“Very good, you managed to keep them down without killing them.” The compliment prefaces challenge, “That’s three out of, what, two hundred? Just how crammed are they packing your little cruisers these days, mm~? Hahaha!”
Doflamingo spectates the pacifying maneuvers for a short time, criticizing and critiquing the damned gladiator that refused to kill. It reminds him of his former prisoner of war, the child raised and reluctant to execute her defeated opponents. How quaint. How quickly that spark of innocence was tainted red. She wasn’t strong enough to decide if they would live or die: that was for the crowd, her countrymen and audience, to decide.
Just the same, the marines struggles for his own life and theirs.
His leg swipes in dismissal, the force enough to send the boy soaring without touching him.
“What makes you think you’ve any business challenging me when your comrades are ready for another round?” Doflamingo chides, the unconscious men lifting from the ground listless. Closing on their captain again, their movements are less refined swords forming in their hands from string. Circling they charge- and this time when a blade misses Coby, it cleaves the neck of the opposite man in crossfire. It is not a clean cut, and the man begins to choke on his own blood as his body continues to fight.
It was beyond clear that this was all just practically a game for the disgraced former Warlord, that literally they were all just pawns to him and his power. From here, his dream of becoming an Admiral, of reaching the strength of the likes of Garp without the help of a devil fruit – it all seemed futile in the face of a madman who sought chaos and revenge. Even more so with how easily, despite all of his training, his mastery of Rokushiki, Doflamingo had simply swiped him to the side with a powerful kick that rocketed him towards the ground. If it wasn’t for his body hardening technique, it surely would have shattered his bones, but of course it still hurt...! Perhaps something did crack after all but there was no time to dwell upon his own injuries.
Similarly did he rise to his feet like his men did, but in full possession of his own self unlike them, gasping in horror as he saw their limp bodies jerk and lift their new makeshift swords to strike. Coby’s horror didn’t end there, blood spraying from the blade that sunk into one of the men’s flesh – the same sword that had been meant for himself. But still, his body persisted, no, Doflamingo persisted, wanting to watch this sick game he created for himself to its end.
Would he let his injured men go at it and kill each other? It was clear that it was him or his men. Of course Coby’s sense of moral justice wouldn’t let his men kill each other mercilessly, most still unconscious by this point.
“Sick bastard...!” The growled words came purely from a place of frustration, and even hatred if he could muster such a sensation – it would be a first, and genuinely heartfelt. There was no way for him to disarm them, their weapons provided by the enemy and his powers, and even just knocking his own men out of the equation wouldn’t be enough anymore. He’d have to have faith that the few that had managed to leave would return soon enough with reinforcements, with someone more capable than himself. Even as he weighed his options, the onslaught continued, Coby more aware of where their strikes may fall if not himself. One blade passed through his tricep, another blocked by a forearm, blood burgeoning from the wounds he voluntarily absorbed, seeing what he may do to clear the area, mentally apologizing as he kicked a crew mate in the ribs, throwing him far from the area. If only he could knock them all into the ocean so that they’d be free of those damn strings and not drown! “You’re a coward, Doflamingo!”
