[Consider leaving some power stones if you liked it….☺️ Anyway enjoy!]
The opulent silence of Crocodile's office was a stark contrast to the symphony of violence echoing faintly from the floors below.
The room was a monument to the Warlord's ego, dark, rich mahogany, shelves lined with rare artifacts and books on ancient weapons, a massive desk carved from a single piece of expensive wood, and a wide window offering a panoramic, tyrannical view of the city he 'controlled'.
Crocodile stood before this window, his back to the door, a smoldering cigar clenched between his teeth, his gold hook resting on the sill. He listened to the sounds of his organization being dismantled, and his face was cold from fury.
He had expected the damned Sea Scourge to come crashing through the door in a rage, like a predictable beast he could easily bait and counter in his own domain.
But, the door did not crash open. It swung inward with a soft, almost polite click.
Crocodile turned around, his heavy coat swirling, ready to deliver a cutting remark, to mock the brashness of this upstart pirate. But soon, the words died in his throat.
Ragnar stood in the doorway, not as a conquering barbarian, but with the casual air of a man arriving for a scheduled business meeting.
There was no blood on his coat, no fury in his golden eyes. He offered a small, placid smile and stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him.
Crocodile watched, utterly nonplussed, as Ragnar strolled over to the desk. He picked up the ornate humidor sitting there, opened it, selected one of Crocodile's finest cigars, and lit it with a lighter lying on the table.
He took a long, appreciative drag, then sank into one of the plush leather chairs opposite the desk, crossing one leg over the other as he exhaled a plume of fragrant smoke toward the ceiling.
For a long moment, the only sound was the faint crackle of tobacco and the distant, muted thuds from downstairs. Crocodile simply stared, his mind struggling to categorize this bizarre behavior.
This wasn't defiance or arrogance, it was… insouciance. A profound, unnerving disregard for the very concept of the confrontation they were about to have.
"What the hell are you doing, brat?" Crocodile finally spoke, his voice dropping to almost a growl that vibrated with suppressed rage. His face was like a thundercloud and his eyes narrowed to a dangerous slit.
Ragnar took another casual puff, then looked at the Warlord, his smile never wavering. "Hehe. Sir Crocodile, relax. Why so serious?" He gestured with the cigar.
"Smile. You're in your own casino, a successful businessman, a celebrated hero. You should be enjoying the fruits of your labor."
That smile…It wasn't a mocking or gloating smile. It was a serene smile, and knowing, it sent an icy trickle of unease down Crocodile's spine. It was the smile of a predator who was so confident in its kill that it felt no need to snarl.
The air in the room began to dry out instantly. A fine, pale sand started to seep from Crocodile's body, swirling around his feet in an agitated cloud. The potted palm in the corner began to wilt, its leaves browning and curling at the edges.
His patience, already frayed by the sounds of his agents' defeat, had worn through. He was a heartbeat away from unleashing a Desert Spada that would bisect the insolent pirate where he sat.
But Ragnar just raised a hand, his index finger extended. "Shhh," he said softly, it was a gentle command from Ragnar.
But, a thick, throbbing vein bulged on Crocodile's forehead. The sheer, unmitigated gall of the gesture was staggering.
He was about to ignore it, to let his sand erupt and grind this fool into dust, when a sound from outside gave him pause.
FWOOM-POP!
It was the distinct, colorful report of a firework. Both men turned their heads to the large window. High above the city, a single, brilliant red blossom of light expanded against the twilight sky before fading away.
Crocodile's brow furrowed in confusion. A firework? Now? It made no sense. It wasn't a holiday. It wasn't part of any festival he knew of, or one he had sanctioned. It was an anomaly, a piece of chaos that didn't fit into his meticulously ordered city.
But for Ragnar, it was the signal. The final piece of the board fell into place. Princess Vivi, using the distraction of the battle below, had successfully evacuated the civilian population from the immediate vicinity of Rain Dinners. The battlefield was clear. The gloves now could come off.
In that instant, Ragnar's entire demeanor shifted. The calm atmosphere was shattered, replaced by the explosive intensity of a tidal wave. The cigar vanished from his fingers, extinguished and disintegrated into nothing. He moved so fast he was a blur.
Crocodile's eyes widened. He started to dissolve into sand, to become intangible, but he was a fraction of a second too slow. Ragnar's body seemed to lose its solid form, transforming into a roaring, living torrent of water.
A powerful, liquid hand, solid as a hydraulic press, shot out from the torrent and clamped onto Crocodile's face with crushing force.
GRAB.
The sensation was agony. It wasn't just the physical impact, it was the nature of the touch. Where the water met his sand-logia body, Crocodiles intangibility naturally failed.
The grains of sand clumped together, becoming heavy, sodden, and useless. For the first time in years, Crocodile felt a solid, painful grip on his actual flesh.
With a guttural roar of effort, the watery form of Ragnar pivoted and hurled the Warlord bodily across the room.
Crocodile crashed through the massive reinforced window, a shower of glittering glass and twisted frame accompanying him as he was catapulted out into the open air above the city.
He tumbled through the sky, his mind reeling. The impact had hurt. Hurt! His body was already re-forming, the sand pulling itself back together, but the shock of the pain and the violation of his Logia immunity left him disoriented.
He landed hard on the flat, sandy roof of a neighboring building, rolling several times before coming to a stop. He pushed himself to his feet, his clothes torn, a trickle of blood from a cut on his cheekbone, a sight he hadn't seen in over a decade.
He looked up, his face a mask of pure, incandescent fury, soon changed to one of utter confusion.
Ragnar stood on the jagged edge of the broken office window, twenty stories up. Then he stepped off. He didn't fall, he descended as a graceful pillar of water, reforming into his solid state as he landed lightly on the rooftop a dozen feet away, the impact barely making a sound.
In his hand, he held a sword. But it was not forged of metal. It was a blade of water, condensed to a density that defied physics, humming with a high-pressure whine that promised cuts cleaner than any diamond edge.
It shimmered, reflecting the dying light of the sun and the burgeoning glow of the city, a weapon of impossible beauty and lethality.
Crocodile stared, his mind finally, horrifyingly, putting the pieces together. The casual disregard for his sand, the painful grab, the water blade… It was a weakness he had buried so deep he'd almost forgotten it himself.
"You…" Crocodile rasped, his voice raw with fury. "You have a power related to water."
Ragnar gave a slight, formal bow, the water sword held effortlessly at his side. "An official introduction is in order, I suppose. I am Vortex D. Ragnar, captain of the Vortex Pirates. And this,"
He said, gesturing with his free hand as a globe of perfectly controlled water orbited his palm, "It is the power of the Water-Water Logia."
The words that hung in the air were more devastating than any physical blow to Crocodile.
Crocodile felt a cold dread, colder than any ocean depth, seize his heart. A Water Logia. It was a myth, a paradox, an impossibility that shouldn't exist in a world governed by the very rules he exploited.
A Logia user who commanded the one substance that was the bane of all Devil Fruit users, the one element that was more ubiquitous than the very islands themselves.
In a world of oceans, the user of such a fruit wasn't just powerful, they were a god. They were the ultimate counter, the natural predator to every other power in the sea.
Being able to control water, means this man could possibly control the seas too, and this would be the ultimate power in the world.