White Flame sat in what used to be the guards' rest area, legs propped up on the table, enjoying a cigarette while wiping the dried blood off his arms with a rag.
"This place… definitely isn't an official prison," he muttered.
A real government-run dungeon would never be this under-staffed.
And after all the chaos and screaming inside, there should've been guards flooding in by now. But outside—it was dead silent, as if this place was sealed off from the world.
It wasn't hard to guess.
This prison didn't belong to the kingdom—it belonged to the Donquixote Family. A private black site where they locked up pirates and "problems" they didn't want the world to see.
No one outside would ever hear the screams from within.
One hour later.
The last shriek faded into silence.
White Flame felt a torrent of heat roaring through his body, like molten fire surging in his veins. His muscles tensed, his entire being blazing like a living furnace as power flooded him—wild, endless power.
"A flawless body. No weakness."
"As long as I don't die, I'll keep coming back."
"The more I kill, the stronger I become… and the easier it gets to kill again."
A slow smile crept across his lips.
"Looks like my version of an Ajin is worth a hell of a lot more than the ones from that manga."
He inhaled deeply, exhaled a thin stream of smoke, and narrowed his eyes.
Over the past hour, he'd made a few discoveries.
Ordinary Ajin could only keep their black ghosts active for a few minutes—five, maybe ten. But Little Black had been slaughtering non-stop for an hour now, showing no signs of fading.
Which meant that as long as he lived, Little Black could exist indefinitely.
"Alright."
"Everyone's been fed to you. Time to leave."
White Flame stood up, flicking ash from his cigarette. He slipped into a long black coat, adjusted the collar, and walked toward the exit.
The once-secret prison of the Donquixote Family was now nothing more than a butchered graveyard—pools of blood seeping into the floor, a suffocating metallic stench thick in the air, and heaps of mangled flesh and bone scattered everywhere.
Nothing else remained alive.
The Next Morning — Dressrosa, King's Plateau
"Diamante! You'd better have a damn good explanation for this!"
The royal chamber was filled with golden light.
A tall, blond man in a flamboyant pink feathered coat, sharp shoes, and signature sunglasses leaned back in his chair, irritation radiating from every movement.
If White Flame were here, he would've recognized him instantly.
The man who nearly had him executed—
Donquixote Doflamingo, one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea, and the current King of Dressrosa.
His voice was calm—but the room was heavy with tension.
Around him stood several of his top officers:
The disgusting, mucus-oozing Trebol, and the massive, stone-bodied Pica, both glaring toward the bewildered Diamante.
"What's going on, Doffy?" Diamante asked, confused.
"You tell me what's going on!" Doflamingo snapped. "Didn't you tell me yesterday that you personally executed that brat who bumped into me?"
"Then explain how he's not only alive—but slaughtered everyone in the prison, including the pirates we locked up!"
"This is how you handle my orders?!"
Diamante froze. His heart skipped a beat.
That man… hadn't died?
Impossible.
He had pulled the trigger himself—right between the eyes. There was no surviving that.
"Come on, Doffy, that's not funny…" he said weakly, waving his hands.
"Oh? Do I look like I'm joking to you?"
Doflamingo's voice dropped to a deadly calm, and Diamante's throat went dry.
That look in Doffy's eyes—it wasn't a bluff. He was furious.
"Doffy, you should be asking Dellinger about this!" Diamante stammered. "He's the one in charge of the prison. It's his fault, not mine!"
"Dellinger already reported to me," Doflamingo said, cutting him off coldly. "When he arrived, everyone was dead. Guards. Prisoners. All of them."
"Except the one who insulted me."
His tone sharpened like wire drawn through glass.
"So instead of passing blame, maybe think about how you plan to make this right."
The room fell quiet.
"And there's something else," Doflamingo continued, his tone turning oddly intrigued. "Dellinger told me that every corpse in that prison—guards and prisoners alike—was eaten. Flesh stripped from bone. Nothing left but blood and scraps."
He crouched forward slightly, that signature grin stretching across his face.
"Someone devoured them like a wild beast. That's… fascinating."
"I want to know what kind of creature he is. If we catch him alive, I might even make him mine. A new weapon for my collection."
Diamante's mind spun.
He killed that man. He was sure of it.
And yet, the bastard had not only survived—he'd eaten an entire prison's worth of bodies?
Just what the hell was he?
"Diamante," Doflamingo said, standing now, his voice low and commanding. "You started this mess. So you'll clean it up."
"I want a full citywide alert. Close every gate, tighten every checkpoint, double the patrols. Search every corner of Dressrosa."
"I want him found. Dead or alive. I need to see for myself what kind of monster we're dealing with."
The corners of his lips curled into a cruel smile.
Meanwhile…
The man who now fascinated Doflamingo—the so-called monster—was quietly hiding in a small inn on the outskirts of the city.
White Flame stood by the window, watching as soldiers went door to door, questioning citizens and searching homes.
"So… they've started hunting me already."
He smirked.
"Doflamingo, you're really going out of your way to deliver food right to my doorstep."
"Trying to die early, are you?"
He took a slow drag from his cigarette, eyes glinting crimson in the reflection of the glass.
"Then I'll gladly oblige."
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