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Chapter One
"Why do you insist on defying me? Do you have any appreciation for what I'm capable of?" Donquixote Doflamingo asked, shaking a sheathed katana. Despite the pistol barrel a few inches away from his temple, Wolf D. Graff stared defiantly past the gunman and into the pink lenses of Doflamingo's glasses. The crisp night breeze defied him, blowing sand into his face and turning his menacing stare into a feeble squint.
"I've heard the stories, but I honestly expected more. You're really just an overzealous idiot with an ego. Can't even do anything yourself," Graff replied, nodding towards the man holding the pistol.
"Vergo, shoot the bastard," Donquixote replied, smirking. The hulking man complied, and fired. At the sound of the trigger, before the black powder ignited, Graff coated his head with Armament Haki. A deafening explosive sound wrapped around his skull as the bullet launched out of the barrel, ricocheting against his Haki and flying off into the distance.
Graff launched himself at Doflamingo. The arrogant fool had left his hands untied, and he now covered one fist in Haki. He swung it at Doflamingo's neck, trying to bring him down in a single fatal blow.
Mid-stride an open palm hit Graff's chest like a brick wall and drove him down. His feet continued moving, and he fell backwards, his skull ringing as it slammed into the ground. Even sand couldn't cushion the fall. Dazed, he looked up at Doflamingo; who was laughing manically. He hadn't even flinched. Bastard.
Graff knew he couldn't get away. They were surrounded by Doflamingo's men, and while only half of them would normally be able to overpower him, they could all obliterate him while he was unarmed. He had just so desperately wanted to get a single blow in on Donquixote. He couldn't even manage that.
"So you still have a little fight left in you, eh?" Doflamingo suppressed his laugh long enough to ask, "Good. You wouldn't be worth my time if you didn't." He unsheathed the katana and moved towards Graff as Vergo continued to press Graff into the ground. The man was ridiculously powerful, and his Haki smothered the hope out of Graff.
"I'm gonna give you one last chance to tell me where the Saijo O Wazamono katana is," Doflamingo continued, setting the tip of the blade against Graff's neck, "And don't deny that you have it, we both know you do."
"You think I value my life over that sword?" Graff spat at him.
"No, no. I think you value the life of everyone else on this island over that sword."
Graff laughed mockingly, ignoring the blood that came from his mouth. "Looks like you've run out of luck. No one else lives on this island. You have in your hand one of the twenty-one Great Grade Swords. It's worth a fortune, just take that and be gone."
"If this was all I wanted you'd be dead. But I suppose your demise is inevitable nonetheless," Doflamingo motioned to Vergo, who hoisted Graff back onto his knees. "Most of my crew here uses Haki, and we can all sense the presence in the trees just a few hundred feet away. I won't ask you again, but maybe they know something about the Supreme Grade Sword."
Shock flew across Graff's face, followed by despair. He reached out with Observation Haki and confirmed his fears. "No! Chad, run! I told you to leave here, son. Please—" A single blow cut off his shouting. Doflamingo cut through skin, cartilage, and vertebrae in one mortal slice.
And off the beach in the tree line only a stone's throw away, Wolf D. Chad knelt transfixed. He clutched his father's katana close to his body and listened to the bellowing laughter of the man who killed his father, unable to move even as the man's crew rushed towards him.
Some seven years later
Captain Fletch scrutinized the illegible handwriting of his navigator. The marines prided themselves on the accuracy of their maps and their knowledge of the seas; but this, this was crap. His navigator, along with the rest of his crew, was absolutely incompetent. It made him want to puke.
Fletch once had quite a big name on the grand line. He had spent his first five years hunting big bounties, fighting on the front lines against the four emperors, and living the dream of every marine. About a year back, though, he had been given the cold shoulder by someone high up the chain of command. Something to do with killing a pirate they had wanted taken alive. Or perhaps they just hadn't liked him.
Either way the result was the same. He had been kicked off the Grand Line and sent on a cartography assignment in West Blue. His mission: Protect the cartographer. It would have been remarkably less obvious a ploy had they given him a map-maker who could draw islands that didn't look like dogs. They hadn't even honored him with that.
"Sir." A marine interrupted his musings. He looked up at the soldier. Like most of his crew, the marine quavered slightly under his gaze. He didn't mean exude disfavor towards his men, but they were living proof that his career was going nowhere.
"What is it, marine?" Fletch asked gruffly, folding his arms.
"Captain, this… this is for you," the young man replied, holding out a cup of steaming tea.
"Thank Randy for me," Fletch took the cup and returned his attention to the maps. Randy was their ship's cook. When the marine didn't show any sign of leaving his office, Fletch looked back up, "Something else marine?"
It took a moment for the soldier to reply, and when he did he stumbled over his words. "Sir, the—the tea sir. It's—it's uh—not from R—Randy, sir. It's from a guy who—who calls himself Wolf."
Time setting: Just for reference, we are now about half a year before Luffy starts his adventure