"He's... he's running in the air?!"
"No way... that's one of those Devil Fruit powers!"
"We're gonna die—run for it!"
The dozen or so members of the Flying Shot Pirates hiding around the street were trembling with fear, eyes wide in disbelief as they watched Arlan dart through the sky with Geppo. The memory of that nightmare-like battlefield from before came flooding back.
"You're dead, you bastard... Foot Detonation!"
Caught off guard, Copra snapped back to his senses just as Arlan closed the distance—already right in front of him—delivering a brutal kick.
Startled, Copra instinctively raised his short musket to block, only for dread to strike a split second later: Oh no—it's gonna explode!
Arlan's muscular leg, honed to precision, slammed into the gun's grip—
A thunderous explosion erupted midair. Flames and black smoke engulfed Copra in an instant. But strangely enough, there was no scent of gunpowder—unnerving in its own right.
A dark figure plummeted from the smoke and slammed into the street below, smashing a crater over two meters wide. The impact shattered the cobblestone beneath, sending dust and rubble flying as cracks spiderwebbed across the pavement.
Covered in soot, Copra hacked up a few mouthfuls of black smoke. Every muscle ached as he clawed his way out of the crater, staring warily at Arlan still floating in the air above.
"Take another one!—Piercing Foot Detonation!"
Arlan stomped down hard on the air as if pushing off an invisible wall. A visible white shockwave burst from the point of impact, launching him downward like a spear—his right leg thrust forward like a javelin, aimed directly at the recovering Copra below.
Copra cursed, ducking into a roll just in time. With a flap of his wings, he kicked up a powerful gust and shot across the ground, skimming the surface like a missile.
But Arlan's kick crashed straight into the earth—
The explosion was deafening. The street erupted, tiles and stones flung into the air like shrapnel. A violent shockwave rolled outward, tearing up the pavement and throwing debris in every direction. It was as if half the street had been bombed.
Though Copra had narrowly evaded the blast, the concussive shockwave still caught him. He was hurled through the air, spinning wildly before crashing through the storefront of a nearby shop.
"Wh-Where did that explosion come from?!"
"Run! That's a Devil Fruit fight—stay out of it or you'll die!"
"Monsters! Are they trying to blow the whole town apart?!"
Panic erupted. Civilians fled in all directions. Even the Flying Shot Pirates, battered and scorched from the previous blast, scattered in retreat. None of them had died, but nearly all were wounded.
A powerful gust surged down the street like a rolling wave. Aeridar raised a hand, and with a low hum—woom—the air in front of him compressed into a dense pressure wall, easily blocking the incoming shockwave.
With his hand still extended, Aeridar surveyed the ruined street, momentarily stunned by the destruction. Then, with a dry chuckle and a touch of sarcasm, he muttered:
"Well now... someone's fired up. Looks like Arlan's really pissed off at that oversized bird."
"The First Mate's mastery of the Bomb-Bomb Fruit is incredible..." Millie and Mina stared in awe at the wreckage.
"S-Seriously... Un-be-lievable!" Backan stood behind Aeridar, jaw slack with wonder. "Lord Arlan's finally... made... up for the lack... of range and... area-of-effect in... his attacks..."
At a remote dock in Port Nanohana, several ships flew black flags adorned with crossed blades as they unloaded cargo. Hundreds of workers bustled about, stacking crates along the shore and into nearby warehouses.
Beneath a canopy on the pier stood a tall, broad-shouldered man with slicked-back hair, a fat cigar clamped between his teeth. A thick scar ran horizontally across the bridge of his nose, roughly stitched and starkly visible. His eyes gleamed with cold disdain, pride, and a barely contained edge of cruelty.
Gold rings adorned his right pinky and thumb, while his left hand ended in a massive golden hook. A black fur-collared coat hung from his shoulders, revealing an orange plaid shirt with black stripes beneath. A blue scarf coiled around his neck. He wore brown trousers and polished leather shoes.
When the explosion echoed from the town, the man turned his head, clearly irritated.
"Can someone tell me what the hell is going on out there?" His voice was deep, heavy, and dripping with menace.
A shirtless subordinate nearby answered a Den Den Mushi call, grunted a few times, and rushed over.
"Crocodile-sama, there's a skirmish on Second Street. Some pirates are fighting—looks like Devil Fruit users."
"Devil Fruit users, huh?" Crocodile's eyes narrowed, voice thick with scorn. "I've killed more of those than I can count. Stirring up trouble under my protection? Just more dead meat who don't know their place."
Indeed—it was none other than Sir Crocodile, Warlord of the Sea, wielder of the Suna-Suna no Mi, the Sand-Sand Fruit. In the Kingdom of Alabasta, he was once hailed as a hero. In the underworld, he was known as a cunning and ruthless force of nature.
Just this month, Crocodile had purchased a massive shipment of weapons from arms dealers in the criminal underworld, all to arm the operatives of Baroque Works. That shipment had arrived at Port Nanohana that morning. Concerned about the scale, he had come in person to supervise the unloading—only to be disrupted by some upstart pirate brawl. He was not pleased.
"Of course, Crocodile-sama. Everyone knows your name. Probably just a bunch of nobodies who got lucky with a Devil Fruit," the shirtless man chuckled, shamelessly trying to flatter him.
"Hmph. Save it." Crocodile sneered. "You stay here. Count everything. If even a single crate's off, I'll feed you to my bananawani."
With that, he didn't wait for a reply. His body dissolved into a swirling vortex of sand—and vanished into the sky.
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