"Don't say a single word, Vivi," Varin growled.
He shifted back into his human form mid-motion, one hand already gripping the scruff of her robe. Before she could react, he lifted her clean off the sand and set her firmly onto Karoo's back. The duck squawked in alarm, wings flaring, but Varin's other hand came down like a vice on Vivi's shoulder, pinning her in place.
"Whether Luffy agrees or not," he continued, voice low and dangerous, "you are in trouble for pullin' a stunt this stupid."
"Varin, you don't understand," Vivi said quickly, twisting against his grip. "If you just let them see me, then I know Koza will listen. I can stop this before the sides clash." She tried to slide off Karoo's back. Varin shoved her back down without even looking.
"No," he snapped. The word came out wrong, deep and sharp. An inhuman growl slipped through the edges of his voice, something feral that made Karoo freeze and Vivi flinch. "You said it yourself," Varin went on, teeth clenched, "Baroque Works has spies in both armies. So what if Koza listens? What then. Do you really think that bloody warlord didn't plan for that?"
"Varin, please just listen to me," Vivi tried again, hands gripping Karoo's reins. "If I can just talk to him, if he hears my voice, then maybe"
"One shot," Varin cut in, leaning closer. "One shot from either side and it all starts again, panic, and screamin'. People trampled under their own allies. You trampled under them. How can you be this bloody stupid?"
The words had barely left his mouth when the cannon fired. The boom rolled across the sand like thunder. Varin's head snapped up instantly. He locked onto it at once, the dark iron ball tearing through the air, its path low and straight.
Straight at Vivi. If it missed her, it would slam into the sand at her feet. Kick up a wall of dust that would blind her and drop her under the hooves of a charging army.
Varin moved without thinking. His lips pulled back into a snarl that seemed to echo across the dunes. His arm shot up, and his hand closed around the cannonball mid-flight. The impact rang through his bones. His fingers dug into the hot metal, skidding back a step as sand sprayed beneath his boots.
He stopped it cold. "This," he snarled, crushing the ball slightly as metal groaned under his grip, "is what I mean, you daft woman." Vivi stared at him, eyes wide, breath caught in her throat. He turned his head slowly toward the cannon emplacement, eyes dark and murderous.
"You'd better hope your commander kills you for shootin' at your princess," Varin said, voice carrying unnaturally far, "because if I get to you first, I'll gut you and leave you hangin' off the walls while the sun cooks you alive."
He hurled the cannonball aside. It vanished into the sand with a distant crash.
Before Vivi could get a word out, Varin turned back on her and yanked her off Karoo's back, setting her down hard but steady in front of him.
"Varin, wait," she started. "If you just let me explain, if I can say his name"
"Fine," he interrupted. The word came out sharp, clipped, and more menacing than Varin usually spoke.
"Since you wanna try this so bad," he said, gripping the scruff of her robe again and lifting her with one arm, "we'll do it."
Her breath hitched. "Varin"
"But we're doin' it my way. You're lucky I don't trust you to mess up runnin' into the city alone."
the dunes. Banners snapped in the wind. Steel flashed under the sun.
"You better hope this Koza of yours recognizes you," Varin said grimly, jaw tight as he ignored the tremor running through his wounded side, "because if this turns ugly, a lot more people are gonna die, and I'm gonna be doin' the killing."
It should not have worked. By every rule of war and chaos, it should have failed. But it did not. As the rebels drew closer, shapes sharpened into faces. Lines tightened. Shouts died in throats. At the front, a man with a long scar cutting across one eye raised his fist. The army behind him stopped as one.
"Put her down," the man said, voice carrying across the sand.
"Wait. Koza," Vivi shouted, twisting desperately in Varin's grip. "Please. He's a friend. He saved my life."
Varin did not loosen his hold. Before anyone else could speak, he drew in a breath and roared. "CROCODILE IS THE CAUSE OF ALL OF THIS!"
The sound slammed into the desert like a shockwave. Vivi and Karoo both flinched, covering their ears as the shout rolled across the assembled forces.
"He played you," Varin continued, voice raw and furious. "Every raid. Every shortage. Every spark that lit this rebellion. Baroque Works has agents in both armies."
Murmurs rippled through the rebel lines. Hands tightened on weapons. Some men glanced sideways at their neighbours.
"Anyone who fires," Varin went on, pointing toward the royal forces, then sweeping his arm back toward the rebels, "anyone who fires on either side is workin' for that organization. They want blood. They want chaos. And they want you killin' your own people so they can rule the ashes."
Murmurs rippled through the ranks. Uneasy, angry, and very confused.
Koza's eyes narrowed. "You expect us to believe that," he said, jaw tight. "One man, shouting excuses while holding the crown princess like a hostage."
Varin finally looked at Vivi, then lowered her enough so her toes barely touched the sand, though he kept a firm grip on her shoulder. "She ain't my hostage," he said flatly. "She's the only reason I haven't started tearing through your front line."
"Varin," Vivi said urgently, turning to Koza, "it's true. Crocodile is using both sides. The drought, the unrest, all of it. He controls Baroque Works. He wanted this war."
Koza's expression flickered. Doubt cracking through anger. "Then where's your proof?" he demanded. "Words won't stop blood once it starts flowing. Words don't stop all the starving children, or husks lost in the desert."
Varin bared his teeth in something close to a grin, sharp and humourless. "Funny you should ask," he said. "Because Crocodile poisoned me with his hook not even a day ago. If he weren't guilty, he wouldn't need poison."
He lifted his blood-slicked hand for all to see. "And if you're still lookin' for a reason not to shoot," Varin added, eyes sweeping the ranks, "try this. Anyone who fires right now is tellin' on themselves. Baroque Works agents can't afford to let this stall. They need chaos. So watch who pulls the trigger."
The desert held its breath, and surprisingly, no cannons fired, or shots rang out.
Koza slowly lowered his weapon. His gaze shifted between Vivi and Varin, searching, weighing. "…If you're lying," he said quietly, "this ends with your head on a pike."
"Aye, you can try," Varin shot back, finally lowering Vivi the rest of the way to the sand. "You're heavy, Vivi." Her response was immediate. Her heel drove straight into his side.
"THOR'S BEARD THAT HURTS," Varin barked, staggering half a step as he clutched the wound, teeth bared. "I AM BLEEDIN, LASS."
"You deserve it," Vivi snapped, eyes shining, voice shaking with a mix of anger and fear. "You had no right grabbing me like that."
"I had every right," he growled back, straightening despite the pain. "You were about two heartbeats away from getting trampled or shot or both."
Koza watched the exchange in stunned silence. Around him, rebels whispered, weapons lowered but not yet set aside. This wasn't the image of a hostage taker. This was… something else.
"Enough," Koza said sharply. "Princess Vivi, if what you're saying is true, then prove it. Call off the royal army. If they stand down, so do we."
"That won't happen," Varin said immediately, eyes flicking across the walls, the ranks, the sand beneath their feet. "Not yet anyway."
Then he felt it, then he saw it. The sand beneath Vivi shifted wrong.
Varin moved without thinking. He slammed his shoulder into Vivi, throwing her clear just as the ground erupted. A spear of sand shot up like a cannon round, punching straight through Varin's knuckles, up the center of his forearm, and bursting out through his shoulder in a spray of blood.
"BY ODIN'S BEARS AND THOR'S FUCKING HAMMER," Varin snarled, staggering as he grabbed his ruined arm, teeth bared, eyes wild as he spun, searching the dunes. "Why the bloody hell did we do this on his territory—"
"You really believe this pirate's lies?" Crocodile's voice slid in from behind him, smooth and amused.
Varin twisted, blood dripping freely now, the sand beneath him darkening fast.
"Even that princess isn't real," Crocodile continued, stepping forward, coat fluttering. "A member of their crew can change faces thanks to a devil fruit."
"Bullshit," Varin snapped instantly. "Bon Clay's on your side, and you know it. Besides," he jabbed a non-bloody finger toward Vivi, "you just tried to kill her. So why—"
Crocodile's hook shifted, catching the sun, deadly and threatening. "Oh, I wasn't trying to kill her. Or rather… him." His smile widened. "I knew you'd take the hit. Like the good dog you are."
Varin growled low in his chest, a sound that carried across the sand. "Careful," he said, voice tight with pain and fury. "Dogs bite."
"It's true!" a voice called from the rebel ranks. "I've seen the shapeshifter myself!"
"And no one's seen or heard from the princess in years," another shouted. More voices joined in. Doubt spreading fast, like a tide.
Vivi's hands clenched into her skirt. "Varin, please," she said, voice breaking. "You can't just stand there. Look at you. You're bleeding out."
He didn't turn. His good hand stayed up in front of her, firm, immovable, like a wall she couldn't pass.
"It's too late for second-guessing," Varin said quietly, his earlier rage dimmed. "We did what we could. You did what you could, lass. Better than most would've managed with the whole world shoutin at you."
Crocodile shifted somewhere ahead of him. Varin could feel him gathering power, the sand shifting like a whirlpool.
"He didn't want to show himself like this," Varin went on, eyes locked forward. "People like him, like their strings pulled from the shadows. So we cut one, maybe, hopefully more."
Vivi swallowed hard. "That doesn't mean you have to die here."
He huffed a short laugh. "Was never really on the table."
Then he finally glanced back at her, just enough to meet her eyes.
"I want you on Karoo," he said. "Now. You get somewhere safe. Find Pell, find one of the crew. But make damn sure it's actually them. Bon Clay's probably around."
She shook her head, tears spilling freely now. "I can't just leave you. You're hurt badly. That arm…"
Blood was still pouring from the hole in his hand, running down his forearm and dripping into the sand in a steady, ugly fountain. "I've had worse," he said, which was a lie, but not a big one.
"But you can't win like this," Vivi whispered. "There's no way."
Varin turned his head just enough to look at Crocodile again. He did not look afraid. Angry, yes. Focused. Almost eager.
"It's not your job to decide that," he said. "It's your job to worry. To hope. To believe people can still choose not to kill each other."
His jaw tightened. "It's my job to win."
Crocodile laughed softly. "Still posturing. Even now."
Varin didn't answer him. he spoke to Vivi one last time, voice lower, meant only for her. "I was given an order," he said. "Not to die. And I don't care much for failin' my captain."
She stared at him, really stared, like she was trying to burn his shape into memory. Then another cannon fired somewhere on the wall.
Varin's head snapped up instantly. His snarl rolled out across the battlefield, deep and animal, loud enough to make men flinch. "That's your cue," he said. "Go. Do not do somethin' stupid, just run."
Karoo stepped closer, wings rustling anxiously. Vivi hesitated one last heartbeat, then grabbed onto him, fingers white with tension. "Don't die," she said, voice small.
Varin's mouth curled into a grin that showed teeth. "That's the plan."
Karoo turned and ran, kicking up sand as he went. Vivi looked back once, then forced herself to face forward.
Varin flexed his fingers, ignoring the agony, and let his claws slide free with a wet scrape. "Right," he said, eyes locked on Crocodile. "No more interruptions. Just you and me."
The sand around Crocodile surged in response, rising like a wave. He smiled. "Try not to disappoint me, mutt."
Varin leaned forward, blood dripping into the sand, stance low and ready. "Careful," he growled. "You already did once."
The cannon shot was the signal. Whatever doubt had lingered was shattered the moment the first blast rang out. The rebels surged forward again, momentum reclaimed by noise and fear and anger. Koza himself stayed still for a moment longer, watching, but the army moved without him.
The sand around Varin shifted. Crocodile moved his hand, and the desert answered. Sand rose and curled in on itself, forming a rough dome around the two of them, cutting them off from the chaos outside. The sounds of battle dulled, leaving the two of them to their own world.
"So," Varin said, rolling his shoulder and ignoring the way his arm screamed in protest, "you gonna run like before. Or is it just sneak attack after sneak attack with you?"
Crocodile chuckled softly, his form circling Varin, footsteps leaving no real prints. "You know, I've been on the receiving end of a Styrnvald before. I won, of course. But he was just like you. Your culture never did like anything except charging straight in."
Varin's lips pulled back into a grin that showed too many teeth. "So you recognize me. Fair enough. But you got that part wrong."
Crocodile's eyes narrowed slightly. "Oh."
"I ain't a Styrnvald anymore," Varin said, voice rough. "I'm a Straw Hat now. But you're right about one thing. I don't care much for sneak attacks."
He shifted his weight, claws digging into the sand.
"But not for the reason you think."
Crocodile tilted his head. "And why's that, mutt?"
Varin's grin widened. "Because it's fun."
He launched forward. Midair, his body twisted and snapped into his wolf form, mass and muscle slamming through the space between them. Crocodile tried to scatter, his body breaking into sand, but Varin's jaws snapped shut anyway. His saliva soaked into the grains, forcing them to clump, to stick, to become solid again.
His teeth sank in. There was resistance this time, not solid flesh, but dense and gritty, like biting into wet clay. Crocodile snarled in surprise as Varin's saliva soaked in, the sand clumping, refusing to scatter cleanly.
"Gotcha," Varin growled through a mouthful of sand and blood.
Crocodile reacted instantly. His body blurred, the rest of him unravelling into a surge of sand that ripped backwards, tearing his trapped arm apart at the elbow to escape. The severed flesh collapsed into a heavy, wet lump in Varin's jaws.
Varin spat it out, hackling laughter rumbling in his chest. "Aye. That's more like it."
The dome tightened. Sand pressed in from all sides, cutting off the noise of the battlefield outside until it was just a dull roar, distant screams and cannon fire muted like they were underwater.
Crocodile reformed a few paces away, his arm knitting itself back together, slower this time. The scowl on his face was deeper now. "So that's it," Crocodile said coolly. "You figured it out. Water. Crude, but effective."
Varin shook sand from his fur, blood still dripping steadily from his ruined arm. "Never said I was clever," Varin said. "Just stubborn."
Crocodile lifted his hook. The sand beneath Varin's paws suddenly liquefied, turning into a sucking mire that tried to drag him under again. Varin dug in, claws biting deep, muscles screaming as he forced himself forward anyway.
"You talk too much," Crocodile snarled. "For someone so little."
The sand rose, forming blades, spears, grinding walls that slammed into him from every angle. One tore through his flank. Another shattered against his shoulder. His body was being chewed apart inch by inch, blood darkening the sand further, soaking deeper.
And that only made it worse for Crocodile. Every step Varin took left wet footprints. Every wound fed the ground beneath him. The desert around them was no longer dry.
Crocodile noticed. His eyes narrowed. "Tch."
Varin lunged again, faster this time. Crocodile countered, hook flashing, tearing straight through Varin's chest and out his back in a spray of blood and sand.
Varin roared, a sound that shook the dome itself, and kept moving anyway. He slammed into Crocodile with his full weight, jaws snapping shut around the warlord's shoulder this time. Not perfect, but good enough. Crocodile's body partially solidified under the sudden saturation, sand locking up just long enough for Varin to wrench him sideways and slam him into the ground.
"You make a pretty shite warlord," Varin snarled, leaning into the hold despite the blood pouring down his paws. "If some green lad to the Grand Line can put you on the backpedal like this, you might wanna ask yourself if you've been flexin' the right muscle all these years."
Crocodile's hook arm twitched, sand grinding as he tried to pull himself free.
"They say brains over brawn," Varin went on, teeth bared inches from Crocodile's face, breath hot and wet. "But it ain't that one-sided. You get clever, sure. But you forget one thing."
He twisted, forcing more weight down, the wet sand locking Crocodile in place again. "Brains don't mean a damn thing when the other bastard's too stubborn to stay down."
Crocodile's eyes burned with fury. The sand around them began to scream, pressure building, the dome tightening like a clenched fist.
"You're already dead," Crocodile hissed. "You just don't know it yet."
Varin laughed, low and rough, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. "Maybe," he said. "But I'm takin chunks outta you till then."
"ENOUGH," Crocodile snarled.
The sand beneath Varin detonated upward, twisting into a violent column that seized him mid-sentence. The world spun as the sandnado lifted him off his feet, dragging him higher, grit battering his face, his wounded arm screaming as the pressure tore at it.
"You have been a thorn in my side long enough," Crocodile continued coldly from below. "I should've made sure you died back in Rainbase."
Varin spat blood and sand, bracing himself against the pull like it was a strong current instead of a living storm.
"That's on you, mate," he barked back, voice carrying despite the roar. "You ran first."
The sandnado whipped him around harder, trying to break him, to disorient him. Varin twisted his body with it instead of fighting against it, letting the rotation carry him, claws digging uselessly through rushing grit as if this were just another rough ride.
"You know," he added, grinning despite the pain, "for a warlord with a god complex, you've got a real bad habit of not finishing the job."
Below him, Crocodile's expression darkened, and the storm tightened in response, pressure spiking, sand compressing around Varin's chest and legs, trying to crush the air out of him. His vision blurred at the edges, breath coming shorter now, and slower despite his racing heart.
Still, Varin laughed.
"Go on then," he growled, eyes locked on Crocodile through the spinning wall of sand. "If you're gonna kill me, stop posturin and do it."
"My pleasure," Crocodile snarled.
The sandnado didn't dissipate, but it did change.
The violent spin cut out all at once, the sudden stop almost worse than the motion itself. Varin's stomach lurched as gravity caught up to him, just for the sand to reverse direction, collapsing inward instead of outward. The storm tightened around him like a fist. Then it started pulling, dragging him down into the center.
Varin's paws were absorbed into the churning sand around him as the vortex tried to grind him into it, grains hardening and flowing at the same time, sucking at his limbs like wet cement. He dug in on instinct, claws raking furrows through the sand, muscles straining as he fought the pull. "Ah, piss off," he growled through clenched teeth.
The sand wrapped around his legs, his waist, climbing fast. It crawled up his torso, compressing, stealing space, pressing the breath out of his lungs inch by inch. His injured arm screamed as the pressure hit it, blood darkening the sand immediately, soaking in instead of spilling free.
Crocodile stepped closer, boots crunching calmly, like this wasn't a battlefield but a lecture. "You really thought brute force would be enough," he said, voice almost bored, like he wasn't bleeding almost as much as Varin. "In my desert."
Varin bared his teeth, jaw trembling with effort. He shifted his weight, forced one knee free, then lost it again as the sand surged higher, locking him in place up to his ribs. "Funny thing," He rasped, breath coming heavy now, "I wasn't plannin on usin just brute force."
The sand climbed higher, locking around his chest and shoulders, compressing until every breath burned. His vision narrowed, ringing filling his ears as Crocodile stepped closer, hook catching the light. Varin fought like hell, claws tearing, muscles screaming, but the harder he struggled, the tighter the prison became, like it was learning him.
Then it stopped right at his neck. Varin froze for half a heartbeat, chest heaving, sand packed so tight around him he could barely move his limbs.
"You know how hard it is to get sand outta fur?" he snarled anyway, still testing the prison, still refusing to give the satisfaction of silence.
Crocodile clicked his tongue. "A good dog knows when to stop barking."
The sand shifted, lowering him just enough for Crocodile's hand to reach through the storm. Fingers closed around Varin's throat, digging through fur and into flesh.
Varin felt it immediately. It was like being pulled inside out, like the air itself was trying to drink him. Moisture dragged from his skin, his muscles, his blood, a deep gnawing pull that made his vision spark. His mouth went dry in an instant, throat burning as if he hadn't had water in days. And then Nothing happened.
It was like trying to empty a cup while it sat at the bottom of the sea. Every drop Crocodile tore away was replaced just as fast, flooding back in, stubborn and endless. Salt on his tongue. Damp in his lungs. Blood still warm, still dripping wet.
Varin's eyes widened, just a fraction. So his fruit did extend to water.
Crocodile felt it too. His brow furrowed, grip tightening, then tightening again as if more force would suddenly make sense of it. "Why aren't you drying up?" Crocodile demanded, irritation bleeding into his voice.
Varin's lips peeled back into a slow, feral grin despite the hand crushing his throat. "Perk of my fruit," he rasped, voice rough and dry. "Also… you really shouldn't be this close to my mouth."
Varin wrenched his head down and clamped his jaws around Crocodile's arm, teeth punching through flesh. Hot blood flooded his mouth instantly, metallic and thick, spilling down his chin and dripping into the dunes below.
Crocodile snarled in shock, the sound sharp and ugly, and for the first time, his control slipped.
Just enough for the sand prison to loosen for half a second, pressure easing like a breath taken too late. Varin didn't hesitate. Claws tore downward, raking through compacted sand, muscles screaming as he ripped himself free. The prison collapsed around his legs as he staggered forward, bloodied, breathing hard, one arm barely responding.
Crocodile tore himself back, clutching his arm, blood soaking into his sleeve as he hissed through his teeth. His sandstorm faltered, then surged again, angrier now.
Varin spat, thick red splattering the ground. He rolled his shoulder once, bone grinding unpleasantly, then straightened anyway, posture low and feral looking, eyes locked on Crocodile.
"Tastes like arrogance," he growled. "And fear. Didn't think a Warlord'd bleed so easily."
"You insolent animal," Crocodile snarled, sand whipping violently around him. "Do you have any idea who you're fighting?"
"You really like repeatin' your title," Varin growled, shoulders low, teeth bared. "When are ya gonna learn I ain't intimidated by it."
His tail snapped out in a wide arc, muscle and bone moving on instinct more than thought. It was the first time he'd used Tail Cleave in a real fight. The air itself screamed. A blade of pressure tore forward, carving a clean line through the sand straight at Crocodile.
It passed right through him. Varin expected that, but what he didn't expect was the silence afterwards. Crocodile didn't reform or reappear with a taunt.
"…You've gotta be kiddin' me," Varin muttered.
The storm thinned until finally the sand settled. Crocodile was gone.
Varin stared at the empty space for a long second, chest rising and falling hard. Then his ears flattened, and his expression twisted into something genuinely offended. "Why is the bloody Warlord a coward?" he snapped to no one, disbelief sharp in his voice.
He dropped back onto his haunches in the blood-soaked sand with a heavy thud, one paw braced against the ground, the other hanging useless in the air. Blood dripped steadily, pattering against the dunes.
"That's just bullshit," he growled, glaring at the horizon like Crocodile might pop back up out of spite.
He wiped his bad paw across his face, leaving a red smear across his jaw, then laughed under his breath. "Run twice now," Varin muttered. "Real impressive reputation you've built, mate."
He forced himself upright and immediately paid for it. His vision tilted, the world pitching sideways, and his knees gave out. He hit the sand on his right side with a dull thud.
"Ah… that's not good," he muttered.
The shift back to his human form came sluggish, like his body was resisting the idea of staying conscious. He braced himself with his left arm, the only one that still halfway listened. His right hung useless at his side, swollen and torn where the sand spear had punched clean through. He sucked in a breath through his teeth.
He was in bad shape. Worse than bad. Probably the worst he'd ever been in, and that was saying something. Dozens of wounds scored his torso, shallow cuts from flying sand, deeper gashes where Crocodile had clipped him, not even counting the hook wound from the night before that still burned like it was fresh. His left arm bled freely, his legs were streaked red, blood soaked into his clothes and the sand beneath him. Everywhere hurt. Everything hurt.
He let out a weak huff of a laugh.
"So that's what a Warlord fight's supposed to feel like," he rasped. "Bit rude, if I'm honest."
The battle around him was chaos now. Cannons thundered in the distance. Shouts echoed across the dunes. Steel rang against steel. Dust clouds rose where men collided, royal army and rebels tearing into each other just like Crocodile had planned. Even gone, the bastard's fingerprints were all over it.
Varin dragged his gaze up, blinking grit out of his eyes. Somewhere out there, Vivi was running. He hoped. Pell, too, if he'd survived the flight in. The crew would be closing in, or already in the city, probably doing something loud and stupid. Good, that meant he'd done his part.
He pressed his palm into the sand and tried to push himself up again. His arm shook violently, muscles screaming, and he collapsed back down with a grunt. "Yeah… alright," he breathed. "Message received." Lying there, staring up at the merciless blue sky. And the only thing he felt.
Annoyance.
Crocodile had run. He was being held together by spite and more spite. And if Sunday had been right, he had been poisoned, and somehow that was the least of his worries. And to top it all off, he could guarantee something else was going to go wrong.
He clenched his jaw and forced himself to roll onto his back, chest heaving.
"Didn't order me to die," he muttered, more stubborn than confident. "Didn't say I had to win pretty either." Blood pooled beneath him, warm against his skin. He could feel himself slipping, the edges of the world going soft, sounds muffled like he was underwater. He laughed again, breath hitching.
"Luffy's gonna be right pissed if I croak out here," he said to no one. "Zoro'l say it was my fault. Nami'l never let me hear the end of it." He turned his head slightly, eyes tracking the close city walls of Alubarna.
"Hang on, Vi," he murmured, voice low and rough. "I did what I could." And then, with sheer spite and willpower, Varin dug his fingers into the sand and dragged himself forward anyway. "And I'm not done yet."
He forced himself up inch by inch. When he finally reached his feet, the world swayed violently, his balance threatening to give out, but he stayed standing through nothing but stubborn refusal. Blood ran freely down his side, soaking into the sand with every uneven step he took.
"One more round, Crocodile," he growled, lifting his head despite the pain tearing through him. "Winner takes all."
Varin began hauling himself up the stairs, leaving a crimson trail behind him. His shoulder brushed the wall as he went, fingers dragging along the stone for balance, boots stepping over fallen rebels without really seeing them. The sound of the war below was still there, loud and constant, but dulled, like it was happening through water. His hearing felt wrong, distant, probably from the blood loss.
But his body felt… different. Every step was steadier than the last. Halfway up, he realized he was no longer bracing himself against the wall. His legs moved cleanly, rhythm settling back in. He was still bleeding, still torn up, but the worst of the older wounds were slowing, no longer pouring out of him like before.
"Ha…" he breathed, almost laughing. "That's… odd." It was not healing. Nothing was knitting shut in front of his eyes, no sudden miracle. But his normal had always been fast. Zoans were built tougher than most, especially predators, with bone, muscle, and instinct; his endurance heightened to extremes.
Still, this was more than that. He searched his mind as he climbed, trying to pin the feeling down. He had never felt this before. Then again, he had never been this close to being finished either. Torn open, arm ruined, blood loss stacked on blood loss, and yet his footing was improving instead of failing.
Maybe it was something to do with Fenrir? A beast that wasn't just a wolf, not just a Zoan for him, but a thing that was meant to die and kept fighting anyway. A divine beast that knew the end was coming and did not slow for it, did not hesitate, and did not weaken in the face of inevitability, something that fought with spite and vengeance.
Maybe that was it? Resolve made physical. Fenrir fought, knowing he would fall, knowing the cost, and still bit deeper with every step toward the end. Maybe this fruit remembered that. Or maybe Varin had finally reached that place himself.
Either way, he kept climbing. Blood still dripped from him, marking every step, but his spine straightened as he went. His breathing evened out, slow and controlled. Pain was still there, screaming, but it no longer owned him.
He clutched his arm tight, fingers digging in as he squeezed hard enough to make his vision spark, forcing the worst of the bleeding to slow. It was crude, painful, but it bought him time. Then he crested the top of the stairs.
War slammed into him all at once.
Rebels and royal soldiers collided in a messy, screaming knot of steel and dust. Blades flashed, gunfire cracked, bodies fell and were trampled without pause. Threaded through it all were others, moving wrong, fighting smarter, stabbing backs and vanishing into the crowd. Baroque Works. He would have bet his life on it if his life was not already leaking out of him. "Where the hell did that slippery bastard go?" Varin muttered.
A rebel saw him, took one look at the blood and the ruined arm, and decided Varin was an easy mark. That was a fatally bad call. Varin backhanded him without breaking stride, sending the man sprawling into the dirt.
"The palace," a familiar voice said softly, right at his ear. "The catacombs beneath it."
Varin stiffened. "Course he did."
"I'll be with him," All Sunday continued, calm as ever. "Try not to die ahead of time, little dog."
Varin snorted, pushing through the edge of the fighting. "That's convenient. You gonna say anything about you stalkin' me, or is this just your hobby?" No answer, the presence vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Figures.
"Well," he muttered, lifting his gaze past the chaos, toward the distant palace rising over the city, white stone cutting through the haze of dust and smoke. Even from here, it looked impossibly far. "Palace it is."
His jaw set. His grip tightened around his ruined arm. "Nothing can ever be easy."
He pushed forward anyway, straight through the mess, eyes locked ahead, treating the battlefield like weather. Screaming, steel, dust, none of it mattered. People tried to stop him. Too many of them.
A royal soldier lunged with a spear, panic and desperation all over his face. Varin stepped inside the thrust and opened the man from ribs to hip with his good arm. He did not look back when the body fell.
A rebel charged him next, shouting something about the princess. Varin caught him by the front of his armor and drove him into a stone wall hard enough that bone gave way with a wet crack. The man went limp instantly. Varin let him drop.
More came, some hesitated, most did not. Bravery did not change the outcome. Every one of them went down in a single blow. He did not have the time, the strength, or the patience for anything else.
"Ah… Vi's gonna be pissed," he muttered under his breath as he stepped over another fresh body.
She tried so hard. Gods, she tried harder than anyone had a right to. Talking, pleading, standing in front of armies with nothing but hope and a stupid amount of courage. And here he was, doing exactly what he told her he would if it all went wrong.
Killing.
He could already hear it. The way her voice would shake when she yelled at him. The way she would look at the blood on his hands like it was a personal failure. Part of him twisted at the thought. Another part hardened around it.
"She'll survive," he said quietly to himself. "They will too. Because of this."
Even if she hated him for it.
He doubted that last part. Vivi was not built like that. She would be furious, devastated, and exhausted more than anything. But hate? No, not her. Still, the idea dug in deeper than Crocodile's sand had.
Varin shoved the thought aside and kept moving. The palace loomed closer now, its white stone stained by smoke and shadows. The path toward it was littered with bodies and broken formations. Baroque Works agents still skulked at the edges, stirring panic where they could, but none of them stepped directly into his path. The smart ones, anyway.
His steps stayed steady. His breathing stayed controlled. Blood kept dripping into the stone behind him, a dark, unmistakable trail pointing straight toward the heart of the city.
"Finish it," he growled to himself.
And he kept walking.