Chapter 17: The Power of Everything
The toy soldier—Kyros—couldn't believe what he was seeing.
White Flame had actually done it.
He'd killed Diamante. In front of everyone.
Diamante might not have been the strongest of Doflamingo's elite, but his position made him untouchable.
He was one of the top officers of the Donquixote Family—one of Doflamingo's "true family."
And now, that "family" member lay torn apart at White Flame's feet.
Kyros's wooden hands trembled.
If Doflamingo ever learned of this, he would burn Dressrosa to the ground.
"Enren! Enren!"
Kyros leapt across the wreckage, weaving between the scattered spiked iron balls still embedded in the floor.
White Flame looked up, cigarette glowing faintly between his lips. "Kyros," he said quietly.
Then, glancing at the corpse beside him, his voice dropped to a command.
"Little Black. Little Two Black. Dinner time."
"Delicious… tasty… hungry…"
The two shadowy wraiths needed no further order.
They lunged toward Diamante's body, invisible mouths tearing through flesh and bone with wet, guttural sounds.
Kyros froze mid-step, watching in horror as chunks of muscle vanished from thin air, organs ripped apart by unseen jaws.
"Enren—you… you really killed him…"
White Flame exhaled a stream of smoke. "I told you. He had to die."
"You don't understand!" Kyros's voice cracked. "Diamante was one of Doflamingo's most trusted lieutenants! If he learns what you've done, he'll—he'll never let you live!"
"Doflamingo, huh?"
White Flame's expression didn't change. "I've been meaning to have a little talk with him."
He flicked ash from his cigarette. "But not yet."
Kyros let out a shaky sigh of relief—only for White Flame's next words to freeze his wooden heart.
"I'll kill them all first," White Flame murmured, his tone calm but his eyes burning with cold fury. "Every last one of Doflamingo's 'family.' One by one, I'll tear them apart. And when he's lost everything, when pain is all he knows—then I'll end him."
The air around him grew heavy, saturated with murderous intent.
"Enren, please…" Kyros pleaded. "Doflamingo's not like the others. His reach extends beyond Dressrosa—he's a king, a Warlord of the Sea! Just the two of us, we can't—"
"We?"
White Flame glanced at him sidelong, voice low. "When did I ever say I needed help?"
Kyros hesitated. "You… you mean—"
"I don't need anyone," White Flame said simply. "When it comes to Doflamingo… I'll handle it alone."
He ground his cigarette into the cracked stone beneath his boot and looked out over the smoldering arena—
a landscape of blood and ruin.
"Let's go," he said. "If I'm right, Doflamingo's already on his way. I wonder what kind of face he'll make when he sees this."
He turned and walked away, his long coat brushing over shattered marble.
Kyros hesitated a moment, then followed.
Ten minutes later, the skies over the Corrida Colosseum split open.
A figure descended from above, walking on invisible strings.
The sunlight gleamed off his sunglasses, his grin gone, his expression darker than thunder.
He landed on the water's surface, eyes falling upon the broken rapier—and the uniform lying beside a pile of bleached bones.
"...Diamante."
The word came out like venom.
The corners of Doflamingo's mouth twisted—not into a smile, but into a snarl.
"Bastard…"
The air itself seemed to tremble.
Then he roared—
"BASTARD!!!"
Strings shot outward from his fingers in all directions.
The entire Colosseum screamed as invisible wires sliced through stone and steel.
The arena crumbled like paper, collapsing into the sea in a storm of dust and destruction.
Diamante had been one of the Four Pillars—the men who had raised Doflamingo from the abyss and helped him seize his throne.
To Doflamingo, those four were more than subordinates. They were the only people he trusted.
His family. His reason. His pride.
And now, one of them was dead.
"Whoever did this…" Doflamingo hissed, voice shaking with rage, "I'll find him. I'll cut him to pieces. I'll paint Dressrosa with his blood."
That day, the island nation changed.
Dressrosa entered lockdown.
But this time, it wasn't a precaution—it was a purge.
No one could enter.
No one could leave.
Every street, every harbor, every shadow was under surveillance.
Doflamingo gave the order himself:
"Anyone who finds the man-eating monster—signal immediately. Don't try to fight. I'll handle it personally."
He even sent his other top officers into the streets, leading the search themselves.
The Donquixote Family was hunting like an enraged god.
But while Dressrosa convulsed in fear, its king consumed by fury—
the monster himself was relaxing in an abandoned factory on the outskirts of town.
Training. Testing. Perfecting.
"Armament Haki – Hardening."
At his thought, both arms turned jet black, gleaming like obsidian steel.
He struck the wall beside him.
BOOM!
The entire building shook.
Even a small punch now carried the force of an explosion.
"Flag Field – Army of the Land."
He pressed his hand to the floor.
Instantly, the concrete rippled like silk in a breeze—the ground rising and falling as if it were alive.
"Flag – Blade Coil."
He grabbed a steel rod nearby; it twisted, coiled, and reshaped into a spiraling spear-tip.
White Flame twirled it once, then released his grip.
The weapon straightened back to normal, clattering to the ground.
"The String-String Fruit… is powerful, but the Flag-Flag Fruit's combat utility is limited," he muttered to himself. "Still, as support—it's not bad."
He dismissed the ability, the floor returning to normal beneath his feet.
The black hue of his Haki faded.
Little Black handed him a towel. White Flame wiped the sweat from his neck and smiled faintly.
Just as he'd expected—
after devouring Diamante, his power had evolved again.
He'd gained the Flag-Flag Fruit's abilities.
He'd gained Armament Haki.
He'd gained Observation Haki.
Even Diamante's swordsmanship, the skill he'd once bragged was "genius-level," now flowed in White Flame's veins.
But that wasn't the most shocking discovery.
White Flame looked at his reflection in the broken window—the faint glimmer of the sea visible behind him.
He reached out, pressing his palm against a basin of saltwater nearby.
The surface rippled.
He felt… nothing.
No weakness.
No paralysis.
No rejection.
He smirked.
"Looks like the curse of the Devil Fruits," he said quietly,
"doesn't apply to me anymore."
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