The casino's once-proud walls now lay in heaps of stone and shattered glass. The sky crackled, lightning illuminating a towering figure standing amidst the rubble.
Yamato, in hybrid form, her white hair wild and damp, grinned in delight—kanabo slung over her shoulder.
Across from her, Mr. 1 adjusted his stance after she sent him across the floor. His arms gleamed—steel blade under soaked sleeves. Next to him, Miss Doublefinger bristled with spike-like growths emerging from her skin like barbed thorns.
"She's too strong," Miss Doublefinger muttered, eyeing the cold steam from Yamato's mouth.
Mr. 1 narrowed his eyes. "Don't give up. We attacked her together. You'll go low, I'll go high."
Yamato cackled, her voice deep and playful, echoing in the thunder.
"Come on, guys, I've been bored these past few months. That insufferable Jacob always denied me a good fight."
Her eyes burned with battle lust, pressure rippling through the rain-soaked ruins. Loose rubble cracked. Several grunts nearby collapsed from sheer willpower. A black-reddish lightning crackled around her.
Mr.1 and Miss Doublefinger felt an indescribable pressure from the she-beast before them.
Mr. 1 dashed forward, arms slicing horizontally. Yamato blocked with her kanabo, sparks flying.
CLANG!
She smiled wide. "You have sharp metal—but dull in spirit!"
She twisted, infusing her kanabo with Armament Haki, and with a thunderous crack, she sent Mr. 1 crashing into a wall.
Miss Doublefinger launched a volley of needle-like spikes, her body transforming into a barrage of deadly shards. Yamato vanished in a blur.
She reappeared behind Miss Doublefinger, whispering into her ear:
"Run."
Miss Doublefinger turned—too slow. Yamato struck her midsection, crushing her into the ground with a Haki-enhanced swing. A shockwave tore a crater in the already broken casino floor.
Mr. 1 rose from the rubble, blood trickling down his cheek. "You're insane."
Yamato laughed, stepping through the rain like a storm goddess.
"I know. Isn't it fun?"
She unleashed Ice Breath with one breath, freezing part of the rubble in midair. The moisture in the rain turned to frost. Mr. 1 dodged the icy breath and lunged again, but Yamato met him head-on. Yamato twisted and planted her kanabo into his chest—a crackling burst of black reddish lightning launched him across the plaza.
He didn't get back up.
Yamato smiled, sweat and rain blending on her skin, but her smile never faded.
"Now... that was a good warm-up."
She cracked her neck and walked on, thunder in her wake.
"I wonder If Jacob finished with the Croco Dude."
***
The rain hadn't stopped. It poured in sheets, hammering what remained of Crocodile's once-imposing stronghold. Now a shallow pool of broken tiles and ankle-deep water, the courtyard was filled with smoke and steam.
Crocodile staggered to his feet, his coat soaked and dragging, his cigar long extinguished. Sand clumped uselessly around his arm, unable to shift properly in the wet air.
He hated rain.
"Excalibur!"
Across from him stood that boy, shouting his name attack. He was a teenager, barely a man, yet wielding a sword-like construct glowing with unstable, plasma-like light and crackling with power.
Jacob dashed forward again, light gleaming through the steam, blade raised high. The heat warped the air around him.
Crocodile hissed and drew from the last of his strength, flinging his hook forward.
"Desert Spada!"
The ground beneath them split in a vicious line of slicing sand—but the moment it struck the water, the force dulled. But it was enough to counter the plasma blade.
Tough Jacob slid right through it.
"Star Fist Thrust!"
His free hand ignited with red and white energy. He punched through the collapsing sand and struck Crocodile in the ribs. Pain exploded through the Warlord's side. He flew back, skidding through water and crashing into stone.
"Damn brat," Crocodile spat, clutching his side. He coughed, the taste of blood mixing with wet stone.
He tried again, desperate now. "Ground Death!"
The area beneath Jacob began to crack, drain, collapse—until a wave of superheated plasma erupted from Jacob's body, vaporizing the sand before it could form.
Crocodile's eyes widened.
He barely raised his arm before Jacob closed in—burning plasma sword over his shoulder, body moving with practiced movement.
"Give up, Warlord," Jacob said coldly. "No sand can stand against fire."
Excalibur came down.
Crocodile caught it on his hook, sparks and fire flying—but the blade melted through, burning metal and bone alike.
He screamed.
"Fire Fist Thrust!"
The fire lit up the courtyard as Crocodile was thrown back again, landing hard on his back, vision spinning. Steam rose all around. The sound of rain pounding the earth was all he could hear.
He blinked up at the sky. The storm mocked him.
Crocodile attacked again. The boy stood and created his plasma blade before swinging it at him.
Crocodile's world blurred with pain.
He tasted iron. He felt the burn of plasma where Jacob's Excalibur had carved a line across his chest. The rain stung the wound. He staggered backward, boots scraping over broken tiles and steaming puddles.
"You know, the way you meticulously planned something so convoluted just to uncover a weapon that wouldn't help you doesn't make you either smart or scary; I've often wondered why Whitebeard spared your life," the brat said.
Crocodile growled, staggering to his feet.
Doesn't make him scary?
He was a Warlord. He had faced monsters. He had faced Whitebeard.
And lost.
The memory burned deeper than Jacob's blade ever could. A distant battlefield. The quake. The overwhelming power. Whitebeard's bisento had shattered his pride — broke his body in a single swing, leaving him sprawled and bleeding on the scorched earth like an insect.
He hated that memory. He buried it for years.
But now... this boy was digging it up with fire and fury.
Crocodile's fingers twitched. His eyes narrowed.
The boy moved again. The sword of heat crackled in his hand, smoke rising from his back like a demon raised from hell.
"You know what happens when sand gets hot enough?" Jacob asked, walking forward, slow and deliberate.
"It turns into glass."
Crocodile's eye twitched.
"You brat…"
"I'm going to turn you into a monument, Sir Crocodile."
Crocodile roared. "Grande... DESERT SPADA!"
He slammed his good arm to the ground. A monstrous surge of sand erupted, cutting through stone and steel. It rose wide, lashing out like a cliff — immense, jagged, and with killing intent.
But Jacob didn't flinch.
Instead, the plasma around him shifted into a deeper hue — a dark crimson glow like a blood-red eclipse. The heat distorted the air until even the rain evaporated mid-fall.
"Crimson Moon!" Jacob roared.
He vanished in a blur, fire trailing behind him, and met the sand wave head-on.
Their powers clashed — blazing crimson red flame against razored sand, vapor against the rain. The ground erupted. Glass shards rained in all directions, formed from molten sand instantly cooled by the rainwater. The courtyard became a field of shimmering fragments.
Crocodile's body was flung through a shattered pillar, tumbling hard. He crashed against the casino's inner wall and crumpled.
Smoke billowed. His hook — melted. His body — scorched and torn.
Jacob emerged, unharmed, stepping through fire and ruin like a devil.
Crocodile's limbs trembled. For the first time since Whitebeard, he felt it again.
Powerlessness.
The rain dripped onto his cheek as he wheezed. He turned his gaze toward the boy, red energy still dancing around his fists.
"Damned… monster."
Jacob raised his plasma blade again.
"I could say the same to you. If not for this rain, it would be tricky to deal with you. Goodbye, Sir Crocodile."