Isshin Ashina stepped into the old graveyard just as the gibbous moon slipped from behind a ragged cloud. Stone lanterns, their lantern-boxes long empty, loomed like silent sentinels over moss-covered headstones and weathered stupas. The air tasted of damp earth and stale incense, and every breath felt heavy with memory and loss.
He tightened his grip on Shura. Its ebony scabbard pressed against his hip, and the blood-red silk wrapping of the handle gleamed dimly in the moonlight. With every measured step, his senses, honed by Observation Haki, swept across the silent space. He smelled smoke in the distance, felt the tingling hum of latent power beneath the earth.
A low, rasping chuckle broke the stillness. It sounded as though sand were grinding against stone. Isshin's hand slid to Shura's hilt.
"Kukuku… quite the morbid little meeting spot you've chosen, boy," came the mocking voice.
From the shadows between two towering crypts, Crocodile emerged. His tattered coat trailed behind him. A curl of cigar smoke drifted from his lips, and the golden hook where his left hand should have been caught the moonlight and winked like a beacon of malice. He surveyed the graveyard with practiced contempt.
"Hardly the royal tombs, but it will do for your grave," he said, shoulders rising in a lazy shrug.
Isshin's eyes—ancient and unwavering—narrowed. He took a steadying breath and shifted into a low stance, one hand tightening around Shura's hilt. His Aura of Armament Haki wrapped his arm in a faint, dark glow; his Observation Haki sharpened his sight to Crocodile's slightest muscle twitch.
"You reek of ambition and death," Isshin said, voice low and resonant. "Leave this sacred place."
Crocodile snorted. "Orders? From you?" He raised his hand, and with a cruel grin, slammed it into the ground. "Sables!"
Beneath Isshin's boots, the earth trembled. A geyser of sand shot upward as though the ground had become living quicksand. Tombstones rattled on their foundations. But Isshin's feet barely left the ground: he had already leapt back, his cloak billowing as he landed on the edge of a tilted headstone. Every sense was coiled tight, every movement precise.
"Impressive reflexes for your age," Crocodile sneered, spreading his fingers as the swirling sand at his feet coalesced into a crescent-shaped blade. "Desert Spada!"
The sand blade, sharp as obsidian, howled toward Isshin. He drew Shura in a single, fluid motion—its steel whispering as it left the scabbard. Now coated in Armament Haki, the blade shimmered nearly black where it caught the moonlight.
They met head-on.
CRUNCH!
The Haki-infused edge of Shura bit into the living sand. Instead of passing through, blade met coagulated grit with a thunderous impact. Sand sprayed outward as the Spada split cleanly in two, dissolving into dust. Crocodile's golden eye narrowed, surprise flickering across his scarred face.
"Haki…" he muttered. "So the dog knows tricks. This just got interesting."
Without hesitation, Crocodile surged forward. His hook, gleaming and cruel, arced for Isshin's chest. The young samurai met it with Shura, steel screeching as Haki met metal. The impact reverberated up Isshin's arm, sending a jolt of pain through his shoulder. Crocodile's grip was monstrous—strong enough to grind steel into sand if he willed it.
Isshin lashed out. A flurry of cuts, each stroke fueled by Armament Haki, forced Crocodile backward. One slash ripped across the Warlord's arm, and for the first time, real blood welled beneath the sandskin. Crocodile hissed, jerked his arm free, and lobbed a dark, dry laugh.
"Your tricks won't save you from a focused blade," Isshin growled. He feinted low, then shunted his weight forward, aiming to cripple the pirate's leg, but Crocodile twisted away with fluid cunning.
The graveyard floor moaned. Crocodile stomped, and the stone beneath them began to shift, moisture sucked out as if the earth itself were dying. The headstones cracked. Dirt turned to quicksand, grasping at Isshin's boots.
He sprang up, planting his feet on the sloping roof of a small mausoleum. Below, Crocodile collapsed back into a swirling whirlwind of sand, reforming his shape before the samurai's eyes.
"You can't run forever, boy," Crocodile growled, rising like a specter. He soared from the sandy vortex, a fist of living sand leveled at Isshin.
Isshin met it with Shura, Haki flaring along the blade's length. He swung downward, cleaving through the sandy construct. SHHHK! The fist fragmented, and the shock threw Isshin off balance. He tumbled across the stone roof, rolling on the rough surface until he landed in a crouch, pain blossoming across his cheek where he'd scraped against the stone.
"Getting slower?" Crocodile taunted as he reformed fully, spitting out grit and grit-stained blood. He raised his arm, molding a new Desert Spada—bigger, broader, humming with menace.
Isshin didn't answer. Instead, he inhaled sharply, drawing in as much air as his burning lungs would allow. One hand slid to the pistol at his hip. In a practiced motion, he drew it, yanked back the hammer, and fired.
The projectile was a single kunai wrapped in Armament Haki. It soared through the night air and slammed into Crocodile's shoulder with a crack like fireworks exploding. Sand exploded in all directions, and a gout of blood sprayed from the wound.
"A… kunai?!" Crocodile roared in disbelief, staggering backward.
Isshin pressed forward, Shura leading the charge. "Every tool has its purpose." He launched Ashina Cross—a tempest of two lightning-fast slashes. The dark energy of his Haki carved an 'X' into the air, and Crocodile, still reeling, couldn't fully dissipate. The Haki-laced cuts slid deep—one across his chest, the other tearing into his thigh. Crocodile howled, crashing through a row of weathered jizō statues, their stone heads shattering into rubble.
"Damn you!" Crocodile spat, clinging to what power he had left. He thrust his hook downward, not to strike but to command the earth beneath Isshin. "Desert Girasole!"
The ground split open, collapsing into a yawning pit of quicksand. But Isshin's Observation Haki had warned him. He'd kicked off the roof as the mausoleum beneath him cracked, launching himself into the air, landing ten paces away as earth gaped behind him.
Midair, Isshin spun, Shura raised high. "One Mind!" His voice was a thunderclap, and he unleashed a storm of slashes so rapid they blurred into a single, continuous wave of Haki-blackened steel. Each cut found its mark on Crocodile as he struggled to keep form. The combined force of steel and Haki ripped through him—chunks of hardened sand and flesh flying in every direction.
Crocodile crashed into the dirt with bone-jarring force. He lay still, his sand form sputtering and flickering as slim rivulets of blood seeped from every gash. His cigar fell from his mouth, extinguishing in a hiss of steam.
Isshin dropped from his leap, chest heaving. He was bleeding from shallow wounds on his arms and face, his robes torn. The graveyard around them lay in tatters—shattered headstones, uprooted trees, gaping holes where earth had swallowed life whole.
He advanced on the fallen warlord, Haki pulsing through Shura, droplets of darkness clinging to the blade. "You fought with power, but no true spirit," he said, voice brittle with exhaustion and victory.
A rasping cough rattled from Crocodile's chest. He forced himself onto one elbow, sand and blood caking his wounded form. His golden eye flicked up, burning with a defiant spark. "This… isn't… over…" he rasped.
Isshin's expression hardened. He raised Shura above his head. Moonlight glinted off the Haki coating the blade. "It is."
With a final, brutal downward stroke, the katana drove into Crocodile's chest. The impact was a monstrous shriek of metal on sand-infused flesh that echoed across the graveyard. Yet the blade struck something impossibly hard, something that hadn't been there a heartbeat before.
"Screech!"
A colossal shape rippled out of the ground, intercepting Shura's path. Ten feet of muscle and rage—Byrnndi World, "The World Destroyer." Green hair flared in every direction, and his fists, encased in dark Haki-infused gauntlets, pulsed with raw, brutal power. Isshin's Observation Haki screamed warning, but the attack arrived faster than thought.
Isshin was thrown back, his left arm screaming with searing pain. He landed hard, geta crashing into rough earth to keep him from slipping. Each breath seared his lungs. His shoulder added its own protest, radiating a dull, persistent throb.
Byrnndi laughed—a sound like boulders grinding down a mountainside. He loomed over Crocodile, who lay crumpled but alive.
"Gabababa! Not so fast, grandpa!" Byrnndi taunted, wiping his gauntleted knuckles on his coat. "Didn't anyone tell you it's rude to interrupt a nap?"
Isshin pushed himself up on one arm, Shura clattering to the ground beside him. His Haki senses roared: this new foe was not subtle. He exhaled, forcing himself to stand. Every inch of his body ached, but he would not show fear.
Crocodile coughed again, spitting sand and blood. He managed a bitter grin. "World… you cut it finer than one of my Desert Spadas. Another second and this… ancient relic… would have sent me to the next world."
Byrnndi flexed his gauntlets, Haki-sheen darkening the metal. "Gabababa! Ancestors? Please, you'd probably try to scam them out of their afterlife pensions. And besides…" He tilted his head at Isshin, eyes glinting. "Can't let some little samurai bag a big fish like you. Spoils the hunt."
Isshin's gaze flicked to Shura, still humming faintly with remnant Haki. Pain stabbed his ribs where they'd cracked. His arms shook from collapsed muscles and fractured bone. But he refused to back down. "More pirates…" he muttered. "This land… no place for your kind of scum."
"Scum?" Byrnndi's grin widened. "Gabababa! I like his spirit!" He thudded a massive fist into the ground, sending tremors through the broken earth. "I am Byrnndi World! And with my More More Fruit, I'll show you just how outmatched you are!"
He activated More Speed. The world slowed in Isshin's sight as Byrnndi rocketed forward like a green juggernaut. His fist, coated in a second layer of Armament Haki—thick, obsidian—swelled for the final blow. Air whistled around his gauntlet as he aimed for Isshin's head.
Instinct propelled Isshin into action. He lifted Shura in a two-handed block. BOOOOM! The impact felt like being crushed beneath a fallen cedar. His feet skidded back, carving furrows in the graveyard soil. Pain lanced through his arms, shoulders, and ribs as his Haki sputtered under the crushing force.
"Not bad, kid!" Byrnndi shouted, already winding for a second blow. "Stronger than you look! But can you handle this?" He launched another punch with the opposite hand, while his first remained locked with Isshin's blade.
Isshin's Observation Haki flared weakly as he tried to shift his stance, but muscles refused to obey. Crocodile, having recuperated enough to stand, muttered, "Don't hog all the fun, World." He flicked his wrist. "Sables: Pesado!"
The earth under Isshin's feet stiffened. The sand turned dense, solid as concrete, anchoring his geta to the ground. He tried to push free—every muscle screamed in protest—but the enchanted sand clung like a steel trap. Now unbalanced and unable to dodge, he braced for impact.
Byrnndi closed the distance, unleashing More Speed once more. His obscured Haki gauntlet rocketed at Isshin's ribs. **THWACK!** The strike landed squarely. Pain exploded through Isshin's body as something vital inside ruptured. His vision flickered; every nerve screamed. His Haki blinked out, leaving his body vulnerable. He crumpled to one knee, gasping, the world tilting, the moonlight swimming in his vision.
"That's teamwork, fossil!" Byrnndi roared, stepping back as Isshin collapsed. "Something solitary types wouldn't understand!"
Crocodile approached, cigar smoke curling around his sneer. "Resilience has its limits," he said quietly. "Now, let's end this."
Byrnndi's grin twisted grotesquely as he wrenched a massive stone lantern from its foundation—base, pillar, everything. With a grunt, he activated More Bigger: the lantern swelled, doubling in size, its carved surfaces pulsing with Haki energy. The weight threatened to tear the stone from its bed, but Byrnndi hefted it as though it were a twig.
Isshin, bleeding and naked of Haki, fought to rise. Each breath was agony. The shattered headstones around him offered no refuge.
"Get up, boy!" Crocodile barked. "Watch closely—this is the future."
Byrnndi lifted the gargantuan lantern overhead. "More Heavier!" He swung it down in a massive arc aimed straight at Isshin's prone form.
Isshin's battered body tensed. Against every instinct, he mustered the last of his strength. He rolled, agony flaring in every joint, and slithered aside. The lantern smashed into the graveyard where he had been, shattering the ground, sending a tremor through the earth. Stone fragments and splinters of wood scattered like lethal shrapnel.
Isshin lay on his side, gasping. Splintered shards had nicked his shoulder again, and his ribs burned like coals. The broken remains of Shura lay nearby, its sheath cracked where a stray stone had struck it. He crawled a few feet, dragging himself toward Shura's hilt.
Byrnndi and Crocodile advanced, triumphant. Byrnndi's hulking frame moved with predatory grace; Crocodile's hook glinted with satisfaction.
Isshin, vision blurring, reached out for Shura. Fingers trembling, he slid his hand along the polished wood of the hilt. Every breath threatened to leave him, every heartbeat felt like a boulder in his chest.
"Stay down!" Crocodile snarled, raising a fist encased in dark Haki. "You've had your fun."
Isshin ignored him. With a final, shuddering effort, he yanked Shura free. The blade's black Haki aura flared, picking up the moonlight in brief, flickering pulses.
Byrnndi smirked. "So… one last trick?" He flexed his gauntlet, readying another crushing blow.
Isshin lifted Shura with both hands. His body trembled uncontrollably. Every muscle felt shredded. He drew upon the faint residue of his Haki, focusing it into the blade. His eyes, half-lidded from pain, glowed with a final, desperate fire.
Swelling Haki flickered across his skin as he murmured, "One Mind…"
He sprang to his feet, knees cracking beneath him. The air around Shura shimmered, a dark storm coalescing along the blade. Byrnndi's fist came down like an anvil—BOOM!—but Isshin met it with Shura held horizontally. Black Haki clashed with black Haki. The earth quaked in protest.
Shura's edge bit deeply into Byrnndi's gauntlet, sparks flying as Haki met Haki. For a moment, neither budged. Then Isshin twisted his body, using every ounce of will left in him, and drove the blade upward, carving a searing line through the gauntlet's Haki shell and into the flesh beneath. Byrnndi roared in agony, staggering back.
Crocodile, stunned, took a step back as blood and sand dripped from his fallen comrade. Byrnndi's massive frame wavered as the wound bled deep, Haki-infused steel having torn into muscles that had never known such pain.
Isshin's body trembled, every breath a battle. He pressed the tip of Shura against the ground for support, Haki still flickering across the blade's length. "It's over," he whispered, voice raw as gravel.
Byrnndi sagged to one knee, Haki sputtering in his eyes. Crocodile's golden eye widened, a mixture of respect and disbelief flickering across his scarred features. "You… are a savage," Crocodile breathed, dropping to one knee as well.
Isshin lowered Shura, the weight of the sword and his own exhaustion finally bearing him down. His Haki faded, replaced by the cold bite of moonlit metal and bone. He stared at the two pirates—Byrnndi's once-mighty form now trembling, blood staining his gauntlet; Crocodile's sandskin form revealing rippling wounds that bled red.
Behind them, the ancient lantern lay shattered in ruins. Headstones and statues lay sundered, stone dust drifting in pale moonbeams. The graveyard was a shattered monument to their clash.
Isshin bowed his head, trembling. "This Isn't Over," he said, voice barely more than a rasp.
The moon slipped behind another cloud, and the graveyard fell into deep, silent darkness.