Chapter 222

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*****

Dressrosa, New World

Iceburg stood on the dock, his arms crossed over his chest as he glared at the massive galleon before him. The ship, christened Anne's Mercy, was a marvel of craftsmanship, a towering testament to Iceburg's skill and passion. But as he stared at the vessel, a mixture of pride and frustration crossed his face.

"Take it... take it, I don't care anymore," Iceburg grumbled, waving a hand dismissively. "I put so much time and effort into building this... this beauty for Ross, but now that he's got a giant among his crew, this ship will be nowhere near enough. I'll have to start working on a new one. It seems like this ship had your name written all over it, anyway."

Doflamingo, standing beside him, couldn't help but smirk as he admired the ship. The massive, three-masted War Galleon was unlike anything he'd ever seen. It was a behemoth of the seas, crafted from the treasured wood of the Adam Tree, and outfitted with the latest in weapon technology. The sleek hull gleamed in the sunlight, and the black sails, adorned with the Jolly Roger of the Donquixote Pirates, fluttered menacingly in the wind.

The ship was a masterpiece, sporting two powerful railguns on the fore and aft, capable of unleashing devastation upon anyone foolish enough to cross its path. In addition, it was armed with 48 advanced cannons, each more deadly than the last. The decks were reinforced with steel, and the interior boasted the finest accommodations any pirate could ask for.

"Fufufufu! Iceburg, you sure are being partial, aren't you? Look at my ship, and then look at this beauty," Doflamingo chuckled, casting a glance back at his current flagship, which now seemed pitiful in comparison. His ship, though formidable, was a third of Anne's Mercy's size, and even he couldn't deny the pang of jealousy that stirred within him.

Iceburg grumbled under his breath, clearly annoyed. "I'm giving this ship to you because Ross might not need it anymore because of the giant . But don't think for a second that I'm happy about it. You don't even appreciate ships the way he does. Ross told me the legend of the Klabautermann wasn't just folklore, so I poured my heart and soul into this ship. I knew Ross would nurture it like a living being... but now it's yours. Just don't wreck it in a week."

Doflamingo waved a dismissive hand. "Fine, fine, don't grumble. I'll take good care of her, you can rest assured," he teased, though there was a note of sincerity in his voice.

As Doflamingo boarded the ship, he saw his crew working diligently to prepare for the maiden voyage. Wolf, the Donquixote family's weapons specialist, was busy overseeing the final adjustments of the railguns and cannons. Even the cannons, he noted, were unlike anything seen in the pirate world—cutting-edge technology that could turn the tide of battle in an instant.

"Ah, Doffy! Just the man I wanted to see," Wolf called out, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "I made some modifications. In cases of emergencies, you can use your flame powers to give the ship a powerful boost. The range on the railguns is limited without a proper guidance system, but I've installed tracking and targeting systems that should work—albeit subpar. You'll still be able to strike targets dozens of miles away with accuracy."

Doflamingo nodded appreciatively. "Thank you for your work, Wolf," he said, his voice carrying a rare tone of gratitude. But before he could say more, Wolf had already moved on, muttering to himself as he continued his inspections.

Just as things were settling down for departure, a group of younger crewmembers—Smoker, Gladius, Reiju, and Monet—clambered aboard, each carrying heavy backpacks. Doflamingo raised an eyebrow, his signature grin spreading across his face as he watched them.

"Where do you kids think you're going? And what's with all the baggage?" he asked with a chuckle, clearly amused by their sudden appearance.

Smoker being the nonchalant rebel, he tossed his bag onto the deck and sprawled next to the main mast unceremoniously. "We're going! We're going on an adventure like Lucci. You haven't taken us out even once!" he declared, his voice a mix of defiance and excitement.

Doflamingo's frown deepened at the sight, and Gladius, sensing his displeasure, quickly dragged Smoker by the collar toward the cabin. "Smoker, you idiot, show some respect! This isn't a playground!" Gladius hissed, but Smoker only smirked.

"Oh, come on, Gladius. You're just jealous you didn't think of it first," Smoker retorted, shrugging off Gladius's grip as they disappeared into the cabin, their bickering voices fading away.

Doflamingo then turned his attention to Monet, who had quietly stood to the side. "Monet, you can stay back in Dressrosa and be with your sister. Scarlett will find it difficult to run things alone."

Monet didn't protest, her face a mask of calm obedience as she nodded and stepped off the ship. Despite her desire to join the adventure, her loyalty to her family came first. Meanwhile, Reiju had already wandered off, likely in search of a cabin to claim as her own.

As Doflamingo watched them, he couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. His crew was a collection of misfits, each with their own quirks and ambitions, yet they somehow managed to function as a unit. He shook his head, still smiling, as he turned to face the horizon. The day was young, and the seas were calling. It is better for the children to learn about the cruelty of this world sooner or later.

********

Sorbet Kingdom, South Blue

The Sorbet Kingdom, once a place of peace and quiet prosperity, had been transformed into a nightmarish tableau of human suffering. The capital city, once bustling with life, is now a desolate arena of fear and despair.

The streets were lined with lage cages, crude and hastily constructed, yet sturdy enough to contain the thousands upon thousands of captives. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, blood, and the overwhelming stench of terror.

The World Government agents and soldiers from the Marine Force patrolled the area, their faces twisted with either indifference or sadistic glee, while the people of Sorbet Kingdom huddled in their prisons, their eyes wide with hopelessness.

Within one such cage, a young mother clutched her infant child to her chest, her trembling hands caressing the baby's soft head. The child, no more than a few months old, whimpered weakly, too exhausted to cry out loud anymore. The mother, her face streaked with dirt and tears, rocked her baby back and forth, her mind racing with fear and desperation.

"Please… please… someone help us…" she whispered, her voice hoarse from days of crying out, her throat raw and parched. Her eyes darted around the cage, looking for anyone who might take pity on her. The cage was cramped, filled with others who were just as terrified and just as hopeless, their faces hollowed by hunger and fear.

Suddenly, the door to the cage creaked open, and two soldiers stepped inside. The mother's heart leaped in her chest. She struggled to her feet, still holding her child close, her eyes wide with a glimmer of hope.

"Please!" she cried out, staggering toward them, her voice rising in desperation. "Please, take my baby! Take her to safety, I beg you!" She held out the child, her hands shaking violently. "She's innocent! She hasn't done anything! Please, just take me and let her live…"

One of the soldiers, a man with a scarred face, looked down at the baby, then at the mother. His expression was unreadable, cold and distant. He made no move to take the child from her arms. The other soldier, younger and with a cruel smirk on his lips, chuckled darkly.

"What makes you think we'd do that?" the younger soldier sneered, taking a step forward and shoving the mother back with the butt of his rifle. She stumbled and fell to the ground, her baby still clutched protectively to her chest.

"Please, I'll do anything…" the mother sobbed, crawling back toward them, her voice breaking.

"You can take me instead! Do whatever you want with me, but please, just let my baby live… She doesn't deserve this…"

The scarred soldier's gaze lingered on the baby for a moment longer, something almost like pity flickering in his eyes. But then he turned away, his face hardening into an expression of disdain.

"Get back in the cage," he ordered, his voice cold and devoid of emotion. "There's no saving anyone here. Mark the infant; she will be one of the Super Rares."

The other soldier, his face twisted into a cruel smirk, ignored the desperate pleas of the mother. Despite her protests, her screams, and the frantic way she clutched her baby, he roughly wrenched the infant from her arms. The mother's cries grew more frantic, her voice breaking as she begged for mercy.

"Please! No! She's just a baby! Please, don't do this!" She screamed, her hands reaching out in vain as the soldier held the tiny child aloft.

The soldier's chuckle was dark and callous, a sound devoid of any humanity. "Shut it, woman," he sneered, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. "It's not like she'll remember any of this. And besides, orders are orders."

In his other hand, he held a branding iron, its tip glowing red-hot from the fire. The soldier had been tasked with marking people randomly, branding them with different symbols that classified them as special targets for the upcoming hunt.

The more marks, the higher the value of the target. And the child he held now—this helpless, innocent infant—was to be marked as a "Super Rare" target, the second highest classification possible.

The mother's heart nearly stopped when she saw the branding iron. Her body shook with terror, and she tried to throw herself at the soldier, but the bars of the cage held her back. "No! No, please! Don't do this to her! She's done nothing wrong! Please, I beg you, brand me instead! I'll take her place, just don't hurt her!"

The soldier ignored her pleas. With a sick grin, he pressed the searing hot iron against the baby's soft skin. The child let out a blood-curdling scream, her tiny body convulsing in pain as the iron burned a grotesque mark into her back. The scent of scorched flesh filled the air, mingling with the baby's anguished cries and the mother's heart-wrenching sobs.

The mother's knees buckled beneath her as she watched in horror, her hands clawing at the ground, at the bars, at anything that could bring her closer to her child. "No… no… no!" she wailed, her voice raw with despair. Tears streamed down her face as she watched the soldier carelessly toss her branded baby back into her arms.

The infant's cries were weak now, her energy spent from the agony she had just endured. The mother cradled her, her body trembling as she gently rocked her child, trying to soothe her, though she knew it was futile.

The brand on the baby's back was red and angry, a cruel reminder of the horrors they were enduring. The mother could only press her lips to her baby's head, whispering broken apologies through her tears.

The soldier watched her for a moment, a twisted sense of satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. "There," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "Now she's got a mark that'll make her worth something in the hunt. Maybe they'll let you watch when it's her turn."

With a final sneer, the soldier turned and walked away, leaving the mother alone in her grief. The other captives in the cage watched in stunned silence, their own fear and sorrow reflected in their eyes.

None of them could find the words to comfort her, and so they said nothing, only stared as the mother rocked her baby, whispering soft, meaningless words in a desperate attempt to ease the child's pain.

The mother's world had shrunk to that single moment, to the tiny, trembling form in her arms. The future no longer existed; the past was a distant memory. All that mattered was the present, the overwhelming need to comfort her child, to somehow make things right.

But she knew, deep down, that nothing would ever be right again. The brand on her baby's back was more than just a mark—it was a death sentence, a cruel promise of the horrors yet to come.

The mother closed her eyes, her body wracked with silent sobs. All she could do now was hold her child close and pray for a mercy that she knew would never come.

---

In another cage, not far from where the mother pleaded for her baby's life, an elderly man sat slumped against the bars, his body frail and his breathing labored. He had lived through wars, famines, and hardships that would have broken a lesser man.

But this—this was beyond anything he had ever witnessed. The horror of seeing his beloved kingdom reduced to this state, his people caged like animals, was more than he could bear.

Beside him, his granddaughter—a girl of about eight years—sat with her arms wrapped around her knees, her face buried in her hands as she wept quietly. She had been a lively, cheerful child once, always running through the fields and playing with the other children. But now, her spirit was crushed, her joy extinguished by the horrors she had seen.

The old man reached out a trembling hand and gently placed it on her shoulder. "Hush, my dear… don't cry…" he whispered, his voice quivering with age and emotion. "We'll get through this… somehow…"

The girl looked up at him, her eyes red and swollen. "Grandfather… I'm scared… What's going to happen to us?"

The old man didn't have the heart to tell her the truth, that there was little hope left for them. Instead, he forced a weak smile and brushed a tear from her cheek. "Everything will be okay, my dear… Everything will be okay…"

But the girl wasn't so easily comforted. She looked around at the other prisoners, at the soldiers who walked by without a care for their suffering, and her fear deepened.

"Grandfather… will they kill us?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The old man's heart ached at her words. He pulled her into his arms, holding her close as if he could shield her from the harsh reality they faced. "No… no, they won't… They can't…"

But the lie tasted bitter on his tongue, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the soldiers came for them. He had seen the cruelty in their eyes, the way they took pleasure in tormenting the prisoners. There was no mercy to be found here.

As if on cue, a group of soldiers approached the cage. The old man's grip on his granddaughter tightened, his body tensing as they drew near. One of the government agents, a burly man with a cruel smile, pointed at the girl.

"That one," he said, his voice thick with malice. "She'll do nicely for the hunt."

The old man's blood ran cold. "No… please… not her…" he pleaded, his voice shaking with desperation. "She's just a child… She hasn't done anything…"

The soldier sneered. "None of you have, old man. But that doesn't change a thing."

The girl clung to her grandfather, her eyes wide with terror. "Grandfather, don't let them take me! Please!"

The old man's heart broke as he held her tighter, his mind racing for a way to protect her. But what could he do? He was old, frail, powerless against these men. All he could do was beg.

"Please… take me instead," he offered, his voice cracking. "I'm old… I've lived my life… Let her go, and take me…"

The soldiers laughed, a cold, heartless sound that sent shivers down the old man's spine. "You? We don't need old bones like yours," the burly soldier mocked. "The hunt is for sport, and we need fresh meat who can make the hunt thrilling."

He reached into the cage and grabbed the girl by the arm, yanking her away from her grandfather's grasp. She screamed, kicking and struggling, but the soldier's grip was iron.

"Let her go! Please, I beg you!" the old man cried, his voice a desperate wail as he reached out for her. "She's all I have left… please…"

But his pleas fell on deaf ears. The soldier dragged the girl out of the cage, her screams echoing in the old man's ears like a knife through his heart. He collapsed to his knees, his frail body shaking with sobs as he watched her being taken away, his vision blurred with tears.

"No… no… no…" he whispered, over and over, his voice breaking as he rocked back and forth, clutching his chest as if trying to hold onto the last pieces of his shattered heart.

The other captives in the cage watched in silent horror, their own despair reflected in their eyes. There was no comfort to be found, no words that could ease the old man's pain. He had lost everything, and now, he was truly alone.

As the girl's screams echoed as she was branded, the old man curled up on the cold, hard ground, his body wracked with grief. The world around him blurred into a haze of sorrow and loss, and all he could do was pray that, somehow, his granddaughter would escape the horrors that awaited her. But deep down, he knew that was a futile hope.