The snow harpy's talons slashed toward Bonney's back—but Bonney had already anticipated it. She twisted her body and rolled aside just in time.
Monet's strike hit nothing but air. Her talons slammed into the floor with a sharp crack. She was just about to push off for another attack when a loud crunch echoed beneath her.
The floor beneath her feet suddenly split apart.
Her lower body plunged into the crack, while her upper half—encased in layers of snow—jammed against the edges of the hole, leaving her momentarily stuck.
Bonney spun around and lashed out with a powerful kick—
BAM!
Her heel smashed into Monet's face, sending her snow-covered head flying.
But Monet didn't die.
Her severed head disintegrated into whirling flakes of snow and, like a drifting spirit, reformed atop her shoulders once more.
Bonney backed away, frowning.
"Figures… Without Haki, it's too hard to deal with you Logias."
Right now, she could only grit her teeth in frustration.
If she'd known things would turn out like this, she thought bitterly, she should've spent her time learning Haki from Alvida instead of just asking her for information.
Monet's snowy, harpy-like body flickered like a dying flame, then melted into a drifting cloud of snow, floating across the room before reconstituting herself on solid ground.
She gave Bonney a faint smile, her emerald eyes analyzing the broken floor.
"Cracking… aging… hmm, I think I understand your power now. You push what you touch into its future, don't you?"
She paused, then added with a cold laugh:
"If that's the case, I simply can't let my real body come into contact with you."
Bonney's earlier stumble had been nothing but an act.
While pretending to fall, she had touched the floor with both hands—using her ability to weaken it—and then lured Monet into attacking, causing her to fall straight into the pit before countering.
Unfortunately, Monet's Logia nature had given her one final layer of defense. Staying on guard, she'd kept her body in its elemental state the entire time.
It consumed a lot of energy, but it worked—Bonney's counterattack had failed.
Now that Monet had partially seen through her ability, Bonney's frustration deepened. She bit her lip, scowling.
Still, despite her calm tone, Monet was just as vexed.
Bonney's power could send Monet's snow straight into the "future" where it had already melted—nullifying her attacks entirely.
Without Haki, neither side could gain the upper hand.
Bonney's eyes darted around the room.
She needed to turn the tide somehow.
Her gaze landed on the papers and folders scattered across the desks and shelves.
Then she remembered Monet's first words to her — "What are you going to do with our precious research data?"
Bonney suddenly broke into a sprint toward the table.
"What are you—?"
Monet's brow furrowed as Bonney's movement caught her off guard.
Bonney grabbed a handful of documents — and before Monet's eyes — the papers turned yellow and brittle, crumbling to dust at the slightest touch.
She turned, dashing for the fallen bookshelf next.
"Tch!"
Monet cursed under her breath, wings flaring as she gave chase.
"You wretched girl! What do you think you're doing to the precious research we've risked so much to gather?!"
Bonney didn't answer. She snatched up another stack of files.
Monet couldn't allow her to destroy them. These archives represented data extracted from the suffering—and death—of hundreds.
With Caesar and this information, she could rebuild a new secret laboratory for the Young Master, even if Punk Hazard were completely destroyed.
If they succeeded in perfecting Deadly Gas, Giantification Serum, or Artificial Devil Fruits, her Young Master wouldn't just gain powerful weapons—he'd command prestige across the entire underworld.
At that point, rising to become one of the Four Emperors would no longer be a dream.
Monet clenched her teeth.
Her loyalty to Doflamingo was absolute.
She would never allow that future to be stolen.
"Haaah!"
Monet's blade-feathers sliced through the air, aiming to cleave Bonney in half.
Bonney spun around and hurled the documents in her hand toward Monet.
The air filled with a flurry of white pages, obscuring Monet's sight.
To save the data, Monet had no choice but to retract her blades.
She watched helplessly as the papers fluttered down—and land in a puddle of water.
The ink began to blur, the paper soaking through almost instantly.
"Water…? Did she melt my snow again?!"
Panicked, Monet flapped her wings, dissolving them back into hands and crouched to gather the dripping files.
When she looked up—Bonney was gone.
Where did she go?
Monet's eyes narrowed.
Had Bonney melted the snow and slipped out while she was distracted?
No… not that fast… she couldn't have vanished that quickly!
But she didn't have time to dwell on it. The files came first.
She bent down to retrieve them, shaking the soaked sheets out and laying them flat on her palms.
"Damn it… The writing's completely gone!"
She ground her teeth in frustration.
Then, as she lifted another file, she noticed something strange — a gap beneath the pile.
"Hm?"
Pushing the papers aside, Monet froze.
A hole gaped in the floorboards—jagged and broken just like before. It led down to the level below.
"So that's it…"
She realized grimly.
"While I was distracted by the flying papers, she used her ability again and made herself a way out…"
She exhaled, letting her tension ease slightly.
"Fine. As long as the data's safe…"
She crouched again to pick up another page.
Suddenly—a small hand shot up from the hole and grabbed her thumb.
"Wha—?!"
Monet's face drained of color. She tried to shift into her elemental form, but it was too late.
The tiny hand pulsed with power—and Monet's body began to wither.
Her skin sagged and roughened, dark spots blooming across it. Her arms turned thin and frail. Her hair fell out in clumps, and her teeth loosened and dropped from her mouth.
"Urrrghhh—!!"
Monet's voice cracked—hoarse and aged.
"What… what have you done to me?!"
"Oh, nothing much," Bonney's voice answered from the hole, light and mocking.
"I just pushed you into your future—a very old one."
From the opening, a little girl climbed out—a miniature Bonney, no older than ten.
She brushed the dust off her clothes, then stood proudly, hands on hips, looking down at the withered Monet.
"My power isn't just about 'pushing things forward,' you know," she said in a childish voice full of smugness.
"I can also go back to the past. You couldn't fit through that hole—but in this body, I could."
Monet, now reduced to a frail old woman, struggled shakily to her feet. Even her reaction time to use the Snow-Snow Fruit was slowed to a crawl.
Bonney tilted her head, incredulous.
"You still wanna fight me looking like that?"
"I fight… for the Young Master's will…!"
Monet rasped, her voice trembling as she spread her brittle wings, snow fluttering weakly from them.
"Young Master?" Bonney frowned. "Who's that? Vegapunk?"
Monet didn't answer. She just kept beating her wings—but even the blizzard she summoned was faint, barely enough to make Bonney's skin feel cold, not freeze.
Within seconds, Monet's wings faltered. She gasped for breath, her back bent, her body trembling.
"Change me… back…"
She glared weakly at the little Bonney, though her eyes had lost their edge.
Bonney only smiled.
In the blink of an eye, her child form shimmered and expanded—returning her to her voluptuous adult body.
She sauntered to the corner of the room, pulled out her lighter once more, and flicked it to life.
The flame caught on the curtain—whoosh—racing up toward the ceiling.
But just as the fire began to spread, alarms blared overhead. Sprinklers activated, spraying water across the room.
The sudden downpour didn't douse the flames entirely, but it stopped them from spreading further.
Bonney wiped the water from her face and sighed.
"Guess there's no burning this place down after all."
So instead, she used her ability—methodically aging every file and document in sight until they disintegrated to dust.
Monet could only watch, screaming in anguish before collapsing to the floor.
When it was over, Bonney turned to leave. But as she passed by, a trembling, wrinkled hand reached out and grabbed her ankle.
"Change me back…"
Monet's voice was faint, her breath shallow.
Her eyes—once so sharp—were now clouded and blind.
This wasn't Bonney's doing.
In her despair and horror, Monet's own mind had driven her to blindness.
She had never imagined that just a day ago she was triumphant, everything under control—and now she lay here, aged and broken, on the brink of death.
"Bonney… you don't understand… I can't betray the Young Master's expectations…"
Bonney looked down coldly, then kicked Monet's hand away.
"People like you," she said, voice icy,
"can stay buried here on Punk Hazard—together with yo
ur sins. Just seeing you makes me sick."
Without another glance, she walked out of the room.
She never looked back.
Monet lay on her back, her fading consciousness replaying memories like a dying lantern flickering out—
And then she drew her final breath.