Dancing flames of orange painted the night, their flickering glow illuminating the twisted horror below. Screams of anguish filled the air, mingling with the broken sobs of citizens betrayed by the very hands sworn to protect them. King Riku stood amidst the chaos, his face streaked with tears, his voice hoarse with desperate pleas.

"Please... Run!" he begged, even as his sword involuntarily swung down on a mother crouched over her child.

The world around them tilted—buildings groaned, then crumbled, crushing untold lives beneath their weight. The once-loyal army of Dressrosa turned on its own people, their horrified screams swallowed by the carnage.

"Move! I—I can't control my body!" one soldier howled, stabbing his friend through the heart, salty tears lining his vision as a guttural yell tore from his throat.

And above it all, perched atop a rooftop, Doflamingo watched. A low chuckle rumbled from his throat, unheard amidst the chaos below. His fingers danced effortlessly, pulling the strings—both literally and figuratively. The smirk stretched across his lips, and in the reflection of his tinted lenses, the flames raged on.

"Doffy, shall we start?" came the flamboyant voice of Diamante, adjusting his sword with practiced ease. One mere command, a singular sentence, and the Donquixote hierarchs scattered like predators descending upon weakened prey—Dressrosa’s "saviors," here to rid the kingdom of its treacherous king.

The sight enthralled Doflamingo. Unlike when he'd put down his blood brother two years ago, this? This was exhilarating. Soon enough, he'd have his rightful throne, the common pawns bowing before him, enamored by his power, oblivious to his schemes.

Just as it should be.

But what was this? A faint pull against the fabric of his suit. His fingers twitched, brushing against the Vivre Card in his pocket. The weight was just a little lighter than before.

Oh? Could his favorite toy—oh, acquaintance, of course—be nearby? A burst of genuine excitement shot through his body. Fuffuffu...