-Broadcast-
One pervert condemning another for his perversions—the irony wasn't lost on Brook, though he bristled at being lumped in with common degenerates. Unlike Franky, who wore his eccentricities like badges of honor, the Soul King maintained that his appreciation for feminine undergarments was a gentleman's harmless curiosity. What harm came from a simple peek? No flesh was lost, no dignity truly damaged.
"You have no right to criticize me, dressed like that," Brook retorted, gesturing at the bizarre sight before him. The baby-outfit-clad man was clearly a Donquixote Family executive—probably the SMILE factory's guardian, given his positioning.
Senior Pink worked his pacifier thoughtfully as he assessed his skeletal opponent. The swordsman's technique had been impressive, but that emaciated frame looked fragile as spun glass. If he could get in close, the battle would be over quickly. His Sui Sui no Mi (Swim-Swim Fruit) made such tactics child's play.
"I'll teach you proper respect for women," Senior declared, activating his Devil Fruit power.
The executive dove into the solid ground as if it were water, the earth rippling around his passage. Everything within his influence became his personal swimming pool, giving him three-dimensional mobility that few could counter.
"Another Devil Fruit user attempting a sneak attack—" Brook began, but Senior was already beneath him, powerful hands erupting from the floor to seize the musician's skeletal legs and drag him down into the suffocating earth.
Feeling his bones sink inexorably into the soil, Brook knew hesitation meant death. He drove his cane sword deep into the ground and channeled the frigid essence of the underworld through the blade.
"Aubade: Chill of Yomi!"
The icy slash carved through the earth like a frozen scythe, forcing Senior to release his grip and swim frantically to avoid the supernatural cold. He barely escaped, emerging from the factory floor with a diagonal cut across his left arm, ice crystals already forming around the wound to prevent natural healing.
"Unusual swordsmanship," Senior admitted, rolling his wounded shoulder experimentally. "It seems I'll need to use other methods."
Golden lightning began to dance across the baby-suited man's frame—power that clearly didn't originate from his swimming abilities. Senior felt a pang of guilt at resorting to borrowed strength, but protecting Doflamingo's most vital facility took precedence over personal honor.
Thunder crashed from above as transformation energy coursed through Senior's body. Brook's top hat went flying in the supernatural windstorm, but the musician paid it no mind—his attention was riveted on the metamorphosis taking place before him.
What Senior had inherited was the Beast Titan, though his version differed dramatically from the hairy giant others might expect. Instead, his form stretched and elongated into a twenty-meter salamander, its red skin glistening with thick mucus that would allow it to thrive in the damp underground environment he favored.
The transformed executive wasted no time on intimidation. His massive tongue shot out like a whip, coiling around Brook's skeletal frame with crushing force. Without pause, the salamander dove into the earth, dragging its prey toward the suffocating depths where no rescue could reach them.
The Beast Titan's strength was overwhelming. Within moments they had descended hundreds of meters, but Senior's paranoia demanded greater depths. Using his fruit's power to liquify the surrounding stone and soil, he continued his relentless descent into the planet's crust.
Rock and debris scraped against Brook's bones as they plunged deeper. The Soul King understood his predicament perfectly—the moment Senior released his Devil Fruit ability, the liquified earth would solidify around him, creating a tomb more inescapable than any ocean floor.
The crushing weight of the earth made drawing his sword impossible, but Senior's focus on physical imprisonment revealed a fundamental misunderstanding. If the executive valued Brook's body so highly, perhaps it was time to demonstrate why such fixation was misplaced.
"Soul Projection!"
Brook's spirit separated from his skeletal frame in a cascade of ethereal green light. As a purely spiritual entity, he could pass through any physical barrier without resistance. The ghostly musician began his ascent toward the surface, leaving his earthly shell behind.
Senior continued his downward journey for several more kilometers, noting absently that his captive had grown lighter but attributing it to resignation rather than escape. When he finally retracted his tongue and released his power, Brook's body became trapped in solid stone thousands of meters below ground—a perfect prison for any normal opponent.
The red salamander took one final look at the motionless skeleton, satisfied that even if the pervert survived the crushing weight, he would never claw his way to freedom. Senior began his return journey, swimming through liquified rock with practiced ease.
Upon reaching the factory floor, however, a familiar voice greeted him from above.
"Actually, my body isn't that important. You've rather missed the point, I'm afraid."
Senior's reptilian eyes tracked upward to see Brook's green soul hovering in the air, arms crossed in mild amusement. This was his first encounter with a true spiritual entity—not some artificial homunculus or animated puppet, but a genuine soul operating independently of flesh.
Brook's spectral form began to radiate otherworldly power as he assumed his role as lord of the departed. "As Master of Souls, I command the underworld to open its gates before me. Let those spirits bound to this man answer my call and cross the threshold between life and death!"
Reality tore open behind the Soul King, revealing a massive portal carved with scenes of divine judgment. Eighteen concentric circles represented the traditional levels of hell, while at the center, six paths depicted the eternal cycle of death and rebirth. The gate itself seemed alive, emanating the wails and lamentations of countless tortured souls paying for their earthly sins.
-Real World-
In his shadowy castle, Gecko Moria watched the hellish portal manifest with undisguised envy. Such power over death itself would make his zombie army unstoppable. Already his subordinates were tracking Brook's movements, preparing to extend an invitation the musician couldn't refuse
"A partnership between one who commands souls and one who commands corpses," Moria cackled to himself, his massive frame shaking with anticipation. "Brook, you must become my right hand!"
-Broadcast-
Senior stared in growing horror as a female spirit emerged from the infernal gateway, her ethereal form kneeling respectfully beside Brook's soul. She possessed light brown hair and a smattering of freckles across pale cheeks—features that Senior recognized with the piercing agony of old grief.
"Russian?" The name escaped his lips as a broken whisper. "That's impossible... I must be hallucinating. You can't be here."
The hardened executive's psychological defenses crumbled instantly. He forced his way out of the salamander's skull, desperate to see the apparition with human eyes. But his deceased wife's spirit remained kneeling beside the Soul King, as real and present as his own shattered heart.
Brook's spectral form flickered with dark satisfaction. Through his connection to the underworld, he had learned the full scope of this woman's suffering—torments that made even his jaded soul recoil in sympathy.
"Tell him about your experiences in hell," Brook commanded.
Russian's spirit drifted toward her former husband, but Senior's hope for reunion died the moment he saw her expression. Instead of love or longing, her beautiful features were twisted with such profound hatred that it seemed to distort her very essence. The corrosive poison of her resentment had survived even the mythical waters of forgetfulness.
"Senior Pink," she hissed, her voice carrying the accumulated venom of years in torment. "Why don't you just die? Do you have any idea what our child and I have endured in hell? I want to tear the flesh from your bones and drink your blood! Why did I ever marry such a lying monster?"
The familiar cadence of her voice—now dripping with malice instead of affection—snapped Senior back to brutal reality. What kind of unimaginable torture must a woman endure in the depths of hell to transform love into such consuming hatred?
Around the world, viewers watching through the Sky Screen felt a chill that had nothing to do with temperature. Senior Pink, regardless of timeline, stared at this glimpse of his wife's eternal suffering with a mixture of joy at seeing her again and horror at what she had become.