Training and Killing

As Doflamingo slumbered peacefully in his mother's embrace, the tranquility of the moment was shattered by the sudden intrusion of a furious Homing. Bursting into the room with an air of righteous indignation, he accused Doflamingo of assaulting elders and bullying other children.

Startled awake, Doflamingo met his father's accusations with defiance. "What does it have to do with you, trash?" he retorted, his voice laced with contempt.

But before Homing could retaliate, the Matriarch intervened, her voice a firm barrier against the rising tension. "Don't you dare harm him," she admonished, her eyes blazing with maternal protectiveness.

Infuriated by his son's audacity, Homing lashed out, his anger palpable as he seized the Matriarch's collar in a vice-like grip. In a swift motion, Doflamingo retaliated, his small hand grasping Homing's fingers with a strength that belied his size. With a sickening snap, Homing's fingers broke, blood oozing from the fractured digits as he staggered back in pain, his cries echoing through the room.

Desperate to escape the wrath of his own son, Homing fled from the room, his injured hand cradled to his chest as he called out for help. The Matriarch watched him go, her expression a mixture of sorrow and resolve.

"You don't need to fear anyone, Mom. I will protect you," Doflamingo declared, his voice filled with determination.

Moved by her son's unwavering loyalty, the Matriarch's cheeks flushed with emotion. "How can I be scared when I have such a strong kid by my side?" she replied, her voice filled with pride and gratitude.

With a shared sense of purpose, mother and son made their way to Nusjuro's house, the weight of a large sword in Doflamingo's hand serving as a silent reminder of the challenges that lay ahead.

In Nusjuro's residence, the imposing doors swung open to welcome Doflamingo and his mother into the training grounds. Nusjuro, the seasoned mentor, greeted them with a stern yet encouraging demeanor.

"Are you ready for your training, boy?" Nusjuro inquired, his gaze steady as he assessed Doflamingo's readiness.

Doflamingo's face lit up with determination as he nodded eagerly. "Yes, I am," he affirmed, eager to prove himself.

Nusjuro wasted no time in setting the pace for the rigorous training session. "Go run laps of the entire castle," he commanded, his voice echoing through the vast halls.

Undeterred by the daunting task, Doflamingo embarked on his run, his footsteps echoing against the stone floors as he circled the castle with determination.

Satisfied with Doflamingo's effort, Nusjuro issued the next challenge. "Now, give me 1000 pushups, situps, and pullups," he instructed, his tone unwavering.

With sweat glistening on his brow, Doflamingo pushed through the demanding exercises, his muscles straining with exertion.

As Doflamingo completed the grueling routine, Nusjuro handed him a bamboo sword, signaling the next phase of his training. "Swing it 10,000 times," he ordered, his voice firm yet encouraging.

For hours on end, Doflamingo swung the sword tirelessly, each movement honing his skills and strengthening his resolve.

Finally, as the training session drew to a close, Doflamingo's mother approached with a towel, wiping away the sweat from his brow. She offered him a specially crafted energy drink, prepared by Nusjuro to replenish his strength and vitality.

Nusjuro nodded in approval as he observed Doflamingo's progress. "Good boy. Today's training is over," he declared, his voice carrying a note of pride.

With a sense of accomplishment, Doflamingo and his mother made their way back home, their spirits lifted by the promise of growth and progress on the path of training that lay ahead.

As the weeks stretched into months, Doflamingo's training under Nusjuro's tutelage grew increasingly rigorous. With each passing day, he honed his skills with unwavering determination, until at last, he could rightfully be called a skilled swordsman.

Yet, amidst Doflamingo's ascent to mastery, a shadow loomed over the celestial dragon community. Mysterious deaths began to plague the younger generation, particularly targeting talented male heirs. The death toll climbed steadily, surpassing eighty casualties, with victims ranging from infants to teenagers.

The CP0, tasked with investigating these inexplicable deaths, found themselves at a loss for answers. Despite their efforts, the cause of these tragedies remained elusive, shrouded in secrecy and uncertainty.

Unbeknownst to the authorities, the true orchestrator behind these sinister acts lurked in the shadows, concealed within the ranks of the celestial dragons themselves. Under Doflamingo's command, the poisonmelders executed their deadly mission with ruthless efficiency, eliminating potential rivals and securing his position of power.

As the celestial dragon community grappled with grief and suspicion, Doflamingo's influence continued to grow, his ascent to dominance marked by a trail of death and deception.

As Doflamingo played with his mother, their peaceful moment was shattered by the arrival of a guard, his expression grave with news of tragedy. "Master, something has happened to Saint Homing. He has passed away under the same mysterious circumstances as the others," the guard announced, his voice tinged with solemnity.

While the news brought a twinge of sadness to the Matriarch's heart, Doflamingo's reaction was markedly different. Behind his façade of innocence, a subtle smile played upon his lips, his inner thoughts concealed from prying eyes.

As they gathered for Saint Homing's funeral, both Doflamingo and his mother donned somber attire, paying their respects amidst the solemn procession. As the guards laid Homing's body to rest, a sense of foreboding hung heavy in the air.

Amidst the mournful atmosphere, Shepherd approached the Matriarch, offering words of comfort and strength. "Be strong, Matriarch," he urged, his voice a steady anchor amidst the storm of emotions.

She nodded in acknowledgment, though her grief was tempered by a sense of detachment. Then, Shepherd's somber words pierced the air, casting a pall over the gathered mourners. "Homing was the oldest to fall," he remarked gravely, his gaze heavy with the weight of loss.

Before the gravity of his words could fully sink in, tragedy struck once more. The bodies of Saint Marcus, Saint Victor, and Saint Jockey crumpled to the ground, their lifeless forms succumbing to the same mysterious fate that had claimed so many before them.

As chaos erupted amidst the funeral procession, guards rushed to their fallen masters, their faces etched with shock and disbelief. The once-proud lineage of the Donquixote family now stood on the brink of extinction, its future shrouded in uncertainty and fear. And amidst the carnage, Doflamingo remained a silent observer, his thoughts hidden behind a mask of inscrutable calm.