in a single stroke.
Afterward came Darren's taunts, relentless and cutting, goading him into fits of fury, eroding his Observation Haki, dulling his edge.
The feigned wounds. The chase through the New World, one dead end after another, bleeding him of strength and patience.
And now—this island. This accursed trap, sealed shut by that blond brat's Devil Fruit, severing his final retreat.
"Quite the web you've spun…" Golden Lion muttered, drawing in a long, ragged breath. His head drooped, charred tangles of golden hair spilling over his face. The sight of him—half-shrouded, half-burned—was monstrous.
"So, you've figured it out." Darren's voice was calm, almost clinical. He brushed blood from the corner of his mouth, his gaze steady. "Golden Lion Shiki—the legend himself. The Marine's greatest headache. The one they call impossible to subdue."
He took a step forward, voice tightening with iron conviction.
"If it were anyone else, I wouldn't have needed such elaborate measures. But you… you're too strong, too dangerous. Too much force, and you'd escape. Too little, and you'd crush us all. Unless you chose death with your own hands, no one alive could ever truly capture you."
And then the cage descended.
Threads of death, glinting in the light, cutting the very sky into a lattice of white. The Birdcage.
Darren had learned it through brutal training under Doflamingo—this ultimate move, infamous in history for slaughter. But Darren saw not just carnage in it, but control. A prison without escape. A noose for monsters like Shiki.
Not even Admirals could force their way out once trapped. In Dressrosa's tale, countless warriors, Marines, pirates—even the swords of Zoro and the gravity of Fujitora—had failed to break free. That merciless, shrinking wall of threads bowed to no strength but the user's will.
For a predator like the Golden Lion, there could be no more perfect snare.
Shiki lifted his head, eyes glinting. Then he laughed. A chilling, jagged sound.
"Jihahaha… So, Little Brat Darren, you really think you can kill me?"
His gaze swept the silken bars caging the sky, and then in an instant his eyes blazed like wildfire.
"I am Golden Lion Shiki!"
He moved.
Twin blades swung, vomiting arcs of golden energy, vast enough to tear the heavens.
Darren didn't flinch. He met them head-on, his arms blackened with Armament Haki, his charge unbroken.
The clash split the sky.
BOOM!!
A thunderous shockwave detonated outward, a storm of wind and fire ripping through the island.
Through the smoke, a golden blur shot like lightning—Shiki, fast as a predator's strike, heading not for Darren, but—
Doflamingo.
"Jihahaha!! This 'Birdcage' looks mighty impressive, but cages are only as strong as their keeper. Kill the brat, and this toy disappears into nothing!"
A single glance, and Shiki had pierced to the weakness of the move. The Devil Fruit user himself.
The airborne lion plummeted, closing the distance in a breath. His blade gleamed with finality.
"Die, brat! This battlefield is no place for children!"
For the first time in his life, Doflamingo felt true death press its hand against his throat. The weight of Shiki's killing intent was suffocating, an abyss yawning wide before him. His body froze, his instincts screamed, and despair coiled tight around his heart.
"No!" His roar cracked with panic. Fingers curled into claws, he thrust his hands upward.
Threads spun from his fingertips, flashing into a massive spiderweb of white silk.
"Spider's Nest!!"
The golden blade met it with a ringing crash. Sparks burst, the steel biting into the threads.
But Shiki was unstoppable. The web shuddered, then shredded beneath his strength, torn apart as the blade forced its way down, still descending toward Doflamingo's chest.
"No…"
The word tore from him in a whisper.
Am I going to die here?
He clenched his eyes shut.
CLANG!!
Metal shrieked, steel ground against steel. But the pain never came.
He opened his eyes.
Reflected in his sunglasses was a figure—wild, towering, black hair whipping in the wind. A hand, blackened by Armament Haki, locked tight around Shiki's blade. Sparks flew where the claws of the Three-Fingered Dragon met the Meito's edge.
The sword's tip hung centimeters from his heart.
"Let the grown men handle this, Golden Lion." Darren's grin was feral, blood dripping freely from his palm. "Don't drag the kid into it."
His grip tightened. "He's my godson."
And before Doflamingo could speak, Darren's boot slammed into his chest, hurling him back like a cannonball.
He crashed into a boulder at the edge of the cage, the impact rattling his bones. Blood trickled from his mouth as he slumped against the stone, dazed. His gaze lifted, watching the black-haired figure locked in savage combat with Shiki, and something unfamiliar stirred in his chest beneath the sunglasses.
Complicated. Heavy.
"That's not a battle for us to touch," a voice said beside him.
Doflamingo turned. A human form, stitched together from crackling lightning, solidified into Momonga. He extended a hand.
After a beat of hesitation, Doflamingo grasped it, pulling himself upright. His voice rasped. "Does… the Godfather have any more cards left to play?"
Momonga's smile was thin, unreadable. He lifted a finger to the sky. "What do you think?"
Doflamingo followed his gaze upward. His breath caught, a flicker of realization dawning. His face drained of color.
To be continued...