"Why the hell is he attacking us?! Isn't he supposed to be fighting the Donquixote Pirates?!" Rear Admiral Kaito bellowed, his voice cracking with panic as another warship was torn apart before his very eyes.
The blazing breath of destruction had descended like a god's curse—molten, roaring, indiscriminate. It wasn't just fire. It was something older, crueler—like the wrath of a dragon who'd once watched the world burn and decided to do it again.
A blinding white light shot across the sky, and then came the impact. Another colossal marine vessel—one of the G11 fleet's command carriers—split open like paper caught in a hurricane, its metal frame screeching as it melted midair. Screams rang out, quickly drowned by the shrieking storm of superheated wind and shrapnel.
Rear Admiral Kaito stumbled back as the shockwave slammed into his own ship, the force enough to send men sprawling across the deck, and cannons tumbling like toys. He gripped the rail and stared upward, eyes wide.
And there it was. The sky had darkened minutes ago, but not with storm clouds. No thunder. No rain. Just shadow. Living, breathing, slithering shadow.
The silhouette writhed high above them, so vast it eclipsed the moon itself. Scales like molten steel glinted with malevolence. Horns arched like obsidian blades toward the heavens. Tail like mountains flexed once—and the wind shrieked through the void they carved.
A serpent. A beast. A force of nature.
Kaido.
The Emperor of the Beasts had come—not from the front lines, not from the New World's chaotic battlegrounds—but from behind. From their blind spot. From the unthinkable.
Rear Admiral Kaito could barely comprehend it. Just hours ago, the G11 outpost fleet had received a sudden priority order: abandon all secondary fortifications and converge toward the G1 stronghold. A command straight from Fleet Admiral Sengoku himself. The situation was dire, but no one had imagined this. No one had guessed that he would be here.
"What about the reinforcements…?" Vice Admiral Momonga's voice cut through the chaos, cold and strained as he deflected another volley of flame with his sword, the steel glowing red-hot in his grip.
Around him, the sea burned.
What remained of the proud G11 fleet had descended into a nightmare—flaming wreckage littered the water, once-proud warships now reduced to shattered hulks. Screams echoed across the battlefield as Marines fought not an enemy... but annihilation itself.
Only a handful of veteran Vice and Rear Admirals still stood, forming a battered core defense as the inferno rained from the heavens. Their haki flared, their hands bled, but they endured—each a pillar trying to keep the fleet from collapsing entirely under the weight of an impossible foe.
But they were being hunted. The sky was no longer theirs. High above, the creature wheeled with terrifying grace—an immense draconic figure whose presence seemed to shatter reality itself.
But something was wrong.
Vice Admiral Momonga narrowed his eyes as he tracked the beast through the smoke-wreathed sky. The records were clear—Kaido's Zoan transformation was that of the Azure Dragon, a beast as blue as the morning sea, rippling with sky-hued scales and celestial flame.
But this one was crimson. Blood-red scales shimmered like molten rubies in the moonlight. Fire poured from its jaws in torrents. And yet—every curve of its massive form, every deafening roar, every thunderous attack—matched Kaido's dragon form perfectly.
Momonga's mind screamed Kaido—but his gut whispered No. Still, theory had no place in a dying battlefield. The priority was survival.
"Maintain defensive formation! Prioritize evacuation!" he barked, haki lacing his command, rallying the remaining captains. "We hold until the last marine ship escapes!"
Above them, another roar split the air—followed by another wave of destruction. And yet, through the smoke and chaos, high above even the breathless panic, one teen flew not with desperation… but purpose.
Rob Lucci.
His dragon form soared with terrifying precision, his serpentine body tearing through clouds as if reality itself bent to his will. The heat radiating off his body warped the sky. He wielded his power with surgical cruelty—mimicking Kaido's sheer violence while sowing seeds of doubt and terror in every Marine heart.
He struck like Kaido. He moved like Kaido. He wasn't Kaido. But to the men and women below, caught in the inferno, there was no time to question. Only survive. Lucci, from above, saw the disarray spreading. Just as Master Doffy intended.
The deception was working. The Donquixote fleet had split days prior. One arm had charged into facing Kaido's fleet head-on—a deliberate provocation to sell the illusion of conflict. But the second, larger fleet, led by Diamante and the elite agents of the new Donquixote regime, had circled wide through undetected sea corridors, slipping past Marine surveillance entirely.
Now, they struck from the rear, just as the World Government diverted all forces forward. And Kaido's "betrayal" was the final stroke.
From the perspective of the Marines, it seemed as if the Emperor of the Beasts had turned on them, joining hands with the very man they were pushing him to fight—Donquixote Doflamingo.
Masterful.
Lucci did not share in the chaos for personal pleasure. His fury was precise, his rampage calculated. He knew the illusion would not hold forever. The closer the Fleet Admirals examined the footage, the more they would suspect something. But that didn't matter.
Every moment of confusion was a weapon. And right now, chaos was his ally. Far below, Momonga was beginning to connect the dots. As another flaming bolt passed over his head, he shouted to his aide.
"Get me a secure line to G1! I want a visual relay of Kaido's confirmed position from Bone Drift! NOW!"
The young ensign scrambled, sweat pouring down his brow. Momonga's eyes burned as he watched the red dragon sweep low again, bathing three more ships in flame. He clenched his sword tighter.
"If Kaido is still battling Moria in Bone Drift… then this—"
"—is a lie," he whispered.
He looked back to the smoking battlefield, to the retreating ships, to the charred sea. Too late. The damage was already done. Morale had shattered. Communications were scattered. The chain of command was in disarray. In just a few passes, this crimson dragon had upended the entire defense line.
And now, for the first time in years, the Vice Admiral felt the weight of uncertainty settle in his chest like lead. Because if Kaido hadn't betrayed them—but this illusion had made it look like he had—then Doflamingo had done more than break the lines. He had shattered the trust between the Marines and their most volatile asset.
"Look out—!!"
The panicked cry rang out a split second before the sky shattered. A deafening shockwave tore through the air as the crimson dragon's tail lashed with monstrous force. A massive white ape—a transformed Rear Admiral using an ancient Zoan devil fruit—took the full brunt of the blow.
"BOOOOM!"
The simian giant was flung like a doll across the deck, the impact splintering reinforced steelwood beneath his weight. His form shifted mid-crash, reverting to his human state as blood erupted from his mouth. He coughed violently, body twitching, barely conscious.
Above him, the sky was a maelstrom of death.
Marines darted across the air using Geppo, desperately trying to contain the dragon's rampage. But it was futile. Against the sheer might of the beast above them, Vice Admiral Momonga realized grimly, anything below his rank was cannon fodder. Those without advanced Haki were being tossed like ragdolls, or reduced to ash in a single scorching breath.
Then, with a low guttural rumble, the dragon's jaws widened once more. Here it comes. A glow built in its throat—deep, ominous, celestial red. The breath attack surged forward with terrifying speed, aimed directly at the wounded Rear Admiral sprawled helpless on the ruined deck.
"Soru!"
Vice Admiral Momonga vanished, reappearing midair in a blur of speed, planting himself between the dragon's fury and the crippled ship. His blade gleamed black as Armament Haki surged along its length. With a roar of effort, he slashed forward—
"BOOM!"
The collision was thunderous. A brilliant explosion of crimson flame and obsidian Haki rippled across the sky. Momonga's arms strained violently, his sword screeching as it met the breath head-on. But the raw force—overwhelming.
His blade groaned under the pressure, edges flaring white-hot. Gritting his teeth, he shifted his stance mid-air and subtly tilted the edge of the blade—redirecting the blast just enough.
The beam veered off-course and tore a canyon into the sea, a massive pillar of water exploding into the air as the wave surged and rocked the fleet. Before anyone could even breathe in relief—
"NO—A SECOND ONE!!"
Another breath, fiercer and faster, screamed from the dragon's maw. It was merciless.
"Shit…" Momonga cursed, momentum still carrying him from the last clash. He had no footing, no guard ready. Midair, vulnerable—
Then—
BOOM!
A deafening, world-splitting sound cracked through the sky as another beam of energy erupted from the ocean's surface—this one a searing streak of violet lightning, colliding midair with the dragon's breath.
The collision was cataclysmic. Two titanic forces met head-on—one a river of scarlet annihilation, the other a beam of divine wrath. The point of impact crackled with arcs of elemental fury. The air screamed as space twisted. Thunderous wind surged in every direction, flattening sails, snapping masts, and sending Marines flying.
The sea heaved and boiled beneath the impact zone. Fire and lightning coiled around one another in a violent dance of destruction.
And then— A roar.
So deep it rumbled the very iron of the warships. The source of the second beam revealed itself as a new colossal form landed atop the flagship's deck. The entire warship groaned under the weight of the creature—an ancient, serpent-like monster whose sheer presence commanded silence.
From its body rose nine massive heads, each one snapping and hissing with divine malice. A hide of ghostly black and shimmering gold twisted with ancient markings. Its fangs gleamed like swords, and thunder crackled around its coils.
Yamato-no-Orochi.
"...It's—It's Vice Admiral Vergo!!"
The Marines roared in renewed hope as the Orochi's nine heads reared up, each bellowing in unison—a challenge to the dragon above. One mythical beast answered the call of another.
On the deck below, Vice Admiral Momonga dropped to one knee, breathing heavily as the weight of his near-death encounter washed over him.
He looked up as the sky split between fire and thunder.
"Thank the heavens…" he muttered. "If Vergo hadn't arrived just now…" He didn't finish. The dragon above snarled, massive form flaring out as it let loose a long, resounding roar in answer. Its glowing eyes fixed on the Orochi like a predator acknowledging its equal.
As the cataclysmic clash of elemental power above began to fade into crackling embers and rolling thunder, Vice Admiral Momonga allowed himself a brief moment of relief. He exhaled, the strain in his muscles still singing from the earlier defense. The fleet, or what remained of it, had been spared—for now.
But relief brought questions. Why was Vergo, one of the highest-ranking Vice Admirals, here? He had been last stationed at the G5 Forward Outpost, far from the battlefront. Before Momonga could voice his confusion, one of the Orochi's nine serpentine heads twisted smoothly toward him. Its eyes glowed like twin suns, burning with awareness and authority.
"Vice Admiral Garp dispatched me." The voice echoed with the calm, clipped weight of command—Vergo's unmistakable tone. "He felt something was off about the rear lines. Something didn't sit right with him."
Momonga's eyes narrowed. So Garp had sensed it too… the subtle misdirection, the eerie silence from G-13, the unusual fleet movements. It wasn't just coincidence.
"Turns out…" Vergo's head turned skyward, eyes locking with the crimson-scaled monstrosity that hovered above them, "…his instincts were right."
The dragon loomed above like a god of destruction, its serpentine form outstretched, eyes burning with unrelenting menace. Every lash of its tail sent hurricanes sweeping across the sea, every growl echoed like thunder rolling across the heavens.
"I left G5 two days ago and made haste here," Vergo continued. "Seems I arrived just in time…"
Without another word, the massive serpentine heads of the Orochi began to dissipate in a whirl of smoke and flickering energy. In a seamless motion, Vergo reverted to his human form, standing tall on the deck of the flagship.
His Marine coat billowed in the wind, and his signature weapon—a long pole made of pure seastone essence—materialized in his hand with a metallic clang. He turned slightly, casting a sharp glance over his shoulder at Momonga.
"Vice Admiral Momonga." His voice was ice-cold. "Evacuate everyone. Get the wounded and surviving ships to safety. I'll engage Kaido."
Before Momonga could object, Vergo's foot kicked off the deck with a thunderous crack. He vanished upward, using Geppo in a violent burst that shattered the wooden planks beneath him.
He soared toward the sky like a spear hurled by the gods themselves, iron pole in hand, body brimming with Haki.
Momonga stepped forward instinctively, wanting to shout—"Wait!"—but he held back.
Because he wasn't sure. That thing in the sky… it may not be Kaido.
Yes, the dragon bore all the traits of the Emperor's mythical Zoan form—the massive size, the swirling clouds, the devastation left in its wake. But there were subtle differences. The coloration was wrong—blood crimson instead of Kaido's iconic azure blue. The way it moved—more tactical, less brute-force. It was calculated. It was deliberate.
Still…He had no proof. And Vergo had already committed himself to the skies.
"Maybe… once he forces that thing out of its Zoan form," Momonga muttered under his breath, "we'll finally know who we're up against."
But his expression remained grim. If it was Kaido…
Then even Vergo, the man known across the seas as the "Demon Fist of Justice," might not be enough. No matter how powerful, no matter how unrelenting, few in the world could match the Emperor of Beasts in a straight fight.
He turned toward the chaos behind him. Fires burned along broken decks. Bodies floated in the water. Marines screamed, bled, and scrambled to restore some semblance of order. He clenched his fists. There was no time to hesitate.
"ALL SHIPS—RETREAT!" Momonga bellowed with all the force of a Vice Admiral. "Protect the wounded! Prioritize evacuation! Don't stop unless you want to be dragon food! MOVE!!"
The fleet surged into motion at his command. In the sky above, a lance of black-and-gold Haki cut through the clouds as Vergo met the crimson dragon midair. And the heavens shook.
****
The sharp sound of the den den mushi transmission cutting off echoed across the deck of the Donquixote Pirates' flagship, Anne's Grace. The silence that followed was brief, but heavy with satisfaction.
Though the fleet trailing behind was only a dozen ships strong, it carried the weight of monsters. This wasn't a force meant for numbers—it was a strike force, a spearhead composed of the deadliest in Doflamingo's command.
Standing at the prow, his pink feathered coat whipping in the wind, Donquixote Doflamingo chuckled, a low, guttural sound that echoed off the waves.
"Fufufufu… it seems everything is going according to plan."
His smile widened, sharklike and glinting with madness. "The chaos is beautifully orchestrated."
Beside him, leaning slightly on his sheathed blade, Issho—known to the world as Fujitora—faced the horizon, his blind gaze steady as ever. Though he could not see, he felt the shift in the wind, the trembling of justice, and the roiling storm rising behind them.
"The Marines aren't fools, Doffy…" he said quietly. "Sooner or later, they'll realize the one tearing through their rear isn't Kaido."
Doflamingo's grin only deepened. "Let them realize. But not yet."
He stepped forward, arms wide, as if welcoming the chaos unfolding far behind them.
"As long as they believe it's Kaido long enough to stall their response, it's more than enough," he said. "And with Vergo in place—embedded as deeply as he is—he will confirm to them what they want to believe: that the beast he's clashing blades with is Kaido himself."
He let the thought hang in the air like a dagger.
"I trust Lucci," Doflamingo said with rare gravity. "He was trained by my little brother, after all. He knows how to emulate fear. All he has to do is sell the illusion—make them believe they're fighting a Yonko. And judging by the panic spreading in their ranks, he's doing just that."
Even Issho gave a subtle nod. He may have doubted the morality of Doflamingo's methods, but there was no denying the genius behind this maneuver.
Deceive. Distract. Devastate.
By unleashing Lucci—transformed by a crimson-scaled Mythical Zoan—into the Marine rear lines, they had not only pinned down a considerable portion of the fleet but had sown internal doubt.
And with Vergo, a vice admiral long trusted, engaging Lucci head-on, the lie had taken root. So long as they controlled the narrative, Dressrosa would remain untouched while they made their true move against Kaido and Moria.
From the sideline, Miyamoto, a stoic swordsman of the Donquixote elite, finally spoke, his voice steady but edged with concern.
"What of Gecko Moria, Master Doffy? What if the World Government or the Marines reach out to him directly for confirmation? After all… he's fighting the real Kaido."
Doflamingo turned slowly, lips curled in amusement.
"Fufufufu… Oh, Miyamoto… you overestimate the pride of the World Government."
He began to pace the deck, every step deliberate.
"The moment Moria turned his blades against Kaido, defying Marine coordination, he burned what little credibility he had left as a Shichibukai. Even if he screams at the top of his lungs that Kaido is with him, do you think the Navy would believe a disgraced Warlord… or one of their own Vice Admirals?"
His golden lenses glinted like a predator's eyes. "Especially a man like Vergo, who's played the role of loyal soldier for years. His word will be law."
Issho tilted his head slightly. "It's a dangerous game… if the truth is discovered, Vergo's cover—"
"Will hold," Doflamingo interrupted. "So long as Vergo never names Kaido directly. All he needs to say is: 'I fought a Mythical Zoan Dragon.' And unless they can explain how another one just happened to appear with Kaido's exact form and fury, they won't question it. Especially if Kaido himself disappears after the battle."
He raised a hand, snapping his fingers once. "Misdirection. The oldest trick in the book."
Issho said nothing, but the faintest trace of a smile ghosted across his lips. Far ahead, on the stormy horizon, flashes of red and blue lightning split the sky. The distant silhouettes of two titans—Kaido and Moria—clashed like monsters from myth. Their battle cracked the heavens. Explosions of wind and shadow shook the air itself.
"Let the world believe Kaido betrayed the Marines…" Doflamingo murmured, voice laced with venomous glee. "Let them see chaos, and feel the sting of uncertainty. While they chase illusions…"
He extended one arm toward the horizon, where their fleet surged forward through the sea foam.
"…we carve out a new throne amidst the war."
Doflamingo stepped forward, the rain cascading down in sheets, soaking his crimson three-piece suit until the fabric clung to his frame like war paint. With deliberate flair, he shrugged off his iconic feathered overcoat and let it fall, sodden and forgotten, onto the blood-slicked deck of Anne's Grace.
The storm howled around them, wind and water thrashing as if the very seas themselves recognized the significance of the moment. Lightning cracked across the heavens, illuminating the jagged scar on Doflamingo's face and casting his expression in a savage light.
He turned to face his fleet—dozens of ships arrayed behind him like the teeth of a leviathan—and raised his arms high, the very image of a dark messiah.
"Today, we end the reign of the Beast!" Doflamingo's voice boomed, enhanced by the strength of his haki echoing across every vessel. "Today, we make Kaido pay for every drop of blood spilled! For the lives of our brothers… for the islands he turned to ash… for the scars we still carry!"
A ripple of thunder punctuated his words. The crewmen, officers, and commanders aboard every ship stood transfixed, hanging on his every word. These weren't mere pirates—they were Doflamingo's legion, hardened in fire and loyalty.
"No quarter," Doflamingo roared, his golden glasses glinting like the eyes of a vengeful god.
"Leave none alive! Let the seas drink their screams! Let the sky remember our fury!"
Then came the transformation. Without warning, a torrent of black flames erupted from Doflamingo's body, spiraling into the sky like a demonic inferno. The unnatural fire didn't consume him—it crowned him. The shadows danced across his body, forming horns, claws, and wings in fleeting silhouettes. For a moment, he resembled a devil born from myth, an embodiment of vengeance itself.
Crewmen staggered back at the intensity, eyes wide, but their fear quickly gave way to awe.
Cheers erupted from the ships—drums pounded, horns blared, and sails unfurled. The fleet lurched forward, tearing through the waves like a beast uncaged, heading straight for the inferno on the horizon: the maelstrom where Kaido's Beast Pirates clashed with Moria's undead horde.
"But mark this well!" Doflamingo bellowed, his voice now a thunderclap against the storm.
"Kaido's head is mine! No one else lays a finger on him unless they want to lose theirs."
The black flames burned brighter, wreathing him like a halo of destruction as he leapt from the flagship's prow, using Geppo to soar through the air, leaving a trail of smoke and fire in his wake.