Chapter 34: Echoes from the Void
The sand-scimitar finally fell.
BOOM!
No strategic reason. It was pure, unfiltered frustration.
But for Alvin Vergil, who had now dissected the technique's principles, deflecting it was trivial. Especially while his body was still sheathed in those tattered, fluttering "black cloths" of Haki—it couldn't even scratch him.
"Tch… Ahem!"
Crocodile choked on his own fury, coughing violently for a moment before regaining his composure. A vein throbbed visibly on his temple. Each word that followed was ground out between clenched teeth.
"I want… an explanation."
"…"
Vergil thought for a second, then offered brightly, "Because you had a look on your face that said, 'He's definitely plotting something.'"
"…"
"Did I?"
"You did."
...
The swirling sand and dust began to settle. The expected all-out clash hadn't materialized, but the secret chamber, critically damaged by Crocodile's onslaught, was groaning its final protest.
Rumble… Rumble…
Seeing the imminent collapse, Igaram urgently herded everyone toward the exit.
King Cobra and his group went first, followed closely by Vergil and a seething Crocodile.
The Poneglyph was left behind, buried once more. Crocodile made no move to take it. Without someone who could read it, it was just an indestructible rock. Knowing its location was enough for now; leaving it hidden was safer.
Far more pressing questions now swirled in Crocodile's mind, demanding answers. Foremost among them: What was Vergil's "transformation"?
...
On the ascent back to the surface, Crocodile studied Vergil intently.
The body was the same. The clothes were unchanged. The only, glaring difference was the shroud of black, cloth-like substance clinging to him. It resembled bandages, but tattered, drifting at the edges. Whatever its form, Crocodile was certain of its essence: Armament Haki.
Solidified Armament Haki? The concept baffled him.
As they walked, Vergil seemed to find the black fabric over his face bothersome. He reached up, peeled it off, and casually tossed it aside. Before it hit the ground, the detached "cloth" dissolved into the air like smoke, leaving no trace.
So, not a true physical object. Just an approximation. A highly peculiar manifestation of Haki…
Crocodile filed the observation away.
...
Soon, they emerged into the desert sunlight. Behind them, with a final, deep groan, the secret chamber collapsed completely, sealing the Poneglyph once more beneath tons of sand and stone.
"May our ancestors forgive this disturbance," Cobra murmured, bowing his head briefly toward the ruins with his guards. He held no blame for Crocodile. Regardless of motive, when the anomaly struck, it was Crocodile who had placed himself between the danger and the royal family. Moreover, as a former pirate and a Warlord, Crocodile's discretion about the Poneglyph's existence was a boon. Cobra would likely have ordered the chamber sealed anyway; a World Government taboo was too great a risk for Alabasta to bear openly.
Still, as a brief "adventure," it had been… extraordinary. The "friend" Crocodile brought had merged with the Poneglyph and undergone a bizarre transformation.
Who was he? What had just happened?
...
What had happened?
Vergil, after offering his own respectful nod to the buried past, sat cross-legged on a nearby dune and looked up at Crocodile. He was ready to answer the unspoken question.
"…"
He carefully retraced the sensations.
From the moment he'd set foot in Alabasta, he'd felt a pull toward Alubarna. Not physical, but a fated, instinctive draw.
When the chamber door opened, the pull became an irresistible tide, compelling him forward, driving his hand to the cold stone surface.
At first, just cold rock.
But as his palm made full contact, the stone seemed to turn liquid, and he was submerged.
In that instant, a cascade of realizations flashed.
He had once been part of an ancient stone slab. The Devil Fruit liquid applied to him had granted movement. And the ones who carved him… were the same people, the Kozuki Clan, who had inscribed the Poneglyphs.
The "material" that comprised Alvin Vergil was, at his core, identical to the Poneglyph itself.
Was that the reason? Or was there more?
Regardless, Vergil felt the "superimposition" with the stone, his consciousness sinking into it, touching something deeper…
A memory.
...
An unknown year, an unknown month.
A young man with a face worn by wind and worry stood before "Vergil." A hammer and chisel were in his hands. The chisel's tip was placed against Vergil's stone surface.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
Hammer blow after hammer blow, carving form from formless rock.
An unidentifiable liquid dripped onto the stone. Blood? Sweat? Tears? Perhaps all three.
The young man's voice was a ragged, trembling growl. The image was blurry, the details lost. A second passed. Or an eternity.
Vergil strained to listen. Finally, fragmented words broke through:
"…"
"Is everything 'the Gods' do… right?"
"Those who call themselves 'Gods'… they've abandoned their humanity!"
"…"
"The suffering comes from rules set by 'Gods'… so why do we blame each other, and never question them?"
"…"
"URGH!"
A raw, furious roar. The young man's face was now indistinguishable, a blur of anguish and defiance, but the hammer and chisel never stopped. The liquid—blood, sweat, tears—never ceased to fall.
"If opposing 'God' makes one a demon… then I would rather pray to devils!"
"…"
...
The blurred scene ended there.
Vergil felt something tangible flow into him. He grasped it instinctively.
And then his vision cleared. He saw Crocodile, Cobra and the others in the distance… their faces a mix of shock and deep wariness, all directed at him.
So, Vergil thought about it. And then—
"Hee hee hee hee hee…"
"This is it!"
"Finally, I finally gained this power!"
"…"
Vergil finished his recollection and shrugged at Crocodile.
"That's about it."
He wasn't withholding. To Vergil, there was simply no point in lying.
"…"
Crocodile processed this, his scowl deepening. "So… your final declaration back there. That was a… spur-of-the-moment decision?"
Vergil nodded.
BOOM!
Another Desert Spada. Vergil casually batted it apart with two fingers.
Crocodile took a slow, steadying breath, forcibly shifting gears. "Fine. Then… what exactly are these?" He gestured at the drifting black shrouds clinging to Vergil.
"…"
Vergil plucked a piece of the "black cloth" from his shoulder, watched it dissolve into the dry desert air, and answered plainly:
"Armament Haki."
Crocodile's brow furrowed. Of course it was Haki. But this aberrant, alien form of it…
"But…" he began.
Before he could finish, Vergil added, unprompted:
"It seems to be the Haki used by the ancients when they forged the Poneglyphs."
He met Crocodile's sharp gaze.
"Ancient Armament Haki."
The term hung in the air, sparking a flicker of intense, greedy interest in Crocodile's eyes.
But then, Vergil moved. With a flick of his wrist, he seemed to pluck a tiny, tattered shred of the black substance from the very air itself.
He looked at the fragment pinched between his fingers, then back at Crocodile, his expression one of simple, earnest discovery.
"And I think… I might know how to use it. A little."
The statement was delivered with casual ease.
It sent a cold, involuntary shiver down Crocodile's spine.
(End of Chapter)
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