Mid-to-late Sea Circle Calendar 1512.
The bounty posters appeared overnight, plastered across every Marine outpost, every port town, every backwater tavern from the Grand Line to the Four Blues.
WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVEDonquixote Doflamingo"Heavenly Yaksha"340,000,000 Berries
Three hundred and forty million berries.
In the current era, that number carried weight. Whitebeard's bounty had only recently crossed four billion. Big Mom and Kaido hovered around two billion each. For someone who wasn't an established Emperor candidate to reach three hundred million meant the World Government considered them a genuine threat.
Doflamingo's crime was simple: he'd stolen the Heavenly Tribute.
The aftermath had played out exactly as choreographed. News had spread across the seas that Marine Headquarters had dispatched a fleet to the North Blue, where they'd engaged the Donquixote Family in "fierce battle." The World Economic Journal had run breathless coverage for days.
"Clash of Titans in the North Blue!"
"Marine Fleet Recovers Stolen Heavenly Tribute!"
"Doflamingo Escapes Justice Despite Overwhelming Force!"
The articles were full of dramatic language and zero actual substance. No photographs of the battle. No eyewitness accounts from anyone not on a Marine payroll. Just vague descriptions of "apocalyptic combat" and "waves the size of mountains" and "tens of thousands of soldiers engaged."
The battle had supposedly taken place in the most remote corner of the North Blue, far from any shipping lanes or inhabited islands. Convenient, that.
Two weeks later, Mary Geoise had announced the Heavenly Tribute's complete recovery. Victory for the World Government. The system remained intact.
But, the announcement continued, the criminal mastermind Donquixote Doflamingo had not been captured or killed. He remained at large.
Hence the bounty increase.
Then, roughly two weeks after that, the second announcement dropped.
Donquixote Doflamingo, the Heavenly Yaksha, had been officially appointed as the seventh and final Warlord of the Sea.
The reaction across the world had been explosive.
First, there was the audacity of the act itself. Stealing the Heavenly Tribute wasn't just a crime, it was sacrilege. The kind of thing that got entire pirate crews erased from existence. The fact that Doflamingo had attempted it at all marked him as either brilliantly bold or suicidally insane.
Second, he'd survived the aftermath. The official story claimed he'd fought Marine Headquarters to a standstill, forcing them to accept the return of the gold without capturing him. Whether that was true or not didn't matter. What mattered was the narrative. Doflamingo had challenged the World Government and lived to tell the tale.
Third, and perhaps most importantly, he'd parlayed that defiance into a Warlord position. The appointment carried Mary Geoise's explicit endorsement. The World Government itself was now vouching for his power and influence.
The combination of these factors had turned Doflamingo into the year's biggest story.
In the North Blue especially, his legend had grown to mythical proportions. Every two-bit pirate crew and criminal syndicate now whispered his name with reverence. He'd become an idol, a symbol of what was possible if you had the strength and cunning to seize it.
Young pirates who'd grown up hearing tales of Doflamingo's "great deeds" now pledged loyalty to his cause. One such pirate, a kid named Bellamy who styled himself "the Hyena," had already started imitating Doflamingo's mannerisms and fashion choices. The boy worshiped the ground Doflamingo walked on.
Bellamy was just one of dozens. Maybe hundreds. The Heavenly Yaksha had become the North Blue's dark prince, and his influence was spreading.
Doflamingo himself had recognized the opportunity and capitalized brilliantly. Using the staged battle with Marine Headquarters as proof of his strength, he'd consolidated power across the North Blue's underworld. Crime syndicates that had operated independently now sought his approval. Information brokers reported to him. Even some of the region's smaller kingdoms had started paying him quiet tribute, buying insurance against future "complications."
All of which made his subsequent behavior extremely puzzling.
Just when everyone expected Doflamingo to leverage his newfound prestige into a New World power play, he'd... stopped.
Gone quiet.
Retreated back to his North Blue operations and simply maintained the status quo.
He wasn't expanding. He wasn't making bold moves. He was just sitting there, running his criminal empire like a business, as if becoming a Warlord had been his ultimate goal and he had no further ambitions.
Most observers found this baffling. A few shrewd analysts suspected he was waiting, watching the New World situation unfold before committing resources.
After all, for all his fame, Doflamingo's actual power base was still relatively modest compared to the true monsters fighting for supremacy. Even Smoker, widely considered the weakest of the New World's major players, commanded vastly more resources. Smoker could deploy billions of berries with a single order. He had fleets, territory, and an army of subordinates willing to die on his command.
Doflamingo, for all his growing reputation, couldn't match that. Not yet.
So the conventional wisdom said he was being cautious. Smart. Waiting for the right moment to strike.
The truth was considerably simpler.
Finn had told him not to cause trouble, so he wasn't causing trouble.
Despite his new Warlord status, despite his soaring reputation, Doflamingo remained acutely aware of the power dynamic with Admiral Finn. The more he learned about the man, the more contact he had with Marine operations, the more he understood just how deep Finn's influence ran.
So when Finn said "stay in the North Blue and don't interfere with my New World plans," Doflamingo obeyed.
Instead, he focused on the other task Finn had assigned him.
Finding the Dark-Dark Fruit.
If he could deliver that Devil Fruit to Finn, the reward would be worth far more than any short-term opportunity in the New World. A promise from Admiral Finn, a genuine alliance with whatever the man was building... that was an investment in the future.
Doflamingo could be patient when the situation called for it.
Marine Headquarters, Marineford.
The Fortress of Justice rose from the island's center like a monument to ordered power. Its walls were white stone, kept immaculately clean despite the salt air and constant traffic. Marine flags snapped in the wind above the battlements, the seagull-and-scales emblem visible from miles out to sea.
Inside, the top floor corridor was all polished wood and brass fixtures. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, casting rectangular patterns across the floor.
Admiral Finn strode down this corridor, his Justice cloak billowing behind him. His expression was thunderous, and he was currently yelling into a Den Den Mushi.
"What the hell kind of mess are you dumping on me right now? I'm about to deploy to the New World. The Fleet Admiral wants me supporting that bastard Smoker's operations, and you're calling me about zombies? Are you out of your mind? Why would I give a damn about zombies?"
Behind him, Hina struggled to keep pace. She'd loaded her arms with a stack of folders and reports that reached nearly to her chin, the heels of her boots clicking rapidly against the floor as she hurried after Finn.
On the other end of the line, Rear Admiral Bastille's voice remained calm despite Finn's tirade. "Admiral, I'm completely serious. There really are zombies. We've been encountering them regularly in the waters near the entrance to Paradise. I've reviewed the video footage personally. They're clearly undead, and they appear to be indestructible by conventional means."
Finn's jaw clenched. Bastille was many things, but he wasn't prone to panic or wild exaggeration. If he said there were zombies, there were probably actually zombies.
Bastille continued. "The Shark Slayer" had earned his nickname years ago during a training cruise gone wrong. When his ship had become lost and the crew had started starving, Bastille had taken his blade and gone over the side, literally bleeding sharks to attract more sharks, creating a feeding frenzy that the Marines could harvest for meat. He'd kept his entire crew alive through sheer bloody-minded determination until rescue arrived.
A man like that didn't waste time with ghost stories.
"Fine," Finn growled. "How bad is it? Has it spread? Are we looking at an infection scenario?"
"No infection that we can detect," Bastille replied. "The numbers seem to be growing, but slowly. We've interviewed pirates who survived encounters with these zombies, and none of them showed any signs of turning undead themselves. No bites, no disease transmission, nothing like that."
Finn's frown deepened. "Wait. Pirates?"
"Yes, Admiral. That's the strange part." Bastille's tone shifted, carrying a note of amusement. "These zombies appear to be actively hunting pirates. They sail ships, they coordinate attacks, and they specifically target pirate vessels. In a way, they're almost... serving justice?"
The pieces clicked together in Finn's mind.
One person in this world was known for working with zombies: Gecko Moria.
And Moria, if the intelligence reports were accurate, had thrown in with Dragon's Revolutionary Army.
The targeting pattern made sense now. Dragon's people had standards. They destabilized governments, certainly, and they fought the World Government's forces when necessary. But they generally avoided harming civilians. They positioned themselves as liberators, not butchers.
Zombies that specifically hunted pirates fit that operational profile perfectly. Clean up the seas, build a reputation for justice, all while using forces that couldn't be permanently killed.
It was actually clever.
"If these zombies are only attacking pirates," Finn said flatly, "then why the hell do you care? What, did some pirate crew file a complaint with you?"
Bastille hesitated. "Well... no, Admiral. But I thought it prudent to report unusual phenomena in my patrol zone."
"You thought prudent," Finn repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He rubbed his free hand across his face. "Bastille, I appreciate your thoroughness, I really do. But I'm about to coordinate a major operation in the New World. Smoker's situation is balanced on a knife's edge. The last thing I need right now is to deploy resources chasing undead pirates who are apparently doing our job for us."
"Understood, Admiral. What are your orders?"
Finn considered for a moment. The zombie situation was odd, certainly, but it wasn't an immediate crisis. And if Moria and Dragon were behind it, then it was a problem that would resolve itself eventually. Dragon's operations always fell apart under scrutiny. The man was brilliant but overextended.
"Handle it yourself for now," Finn ordered. "Keep monitoring the situation, but don't engage unless they start attacking civilians or Marine forces. I'll send someone to investigate more thoroughly when I have the resources to spare. If this turns into an actual disaster, I trust you'll let me know before things get out of hand."
"Yes, Admiral."
"Good. I'll have someone contact you with further instructions once I've reviewed the intelligence." Finn cut the connection without waiting for a response.
He lowered the Den Den Mushi, exhaling slowly through his nose. Behind him, Hina had stopped walking and was now standing with her head tilted, curiosity evident on her face.
"What's a zombie, exactly?" she asked.
"The living dead. Walking corpses. Bodies that move without life." Finn waved a dismissive hand. "It's not important right now."
Before Hina could respond, he was already issuing new orders.
"Contact Robin. I need her to investigate something for me. Specifically, I want to know if Gecko Moria has been operating near the entrance to Paradise recently. There's a chance he might even be in Alabasta, given his connection to certain parties we're already monitoring."
Hina's eyes widened slightly. "You think Moria is responsible for the zombies?"
"I'm certain of it," Finn confirmed. "Have Robin gather whatever intelligence she can, then pass it to Chief of Staff Tsuru for analysis. Once Tsuru's finished her assessment, forward the results to Bastille. He can use them to determine whether intervention is necessary."
"Understood, Admiral." Hina shifted the stack of folders in her arms, already mentally composing the message she'd need to send.
Finn frowned, thinking through the implications. Moria creating zombies made sense given the man's Devil Fruit abilities. But how had he connected with the right people to make this work? His Shadow-Shadow Fruit could animate corpses, but he'd need someone with medical knowledge to make them functional. Someone like...
Hogback.
The name surfaced from Finn's memory. A brilliant doctor who'd allegedly gone insane after the death of some singer he'd been obsessed with. If Hogback had approached Moria seeking help resurrecting the dead, and if Moria had seen potential in creating an undead army for Dragon's operations...
It would explain everything.
Dragon was always strapped for cash. His operations bled personnel, and casualties meant pensions, recruitment costs, training expenses. An undead army would eliminate most of those concerns. Controversial as hell, certainly. The kind of thing that would turn public opinion sharply against the Revolutionary Army if it became widely known.
But Dragon was desperate enough to take the risk.
Finn filed the information away for later consideration. Right now, he had bigger concerns.
He reached the large double doors at the end of the corridor and pushed through without breaking stride. The Fleet Admiral's office lay beyond, spacious and well-lit, dominated by the massive desk where Sengoku conducted the business of running Marine Headquarters.
"Fleet Admiral," Finn said as he entered. "Are we moving on this? We're following the plan and not deploying main forces into the New World, correct?"
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