The moon hung low in the sky, its pale glow stretching thinly across the expanse of the Field of Memories. Soft, rolling mist curled over the ground, shifting like restless ghosts. It parted only slightly as Nami knelt beside Zoro's sleeping form. The longer she stared at him, the more human he seemed.
The monstrous edges of his transformation had softened—his wings had folded back into his body, and his horns had shrunk just enough to make his face recognizable beneath the blood and dirt. His chest rose and fell steadily, his breathing even, but something about him still seemed caged, like a beast barely resting after a battle, not yet free.
She had managed to drape some tattered remnants of his robe over his lower half—because, honestly, she could only handle one crisis at a time. If she weren't so drained, she might have made some snarky remark about having to cover him up like some fallen war god. But right now…?
Right now, she was just tired. Her fingers brushed against her temple, massaging away the headache forming at the edges of her consciousness. There was a faint, distant ringing in her ears, like an echo calling from across the veil.
"I'm not…"
The words whispered in her mind, a memory just out of reach.
It wasn't Zoro's voice. Or was it?
Her brows furrowed. The thought was slipping, unraveling, and no matter how hard she tried to grasp it, it was like chasing fog.
Maybe it's in the Field, she thought. That was why she had come. Her gaze drifted toward his swords, laid carefully by his side. Three blades, each bound to him like pieces of his soul. But only one called to her.
Wado. The reason she was here in the first place. She exhaled, reaching for the blade, and the moment her fingers brushed against its hilt, the world seemed to tilt.
Above her, the twisted branches of ancient trees swayed in a wind that did not exist, their leaves whispering in hushed tones—mourning something unseen. Silver fireflies pulsed in and out of the mist, their glow flickering like dying embers. Something was wrong. She had felt it creeping at the edges of her awareness for some time—two distinct energies weaving through the mist. One was slipping, fading, its presence unraveling with each passing second. And the other—
The other was growing. Swallowing. Her breath hitched. And then she felt them. Eyes. Watching. Nami's head snapped up. At first, the figure barely took form against the shifting mist—just a shadow, a flicker at the edge of existence. But then the clouds parted, and the moonlight revealed her in full—a child. Or at least, she should have been.
She stood unnaturally still, her body too thin, stretched unnervingly—like something had tried to unravel her but only halfway succeeded. The moonlight cast an eerie glow on her, but the shadows clung to her like oil, thick tendrils curling around her limbs and wrapping around her throat.
Her eyes were hollow voids—stretched too wide, too vacant as if something had carved her out from the inside. Her lips trembled, parting as if to speak, but the sound that came out was broken, strangled by unseen hands.
"Help... it... let... go!" came a hollow voice on the wind.
Nami took a sharp step forward.
The shadows twisted violently around the girl, reacting to Nami's presence. She flinched, her fingers clawing at her own throat as though something unseen was strangling her. Her body jerked, her head snapping toward Nami, her mouth forming silent words that refused to break through the choking silence of the Field.
"Me... won't... me... won't... me!" came the whispers, choking out each word.
Nami's grip on Wado tightened. The pulse from the sword burned hotter. Three. Not one. Or two. Three distinct energies writhed within the blade, clashing violently. Wado Ichimonji was not whole. And neither was the girl. Nami's heart pounded in her chest.
This wasn't just about the sword or Zoro anymore. This wasn't just a memory locked in a sword. A shock of searing pain lanced up her arm, white-hot and demanding—like the blade itself was screaming into her very soul. The words cut through the fog in her mind—sharp, clear, unrelenting.
"HELP ME! IT WON'T LET ME GO!"
The words finally came, clear and desperate, slicing through the thick air like a blade. And suddenly—Nami was running. Not by choice—no, something within her had decided for her. Her feet moved before she could think, the pull in her chest stronger than fear. Something was waiting for her in that Field. No—someone. And she was going to find them.
Caesar ran. Not with the arrogance of a man escaping capture nor with the mischief of a scientist who had once believed himself untouchable. He ran like prey—like something hunted. His breath—if he could even call it that—came in ragged gasps as his form flickered in and out of the toxic mist that made up his body. The Field of Memories was collapsing, its unnatural energy devouring itself in the aftermath of what had just transpired.
The ground beneath him was shattered, carved apart by forces beyond comprehension. The sky still crackled with the aftershock of something otherworldly, a charge so thick in the air that it left his gaseous form struggling to hold itself together. The weight of it pressed against his very being, a reminder that he had come dangerously close to something that should not exist.
He had seen monsters before and created them. Sold them. Worked for men who became them. But this was not artificial. It had started as a battle. A clash between two beings, neither of whom should have been capable of the devastation they had wrought. At first, he had been hunting the girl—the one radiating unfamiliar energy. And then… she exploded. Literally, the blast hurled him to the farthest reaches of his toxic, chemically-infused domain. He had tried to rationalize it, convincing himself they were enhanced beings, wielders of power beyond the typical shaman or demon. But that was a lie.
He had seen men with power. This was something else entirely. He had been preoccupied at first with the girl that the demon—that thing—had bypassed his sensors. Its form had shifted between realms, between flesh and nightmare, his golden-veined wings tearing through the sky as if he had been born to destroy. His presence alone had cracked the foundations of the Field and had sent ripples through space like the very air was rejecting him. He was no mere demon. He was a force of nature, bound in the shape of something vaguely human but entirely wrong.
And then... he saw what she did. He had never believed in witches. He had sneered at the ancient myths of those who could wield the elements with will alone. He had dismissed their legends as nothing more than anomalies of science. But no amount of alchemy could explain what he had just witnessed. The storm had answered her. It had obeyed her. The air had bent to her, wrapping around her with something far too conscious, far too reverent. She had not just commanded the storm. She had been part of it, woven into the wind like a forgotten god returning to claim dominion over the world.
A demon…and a god's descendant. And now he had to warn his Master. Because whatever he had just seen—whatever those two were—Doflamingo would want them dead. But he needed to be wise, lest he also die under the wrath of a demigod.
Caesar clawed his way through the twisted branches. When Doflamingo stationed him here, he had let him run free with his 'experiments'—never expecting anyone to show up. Not in this plane of existence. He coughed as he stumbled to the ground, his hair falling around his face as he tried to plan his next move. However, he was out of time.
The air shredded as something unseen slithered through the ruins of the Field of Memories—thin, near-invisible threads slicing through the mist like veins of a living thing. They wove through the crumbling remains of the battlefield, wrapping around debris, coiling around splintered trees, watching. Caesar stopped running. Or instead, couldn't run.
His body seized mid-step, every molecule of his gas-like form locking into place as a sickening pull yanked him downward. Panic surged through him, and his mind barely had time to comprehend what was happening before he saw them— The threads. They gleamed like silver in the pale light, delicate as spider silk yet strong enough to hold him firm, to drag him closer to the presence that was waiting.
No—he wasn't waiting. He was materializing. Through the strands, a silhouette began to take shape—first as a phantom, a formless shimmer, before color bled into existence. Soft pink hues bled into the threads, weaving the illusion of feathered fur. Golden hair glowed under an unseen sun, catching the light like the halo of something divine—if gods were cruel. And then, as if stepping from another plane entirely, he was there. Donquixote Doflamingo.
He loomed, his figure unfazed by the broken world around him. His sunglasses gleamed, masking the full force of his expression, but the pull of his threads told Caesar everything he needed to know. He was furious.
"Caesar," Doflamingo's voice dripped with something sickly sweet, like poison wrapped in silk. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
Caesar swallowed—or tried to. His body remained stretched between gas and form, but the threads curled tighter around him, a reminder that Doflamingo could tear him apart just as quickly as he could hold him together.
It took everything in him to keep his voice steady. "M-master, listen—there was something—they weren't normal, I swear it!"
The threads twitched, slicing through the ground beside him.
"You're babbling," Doflamingo said lazily, but there was no amusement in his tone. He tilted his head, the motion too slow, too measured. "And you know how much I hate nonsense."
Caesar flinched. "They were monsters, Master! The demon—he wasn't just a demon! And the girl—she—" His voice cracked, and he forced himself to say it. "She called the storm."
Silence. Then—Doflamingo laughed. A deep, slow chuckle that sent ice crawling up Caesar's spine.
"Storms," Doflamingo mused, rolling the word between his teeth like a blade. His fingers twitched, and the threads in the air pulsed. "That's quite the claim. And here I thought you were my scientist...that's what you prefer to be called, right? Instead of a demon who knows witchcraft. And yet, here you are...some pathetic myth-chaser."
Caesar shook his head wildly. "I know what I saw! You have to listen to me—this isn't like anything we've faced before. The demon, he—his wings, his power—and that woman, she—she wasn't made, Master! She wasn't an experiment or an accident, she—"
He stopped himself too late. Doflamingo's sunglasses gleamed, catching the movement of his throat as he grinned.
"Made?" he echoed, voice razor-sharp. "Now that is interesting. All of this world is made...by powers like mine. What I make, I can unmake."
The threads pulled tighter—digging into Caesar's very essence, reminding him just how much of his power was granted by the man standing before him.
"So, you're telling me," Doflamingo continued, his voice losing its feigned amusement, "That a natural-born monster bested you? That two did?" He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Tsk, tsk, Clown. You disappoint me."
Caesar felt his entire being compressed, the threads tightening like a vice. His form flickered, suffocating despite not needing a breath. "M-master—!"
"I'm here to punish you, remember?" The demigod's lips curled, exposing a sneer beneath his grin. "Tell me something," he said, almost too softly. "Did you feel it? Like an echo. You've let this place die...but I feel her still."
Caesar blinked, disoriented. "Feel what?"
Doflamingo's fingers curled, and the threads around him strangled.
"Her power," he whispered, almost reverently. "Did it taste like hers?"
Caesar had no idea what he meant—until he did. Until it clicked. "The witch?"
In one flick of his wrist, the threads sliced into Caesar's flesh, drawing blood.
"But- Mast-ter," Caesar struggled, "the witch!"
"Who am I that I should be afraid of a mere witch?" For a moment, Doflamingo seemed afraid—for only a moment. And then it was gone. "I killed them all, didn't I?"
"There is o-one..." Doflamingo released him enough for Caesar to breathe normally again. "One that...can call for lightning."
Now, Doflamingo was swift as his large frame came upon Caesar, and even as an apparition, his full hand gripped the demon's neck and squeezed. "What?"
Caesar choked, "Yes...The Monkey King defeated God-Enel...but his devil fruit was never recovered."
Doflamingo ground his teeth, "That fucking monkey. How dare he come against me...I would have taken Enel myself, but-"
"But if the fruit were still in play, it would have been found by now—unless... unless it was drawn to a witch. Isn't that one of their powers? To gather them for the gods?"
Doflamingo ground his teeth, "Witches...they were meant to serve us, and yet...here I am...having to chase after one because of your failure!"
Caesar knew it was only a matter of time before one of those threads took his head. He scrambled to speak, desperation clinging to his voice.
"But...there's more..." Caesar struggled to pull out his device, so Doflamingo released, and he quickly scrambled into his pockets and pressed some buttons on a small device. "This...energy...the one that inhabits the Field of Memories-"
"Yes, Sugar's...that is what brought me here. You've let the energy disappear-"
"It's back."
Doflamingo straightened as he processed. "It never left, you imbecile-"
"No, Master, please. Understand. The remnants of her power have always been here...but...she is here now."
"Do you even understand what you've just said to me?"
The demigod's breath came slow, controlled—but his body trembled with something far deadlier than rage.
"You're saying," Doflamingo murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "that Sugar is still alive. How?"
"I-I...don't know-," he choked.
"How is it," he flexed his fingers, which tightened the thread, drawing some blood from Caesar's throat. "That I have allowed you to siphon that goddess's power for your games, but you've failed at your primary role, which is to protect this place...where the last of her energy resides. And now...you can't tell me where this surge of Sugar's power is coming from?"
Caesar nodded but pleaded, "Please, Master...give me some time, and I'll...get Sugar back for you."
Suddenly, Caesar the Clown was cocooned as Doflamingo disappeared as a vapor. "Find her, Clown. Because if I have to come back for you...you won't exist to fail me again."