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On the last day of their ‘honeymoon’ they were pulled aside by a strange woman. She seemed out of place for the island, her skin thin and papery, covered head to toe in fabric, dressed like she was from a different century. She explained that she believed Buggy would be King of the Pirates, and that she knew the location of a poneglyph. Crocodile scoffed at her declaration, but continued to listen anyway. Poneglyphs were rare, and any lead, no matter how absurd, should be followed. So begrudgingly he listened. She gave them an eternal compass of an island only two days travel from the resort. Based on her description, it was abandoned, a ghost town ruined by a curse and swallowed by the marsh lands. Most pirates avoided this place because of its terrible history, and the fear of the curse.
Crocodile didn’t believe a single word. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to pursue it. Any information about a poneglyph, real or fake, was worth exploring. And a two day trip wasn’t much to invest to check the validity of the old woman’s story.
Buggy, however, was vehemently opposed to visiting the island.
“I do NOT mess with curses!! There’s no way I’m letting the ship get anywhere near that island!!” Buggy gave his ultimatum, crossing his arms in finality.
“Fine. Hawk and I can go, and you can stay on the ship. But if we find any treasure, we won’t be splitting it with you.”
Crocodile smiled internally as he watched Buggy, knowing the clown couldn’t resist the prospect of treasure.
Buggy jolted, trying to maintain his cool. “F-fine! I... I don’t w-want treasure anyway!” The words sounded forced, no matter how confident he tried to pretend to be. Buggy would join them. Crocodile knew as soon as the clown got an inkling of treasure, he’d brave any storm, face any demon, dig any grave for a taste of gold and jewels.
...
The island was as the woman described, wet, dank, and foggy, the sight of it not unlike Mihawk’s home island, Kuraigana.
“Ugh.” Crocodile set foot on land and as soon as he did his shoe sunk down into spongy moist ground, water welling around his footprint when he took a step back.
“I'm surprised this place hasn’t sunk into the ocean.” Mihawk remarked, stepping lightly on solid roots and rocks to avoid the wet messy ground.
“Th-then maybe we should go back guys... This place gives me the creeps.” Buggy hovered next to them, twitching out of the way of mossy branches hanging low in their path.
“I said you could wait on the ship.”
“A-and leave you guys alone? Of course not! You need me!!” Buggy was obviously only here for treasure. As long as he stopped whining and bitching about coming to the island, Crocodile didn’t care how much Buggy puffed out his chest in bravado.
Slowly they made their way deeper into the marsh, the sunlight from the day swallowed by the dense trees, all heavy with moss that dangled in clumps on the twisted gnarled branches. The sounds of the swamp seemed to surround them, like the hot humid air clinging to their skin. It was a cacophony sound, and not a single one human; birds calling, frogs chirping and croaking, the low buzzing of insects, and every so often the water around them broke, revealing a drifting alligator, its yellow eye set on them, but keeping its distance.
Crocodile locked eyes with the creature, so similar to the crocodiles he’d kept in the past. He felt a strange sense of deja vu, watching the scaled beast drift along while he stood in shadow smoking his cigar. He turned his head. It wouldn’t do to dwell on the past.
Eventually their soggy feet landed on a raised dirt path, reinforced with wood planks. Every so often the wood planks turned into small bridges, connecting the gaps of solid land. As they walked they passed a house or two, standing on old wooden legs in the bog, the wooden structures clearly empty and weathered. After they passed the second house, Mihawk paused, the other two stopping shortly after.
“Perhaps we should investigate these homes. They might have clues as to what happened here.” He paused looking out into the obscured distance of the swamp and continued “And to the poneglyph.” He added almost as an afterthought.
“And treasure!” Buggy perked up, turning his eyes on the house beside them. He shrunk slightly as he looked it over, as if realizing he would have to enter the rotting abandoned house.
Crocodile looked up and down the path. If they spent time looking around every house they came across, they’d be here well into the night, with little to show for it.
“Only if we’re quick. Five minutes tops.”
“Sure, we can split up to save time.” Mihawk agreed, already walking down the path.
“S-split up?! C-can't I go with one of you guys??” Buggy grabbed onto Crocodile’s coat sleeve, looking up pleadingly at Crocodile who barely spared him a glance. Buggy was a coward, but he was far more resilient than he realized, something Crocodile learned early on at the formation of Cross Guild.
“You’ll be fine. I think you can handle an old dusty building.” Crocodile freed his sleeve from Buggy’s grasp and headed further down the path. “You can search this one. Meet me ahead.”
Buggy whipped his head to plead with Mihawk but he was already gone. He swallowed hard and steeled himself, grabbing a dagger from his belt before approaching the house.
Crocodile walked for a while before he saw the next one, the wood deck slick with moss, the roof was weighed down with leaf litter and dirt, the windows were opaque with grime. Carefully he made his way into the house, having to duck under the doorframe, the home built for someone closer to Buggy’s size. He looked around the dark home, the smell of rotting wood and mold was powerful. In the corners of the windows were spider webs, all filled with round little spiders. Surprisingly enough, the furniture and kitchen space was all relatively intact, albeit rusted and old. He opened cupboards and drawers, sparsely filled with chipped glassware and bent silverware. He looked around for anything that might give him a hint to the location of the poneglyph. He was hoping to find a book or journal, maybe even a couple local papers, anything to give him an idea to this island’s history.
There was movement from the corner of his eye and he turned his head, watching. Something shifted on the bed, under the rumpled covers. An animal, perhaps, disturbed by his presence? He kept an eye on it but continued his search, leafing through the yellowed pages of old novels. Something fluttered to the floor as he opened one of the books. He grabbed it and looked it over: An old photograph, the edges worn as if held often, of a little boy, smiling widely as he held up a large fish on a line. There was nothing written on the back.
“Don’t touch that.” A deep voice growled.
Crocodile turned his head toward the sound. On the bed was an old man, so wrinkled his face began to lose its shape. Yellowed eyes glared at him, his irises watery and brown.
“Who are you?” Crocodile asked, remaining still. The old man didn’t seem like a threat, but he wanted to be wary regardless.
“Daryl! And I said put that down!” His voice was deep, like a frog croaking, clearly unused and strained by time. Crocodile replaced the picture in the book and returned it to its shelf.
“Apologies for the intrusion.” Crocodile needed to play this smart. If he was the only one on this island, he might know its history, might know the location of the poneglyph.
Daryl threw off the covers and shifted from the bed, his clothes ragged and worn, but patched over and over, leaving little pinched bumps here and there on his pants and shirt. “Ya think its ok to walk into people’s houses and touch their stuff? Huh? Betcha yer a pirate. Well, I ain’t got a thing here!! So buzz off!!”
Clearly he didn’t like pirates.
“Just an archeologist, looking for information. I could use your help.” Crocodile lied smoothly, trying to compile everything he’d seen in this house to understand the shriveled man before him.
“Feh.” The old man waved his hand as if swatting away a fly. “Yer just as troublesome as a damn pirate! Strangers sticking yer nose where it don’t belong!”
“There have been others here before me?” Crocodile was very intrigued by this bit of information. Why would so many stop by this muddy little place if it held nothing of value?
“Too many!! Jest like you! Walking around like they own the damn place! Well, I’m the only one left here on this island so its mine!” The Daryl hopped down from his bed, bare feet touching down onto the filthy creaking floor. Disgusting. But Crocodile had a better understanding now.
“I’ll get out of your hair, then.” Crocodile turned to leave but paused. "Before I go, you can have this. As an apology.” Crocodile turned and handed him one of his thick cigars from his pocket. The old man’s eyes lit up with greed then looked up at him warily.
“This is a gift, right? I don’t owe you nothin?”
Crocodile was reminded of Buggy for a split second.
“It’s a gift.” Crocodile continued to hold out the cigar as Daryl deliberated before finally snatching it up.
“Fine. Now git out!” He shoo’d him away and Crocodile left the cramped house, glad to be able to stand straight.
He needed to find Buggy and Mihawk. There was, undoubtedly, something of importance on this island. Or at the very least, there once was. He pulled out a pocket watch. It was nearly the afternoon. They might have to return to the ship after their exploration and strategize. Crocodile lingered near the house for a little while, waiting. He checked his pocket watch again. Five minutes passed.
“Hey! Big fella!!” The old man hobbled out from his home. Right on time. “You got a light fer this thing?”
“Of course.” Crocodile returned, flicking on his lighter and holding it down for the Daryl to take a few puffs from the fat cigar. It looked comically large between his wrinkled lips, but he took one pull, blowing out smoke with a sigh, and visibly relaxed.
“Oh that's some mighty fine stuff. Yessir.” He grinned, teeth missing throughout his smile.
“I imagine it's hard to come by tobacco on an island like this.” Crocodile took a puff from his own cigar.
“Hmph, ya don’t know tha half of it!” He took another puff and let out a long sigh. “Never had much here on this island, but we managed. It all went to shit when that damn devil fruit bastard got too big for his britches!” He grumbled something under his breath before continuing, totally unprompted. Crocodile would gladly listen. Any information would help him with his end goals. “It’s ancient history now, but back when I was a much younger man, things was goin real good here. The devil fruit guy? He saved this island. Then GREED doomed it. He figured out a way to travel the world an’ when he’d return he’d have enough food and gold for a king. He was generous, at first. Sharin’ it all with the townsfolk. He built him an his family a real big house on the hill, a mansion fit for a lord.” He let out a heavy sigh, moving to sit down on the ground. “And where was he gettin all them goods from? Well, lets jest say it weren’t earned honest. He was no better than a pirate, but no one cared much here... til some real pirates came lookin fer him. Seems he stole from the wrong fellas. He lost his family that day. Them pirates cut through this place like it was nothin. Lotta people died that day.” He went quiet for a bit, holding his head in his hands.
Pirates are a bloodthirsty lot. Crocodile could understand that. He experienced their cruelty as a child. But that injustice didn’t belong only to pirates. Crocodile was well aware that marines, even the supposed holiest people, Celestial Dragons, were just as capable, if not more so, of evil than pirates.
“He weren’t the same after that.” Daryl whispered, continuing his tale. “He locked himself away with all his treasures and food and let the town rot . Anyone who survived the attack withered away to nuthin.” He shook his head, smoking his cigar while he was lost in thought.
The mansion had treasure. Perhaps not anymore, but it would be important to explore.
“Thanks for sharing.” Crocodile dropped another cigar onto the man’s lap and left. He wasn’t far when the old man spoke up once more.
“That place is cursed, big fella! This whole island is cursed!! Git out while ya can!!” Daryl yelled after him.
Crocodile wasn’t superstitious. He didn't believe in curses or ghosts or spirits or the like. Whatever was in the mansion, he’d could handle it. He was sure of that. He held up a hand in acknowledgement and continued down the path. Perhaps Buggy and Mihawk had already moved ahead. Either way, they’d all catch up soon enough.
...
They finally reconvened at the ‘town.’ Crocodile used the word loosely. It was a grouping of shacks, connected by creaking wooden bridges, everything covered in moss and animal droppings. From there the path led upward, to what Crocodile assumed was the hill that had the mansion. Neither Mihawk nor Buggy found much in the houses they checked, mostly rotting wood and spiders. Mihawk held up a small glass vial, a green spider with spindly legs and a large round abdomen clung to the side.
“Fantastic specimen. I’ve yet to see something like this before.” He remarked when neither Buggy nor Crocodile showed much enthusiasm for the spider. He tucked it back into his coat. Buggy grimaced, clearly not one to keep a spider anywhere on his person.
Crocodile told them about the man he’d met and a shortened version of the story he was told. Mihawk and Buggy seemed surprised that he met a person, neither one of them saw Daryl, despite going into the house themselves.
“He’s easy to miss.” Crocodile grunted, thinking about how easily he hid under the pile of ratty blankets.
Buggy was very eager to go to the mansion knowing that there was a greater potential for treasure there. He practically ran up the hill, zooming ahead of Mihawk and Crocodile.
“What devil fruit did the man from the story have, I wonder?” Mihawk remarked aloud as they walked.
Crocodile shrugged, pushing open the old iron gate to let Mihawk through.
“Daryl didn’t mention it. Does it matter?”
Mihawk glanced over at him before returning his gaze to the mansion before them. “Perhaps. Did ‘Daryl’ say if the devil fruit user was still alive?”
Crocodile paused, thinking over the conversation. “No. Only that he let the townspeople die.”
“Hmm.”
Their walk wasn’t long, but they had to navigate past dense branches of low hanging trees, overgrown and heavy with moss. Crocodile had to duck or push away branches until Mihawk took his sword and with a single slash opened the way for them. The open space gave them a good view of the mansion, the architecture different from their own experiences, but hauntingly beautiful in its own way. The front was a large rectangle of columns and bleached stone that became green and brown over the decades. Tall windows were symmetrically spaced along the facade, the glass foggy with grime, several cracked and broken. Despite being on a hill, fog still seemed to linger on the ground, clinging to their ankles as they approached the run-down mansion. Buggy waited for them on the porch, practically vibrating with excitement, seemingly forgetting how terrified he was to come to this island in the first place.
The two stepped up to join Buggy at the front door and Crocodile could see the evidence of gunshots, sword slashes, even cannonballs marking the wood and stone. The porch was littered with holes, large gaps of boards missing, leading to a drop down into what Crocodile could only assume was cold dark ground.
“Don’t forget we’re here to find a poneglyph. Everything else is secondary.” Crocodile reached for the door handle and stilled. Before his hand even touched the metal, the hairs on his hand and arms stood on end. Everything inside of him screamed not to touch the door.
“But, if we do find treasure, we can take it back with us, right?” Buggy’s head popped up in front of him, his eyes large and pleading.
Crocodile grunted and pushed open the door. “We’ll see.”
Despite the afternoon sun, the house was pitch black inside, cavernous, reeking of must and dust and old wood. The air was stale, damp, and much colder than the humid warmth of the swamp.
Again, Crocodile got that feeling, telling him to turn around. It was like the shadows within emitted a dark and foreboding aura.
Mihawk stepped past him, blending in almost immediately with the darkness.
“We’ll have to use observation haki while we’re here. Unless either of you have a torch?”
Buggy shook his head and Crocodile was brought back to the moment at hand.
“I have a lighter, but my haki will be enough. Buggy will have to stick with one of us. That alright with you, clown?”
Something in the darkness of the house seemed to be holding his attention, his eyes wide, as if trying to decipher what he was seeing.
“Buggy?” Crocodile prompted, nudging him with his hook. The clown jumped, head whipping around to look at the sandman. He blinked a few times, then nodded. “Y-yeah. I think it’ll be best if I stick with one of you guys.”
Mihawk nodded once and continued forward, swallowed by the shadows. Buggy stood close to Crocodile, not exactly hiding behind him, but it was obvious that he didn’t want to go first. Crocodile wanted to move, but his feet felt rooted to the spot. It was just an old empty house, why was his body reacting like this? He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and focused, allowing his haki to flow, to reveal what was hidden. He could see the clear outline of Mihawk now, could see the interior of the foyer, a broken chandelier lay like a rotting fruit in the middle of the floor, sagging and mishapen.
Crocodile stepped inside, opening his eyes to darkness, now aware of the floors and walls. Buggy followed close behind, a disembodied gloved hand clutching onto his heavy coat. His observation haki revealed nothing out of the ordinary, and yet, he got chills, perspiration gathering at his hairline the further he ventured into the old mansion. He did his best to ignore the feeling as he followed Mihawk, eyes locked onto the white feather of his hat, bobbing in the dark like a lure. They came to a split, a hallway on both sides that led in opposite directions.
“Seems this is where we part ways. Let’s rendezvous here at the entrance.”
Crocodile nodded once. His heart thudded in his chest for one heavy beat, as if reaching out for Mihawk. He didn’t want to separate, but they would be able to cover more ground that way. Besides, the faster they explored this mansion, the faster he’d be able to leave.
“If you’re not here by nightfall, I’ll leave you behind.” Crocodile gave both of them a grin and Mihawk smirked back in return. Buggy however, looked panicked.
“Y-you wouldn’t really leave me, I mean, us behind, would you, Croccy-baby?”
“Be here by nightfall.” Was his only response, turning away from Buggy to begin his cold uncomfortable walk down the long hallway.
“Then maybe we should stick together, huh, guys?” Buggy’s shrill voice echoed in the empty space, but neither of them responded, already on their way to explore.
“Wait up!!”
Crocodile heard Buggy’s footsteps retreat from him. The clown must have followed Mihawk. Whatever his reasoning, Crocodile was grateful he didn’t have to babysit the coward. He wanted to get through the rooms as quickly as he could. He didn’t need Buggy stopping him to look at tarnished silver or dusty jewels.
At first, things were as quiet as he expected. He peeked into rooms, rummaging through books and papers, shooing away spiders and beetles as he searched for clues to the poneglyph. It wouldn’t be sitting out in the open. He was certain he’d need to reveal the secrets of this place before he could find the poneglyph. But the longer he searched through the dusty rooms, the more unsettled he became. It wasn’t as though he had discovered anything to put him on edge like this, rather lingering in this mansion began to weigh him down. He could feel the darkness pushing in on him, could sense something just out of sight, out of the corner of his eye, hovering nearby. But when he turned to look, when he used his observation haki, there would be nothing. Several times he had begun digging through old trunks and turning over books when he had to pause to look around, feeling as if someone had been standing right behind him.
He kept going despite his uneasiness. There had to be a logical explanation for this crawling feeling. He wouldn’t stop searching, wouldn’t waste this opportunity simply because he had a weird feeling while he was in an old building.
He continued down the creaking hallway, the walls seemed to narrow, as if he were diving deeper into a tunnel with no return. He couldn't shake the feeling that something pressed in closer behind him, as if they were inches away from touching him. A cold damp finger brushed the back of his neck and he whipped around, golden hook lashing out, the sharp point stabbing into nothing but air. Crocodile stood in the darkness, panting, as his eyes searched uselessly. He took a deep breath and pushed the stray hairs out of his face. Focus. He couldn’t afford to become distracted with shadows.
He pushed at an ornate door at the end of the hallway, interested in the prospect of this room since it seemed to differ from the others he had already explored. The heavy door groaned as Crocodile pushed it open, the sound grating and sudden in the quiet of the mansion. He stepped in and scanned the room, stopping in his tracks at the two people laying in the middle of the floor. Blood pooled around them, looking black in the near darkness. Crocodile’s throat seized, something worse than fear gripped him, like talons sinking into his shoulders. Long blue hair splayed out behind a lifeless face. Buggy stared up into nothing, his eyes empty and dark, long gashes marred his chest and face, the skin split down to the bone. Mihawk lay beside him, pinned by his sword, straight through his chest, through his heart. Neither moved, no labored breathing, no twitch of fingers or limbs, no rustle of hair or clothing. Perfectly still.
Crocodile’s mouth felt dry, and his heart squeezed painfully in his chest. This couldn’t be real. He just saw them. His partners. Buggy wouldn’t have gotten cut and Mihawk was too strong to be overcome, to lose control of his own sword. Crocodile was sure of it. But still he couldn’t move. He couldn’t bear to reveal the truth of the situation, cowardly in this single moment. Those cold cruel talons sunk deeper into him, his chest feeling like ice, stomach like lead.
He stared at them, trying to dispel the cruel thoughts swirling in his head. I wasn’t there to protect them, when they needed me. Two of the few people in his life that... meant something to him.
“Buggy.” He whispered at first, his voice sounded too soft, too far away to his own ears. He swallowed hard and spoke up. “Buggy! Mihawk!” He said louder, as if trying to rouse them from sleep. They remained unmoving. Their lack of response was enough to shatter the hold Crocodile had on himself and he rushed forward, bending down to inspect the bodies. But as he got close, as he dropped down to one knee, they faded, dissipating into nothingness, as if that whole scene was nothing more than Crocodile’s imagination. Crocodile reached out to touch the spot where they had laid. Nothing but cold wood. No blood, no hair, no deep gashes on the floor to indicate a fight.
His relief at the mirage turned into anger. How dare anyone use his lov- affection for Buggy and Mihawk against him. He wouldn’t be made a fool. This had to be the work of a devil-fruit user. The man from Daryl’s story must still be alive. He had to find Buggy and Mihawk, warn them… to assure himself.
As soon as Crocodile stood, he heard a blood-curdling scream, high and truly terrified. He knew that scream anywhere. Crocodile rushed out of the room, toward where he heard Buggy’s cries and screeches. Equal parts determination and relief filled him as he ran toward Buggy’s tormented sounds. He’d kick the ass of whoever was bullying his clown. His clown. ‘Who is still alive’, he thought, heart swelling.
He turned a corner and Buggy slammed right into him, screaming the whole time, scrambling away from Crocodile as soon as he touched him. Buggy fell on his butt, desperately scooting away.
“D-Don’t come any closer!! I-If you touch me I’ll... I’ll... I’ll stab you! With water! I don’t want to hurt you Croccy, but I will!!” Buggy’s whole body shook like a leaf but he held up his chin defiantly, his dagger held out before him with a trembling hand.
Crocodile wasn’t sure what happened, but something must have spooked Buggy. Enough to threaten him, something he had never done before. Crocodile held out his arms and slowly crouched down, keeping his voice low and even as he spoke. “I won’t hurt you Buggy. Whatever you saw, it wasn’t real. There’s a devil-fruit user somewhere in this house. I came to protect you.”
Buggy watched him, his chest heaving, but slowly he lowered his dagger. “That... wasn’t you?”
Crocodile shook his head and slowly he reached out his hand. “No. It couldn’t have been. You ran into me, right? I came from the opposite side of the house.”
Buggy blinked and in a flash he had sheathed his dagger and leapt into Crocodile’s arms. “Croc we gotta get outta here, I can’t take this place anymore.” He panted into Crocodile’s neck, holding him tightly. For once, Crocodile returned the hug, grateful for Buggy’s over-affectionate behavior at this moment. He needed this reassurance. Buggy was here. He was real. And now he had something he would die to protect pressed right to his chest.
Crocodile stood, letting Buggy cling to him. He looked around, trying to determine the easiest way through the house, but everything looked strange. It appeared to be a different place entirely, the shape of the walls curved now and the floor was narrower than before. What was going on here?
“Buggy. We’ll need to grab Mihawk first before we can leave. Do you remember which way he went.”
Buggy looked up at Crocodile and then turned to stare down the hallway. He glanced around, as if trying to re-orient himself. The frown on Buggy’s lips grew deeper and Crocodile had a feeling he was experiencing the same lost sensation.
“I...don’t know? Everything looks...different...” Buggy chopped himself at his ankles and floated around the space, as if he were searching for a moment of recognition, but none came.
“I’ve never seen this before. But I swear I was just down this hallway...” Buggy settled down next to Crocodile, pressing against his side, Buggy’s smaller hand finding his own large one.
“I agree. Something here has changed. We’ll need to stay vigilant. Let’s keep moving, but stay close.”
Buggy nodded, squeezing Crocodile’s hand and pressed even closer to his side.
Slowly the two of them walked down the hallway, keeping their eyes open and listening for any movement. Crocodile tried to sense of it with his observation haki, but it was strange, like seeing two mismatched portraits on top of one another. It was confusing, but it confirmed his suspicions that a devil-fruit user was manipulating the mansion.
He did his best to navigate between the two worlds he was seeing, but Buggy kept trying to pull him in different directions, only seeing one half of the picture, convinced that Crocodile was leading them astray. Crocodile shushed Buggy, pulling him along toward what looked like an opening in a wall. Buggy must not have seen it because he tugged on Crocodile’s arm, telling him he was going to walk straight into a wall.
Crocodile scooped up the clown and stepped through, Buggy gasping in shock as they returned to the real mansion. It didn’t ease any of the tension within him, but at least it was a start toward leaving this god-forsaken place. He hoped Mihawk was faring better than himself and Buggy. If he could find the entrance, he’d be able to retrace Mihawk’s steps and guess where he went. He simply had to find it first.
“Croc...” Buggy whined softly, his arms squeezing tighter around Crocodile’s neck. “Th-there’s something...behind us.”
He already knew. That same feeling that had been haunting him this whole time had reared its head as soon as they returned to the real mansion. Like someone watching, someone approaching, someone reaching out about to touch.
But Crocodile had Buggy now. Someone to help watch his back. Crocodile turned quickly, just catching the hint of a shadow before it disappeared. It seemed the user could only manipulate the images of things, couldn’t touch. Perhaps the source, the user themself was far away, using their power remotely to torment them, to scare them from what was likely a hidden treasure trove.
If that was the case, then why did he still feel so ill-at ease. It should be a comfort to him, knowing that the devil-fruit user was a pathetic coward. So why did the house still feel like it was alive? Watching him, keeping him clenched in its jaw.
He pushed aside the feeling. He had to locate the entrance so he could find Mihawk. And then he’d find the devil-fruit user and shrivel him into nothingness, back to sand.
Crocodile walked quickly down the hallways, Buggy clinging to his back, telling him to turn this way and that. But no matter which way he went, he felt lost, further from his destination than before. He opened a pair of unfamiliar french doors, certain that this wasn’t correct, but he had nowhere else to go. The pair stepped into a huge ballroom, cobwebs hung heavily from the ceiling, obscuring the glittering beauty of the ornate tiled squares, dust laying heavy on chandeliers that looked like they hung from gallows. Crocodile could tell this room was beautiful once, but it had begun to rot, a product of the wounds it suffered from its years of disuse, festering.
“Crocodile! Look!” Buggy’s gloved hands grabbed the sides of his face and physically turned his head to the right. Mihawk entered from the opposite end of the room, looking as unperturbed as ever.
“Crocodile, Buggy, I located the poneglyph and the treasure. Did you find anything else of interest?” He asked, almost bored, approaching them with slow steady steps. Crocodile and Buggy stood there with their mouths agape, shocked to see Mihawk carrying a huge treasure chest and a folded sheet of paper, likely the poneglyph etching. It was too good to be true. And that gave Crocodile pause.
Fool me once.
“Wait.” Crocodile ordered and Mihawk stopped his approach, raising his eyebrow. Buggy glanced up at Crocodile with a confused look too. “Prove you’re Dracule Mihawk.”
Buggy’s mouth fell open and he shot his attention back to Mihawk, looking him over again, warier than before.
Mihawk looked between the two of them and let out an annoyed huff. He set down his treasure and reached into his coat pocket, retrieving the little green spider he had collected earlier.
“If this isn’t enough, I can recount the conversation I shared with you on our way back from the hot spring.” Mihawk gave him a wry smile, tucking the spider back into his coat.
Crocodile felt his shoulders ease and he waved away Mihawk’s offer. “Not necessary.”
“Hawky!! You’re gonna share that treasure right!?” Buggy closed the distance between them and slammed into Mihawk, wrapping his arms around his chest to squeeze him into a tight hug.
“Finder’s keepers.”
“No fair!!” Buggy tried to snatch up the chest but Mihawk deftly pushed it out of his reach with a nudge from his foot.
“None of y’uns are taking a single coin of my treasure!”
Everyone’s attention turned to the sudden voice shouting behind them. Barefoot, and attempting to stand tall, was Daryl, his watery eyes sharp, wrinkled lips set in a hard line.
“Your treasure?” Crocodile said without thinking, surprised by the small man’s sudden appearance. But it clicked for him as soon as he asked his question.
“You’re the devil-fruit user.” He realized aloud.
“That’s right, big fella! Look, I appreciated the cigars n’all so I was tryin ta be nice, to scare ya away, but that kindness ran out once you touched my treasure! Its MINE. I earned it. I shed blood sweat and tears for it! And with my power, the Mist-Mist fruit, I’ll shed yer blood to keep it here!”
Daryl appeared to have multiplied, wavy mirages of himself appeared out of nowhere, their shapes solidifying until they were indistinguishable from each other. Crocodile lifted his arms, ready to grab, to stab his hook into whatever he could reach. He was about to use his observation haki to find the real Daryl when a long black slash whipped past him, cutting through every single mirage. Crocodile heard a cry of pain and then silence. He looked toward the sound. In the corner of the room lay Daryl, cut in two.
“Ewww, Hawk, couldn’t you have killed him in a less gross way?” Buggy wrinkled his nose and turned his head to avoid looking at blood and guts sliding out of the two unmoving pieces of Daryl.
Crocodile looked at Mihawk, impressed with his power and speed. He was so efficient at what he did. The most powerful swordsman in the world. He felt a a surge of pride that Mihawk was his partner.
“He had been buzzing around me the whole time like a gnat. It was very annoying.” Mihawk remarked, as if that was an explanation.
“Whatever!! Let’s get the hell out of here!” Buggy hurried to grab the treasure chest, and Mihawk rolled his eyes, leading the way out of the room.
He took one last glance at the gory sight of Daryl, then Crocodile turned and followed after his partners, piecing together what occurred in the mansion, on this island, now that he knew Daryl was the devil-fruit user. He must have been following them the whole time, attempting to scare them away from the mansion before swooping in last minute to save his only true belongings, his treasure.
Mihawk easily navigated through the mansion, leading the group out into the humid swampy air, night falling at a fast rate.
“You thought it was ghosts in the house?” Mihawk scoffed, continuing forward.
“Well... yeah! It was spooky in there!! Weren’t you scared?” Buggy floated above him, watching his face.
“No.” Mihawk answered flatly.
“Liar.” Buggy grumbled under his breath.
Crocodile had to admit that now that they weren’t in the mansion, he felt lighter, as if the darkness within had finally slid from his shoulders. Even though Daryl was dead, it felt like something else loomed inside that building. Crocodile didn’t want to think too much on it. It was the power of a devil-fruit user. Nothing more. What mattered was that they got what they came for, and all of them were safe and sound. Whatever lived in that mansion, real or imagined, Crocodile was glad to be rid of that place.