But Law was still not satisfied.
If only he had a few more months—by the time he reached the Sabaody Archipelago, ready to pass from "Paradise" into the "New World," his "Operation" space would have undoubtedly expanded, granting him far greater range and allowing him to unleash even more refined attacks.
Crocodile, though still heavily injured, was displaying far more destructive might than Law. With just his withering sandstorms, weaker monsters that drew too close were drained of all moisture and collapsed into shriveled husks.
As expected of a "Warlord of the Sea."
But what intrigued Law more was why Crocodile had entered the Spire at all. Their arrangement had been a temporary cooperation, but Crocodile had never disclosed his true purpose here.
Could it be connected to that black ship we encountered at the Spire's base?
As these thoughts tangled in Law's mind, he once again spread out his power—slicing apart monsters with surgical precision and forcing them into grotesque mismatched forms. Snarling in confusion and hatred, the beasts turned on one another, desperate to reclaim the limbs that no longer belonged to them.
Even so, despite Law and Crocodile unleashing their respective powers, the encirclement held firm. Law was forced to divide his attention to protect Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo.
He would never resent his crewmates—they had known each other since their youth, their bond closer than family. If they had come here together, then they would leave together.
But Crocodile's patience had run out.
Descending smoothly to Law's side, his golden hook skewered a strange bird, and he spoke in a low, heavy voice:
"My chosen partner is you. Think carefully—I can take you out of here with ease."
"Crocodile-san," Law's eyes narrowed. "Are you telling me to abandon my crew?"
"They're nothing but kindling to be burned out." Crocodile's meaning was blunt. "You can always find stronger subordinates. Perhaps, once we leave the Spire, we can even form a lasting alliance."
Law didn't know what had become of Crocodile's previous partners, but his response was firm and sharp:
"Impossible. If that's your final word, then our partnership ends here."
Crocodile's brow furrowed. He could not fathom why anyone would stake so much on such useless crewmates. If they had even a modicum of strength, it might be another matter—but now, they were dead weight. To refuse to cast them aside… worse, to risk everything for them?
Unthinkable.
"Boy…" His tone turned frigid now that the mask had dropped. "As your senior, here's my advice: throw away burdens like them. Otherwise, forget the 'New World'—you won't even escape this Spire."
Law stared back coldly, not deigning to answer.
With a derisive snort, Crocodile's body dissolved into sand, spiraling upward in a storm. He broke through the circling monsters with brute force, and without a backward glance, vanished into the distance.
"Law!" Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo rushed closer, fear written across their faces. "Why did Crocodile leave?!"
"Our cooperation is over," Law said flatly.
"How could he do that?" Shachi exclaimed. "We agreed—unless he helped us reach the Spire's top floor, we wouldn't give him passage on the submarine!"
That had been the bargain. They had never explicitly mentioned the submarine—only that they had a "suitable means" of leaving, just as they had used it to enter. Crocodile had agreed… and now tore the deal apart.
"That's who he is," Law said. "Ruthless, unprincipled, faithless. As an ally, he's the least reliable partner you could have. But as a pirate… he's first-rate. I've seen it firsthand."
"What do we do now?"
Another wave of monsters closed in, endless and suffocating. Law only pressed the brim of his hat lower and gave no reply.
Crocodile soared high above, soon spotting the slope that led to the third level.
Once he reached it, entry should be smooth enough.
And yet… not everything was going as planned. First was the naïve Heart Pirates, especially that idealistic brat Law—whose foolishness had shattered their alliance.
Second was the matter of the three keys. He still hadn't found even one.
Were those murals mere misdirection? Or had something changed since then—had the keys already vanished?
Perhaps the answer lay deeper, in the third level.
Whumm—
Still some distance from the slope, Crocodile's Observation Haki jolted like plucked wires, screaming alarm. His expression darkened, and when he turned, a figure was already there.
Beneath the tricorn hat writhed a face of tentacles—one of the few visages Crocodile could never forget.
Davy Jones.
But this time, he bore a new form. Flesh-wings sprouted from his back, and where once he had only four tendrils, now a dozen writhed, several coiling around his black scepter like strangling vines.
"I don't recall granting you leave from the Terror Ghost."
Jones had known when Crocodile awoke in the storeroom, and when he departed the ship. What came after, he had not tracked—until now.
Those gray-blue eyes, deep as the ocean's abyss, locked with his, dredging up the raw terror Crocodile had endured not long ago.
The falling black ship. The crashing tides. The lash of tentacles. The warped, shifting cabins.
Now, Jones felt even stronger—his sheer reserves of Haki alone were proof.
Crocodile's eyes narrowed, the stitches along his nose tugging upward.
Damn it. How could he have grown this much stronger, in so little time?
They had always been natural enemies. Now that foe had only grown more dangerous. Crocodile hesitated no longer—his body unraveled into sand, fleeing at once.
But against Armament Haki, the logia intangibility of sand was no different than Smoker's smoke—nothing but a larger target, and one weakened further against physical blows.
This was why, in the New World, it was said that Haki reigned above all.
"You're not leaving."
The voice came like an echo from some ancient abyss.
Terror prickled down his spine. A dozen tendrils surged forth like serpents, Armament-hardened, binding his sand-form and dragging him back before Jones.
A torrent of water crashed over him, soaking his body through, extinguishing even his last chance to slip away.
"You should not have left the Terror Ghost" Jones hissed, his mouth twisting. "We could have discussed your sentence aboard the ship… in a far more civil, comfortable fashion."
Crocodile's breath came ragged.
"Crocodile," Jones asked, "do you fear death?"
Every inch of his body was bound, save for his left arm, golden hook gleaming in the open air. He could answer without words.
But in the end, he stayed silent.
"I'll wager you do fear it," Jones said, stripping away the last veil. "A man without fear would have already driven that hook into me—futile as it would be."
Shame burned into rage. Crocodile's temper flared, and rational thought slipped away. He raised his arm—
But before he could strike, Jones released him.
Instead, Haki surged. Jones's fist crashed into Crocodile's face with devastating force.
BOOM!
He was sent flying like a severed kite string, plummeting into the stone slope below, smashing into rubble.
Crocodile lay sprawled, eyes rolled back, unconscious once more.
Jones spared only a passing glance at the Heart Pirates, their safe space shrinking under the press of monsters. Then he turned away.
Landing beside the crater where Crocodile had fallen, Jones's crew gathered around.
"Captain," Alvida tipped her wide white hat. "What do we do with him?"
Before Jones could reply, a thunderous rumble split the air—this time from above.
The city itself quaked. Glowing fragments of stone rained down like meteors, while the cliff walls split with gashes like axe blows, fissures spreading as if the entire structure was about to collapse.
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