Seeing how lonely Katifa looked, Brook had already started planning a solution.
"Katifa, I've scouted a few kids recently," he said, tone casual but firm. "From now on, you're the captain of that team."
In his mind, the list was already set, Inuarashi and Nekomamushi from the Mink Tribe, and even the so called "pseudo girls," the brothers Izo and Kikunojo from Wano's Hanayanagi School. He would throw them all into Katifa's little squad.
And later, he could always hunt down that troublesome "Queen", Emporio Ivankov, and have him turn Izo and Kikunosuke into real girls.
"Thank you, Father."
Katifa spoke coolly as always, but the light in her eyes betrayed her excitement. As Brook's daughter, she had never wanted to be a sheltered princess. She wanted to be a warrior.
"You won't have to envy your older brothers and sisters anymore."
Brook ruffled her golden black hair. Of all his children, Katifa was the one he had failed the most. He had been missing for eight years, and he had missed nearly everything.
Katifa lifted her face, gaze steady.
"I want Father to teach me swordsmanship."
She said it plainly, but the meaning was obvious. She wanted time with him, not gifts.
"Yohoho! Of course," Brook laughed. "Your brothers, sisters, and senior disciples have all graduated. It's been a long time since I taught anyone with my own hands."
He had considered recruiting another class, but the candidates never met his standards, so he never opened a new training hall.
If he ever found Mihawk, and if he could pull in Shanks, Buggy, Doflamingo, and the rest, then maybe he could build a true generation.
But Shanks and Buggy refused to leave Roger's crew to become his students, and Brook was not interested in begging.
As for Doflamingo, Brook had already made up his mind long ago.
That little wolf was not a student.
He was a tool.
Doflamingo had been under special training for a year or two now. He still had not reached true master level, he was too young, but after taking some EX holy medicines that stimulated his potential, his strength had grown frighteningly fast.
At thirteen, Doflamingo was already far beyond the CP prodigy Rob Lucci, the one who had killed five hundred soldiers at the same age.
The current Doflamingo could slaughter thousands without breaking a sweat.
Under Brook's guidance, he had developed a frightening number of String String techniques far earlier than he should have. Even Brook had to admit it, Doflamingo's talent for that fruit was almost flawless.
If his identity were not rotten to the core, Brook might have even felt genuine admiration.
Doflamingo understood perfectly that Brook intended to use him against the World Government.
He did not care.
He wanted strength. He wanted resources. He wanted a teacher who could drag him upward by the throat, and one day, he wanted to smash the world the Celestial Dragons ruled with his bare hands.
Another headache had finally been pulled into line as well.
Blackbeard Teach.
After being studied and dissected in every way possible by Vegapunk and his people, Teach eventually stumbled off that hateful research island, pale faced, and finally began training under Brook properly.
His two sisters, Sharon and Alyssa, were also temporarily placed into Katifa's squad as her subordinates.
Teach and Doflamingo, two ambitious monsters in human skin, were being raised carefully.
And fear had been carved deep into both their hearts.
Brook had already helped Teach secure Devil Fruit abilities, one from each category. A Paramecia, either the Copy Fruit or the Swallow Swallow Fruit. A Zoan, the mythical Nue form. And a Logia, the Swamp Fruit.
Even so, Brook knew it was not enough.
Teach needed to be broken clean and rebuilt.
Brook would not raise a traitor.
With Redfield and the Memory Seahorse watching, even Teach's tiniest schemes would be exposed, and any dangerous ambitions could be ripped out before they matured.
Meanwhile, the World Government was also hunting lost abilities across the seas, especially the ones once held by the bald Elder and God's Knight Michael.
For even a "flesh" fruit, they would smear royal families in member nations and use any method necessary to reclaim it.
The same desperation that drove their greed also made them careless.
And carelessness was fatal.
Holy Land, Mary Geoise.
Pangaea Castle.
Imu stared at the repaired Uranus.
The energy device was still damaged in places, but at least it functioned now. At least it could move, and fire, and exist as a threat again.
Yet another problem festered under the surface.
The Celestial Dragons were too few.
The Nefertari line had been sacrificed until only a single branch remained. Among the other nineteen families, most collateral branches had been wiped out as well, leaving only the main lines.
They had forced themselves to reproduce over these past years, but the results were pitiful. Most newborn Celestial Dragons were still under ten, and the bloodlines were mixed, far from "pure."
Im's ringed pupils settled on Patriarch Adams.
"How many remain?"
Adams shuddered like a dog dragged before a butcher.
"Each clan averages eight adult Celestial Dragons," he reported, voice trembling. "And each clan averages eighteen newborns. Across all nineteen clans, the total is approximately five hundred and thirty."
Imu's expression did not change.
"So we can't even produce a hundred sacrifices this time."
It was not a question.
Imu had not expected that years of "pure blood" intermarriage would crush fertility like this. Worse, every generation seemed dumber than the last. Even after granting them the freedom to breed, ten years had passed and the numbers had not even doubled.
Two hundred branch Celestial Dragons had been sacrificed ten years ago.
Now there were fewer than four hundred mixed blood newborns, and they were young, weak, and impure.
In Imu's eyes, that was worse than the two hundred.
"Lord Imu, please," Adams begged, dropping to his knees before the Empty Throne. "Give us another ten or twenty years…"
The strongest family's patriarch trembled like a puppy. To the world, Celestial Dragons were gods.
Before Imu, they were tools.
"Ten or twenty years?" Imu replied coldly. "Do you understand how strong Brook will be by then?"
His gaze sharpened.
"And those monsters will return one by one. All the chaos will pile up into a single era, then explode. We must erase Brook as soon as possible."
Imu's voice carried no mercy.
The newborn Celestial Dragons could continue to be sacrificed. At worst, a few strong boys would be kept alive.
The rest could be burned.
But first, the Hell Pirates had to be dragged out of the back half of the New World. The closer they stayed to certainty, the harder it was to kill them. If Brook could be forced into the Grand Line, or the Four Seas, uncertainty would rise, and uncertainty could be exploited.
A plan began to form.
The old method.
Capture someone important. Threaten them. Lure the enemy out.
Then wipe them out in a single decisive wave.
If the right second generation Hell Pirate, or a key cadre, was taken, Brook might charge out of the New World without thinking.
The problem was execution.
For the past two years, the Hell Pirates had rarely left the New World. Sending agents to lurk there was risky. Brook's intelligence network would sniff them out sooner or later.
Imu thought of the Teleport Fruit user.
That man had died too easily.
He could not even escape.
A waste.
Otherwise, the navy could have teleported in quietly, snatched one or two second generation Hells, and retreated back to the Grand Line before Brook even noticed.
---------------
While Imu was still scheming in Mary Geoise, the newly appointed Shichibukai Crocodile proved, with impressive speed, that arrogance was faster than any ship.
Young, proud, and drunk on his own reputation, he sailed into the New World alone, aiming to challenge the so called strongest pirate in the world, Brook.
He never even got the chance.
Before Crocodile could lay eyes on the captain of the Hell Pirates or the Five Hell Kings, the Hell Pirates' intelligence network had already peeled his route apart like an orange. His every step was exposed.
Somewhere in the World Government, and definitely in Marine Headquarters, there were likely people cursing his name until their throats went raw.
They could already guess it.
This idiot wasn't "challenging" the Hell Pirates.
He was delivering himself.
On the desert island of Shurima Island, in some Town, Crocodile had just finished restocking when Hell II descended on him, led by Hades and Kanna.
The second generation wanted to see for themselves what this Shichibukai, younger than some of them, really had.
What gave him the nerve to swagger into the New World like he owned it?
Was it courage?
Or was it just the Logia, the Sand Sand Fruit, making him forget what pain felt like?
So they chose this desert island on purpose, a perfect stage, a perfect home field. They were not here to bully a rookie who had never seen the world.
They were here to see the strongest version of Sand Crocodile.
The moment both sides met, the youngest among them, Douglas Bullet, moved first.
He surged forward with a grin and claimed Crocodile as his prey.
Hades and the others had watched Bullet's growth these past two years with their own eyes, but even they had not expected him to leap so far, so fast. In only two years, he had surpassed several of their own people in raw strength.
Men like Vista, Van Augur, and Moria had all fallen to this newcomer.
Crocodile saw a stranger charging him, and his lips curled around the cigar in his mouth. A Shichibukai, a king sanctioned by the World Government, was not supposed to be attacked by nobodies.
He rushed forward too, murderous and eager.
He would drain this arrogant brat dry in one move.
Ever since Barrett had been introduced to the path of Haki, the three types, he had become obsessed. He even slowed his Devil Fruit development, putting most of his focus into Haki refinement.
Crocodile laughed.
"Desert Sword!"
A sharp blade of sand whipped forward, slicing cleanly through the air.
But the youth opposite him turned black from head to toe, Armament Haki coating his body, and he did not dodge.
He ignored the sand blade and came straight through it.
Crocodile's eyes flashed with interest.
"So this is Haki."
He had only been at sea for a little over a year. With the Sand Sand Fruit, the Grand Line had been his playground. Even when he ran into Haki users, he crushed them easily.
Bullet grinned, like he was staring into a mirror from two years ago.
"Haha, I'm looking at myself."
Crocodile snorted, confidence returning.
"I'm a Logia. You can't even hit me…"
His sentence cut off.
A sharp pain bloomed in his gut. The world tilted violently. The scenery snapped backward.
Crocodile was launched like a cannonball, blood spraying from his mouth.
Bullet laughed, wild and bright.
"How weak. Is the World Government full of trash? They'd recruit a loser like you as one of the Seven Warlords, and you think you can challenge the Hell Pirates? What kind of dream are you having?"
Two years ago, Bullet had been humiliated by Hell II the same way.
Now he was the one doing the humiliating.
The boy who slew the dragon had finally started to resemble one.
Crocodile landed hard, grimacing, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. Rage sharpened his features.
"How is this possible? Who are you? A new top officer of the Hell Pirates?"
Bullet clicked his tongue.
"Too weak. I'm already bored."
Above them, Hades and Osiris hovered with arms crossed, two pairs of wings spread, one black, one red. Their expressions were identical, disappointed.
This was the Shichibukai standard?
Then their Hell II squad was, on average, already Shichibukai level.
That was not impressive. That was insulting.
"Haha," someone behind them chuckled. "If the prince and princess aren't interested, then leave that Sand Sand Fruit to us."
Ben Beckman, Abel, Vista, Van Augur, and others who lacked Devil Fruit powers all watched Crocodile with a different kind of hunger.
A Logia was still a Logia.
Mephisto's earth ability was terrifying. Kuzan's ice, Borsalino's light, those were monsters.
Natural powers were always worth desire.
Crocodile's fury steadied into cold calculation. He had been hit once, and that was enough to remind him of the rule.
Play to your strengths. Avoid your weakness.
This was a desert island.
This was his domain.
"Damn you," he hissed. "I can kill you without ever letting you touch me."
Bullet eyes gleamed. He stepped forward like a madman invited to dinner.
"Good. Come on. Let me see what my Armament Haki is missing."
The arrogance in him was almost suicidal, as if he was declaring, kill me if you can.
Bullet speed exploded.
Crocodile's pupils shrank. In an instant, his body dissolved, turning into sand and sinking into the desert like water.
"I'll kill you one by one," Crocodile's voice echoed from every direction.
The wind rose.
Sand began to churn.
A storm swelled, growing larger and larger, twisting into tornadoes of dust that blotted out the sky, like the world was being dragged into the end of everything.
Bullet did not flinch.
Instead, he barked toward his own side.
"Marco, Prince Satan, don't make it rain yet. I'll use Observation Haki to find him."
He was not afraid of the sandstorm.
He was afraid someone would interfere and make the fight end too quickly.
Beating a Shichibukai in a clean, one on one fight would make Bullet famous.
It would bring his bounty into the open.
Marco and Satan could only spread their hands, agreeing to give him more time.
But if it dragged on, they would still step in.
Because Brook had warned them, do not waste time indulging in battle. The longer you stay, the more you expose yourself, and the easier it becomes for enemies to set ambushes.
In a team fight, the rule was simple.
Win, then leave.
Do not linger.
Bullet grinned and plunged directly into the heart of the sandstorm tornado.
"Haha. I'll find that sand rat soon."
Crocodile's voice rang out again, cold and vicious.
"Then I'll bury you alive."
"Desert Sunflower!"
The ground shifted.
Quicksand whirlpools opened around the tornado, spinning violently, swallowing everything nearby. Bullet was caught, dragged down, sealed inside a desert coffin.
His feet sank.
But something purple surged out from his body, spreading over the quicksand like living armor.
Bullet laughed.
"My Devil Fruit can control sand too."
His Fusion Fruit flared, merging sand into his form.
"Combined Form. Desert Giant."
His body expanded, swelling into a towering giant of sand and force. With one swing, he blasted apart a nearby sandstorm tornado, scattering it like smoke.
The giant stomped and tore through the storm, ripping apart the sand below, crushing the desert itself.
But no matter how violently he destroyed, he still could not find Crocodile's real body.
.....
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