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RUMBLE—ROOOAR—
A storm of sand exploded into the sky.
The rain-soaked jungle wetland beneath their feet was drained dry in an instant, transformed into a vast, barren desert by the madwoman standing at its center.
Savage sandstorm tornadoes ripped trees and massive boulders straight out of the ground, hurling them wildly through the air like toys.
All of Lafitte's former composure was gone.
His hair was a mess, his clothes torn to shreds, his face twisted in sheer terror.
He stared in disbelief at the woman ahead of him—pink hair whipping violently within the storm—his mind unable to process what he was seeing.
"How… how is this possible?!!"
Less than two months.
That was all it had been.
How could someone go from being utterly unremarkable… to this kind of monster?
"This is… Crocodile's sand ability?"
Lafitte's voice trembled as he analyzed the raging storm.
"No… it's not just that. There's something else mixed in—razor-sharp threads hidden inside the sand!"
He looked down at his arms, now covered in deep, bleeding cuts. Confusion flooded his face.
That shouldn't be possible.
Two powers.
There was no doubt about it—two abilities at once.
But how?
How could she strip Crocodile's power away from him and absorb it?
Lafitte's gaze flicked downward toward his captain, Teach.
As far as Lafitte knew, only one power in the world could steal abilities from others—
The Darkness ability.
Yet this woman clearly didn't have that.
Inside the storm, Machi's figure faded away.
The sand gathered in front of Lafitte, slowly condensing into a human shape.
Machi reappeared, staring at his panicked face—and smiled.
A wide, unrestrained, delighted smile.
"Someone who can't fly will never defeat me~"
"I control the skies now. That means I can't lose~"
She mimicked Lafitte's past smug tone perfectly—then her expression suddenly turned ice-cold.
"But guess what?"
"I can fly now~"
Sand gathered beneath her feet, forming the shape of a massive eagle. Her body partially dissolved into elemental form as she floated in midair, eyes locked onto him with lethal calm.
She slowly raised both hands.
Threads stretched out between her fingers once more.
"I know someone else who uses thread-based powers," she said casually.
"And he's way stronger than you ever were."
She was repeating his words.
The next instant—
A sandstorm roared forward from her hands, an overwhelming suction locking Lafitte in place. He couldn't move. At all.
Countless razor-thin threads shot out, wrapping around his body in an instant.
Lafitte screamed internally and struggled with all his strength. White wings burst from his back, feathers exploding into the air as he tried to break free—
But the threads only tightened.
They dug into his flesh, slicing deep. Blood poured freely as the cutting threads sawed into him.
No matter what he did—
He couldn't escape.
Machi drifted forward until her face was barely an inch from his.
She stared straight into his eyes, drinking in his terror.
A slow smile curved her lips.
"So?" she whispered.
"Are my threads… satisfying enough for you now?"
"No… no… that's impossible…"
Lafitte muttered endlessly, his hair hanging loose, his mind completely shattered.
Machi glanced down at the ground below, where the rest of the Blackbeard Pirates could only watch helplessly—unable to fly, unable to help.
Her eyes filled with cruel amusement.
"Waiting for your friends to save you?"
"They're probably hiding somewhere, pissing themselves right now~"
"You monsters… what are you people…?"
Lafitte finally broke, screaming in despair.
"How can someone grow this strong in just one month?!"
"Want to know why?" Machi leaned in, her lips brushing his ear, warm breath teasing, voice intimate and deadly.
"I'll tell you in your next life~"
CRACK.
CRACK—CRACK—CRACK—CRACK—
The threads tightened.
Machi lifted one hand and drained every drop of moisture from Lafitte's body. His form shriveled, collapsing inward like a dried husk.
Then—
Before the horrified eyes of the Blackbeard Pirates below—
The "Devil Sheriff," Lafitte… was torn apart.
---
"!!"
All amusement vanished from Teach's eyes.
Cold fury replaced it.
He couldn't understand it either—how did this woman possess the sand ability?
Did the Phantom Troupe have something similar to the Darkness power?
The others were just as confused.
Only Hisoka stared up at Machi thoughtfully. After a moment, realization flickered in his eyes, and the corner of his mouth curved upward.
"Ah~ so it's related to Chrollo's ability book, huh~"
Of course, he had no intention of sharing that insight.
His gaze slid toward Teach's back, eyes glittering.
Die some more… just a little more… and then I can fight you fair and square… ♡
"Damn it—" Teach snarled.
"That woman's insane!"
"Attack her teammates! Force her to come down!"
In an instant, Teach made the correct call.
Van Augur moved immediately.
His golden sniper rifle fired—targeting the strange mummy-like figure ahead.
Bang.
The bullet passed straight through.
"Hit," someone said.
"No," Van Augur replied, frowning.
There was no blood on the bullet.
"Don't be so impatient~"
Bonolenov continued calmly unwrapping the white bandages covering his body—layer after layer—until they all fell away, revealing what lay beneath.
Van Augur's pupils shrank.
Bonolenov's body was riddled with holes—dozens of wind tunnels piercing straight through him.
How was he still alive?
Then Van Augur understood.
The bullet had passed cleanly through one of those holes.
It never touched him.
"All unwrapped~"
Bonolenov stretched lightly, then looked at Van Augur.
"I know who you are. The Boss briefed us on you—teleportation, long-range sniping specialist."
Bonolenov began to move.
His body danced, and as wind rushed through the holes in his flesh, it produced an eerie, beautiful melody.
Bonolenov's Ability:
[Battle Dance Suite (Conjuration-Type)]
Using the wind holes in his body to create music through dance. Different melodies manifest different effects.
An ability that cannot be copied or stolen.
Even if Chrollo borrowed it, without those wind holes, it would be useless.
Bonolenov was a descendant of the Judondou tribe—a minority clan known as the most beautiful warrior race.
Their men underwent ritual body modification from childhood, gradually forming wind holes across their bodies to produce sacred music through movement.
They believed the more beautiful the sound, the higher the spirits that would answer.
And Bonolenov had been chosen by the Troupe because—
He was the strongest warrior his people had produced in a century.
HUM—
As the dance ended, white bandage-like armor with spherical joints and symmetrical openings manifested around his body—along with a long, slender spear.
With this form, his speed would be pushed to the absolute limit.
"I'm the one who guards the Troupe's base," Bonolenov said lightly.
"In other words…"
"I'm the last line of defense."
He lifted his head, eyes sharp as blades as he stared at Van Augur.
"So—let's see what you've got."