Chapter 6: Practice and Progress
Today, Crocodile had misjudged two things.
First, what Caesar had secretly salvaged wasn't Ohara's lost knowledge, but a sculpted Poneglyph.
And the sculpture had come to life as a primitive man.
Second, he'd misjudged the nature of "Alvin Vergil."
Vergil's initial clumsiness had tricked Crocodile into thinking he was dealing with a simple child.
But that vast stretch of time hadn't left Vergil "simple." It had forged him into something "pure."
And that was the most troublesome kind of person on these seas.
Since he couldn't be controlled, Crocodile decided to deal with him now, before he became an unpredictable variable.
So yes, Crocodile was extremely displeased.
And right now, Alvin Vergil was having the time of his life.
During those long centuries, his perception of the outside world had nearly faded. He'd spent the time endlessly theorizing about his fruit's powers, building vast mental frameworks just to have something to focus on.
But now, experiencing the world through his senses again… everything was precious.
The scent of earth and grass.
The sun, the sea breeze, the sand, the rough deck.
Even the things others wouldn't understand—
The sting of flames on skin.
The shock of impact from a dragon's charge.
…
Getting hurt wasn't good. Pain wasn't pleasant.
But Vergil was still elated.
The sensory feedback, the very ebb and flow of his own emotions—it all made him feel vividly, undeniably alive.
This was what freedom should feel like!
So when he clenched his fist and smashed Crocodile's sand-blade with his forearm, his first feeling wasn't pain.
It was joy.
What a thrill!
The Punk Dragon had been a weak appetizer.
The [Sand Crocodile] before him, however? This was a proper main course.
Swish…
The sand-scimitar shattered into countless fragments.
But instead of falling, the grains hung suspended in the air, unnaturally still.
They weren't just sand; they were part of Crocodile's elemental body.
As a Logia-type Sand-Sand Fruit user, Crocodile could transform completely into sand, deriving countless techniques from that single power.
He wasn't getting overconfident, though.
Back in Punk Hazard's lab, he'd glimpsed Vergil's ability.
Zoan-type, Mythical: Oni.
A "demon"—a creature of folklore with unknown powers. The "Earth Demon" form Vergil displayed seemed tied to soil and earth: cracking ground, digging tunnels, forging earthen weapons.
All of it relied on land.
That's why Crocodile had waited until they were at sea, far from any island, to make his move.
Without soil, even a Mythical Zoan is just brute force.
While their powers shared a domain, as a Logia, Crocodile controlled every grain. He held the elemental advantage.
Crocodile snorted. He opened his right hand, letting the suspended sand fall, then clenched his fist sharply.
Shing!
A blade of hardened sand shot from the deck, stabbing toward Vergil's flank.
Its deadliness lay not just in its edge, but in its speed.
Vergil had no time to assume his Chīguǐ form. But the combat theories he'd nurtured for centuries snapped into place.
He pushed off with his legs, leaping at an angle toward the thrusting blade, twisting his body in mid-air to deflect most of its force.
The sharp grains only grazed his skin, drawing a few beads of blood.
But Crocodile's assault wasn't over.
"Let me teach you something else, primitive," Crocodile sneered, his right hand spreading open. A tornado of sand began swirling above his palm, intensifying. He aimed at Vergil, who was still airborne.
"Without the ability to fly, you're just a sitting duck in the air!"
Whoosh!
He hurled the sandstorm.
Desert Spada!
In a desert, this technique could extend for miles, becoming a landscape-scouring storm. Here on the ship, its scale was limited, but its force was more than enough to shatter bone.
Even for a Zoan.
At this range, even if it didn't kill, it would cripple.
BOOM!
The compressed sandblast struck Vergil square in the chest.
He was hurled backward, crashing through the stern cargo hold in an explosion of splintered wood and dust.
Debris clouded the air.
Crocodile peered through the settling haze… and saw something he couldn't comprehend.
Alvin Vergil had activated his power. Horns, enlarged frame, crimson-glowing pupils—all understandable, if impressively fast.
But the crucial part was that, aside from the thin cut on his side, Vergil's body showed no injury. It was as if the Desert Spada had never hit him.
Why?
Before Crocodile's confusion could solidify, he heard those now-familiar words:
"Okay! I can do it!"
What could he do?
"It turns out…" Vergil said, excitement bubbling in his voice, "sand is also a form of earth!"
A cold sweat broke out on Crocodile's brow.
What does he mean by that?
Another Desert Spada gathered in his palm, larger this time. "Don't tell me you can control sand too…" he growled.
Whoosh!
He launched it, this one with enough force to obliterate the wreckage—and Vergil with it.
But what met the sandstorm were two crimson-skinned hands.
Vergil, braced against the shattered timbers, caught the whirling Desert Spada head-on, his fingers digging into the vortex, stopping its advance cold.
"Control?" Vergil's voice was strained but clear. "No, no, no!"
Countless theorized concepts, dormant for ages, surged to the forefront of his mind. Through this moment of real combat, the flaws in Crocodile's assumption became glaringly obvious.
Alvin Vergil was practicing his theories. And he was progressing at a terrifying pace.
"The power of the Chīguǐ form… it's not control. It's the destruction and dismantling of the 'earth' element!"
Tearing earth to dig tunnels.
Compacting soil to forge weapons.
"Okay! I get it now!"
Vergil's fingers clenched.
Crack…!
Several fissures split through the swirling sandstorm. In a blink, the Desert Spada was on the verge of being torn apart.
Seeing the danger, Crocodile instantly launched two more blasts of sand, using the force to repair the damaged sections of the first.
It became a battle of attrition.
Vergil, trying to "destroy" Crocodile's sand.
Crocodile, constantly "reinforcing" it.
Question: Who would be the first to fail?
Answer: The ship.
CRACK!
A sharp, decisive splintering sound cut through their focus.
Both men halted simultaneously, their attention snapping to the center of the sloop.
The violent forces of their clash had proven too much. The ship's keel had fractured. Seawater was already rushing in.
The vessel was going down.
Crocodile: "…"
Vergil: "…"
Not good.
Night fell.
Crocodile and Alvin Vergil were crammed into a single small wooden lifeboat.
By moonlight, they watched the sloop slip beneath the dark waves.
They sat on opposite sides. The atmosphere was… stiff.
After a long while, Vergil gazed up at the starry sky and suddenly laughed. "That was so interesting! Let's try again sometime!"
"…Let's not."
Crocodile felt a profound weariness. He covered his eyes with a hand and sighed.
He truly couldn't handle Vergil's temperament.
The fight should have been decided then and there, but the ship's keel gave out, forcing a draw. If they'd continued, both Devil Fruit users would have drowned.
Crocodile's plan to subdue Vergil and force his compliance had hit a wall. For now, neither could gain a decisive upper hand.
And more pressingly, they were now ability-users in the same literal boat. It would capsize for both of them.
Resigned, Crocodile gestured with his chin. "We head for the next island. Then we… figure things out."
"Alright."
Vergil nodded, resting his head against the lifeboat's edge, his eyes still on the stars.
Crocodile consulted the Log Pose and his sea chart, plotting their position.
As he worked, he heard Vergil murmuring softly to himself.
"A shame… I was so close to figuring out a solid counter to the Sand-Sand Fruit's power…"
"…"
The night sea breeze was chilly.
Crocodile shivered, and it wasn't from the cold.
(End of Chapter)
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