One Piece : Brotherhood

Room of Authority, Mary Geoise

Elder Mars struck the marble pillar with a force that shattered it, the fragments scattering across the polished floor.

"That little bastard…! How dare he? How dare he openly defy the World Government?" His voice was a low growl, but the fury behind it was unmistakable.

Never before had the Five Elders found themselves so challenged, their authority so brazenly tested by a single man—a boy, really, barely old enough to be called a man: Donquixote Rosinante.

Across the room, Elder Warcury scowled, his fists clenching as he crumpled the newspaper in his hand, the ink smudging beneath his grip.

"And what are we supposed to do about him? That upstart doesn't just ignore our power—he spits in its face!" The exclusive article detailed Rosinante's latest outrage: the capture and public execution of a Marine admiral, Hazard, whose severed head had been displayed for all to see.

Worse yet, Rosinante had claimed the admiral's bounty in the Underworld, cashing it in with a brazen disregard for their previous warnings. Not even the shadowy brokers would defy him—not when Doflamingo himself held sway over much of the Underworld's power. Their hands were tied, and it only fanned their fury.

"This is a direct challenge," Elder Nusjuro said, his hand unconsciously gripping the hilt of his katana. "A threat to our very authority. If we allow him to get away with this, it'll reignite the embers of defiance we stamped out generations ago." His eyes narrowed as he thought of the consequences, his voice sharpening with every word.

"The people remember those we razed to silence… and yet Rosinante mocks that legacy. If even a Marine admiral isn't safe from him, soon others will start turning their weapons against our forces. And the stability we've built will be at risk."

Elder Saturn's voice, low and measured, cut through the tension. "It's our own fault we're in this position. We were too confident, too blind to the threat posed by those Donquixote brothers." His tone was contemplative, the weight of their miscalculation pressing down on him.

"We assumed they were no different from the other upstarts like Kaido and Linlin—powerful, yes, but always aware of the line they couldn't cross. But the Donquixotes… they're different. They've never bowed to authority, not ours, not anyone's."

Saturn's eyes darkened, a grim acknowledgment of their oversight. In just a decade, Rosinante had ascended at a pace that even legends like Gol D. Roger couldn't match. The line between myth and reality was starting to blur. And with each act of defiance, with each Marine or bounty that fell, the world grew bolder.

Elder Ju Peter growled, his frustration nearly tangible. "We should have killed those brats when we had the chance!" His fist tightened until his knuckles were white.

"Instead, we let our pride take precedence. We toyed with Doflamingo, parading his suffering like a trophy in the Holy Land. Maybe if we'd ended him right then, Rosinante wouldn't have become what he is today—a thorn in our side, a force we're struggling to contain."

There was an uneasy silence, a shared regret hanging heavy between them. The Donquixote brothers seemed to emerge stronger with every blow they tried to deliver. Every maneuver, every scheme, was somehow anticipated, countered, or dismantled as if the brothers were always three steps ahead.

Warcury, the calmest of them, finally broke the silence. "So, what now?" His voice held an edge of resignation, though his eyes were fierce.

"We can't undo the past, and the boy won't rest. If we do nothing, he'll rally the world itself against us. But we can't be rash either; his power is an unknown."

Elder Saturn's gaze swept over the others, his expression hardened with determination. "We may not know his true strength yet, but we must understand this: Rosinante will come for us, and we cannot afford another oversight." He straightened, his voice filling the room with a somber finality.

"It's time we remind the world why we rule from the shadows. If the Donquixotes want to test our resolve, they'll find we've only just begun to show them our power."

"Our approach to the Donquixotes was too crude," Elder Saturn murmured, his voice laced with a rare self-reflection.

"We've become complacent, dulled by centuries of unquestioned rule. We've forgotten that it wasn't brute force alone that secured the 20 kingdoms' victory. Back then, cunning and strategy were our sharpest weapons."

His words hung in the air, and as he spoke, his gaze shifted to the room's massive doors. They opened with a solemn creak, revealing a figure in a pristine white suit and a silver mask—the director of Cipher Pol Aegis.

But it was the man beside him who commanded the attention of the Five Elders. Donquixote Mjosgard, draped in the traditional robes of a Celestial Dragon, stepped forward, his head held high despite the tension in his features.

Though his demeanor appeared calm, those who knew the Holy Land's inner workings could see the nervous energy vibrating beneath his composed exterior.

This was Mjosgard's first time in the presence of the Elders, and he moved as if treading sacred ground. He bowed deeply, lingering just a moment longer than protocol required, a show of reverence unmistakable to even the most skeptical onlooker.

His breathing, though steady, was shallow. Standing before these ancient architects of the World Government's rule, he knew he was in the presence of the highest authority in existence—divine beings in all but name.

Elder Saturn's sharp gaze weighed on him, appraising, dissecting. "Mjosgard, the son of Harling… or what remains of the traitorous Donquixote lineage in the Holy Land," he began, his tone both measured and commanding.

"It's been some time since your father's… fall from grace. And since then, you have sought power, perhaps even redemption."

Mjosgard flinched ever so slightly at the mention of his father, a wound not yet healed. Harling had been branded a traitor, hunted by his own brethren under the watchful eyes of his kin.

It had left Mjosgard stranded, neither fully welcomed by the other Celestial Dragons nor embraced by his estranged Donquixote relatives.

He had lived in the shadow of his father's disgrace, marked by whispers and sideways glances, his title tainted.

But he was not here to show weakness. He straightened, looking into the cold, scrutinizing eyes of Saturn. "Elder Saturn, I am at your service, completely," he declared, his voice barely wavering. "Whatever you require, I shall provide. My loyalty, my life—they are yours to command."

Elder Saturn's mouth curled, ever so slightly. Here stood a man desperate for approval, for legitimacy, a man who might be molded to serve a higher purpose.

"Your lineage is complicated, Mjosgard. While your name places you among the Celestial Dragons, the blood in your veins is the same as those who seek to overthrow the order. The Donquixote brothers have been a thorn in our side, yes, but we've underestimated their cunning. That… will not happen again."

The other Elders shifted, silently observing, their expressions unreadable but heavy with expectation. Elder Warcury spoke next, his voice like the rustle of old parchment.

"This time, brute force will not suffice. They've grown too powerful, and we must match their subtlety, their patience. This will be a game of strategy, slow poison rather than open war."

Elder Nusjuro nodded thoughtfully, his hand never leaving the hilt of his katana. "Mjosgard, you know these brothers better than anyone here. Their motives, their weaknesses—they may still hold some remnant of loyalty to family. We will use that to our advantage."

Mjosgard's pulse quickened, he knew the elder was probing, probing to see where his allegiance lay. He felt the gravity of the moment, the thrill of standing so close to the power he had craved for years.

But he also knew that this was his only chance, a chance to prove himself worthy in the eyes of the most formidable beings in existence. Failure was not an option; it would mean exile, or worse. He steeled himself, bowing again.

"My lords, I understand what you ask of me, and I am honored to play any role you deem necessary. My cousins… they are cunning, but I can be their match. I will serve as your hand in the shadows."

Elder Ju Peter's gaze bore into Mjosgard, suspicion sharpening his voice. "You seem eager to reconnect with your cousins, Mjosgard. Tell me, why such enthusiasm? Or perhaps you've been in contact with them already, just as your father was."

Mjosgard's face went pale. He bowed low, voice trembling as he rushed to clarify. "Elders, I swear upon my name as a Donquixote—I have not had any contact with my cousins since they left the Holy Land more than a decade ago. I am loyal only to the World Government, and I would never betray you."

Elder Nusjuro's calm but piercing tone interrupted. "Then how are you so confident you can match them? You claim you know nothing of their power."

Mjosgard's hands clenched at his sides, his composure barely holding. "Because they are the reason for everything I have lost. It was their treachery that led my father astray, convincing him to betray the World Nobles. He lost his life for them, and they cast me into ruin. I want to see them dead. I want their heads mounted on spikes for the entire world to see."

His voice shook with unrestrained fury, eyes bloodshot, and for a moment, the room seemed to darken with his hatred.

Even the Elders, who had seen every form of deception and malice, paused, taken aback by the unfiltered venom in his words. There was no pretense—this was raw, undiluted hatred.

Elder Saturn's expression softened slightly, and a thin smile appeared as he recognized the rare asset Mjosgard's genuine loathing could be.

"Then, Mjosgard, prove yourself. We will not wage war on the Donquixotes with mere brute force. No, we need something more cunning. You will be our emissary of discord, the poison that will seep into the very heart of their empire. Go, and remember: the will of the Five Elders is absolute. You will be the one to orchestrate their downfall."

They laid out the plan with a deliberateness that was almost chilling. Mjosgard would remain in the Holy Land, a shadow of his former self in the eyes of other Celestial Dragons, a tarnished noble without status.

The Elders would ensure his reputation remained tainted, knowing that Doflamingo had informants everywhere. The scorn of the other nobles would serve to fortify the brothers' trust in their cousin, painting Mjosgard as a resentful outcast with a score to settle against the World Government. It was the perfect cover.

"This path may take years," Saturn warned, his voice like granite, "but it is the only way to redeem your name. Prove yourself, and you shall rise once more among the Celestial ranks. Fail… and you will find no sanctuary."

The Elders watched as Mjosgard bowed even lower, practically trembling with the anticipation of revenge and redemption. As he straightened, he nodded to each Elder, his mind already racing with visions of his cousins' downfall. With a final nod from Saturn, he left the room, his heart pounding with a purpose far greater than himself.

He would prove himself worthy. This was no mere mission—it was a divine mandate. As he stepped through the doors, he knew that the choices he would make from this point on could change the fate of the entire world.

As the heavy doors closed behind him, Elder Mars turned to Elder Saturn, his tone low and cautious. "Can we trust him…?"

The Director of Cipher Pol Aegis, standing nearby with arms folded, answered instead. "We've monitored him closely since the last Native Hunt. His hatred is real. He blames the Donquixote brothers entirely for his father's downfall and his own disgrace. No one could maintain such an act for this long without a single slip. Mjosgard's hatred is the only constant we've seen."

Elder Nusjuro's gaze drifted pensively as he considered the plan's long timeline. "Even so, it may take years for Mjosgard to gain their trust. And by then… they could grow even stronger."

"That's why we won't wait passively," Elder Saturn replied, voice darkening with determination.

"We will chip away at their power. In the New World, their influence may be difficult to shake, but the underworld is another matter. We can sever their ties there, weaken the foundations they stand on."

Elder Ju Peter nodded, a cold smile playing on his lips. "And there are still old wounds we can reopen. Kaido has never fully forgotten his grudge against the Donquixote family. With the right provocation, we could turn him against them once again."

The Elders exchanged satisfied glances, a shared understanding thickening the air between them. Their decision was clear, and their moves would be calculated. Mjosgard would be their blade in the shadows, a perfect traitor and a ticking clock, waiting to strike at the heart of the Donquixote legacy.

They were no longer merely trying to control; they were orchestrating a slow, inevitable demise. The kind that seeped through the cracks of even the most powerful empires, turning strength into dust.

Elder Saturn's gaze was steely as he addressed the Cipher Pol Aegis Director. "Did you find someone within Aegis who meets our exacting requirements?"

The director nodded confidently. Without a word, he blurred in place, vanishing and reappearing with a slender figure at his side—a girl, barely sixteen or seventeen. The aegis directors warp fruit powers had reached such a degree that even the elders could barely detect the spatial fluctuation.

The teenager next to the director was the picture of youthful elegance with sharp, intelligent eyes beneath perfectly curled blond hair that framed her face in a practiced, almost angelic way. She knelt in immediate submission, her posture graceful and unwavering.

"Elders, meet Agent Stussy," the Director intoned. "She's the best and brightest we have had in decades. A code name known only to us. She will be our perfect piece to infiltrate the Underworld and subdue it from within."

Stussy had been molded from a young age by the intense training of Cipher Pol, her loyalty honed to the edge of a blade. Her expression betrayed no emotion as she bowed even lower.

Elder Saturn's gaze was unmoved, his grip tightening on his staff. "Give her the mission details. No mistakes, whatsoever. We are severing every vein through which the Donquixote family draws strength." His voice was as sharp as steel, vibrating through the air with a finality that would not be questioned.

With a nod, the Director acknowledged Saturn's command. As he began briefing Stussy, Saturn added darkly, "And find the source of these 'World Times' leaks. We cannot afford any wild cards."

Meanwhile, within the vast and opulent estate of the Donquixote family in the Holy Land, Donquixote Mjosgard navigated the corridors, his mind racing with both exhilaration and disbelief at the chance that had fallen into his hands.

The other nobles eyed him as he passed, their sneering glances and disgusted expressions digging into him like needles. Yet he hardly noticed. He was too consumed with the knowledge that his moment was finally here.

Mjosgard reached a smaller, secluded villa set on the outer edges of the Donquixote family estate, given to him as a consolation prize for his 'tainted' lineage.

He glanced dismissively at his steward, giving only a curt command: "I am not to be disturbed for any reason." Without waiting for a response, he moved quickly to the heart of his refuge—a basement, lined with cold stone, that had once been a holding area for slaves.

The underground room was designed like a fortress, impenetrable and isolated. Mjosgard carefully shut the heavy vault door, casting out his senses with Observation Haki to ensure no one was tailing him.

He didn't trust his servants; he barely trusted his own shadow. He was constantly under surveillance by the World Government, the Elders, and countless informants. It took every ounce of his discipline not to lash out at the very people who had ruined his life, his father, and his name. No, he would wait—and the time had finally come, just as his cousin had promised.

He secured the door behind him, and as he did, the room's appearance shifted. What seemed like a dark, lonely prison was actually the heart of Mjosgard's hidden world. Four towering figures, each over four meters tall, knelt reverently as he approached.

They bore slave collars, but the loyalty in their eyes was unwavering; they were not bound to Mjosgard by fear but by gratitude. He had liberated their families from enslavement in the Holy Land, secretly sending them to the relative safety of Dressrosa.

"Continue your training," Mjosgard ordered, his voice low but firm. "And remember: carry the keys to your collars at all times. Our time will soon come."

These four were his hidden warriors, each one a Devil Fruit user, carefully chosen and hidden. The collars around their necks were indeed real, a necessary precaution to avoid detection, but each man held his own key. To the outside world, they appeared to be his slaves; in truth, they were his first loyal soldiers.

Leaving them to their drills, Mjosgard moved deeper into the innermost chamber, a room lined with walls of seastone to block any possible eavesdropping. Inside, he unlocked a safe and carefully retrieved a sleek, small communications device, unlike any other.

It was a custom-built link, constructed with the unique powers of his cousin's lightning-based Devil Fruit. With this device, Mjosgard could make contact with only one person, bypassing the World Government's surveillance entirely.

He held the device to his ear, his heartbeat loud in the silence. For years, he had played the role of the disgraced noble, feeding off the scorn and resentment from those around him. But in this moment, there was only the fire of a single-minded purpose burning through him.

His cousins had promised vengeance, a path to strike back against the World Government that had cast his father aside and made a mockery of the Donquixote name. He had long since vowed to bring the Elders to their knees, and with his cousins, he could finally taste retribution.

After a beat, a faint hum answered his call.

"Hello, Cousin." Mjosgard's voice was smooth, laced with the venom he had kept bottled for years. "The elders have taken the bait. They're convinced that I hate you both with every fiber of my being."

A low chuckle crackled through the device, full of satisfaction. "Fufufufu…! You've done well, Mjosgard. As expected from my cousin."

"Nothing less would satisfy me," Mjosgard replied, his tone growing cold. "I will do whatever it takes to watch those Elders fall. I want them to pay for my father's death, and I want it to be by my hand."

On the other end, his cousin's voice softened, a strange mix of compassion and determination. "Then keep playing your role, cousin. We are closer than they know, and soon we'll strike from every side. The World Government won't see it coming. And worry not; by the time we are done, I promise you at least one of the elders heads."

For the first time in years, Mjosgard allowed himself a smile—a cold, calculated expression of satisfaction. He had become the snake in the grass, and soon enough, the entire world would bear witness to the fall of the World Government.