Strings of Fate - [Book 2] [Doflamingo x Reader]

♥ 7

❦

Some people don't deserve salvation. Not for the lives they've shattered, the screams they've silenced, the cruelty they've carved into the world.

The man moved silently through the labyrinthine caves beneath Dressrosa, the cold biting through his clothes, but it wasn't the chill that made his skin crawl. It was the weight of a world blinded by lies and fear, thriving above him in willful ignorance.

Above, the island sparkled with colors...festivals, laughter, music spilling from every corner. Vibrant markets buzzed with life; children chased each other through sunlit streets; blossoms swayed in gentle breezes like nothing was wrong.

But beneath that shimmering facade lay a rot so deep it poisoned everything.

Twisted secrets lurked in shadowed alleys and behind painted smiles. Hatred simmered beneath every cheerful chant. Tyranny hid behind the mask of celebration. And the puppeteer pulling the strings reveled in the chaos he created.

A slow, bitter shudder ran through him. The puppeteer of this twisted island, Donquixote Doflamingo, would never know peace not while he drew breath. Especially now, tangled in the web of affection for a woman he could barely understand.

His eyes narrowed in the dimness, tracing shadows cast by flickering torches far behind. The surface world was a cruel theater, and here, in the silence of stone and shadow, the real stakes were set.

"Dressrosa," he hissed, voice barely more than a breath. The name tasted like ash, bitter and heavy on his tongue.

He would never allow Doflamingo to know true happiness, not while he still drew breath. A grand plan had taken shape in his mind, one designed to strip away the very love Doflamingo now clung to the same love the man had once stolen from him.

Aligning with Sir Crocodile had been a calculated move, a necessary step to infiltrate the tangled web of Dressrosa. Now, he moved silently through the twisted caverns carved by Pica himself.

The cavern walls closed in tighter, jagged rock illuminated only by faint torches flickering like dying embers. The air hung heavy with dampness and the metallic scent of blood long dried. Twisted passages carved by cruel hands led to the heart of the prison where the most dangerous secrets were kept. Here, criminals who dared defy Doflamingo were locked away in cells forged of stone and sea prism cuffs, unyielding, cold as the ocean depths, swallowing any hope of escape.

He could feel the weight of the island pressing down on him...the deceptive vibrancy of the surface a sick joke. Above, the streets bustled with laughter and color, but below, beneath the painted smiles and festival lights, lay the festering darkness- hatred, fear, and twisted secrecy.

His steps were measured, precise. He didn't flinch as shadows shifted, knowing eyes watched from the cracks in the stone.

Then, from the darkness behind him, movement two figures materialized, silent as ghosts.

He knew immediately who they were: Yumo and Kumo, the so-called friends of the woman the puppeteer now obsessed over, and the tools of Sir Crocodile's ever-watchful gaze.

His pulse quickened, not from fear, but irritation. Especially at Kumo. The very thought of him wielding the Nagi Nagi Fruit unsettled and enraged him. That devil fruit didn't belong in Kumo's hands. It never should have been.

He stopped, turning slowly, voice low and sharp as a blade cutting through silence. "What do you two want?"

"You shouldn't be here yet," Kumo said, voice calm but laced with iron resolve, a warning disguised as restraint.