As the dust settled over the eastern gate, the onlookers—Gion, Nami, and the others—stood paralyzed. The sheer scale of the destruction was beyond words. Where a terrifying, city-eating wall of sand had once stood, there was now only a pristine, clear sky and a jagged, obsidian-lined ravine that stretched toward the horizon.
"Isn't that... a bit of an exaggeration?" Nami murmured, her orange hair whipping in the residual wind. She looked at the ground, where the heat of the lightning had turned the desert sand into a smooth, glassy trench.
"Well, look at that deep ravine," Vivi said, her voice shifting into a tone of practical calculation. She was in full "Queen Mode" now. "It spreads so far... do you think we can use it? If we divert water from the river, it could serve as a permanent irrigation canal for the capital. Evan just saved the city and dug us a free aqueduct at the same time."
Robin, standing nearby with her arms crossed, couldn't help but smile. "The more exaggerated his power, the better. In this sea, strength is the only currency that doesn't depreciate. Only the tough survive, and only the toughest can offer true protection."
For Robin, Evan's overwhelming display wasn't just a spectacle; it was a promise of safety. After years of running and hiding, she had found a "home" behind a shield made of lightning and steel. It didn't even matter to her that he was a bit of a shameless flirt; compared to the world she had come from, his "addiction to women" was a charming quirk.
High above, the Marines were having a much harder time processing the scene.
"This is the power of the world's apex," Gion whispered, her hand gripping the hilt of her sword. "Evan's strength... it's terrifying. I've seen the Admirals move, but this felt different. It felt effortless."
"We actually thought we could capture him at Rogue Town," Hina said, lighting a cigarette. Her eyes, shadowed by her glasses, were full of a complex mix of professional jealousy and raw awe. "With power like that, he was just playing with us."
Tashigi looked up at Evan's silhouette drifting in the sky. Her grip on Shigure tightened. "Evan... I will surpass you. I have to. I'll catch you with my own hands, no matter how much you save us."
In the western sector, Vice Admiral Garp was proving why he was a legend.
The old man had charged headfirst into the center of the secondary sandstorm. He didn't use a sword; he didn't use a fruit. He just used the sheer, physical force of a man who had punched mountains into dust for fun.
"That little brat!" Garp roared as he saw the flash of violet lightning from the east. "He's gotten even stronger! Blah!" He spat out a mouthful of grit. "He's showing off while my old bones are doing the heavy lifting!"
Garp clenched his fist. His Armament Haki flowed over his skin like liquid ink, turning his arm into a pillar of black iron. He didn't care about naming his moves. Names were for people who needed to feel important.
He threw a single, nameless punch.
The air pressure alone acted like a giant bellows, blowing the sandstorm away as if it were nothing more than dust on a table. The tornado collapsed, the winds died, and Garp landed heavily on the desert floor.
"Blah, blah... the battle isn't over yet," Garp muttered, wiping sand from his brow. "I have to deal with that brat Evan. Back in Rogue Town, he lured me away to fight Dragon, but this time I'm not letting him off. And then there's the Crocodile... Seven Warlords? Bunch of shit bastards, every one of them."
Garp moved. His feet blurred as he used Soru, accelerating toward the center of the city where he sensed the strongest clashing presences.
In the shadow of the palace, the three forces finally collided.
Evan touched down on the sand, his white cloak fluttering. Across from him, the ground swirled as Sir Crocodile materialized from the dust, his golden hook glinting with lethal intent. And then, with a thunderous impact, Garp arrived, cracking the pavement as he landed between them.
A tense, three-way stalemate began.
"Evan! You bastard!" Crocodile screamed, his lower body still composed of swirling sand. He was beyond reason, fueled by the humiliation of his dismantled empire and the fear of his secret getting out. "Die!"
Crocodile ignored Garp for a split second, launching himself directly at Evan. To the Sand Crocodile, Evan wasn't just an enemy; he was the source of all his misery.
"Crocodile, why so impatient?" Evan smiled, casually raising Rachel to parry the massive Golden Hook. The sound of metal on metal rang out, followed by the crackle of electricity. "You have such mediocre physical skills. Is it really a good idea to try and get close to me?"
"Two bastard pirates! Just fall together!" Garp roared, rushing forward. He opened his massive hands, intending to grab both of them by the skulls and smash them into the earth. It was a classic "Strong-Hand Skull-Cracker" move.
Evan didn't stick around to find out. His body turned into a blur of lightning—the speed of the "Rumble-Rumble Fruit", further enhanced by his recent training, was unparalleled. He flickered out of Garp's reach in an instant.
Crocodile wasn't so lucky.
The old Marine caught the Sand Crocodile by the back of his head. With a grunt of effort, Garp slammed him face-first into the dirt. "Stay down, you desert lizard!"
"Let me try a follow-up!" Evan called out, swinging his sword mid-air.
Facing a master like Garp, Evan couldn't afford to be distracted. He couldn't even keep his diary updated in real-time. He sent a compressed air-slash—a flying blade—directly toward Garp's flank.
"Useless!" Garp grunted, letting go of Crocodile just long enough to punch the air-slash with his bare fist.
The impact didn't negate the slash; it deflected it. The flying blade changed trajectory, skimming across the ground with blinding speed.
It flew directly over the head of the recovering Crocodile.
Shing!
For a heartbeat, Crocodile froze. He had escaped death by a matter of centimeters. He felt lucky. He felt like fate was finally on his side.
Evan, landing a few feet away, suddenly stopped. He looked at Crocodile, then at Garp. His expression shifted from battle-ready to an awkward, winced sympathy.
"Uh... Crocodile? I'm sorry," Evan said, rubbing the back of his head. "That was an accident. Totally Garp's fault. Really."
Garp, meanwhile, had gone completely silent. He stared at Crocodile, his eyes widening. Then, he clutched his stomach with one hand and pointed at the Warlord with the other.
"Bwahahaha! Gahahahaha!" Garp's laughter shook the very air.
Crocodile stood up, brushing the sand off his coat. "What's so funny, old man? You missed! I'm still standing!"
But then, a gentle desert breeze blew across the battlefield.
Crocodile blinked. Why did his head feel... lighter? Why was there a sudden, chilling draft against his scalp?
He reached up. His hand, usually greeted by the thick, slicked-back texture of his signature "big back" hairstyle, instead met something smooth. Something cold. Something skin-like.
Evan's accidental slash hadn't hit Crocodile's neck. It had perfectly scalped the top three inches of his hair. The "big back" was gone. In its place was a gleaming, perfectly smooth bald patch that ran right down the center of his head, leaving only two pathetic tufts of hair on the sides like a clown.
[Diary Entry: Okay, this is officially the worst day of Crocodile's life. I didn't mean to do it, I swear. But Garp's punch redirected my slash and turned it into a high-speed barber's razor.]
[The Sand Crocodile just went from 'Desert Overlord' to 'Middle-Aged Man in a Mid-Life Crisis' in 0.2 seconds. It's a tragedy. A glorious, hilarious tragedy.]
[I can't even look at him. His secret might have been that he was a woman, but his new secret is that he desperately needs a rug.]
Crocodile's eyes were wide, fixed on the clumps of black hair blowing away in the wind. His face turned a shade of purple that shouldn't be biologically possible.
"Evan... Garp..." Crocodile whispered, his voice trembling with a rage so profound it transcended the physical realm. "I will kill you both. I will turn this world to dust!"