"Doffy… don't make any decisions in haste."
Arnold's voice was steady, but inside his chest his heart thundered like a drum. He knew better than anyone what it meant when Doflamingo's fury burned this hot—he had seen islands reduced to ash for far less. And yet, he could not allow this to end with King Neptune's corpse strewn across the Coral Port. If that happened, the bridge between the Donquixote family and the Fishmen race would be shattered beyond repair.
"Fufufufufufu…" Doflamingo's laughter was low, venomous, and laced with contempt. Black flames of his awakened logia licked through the streets, twisting buildings into rubble as the very district groaned under his wrath. His shades gleamed with the reflection of fire as his voice cracked like a whip.
"Decisions, Arnold? You expect me to forgive these treacherous insects? To smile as they accept our grace while plotting the demise of me—and my brother—behind our backs?!" His roar tore through the silence, raw and guttural. "Tell me, Arnold—do I look like a fool to you?!"
The air itself seemed to collapse under the weight of his fury.
"Doffy… for my sake," Arnold said, his voice lowering to a plea. His eyes, sharp as steel, never wavered, though his body trembled with the strain of standing against the Heavenly Demon.
"Let him walk. Just this once. There's no love left between me and the Ryugu Kingdom, not after today. I'll sever those ties myself. But if you kill Neptune here and now… then the Fishmen race as a whole will be buried with him. Don't condemn the many for the sins of the few."
Doflamingo studied his old friend closely, his rage smoldering like a volcano barely capped. Behind them, Neptune coughed violently, blood spilling onto the scorched stone, his massive frame quivering with weakness. The sight only deepened the venom in Doffy's eyes. Yet… after a long, seething silence, he exhaled slowly, controlling the inferno within.
The Heavenly Demon strode forward, each step deliberate, the ground cracking beneath his heels. When he reached Neptune, he seized the massive merman by the throat, lifting him with terrifying ease despite their size difference. He dragged Neptune's face close until their eyes locked.
"Please, jamon… kill me for my wife's mistakes. But spare the rest…" Neptune rasped, his breath ragged. His plea was genuine, born of the knowledge that his wife's naive idealism had endangered not just him, but their entire race.
But Doflamingo's gaze was merciless. "You are not blameless, Neptune. I warned you. Time and again, I warned your people where this so-called idealism would lead. You chose blindness. You chose weakness." With a disgusted snarl, he hurled Neptune back into the rubble like discarded trash.
The café lay in ruins, the Coral Port a silent graveyard of fire and ash. Doflamingo's voice rose, thunderous and absolute.
"Whatever bonds once tied the Donquixote Family and the Ryugu Kingdom—are finished. From this day forth, there is nothing between us but the sea." His words rang with the finality of a death knell. "I will allow one week. One week for any fishmen within Dressrosa to return to their homeland if they wish. After that, if even a single soul from the Ryugu Kingdom dares set foot in my waters—they will be hunted."
The ultimatum struck like lightning. Poseidon, their carefully laid plans, the years of leniency—all cast aside in a single decree.
Doflamingo turned to Arnold, his expression cold and unreadable behind the flames of his shades.
"Arnold. If you wish to stand with your kin, then go. But if you wish to remain Donquixote, then you will sever every last tie to Ryugu Kingdom. Move your family here. Extend this offer to any fishman willing to cut themselves free of that rotting monarchy—they will have a place under Dressrosa. The rest? They are enemies. And they will be treated as such."
His voice dropped, low and cutting. "This is the last mercy I will ever offer your kind."
The fire crackled. The silence pressed in. And in that moment, everyone present knew—the world had shifted. The Heavenly Demon had severed not just an alliance, but a future. The Fishmen had gambled their fate… and lost.
Issho and Señor arrived on the scene, drawn by the devastation, but neither moved to intervene. They stood at the edge of the battlefield, silent witnesses to their king's wrath. When Issho asked softly what had sparked such rage, Señor could only shake his head grimly. Even without sight, Issho could feel it—the Heavenly Demon's bottom line had been crossed.
"What's happening, Señor…?"
Issho shifted slowly, his sandals touching the fractured stone with a quiet grace that belied the chaos surrounding them. The ground beneath him still radiated with heat from Doflamingo's fury, and the blind swordsman tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing as he felt the distortion of the air, the trembling earth, and the heavy silence that pressed down on the Coral Port like a suffocating shroud.
Señor Pink stood at the edge of the devastation, arms folded, his ever-present composure masking the unease burning in his chest. His eyes followed the towering flames and collapsing ruins where their captain raged unchecked. He didn't look at Issho, didn't speak immediately—the weight of the truth was too heavy to put into words.
At last, Señor shook his head, slow and deliberate, his lips tightening around the cigarette clamped between them.
"Don't ask, Issho-san… Not this time."
Issho's blind eyes turned toward the inferno, the faintest crease forming on his forehead. He could feel it now—rage, pure and unfiltered, radiating from the Heavenly Demon like a storm threatening to swallow everything whole.
If Señor was silent, if even he dared not explain, then Issho understood. Whatever had transpired had not simply angered Doflamingo. It had torn at the very core of his being—past the point where words or reasoning could reach.
And so, Issho stood still, staff resting gently in his hand, making no move to interfere. Because some storms, he knew, were not meant to be calmed.
****
Elbaph, New World
King Harald leaned back upon his great oak chair, the wood groaning beneath the weight of his massive frame. His one good eye gleamed with a mixture of curiosity and gravity as his booming voice filled the hall.
"You come to us with a strange request, Rosinante," the king rumbled, stroking his braided beard.
"Even in mighty Elbaph, where our sagas stretch back farther than most kingdoms dare remember, there is little recorded of the ancient tribe you speak of. But…" — his lips curled into the ghost of a smile — "…what we do hold is yours to access. You will have the knowledge of the giants. After all, with how much the Donquixote family has shared with us, it is only right we return the courtesy."
The murmurs of the gathered warriors quieted. The words of a king in Elbaph were not spoken lightly. He was opening the vaults of their oldest records, carved in stone and inked on hides, treasures of memory rarely shown to outsiders. It was a gesture of immense generosity — and trust.
I inclined my head, bowing with all the gravity his offer deserved. "Then I thank you, on behalf of the Donquixote family." But then, leaning closer, my tone grew lower, carrying the weight of caution. "A word of warning, King Harald. My presence here will not have gone unnoticed. The World Government must already know I stand in Elbaph. It is only a matter of time before they reach out… perhaps with promises. Perhaps with threats."
The flicker of conflict passed over his rugged features — I knew of his great dream, his lifelong yearning to see Elbaph recognized and welcomed by the World Government. And I knew, too, that the Elders would not let such an opportunity slip through their fingers.
But Harald only chuckled, deep and rumbling, the sound like distant thunder. His massive hand gripped the arm of his chair until the wood creaked. "Worry not, Rosinante. I may seek the recognition of the Government, aye, but do not mistake ambition for dishonor. Giants do not trade away their pride. The moment your boots touched Elbaph's soil, you became a guest under our protection. Whatever offers they whisper, whatever riches they promise… rest assured, the giants of Elbaph will never compromise the safety of those under our roof."
I studied him in silence. For all I knew, the Government had already whispered in his ear. But there was no falsehood in his gaze, no tremor in his words. To press him further would not only be pointless — it would insult his pride. And a giant's pride was no small thing.
I straightened, my tone careful but steady. "Then there is… one more request, though I do not know if it is one you can grant."
His brow furrowed, and the air seemed to still. "Speak it."
"If possible… I wish to see the treasured Devil Fruit of the giants."
The words hung in the air like a blade. In an instant, the warmth of the hall evaporated. The fire crackled in the hearth, yet it seemed cold. Harald stiffened where he sat, the knuckles of his massive hand tightening white against the wood of his throne. Around him, the gathered warriors shifted uneasily, their eyes narrowing, shoulders squaring. The very mention of the fruit — their hidden, sacred treasure — drew tension as sharp as drawn steel.
Even among the giants themselves, few spoke of it. Fewer still had seen it. And to an outsider, to dare ask—
"You…" The word rumbled like a storm.
It was not Harald who spoke. From the great doorway of the tavern, a deeper voice thundered, filled with raw emotion. I did not need to turn to know who it was. Prince Loki had entered.
His massive silhouette filled the frame, his eyes blazing like twin embers. He had heard my words, and his fury was palpable. For him, the Devil Fruit was not just a legend, but a destiny denied — one Harald had guarded, withholding the fruit even from his own blood.
"Why have you truly come to Elbaph, Rosinante?" Loki's words cracked through the hall like an axe through stone.
The air was thick with tension. Every giant present was watching, waiting — for my answer, for Harald's response, for the will of fate itself.
"Loki… they are our guests," King Harald's voice boomed, heavy with command. His great hand tightened on the armrest as though ready to strike his son down with words alone.
But Loki ignored him. The young prince stepped forward, his heavy boots shaking the tavern floor with each stride. His towering shadow fell over me where I sat cross-legged upon the countertop — the only surface in the hall small enough to suit my frame. Loki's eyes burned with contempt as he loomed above, as though his sheer size and presence could crush me into submission.
"Guests…?" Loki growled, his lips curling into a sneer. "Do not mock me, Father. He came here with an ulterior motive. Why else would an outsider ask about our most sacred treasure? How could he even know of it? Even Dora is not aware of the Devil Fruit passed down through generations!"
The accusation struck like an axe-blow, and the room stirred. At his words, all eyes turned to me. Dora, standing behind her brother, frowned at his hostility. She could not understand it — why Loki's every word towards me dripped with venom since the moment we set foot on Elbaph. His constant disrespect felt bitter to her, ugly, unbecoming of a giant prince.
I turned slowly, meeting Loki's blazing eyes with my own — sharp, cold, unflinching.
"Would you believe me," I said, my voice steady but cutting like a blade, "if I told you that if I truly wished to seize that Devil Fruit, not even the combined might of Elbaph's giants could stop me?"
The hall fell into silence. It was as though the fire in the hearth had frozen mid-flame. Every warrior stiffened, their pride wounded by my audacity. It was not only Loki whose blood boiled — but the entire gathering of giants. Yet I had no intention of bowing my head to a spoiled prince's disdain. His disrespect needed to be answered.
"What… did you just say?" Loki's voice thundered, trembling with barely restrained rage. His fists clenched until the leather of his gloves creaked. "You dare insult the might of the giants? Do you think yourself untouchable simply because the World Government put a fancy bounty on your head?"
His gaze swept the room, landing for a heartbeat on King Harald. Something silent passed between father and son — then Loki made his choice.
With a guttural roar, Loki ripped the great axe from his waist. Its blade gleamed wickedly in the firelight, etched with runes of old — a weapon that had drunk the blood of countless foes. Without hesitation, he raised it high, then slammed it down upon the countertop beside me. The wood splintered beneath the weight, the strike a clear and unmistakable gesture.
A challenge.
The hall gasped as the steel rang, echoing like thunder. The air grew thick with the scent of fire and sweat, the old Viking tradition brought to life once more.
"I challenge you, Rosinante," Loki declared, his voice like a war drum. "Face me if you have the guts!"
King Harald did not move. His eyes narrowed, torn between fury at his son's insolence and the sting of truth in my provocation. His silence was telling — in Elbaph, a challenge once issued could not simply be dismissed. He would not intervene unless the honor of his people was truly at stake.
I could not help but chuckle, a low and mocking sound that made Dora shift uneasily. Her hands fidgeted at her sides; she understood the weight of what Loki had done. He was digging his own grave, yet by the laws of their pride, I could not refuse. To turn away from such a challenge would brand me a coward before the giants.
"Very well," I said, tilting my head with amusement. "What do we wager? For I understand no duel in Elbaph is fought without a stake."
Loki blinked, momentarily taken aback. He had expected excuses, evasion — not acceptance. My willingness to face him only stoked his fury further.
His sneer widened. "If I win… you will leave Elbaph and never return. You will be banished from this land, barred from our halls and from our soil for all eternity."
I studied him, then let my smile turn cold. My voice, low and sharp, cut through the silence like the edge of a blade.
"Is that so? You bear quite a grudge against me, Prince. Then I should claim something of equal worth, should I not?"
Loki's brow furrowed as I leaned forward, my eyes gleaming with challenge.
"If you lose," I said, my tone dropping to an icy whisper that carried across the hushed hall, "you will renounce your claim as Prince of Elbaph. Not just the title — but your claim to the Devil Fruit as well. You will forfeit both. Forever."
The tavern erupted in gasps. The fire crackled violently as though feeding off the charged air. Loki's jaw tightened, his grip on the axe handle white with fury. And in the silence that followed, the challenge hung like the clash of thunder before the storm.
"Rosinante… the Devil Fruit is not guaranteed for Loki, nor for any giant."
King Harald's voice rolled through the hall, calm yet weighted. The words struck Loki like a blade to the chest, though he did not let his face betray the sting. His jaw tightened, his nostrils flared, but his pride would not allow him to show weakness before me.
I, however, cared little for his wounded ego. I only wanted to etch a lesson into his bones — one he would never forget.
"It doesn't matter," I said coolly, my gaze steady on Loki. "As long as he gives up his claim, that will be payment enough. So tell me, Prince… when shall we do this? I assume you'll want time to prepare yourself."
The mocking tone dripped from my words like venom, stripping him of all courtesy. If he could not respect me as a guest, then I would not grant him the dignity of a prince.
"You…" Loki's growl was low, almost animal, his hands trembling as they clenched around the haft of his axe. But before he could strike again with his tongue, Dora's hand came to rest on his shoulder.
Her voice, though soft compared to the thunder of giants, cut through the tension like a silver blade. "Don't do this, brother. You will lose. Just apologize, and I will speak to Ross… please."
The hall stilled at her words, shocked at her plea.
Loki turned, his eyes burning as though her concern was the worst insult of all. "Dora… if you are going to speak on his behalf, then there is no need to persuade me further. You have made it clear where your loyalties lie." His voice cracked like ice breaking on a fjord. He shrugged her hand away, as though her touch had betrayed him.
Then he turned back to me, his pride refusing retreat. "Three days. Three days from now, we duel. In the Underworld Arena." His voice rose with the declaration, and his next words came like a blade drawn from the sheath: "And it will be a duel to—"
"Enough."
King Harald's thunder silenced the hall. His voice slammed into Loki's words before he could complete them. The king's eye blazed, his presence filling the tavern like a storm rolling over the mountains. He knew what his son had been about to declare — a duel to the death. And Harald, unlike his son, was no fool. He saw what Loki could not: the unfathomable strength hidden behind my calm eyes.
"The duel," Harald declared, "will end when one party is incapacitated or yields. Killing your opponent is forbidden. I will not have the death of a guest — or of a prince — taint the sacred rite of Elbaph."
The weight of his words left no room for argument. As king and judge, his decree was law. Loki glared at me, seething, his pride clinging to rage. "You got lucky, Rosinante. If not for my father's protection, you would be nothing but a corpse at my feet. Three days from now, I will see if your pride can save you."
I chuckled, the sound cold and dismissive, before draining the last of my drink. My mood had soured, Loki's petty challenge gnawing at the air. I already had what I came for — Harald's permission to access the library of Elbaph — and wasting more words here seemed beneath me. Besides, my Observation Haki had already brushed against a familiar presence, one I was far more eager to meet.
As I set the empty cup down, Harald rose from his chair, towering above all. His gaze lingered on Loki, not in anger, but in something heavier — disappointment. Not in his son alone, but in himself, for perhaps failing to guide him better.
"Saul," the king rumbled, turning to one of his most trusted warriors. "Stay with our guest. See to his needs, and let no insult or slight trouble him further."
Saul, the towering giant whose warmth was as great as his strength, gave a solemn nod.
And as Harald departed, his heavy footsteps echoing through the hall, the tension remained — thick, unyielding, and charged with the promise of a storm three days away.