His hair stirred in the lingering air currents as he lowered his eyes to the weapon in his hand.
"Now, it's mine."
"No wonder they call it cursed."
The instant he tightened his grip on the hilt, a cold sensation wound its way up his arm.
It was not a chill of temperature, but a sinister cold carrying the bloody scent of death, trying to seep through his skin, burrow into his marrow, and finally stain its wielder's mind with its own colors.
Once he succumbed, the man who had just fallen would serve as a warning-he would become a dead soul imprisoned in the scabbard, a puppet ruled by the weapon.
"Quiet."
His newly awakened psychic power surged into the blade, forcibly suppressing the restless black aura.
Rossi swung the weapon, which was slightly too long and large for his current build, yet its weight and length felt surprisingly comfortable in his hand.
He was at an age of rapid growth. Before long, he would wield it as easily as his own arm.
Doflamingo walked over, his brows furrowed.
He had yet to master the technique for sensing auras, but even a layman could sense something dangerous and untamed about the long blade wreathed in ominous black energy.
"The feeling it gives me..."
He tugged at the corner of his mouth, his voice carrying its usual mockery. "It's like a wild dog that hasn't been properly broken in.
"It could turn around and bite its master at any moment."
"It's called Sandai Kitetsu."
Rossi wiped the blood from his cheek with a fingertip and rested the long blade on his shoulder.
The cold of the metal seeped through his clothes, mirroring the light that had yet to fully settle in his eyes. "A blade that needs taming."
Jora's figure