Chapter 53: The Monsters' Table

The massive, impenetrable Gates of Justice loomed over the horizon, casting a heavy shadow over the crescent bay of Marineford.

For centuries, they stood as the ultimate symbol of the World Government’s absolute authority.

You didn’t enter unless the Marines allowed it.

I decided to go over them.

The alarm sirens of Marineford began to shriek, echoing across the plaza and the heavily fortified walls.

Thousands of Marines rushed out of the barracks, rifles raised and cannons primed, staring up at the clouds in absolute bewilderment.

High above the fortress, the colossal Sky-Rift Roc let out a deafening screech that vibrated through the very bedrock of the island.

Clutched securely in its massive talons was the Titan’s Glory.

We didn’t bother waiting for clearance.

We simply bypassed the Gates entirely, casting a massive shadow over the execution platform as the Roc gently lowered our Adam Wood ship directly into the center of the bay, displacing a massive wave of water.

I stood on the bow, looking down at the sea of panicked white uniforms.

“Drop the anchor,” I called back to my crew.

“Enjoy the immunity.

If anyone tries to board, Robin, you have my permission to snap their necks.”

Robin smiled warmly from the quarterdeck.

“Have a productive meeting, Captain.”

I didn’t take the whole crew into the lion’s den.

I wanted to make a very specific statement.

I stepped onto the gangway accompanied only by Gammamon, who was currently in his base white triceratops form, happily munching on a large bar of chocolate.

Resting silently inside my shadow, entirely invisible to the naked eye, was the Night-Terror Ferret.

Waiting for me at the docks was a heavily armed escort, led by a deeply on-edge Vice Admiral Doberman.

His scarred face twitched as I approached.

“Warlord Costa,” Doberman ground out, clearly disgusted by the title.

“Follow me.

Do not deviate from the path.”

“Lead the way, Doberman.

And tell your men to lower the rifles before my little buddy gets nervous,” I smirked, gesturing to Gammamon, who waved happily with a chocolate-smeared claw.

We walked through the immaculate, sterile halls of Marineford.

The tension was palpable.

Every Marine we passed glared daggers at me.

I was the man who had just broken a Buster Call, humiliated an Admiral, and been rewarded for it.

Doberman stopped in front of a pair of massive, reinforced oak doors.

He pushed them open, stepping aside.

“The conference room,” Doberman announced stiffly.

I walked in, Gammamon trotting faithfully at my side.

The atmosphere inside the room was so thick with latent Conqueror’s and Armament Haki that it felt like walking into a deep-sea pressure chamber.

Sitting around a massive, circular mahogany table were the monsters the World Government kept on a leash.

Dracule Mihawk sat with his arms crossed, his golden hawk-like eyes entirely bored.

Bartholomew Kuma sat as still as a statue, silently reading a thick, leather-bound Bible.

Boa Hancock was purposefully looking in the opposite direction, her nose tilted so far upward in sheer disgust at the presence of men that she was practically looking at the ceiling.

And sitting at the far end of the table, wearing his ridiculous pink feather coat with his heavy boots kicked up right onto the polished wood, was Donquixote Doflamingo.

His signature vein-popping grin stretched across his face behind his red sunglasses.

He was sizing me up.

“Fufufu,” Doflamingo chuckled, his voice echoing in the quiet room.

“So this is the South Blue upstart taking Moria’s chair?

They let anyone into the club these days.

Even bringing a little pet to a warlord meeting.”

Doflamingo didn’t just insult me; he tested the waters.

With a microscopic, almost imperceptible flick of his fingers, he shot an invisible Parasite string across the table, aiming directly for Gammamon’s spine, intending to make the Digimon dance like a puppet for his own amusement.

My Observation Haki caught the trajectory instantly.

But before I even had to move, the Vanguard handled it himself.

Gammamon stopped chewing his chocolate mid-bite.

His green eyes narrowed into terrifying, feral slits.

BOOM.

A hyper-concentrated, fraction-of-a-second pulse of pure Conqueror’s Haki erupted from the little white Digimon.

It didn’t affect the room’s architecture, but the sheer, domineering willpower slammed into the invisible string, snapping Doflamingo’s Parasite thread instantly.

Mihawk’s eyes shifted slightly.

Hancock finally lowered her head to look.

They realized the “pet” had the color of the supreme king.

Gammamon went right back to chewing his chocolate as if nothing had happened.

I smiled, pulling out a chair.

“He doesn’t like strings, Doflamingo.

And neither do I.”

I didn’t stop there.

I decided to show the Heavenly Yaksha exactly who played the puppeteer game better.

I tapped my boot against the floor.

From the darkness beneath my feet, the Night-Terror Ferret slipped into the room’s shadow network.

It darted invisibly across the floor, seamlessly merging with the shadow cast by Doflamingo’s chair.

Silhouette Mimic.

Doflamingo’s vein-popping grin froze.

His physical body suddenly went completely rigid.

Against his own will, his boots were violently yanked off the table.

His spine snapped perfectly straight, his hands forced down flat onto his knees.

The shadow construct forced him to sit up like a remarkably obedient, disciplined schoolboy.

The Warlord’s jaw clenched in absolute shock and fury.

He tried to move his arms, but the umbral constraint holding his silhouette hostage was as strong as steel.

It took him three agonizing, humiliating seconds.

Doflamingo flared his own immense Conqueror’s Haki, the black and red lightning violently clashing against my Ferret’s shadow-hold until the umbral connection shattered.

Doflamingo gasped slightly, his pink coat ruffling as he regained control of his own limbs.

The room was dead silent.

I had just physically restrained the ruler of Dressrosa without even raising a finger.

I casually walked past his chair to take my seat.

As I passed behind him, I leaned in, my voice dropping to a low, chilling whisper meant only for his ears.

“Nice coat,” I whispered.

“It would be a real shame if it got ruined by a broken toy.

Tell me…

how are the Five Elders doing these days?”

Doflamingo went completely stiff.

The trademark grin entirely vanished from his face, replaced by a look of sheer, ice-cold realization.

He slowly turned his head to look at me, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

He suddenly understood.

I wasn’t just a strong rookie who beat an Admiral.

I was the blackmailer holding his life in the palm of my hand.

I sat down, crossing my legs just as the heavy oak doors opened again.

Fleet Admiral Sengoku walked in, accompanied by the legendary Vice Admiral Tsuru.

Sengoku’s glare burned a hole into my forehead, but he maintained protocol.

He unrolled a heavy parchment document onto the center of the table.

“We are here to formally ratify the treaty,” Sengoku announced, his voice tight.

“Victor D.

Costa.

By signing this, you agree to answer the World Government’s call to war when summoned, and you agree to surrender a portion of your plunder to Mary Geoise.

In exchange, your bounties, and the bounties of your crew, are frozen indefinitely.”

I picked up the quill.

“My crew remains entirely off-limits to Marine jurisdiction.

If a Marine steps foot on my ship without my permission, the treaty is void, and they lose their head.

Understood?”

Sengoku ground his teeth, but he gave a curt nod.

I signed my name with a flourish, officially cementing my title as a Warlord of the Sea.

Across the table, Vice Admiral Tsuru watched me carefully.

She had dealt with Doflamingo’s manic arrogance and Crocodile’s secret ambitions.

But as she looked into my eyes, she saw something entirely different.

She saw cold, unfeeling calculation.

She realized instantly that the Five Elders hadn’t hired a dog; they had invited a wolf into the house.

“The meeting is adjourned,” Sengoku declared.

“Return to your territories.”

I stood up, adjusting my coat.

Doflamingo didn’t say a single word to me as I left.

He was too busy calculating how to survive the geopolitical trap I had him in.

I walked out of the conference room, navigating the sterile hallways of Marineford to return to the docks.

Gammamon trotted alongside me, finishing the last of his chocolate.

As we turned a corner, a massive, imposing shadow fell over us.

Bartholomew Kuma stood in the middle of the hallway, his towering frame blocking the path.

He looked down at me, his expression entirely stoic behind his glasses.

He held his Bible in one hand, his bear-eared hat casting a shadow over his face.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then, without changing his expression or moving his lips noticeably, the massive cyborg quietly murmured a highly specific, coded phrase.

“The South wind blows favorably for the Revolutionary cause.”

My eyes widened a fraction of an inch.

Kuma wasn’t just a Warlord; he was one of Dragon’s top men.

He was directly tied to Jasmine’s master plan and her Revolutionary network.

I looked up into Kuma’s face.

My Observation Haki swept over him.

I could feel the cold, mechanical hum of the Pacifista modifications replacing his biology…

but beneath the steel and the wires, I could still sense the warm, beating rhythm of his humanity.

The World Government hadn’t completely erased his mind yet.

He still had his memories.

He still had his soul.

He still has time, I thought, a profound sense of resolve settling into my chest.

I looked at the towering man—a man who had sacrificed his entire life and body to protect his daughter and save the world.

I felt the deep, resonant connection of our shared, hunted bloodline.

We were remnants of a forgotten past, walking among the monsters who tried to exterminate us.

“I hear the wind,” I murmured back quietly.

I looked him dead in the eye, letting the weight of my promise carry through my voice.

“Stay strong, Kuma.

One Buccaneer to another…

I’m going to find a way to fix this.”

Kuma didn’t react outwardly, but the faintest, almost imperceptible softening appeared in his eyes.

I gave him a subtle nod of deep respect, stepping around him to continue down the hall.

I walked out into the sunlight of the bay, stepping back onto the gangway of the Titan’s Glory.

My Warlord status was secured.

The Marines were leashed.

Robin was free, and my sister’s invisible network was protecting our flanks.

“Anchor up!” I shouted, the thrill of the adventure returning to my veins.

“Tell the Roc to take us to the clouds!

We’re going over the Red Line.

Next stop: The New World!”

Word Count: 1771

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