Namor McKenzie In One Piece

The sun blazed mercilessly over the vast desert, its heat bearing down on Namor and Arlong as they trudged through the shifting sands once more. The occasional gust of hot wind carried grains of sand into the air, but neither of them seemed bothered. Namor strode with an air of confidence, his trident resting on his shoulder, while Arlong kept glancing at the log pose in his hand, ensuring they were heading in the right direction.

"Where does this thing even point?" Namor asked, his tone filled with mild irritation as he stared at the compass-like device.

Arlong grunted. "It locks onto the magnetic field of islands in the Grand Line. This one's taking us to the next island. That's how it works."

Namor rolled his eyes. "How primitive."

Before Arlong could respond, a figure appeared on the horizon, followed by several others. Their silhouettes wavered in the heat haze, but as they drew closer, their presence became clearer. At the front stood a tall, muscular man with dark skin and a bald head. He wore a sleeveless white coat and sunglasses, and his arms gleamed in the sunlight like polished steel.

"Baroque Works," Arlong growled under his breath, recognizing the insignia one of the others wore.

Namor raised an eyebrow. "And who are they?"

"They're under Crocodile, one of the Warlords of the Sea. Dangerous people." Arlong's tone was tense as he tightened his grip on his saw-shaped sword.

The group stopped a few meters away, and the man in front stepped forward. "You're causing quite the stir," said Mr. 1, his voice calm but menacing. "Crocodile wants to know why you're here."

Namor smirked, his posture relaxed. "I go where I please. Tell this Crocodile that his curiosity will get him killed."

One of the Baroque Works agents, a lean man with a sword, sneered. "Big talk for someone who won't leave here alive."

Namor glanced at Arlong, who was already stepping forward. "Handle them," Namor ordered, his voice carrying the weight of a king's command. "They're beneath my notice."

Arlong cracked his knuckles, baring his sharp teeth in a wicked grin. "Gladly."

As Arlong lunged forward to engage the Baroque Works members, Namor turned his attention to the horizon. A faint figure was approaching, moving steadily through the desert. Namor's sharp eyes narrowed, his curiosity piqued.

The clash of weapons erupted behind him as Arlong tore into his opponents. He fought viciously, his natural strength and ferocity overwhelming the Baroque Works agents. One by one, they fell, their attacks futile against the fishman's raw power.

Namor, however, paid no mind to the chaos. The approaching figure came closer, and Namor could now make out details—a man with a scar across his face and a calm, imposing presence.

"Interesting," Namor muttered to himself. He adjusted his grip on his trident and took a step forward, leaving Arlong to finish his battle.

The man stopped a few paces away from Namor, his face partially obscured by the shadow of his hat. A large hook gleamed on his right hand, and his expression was one of mild amusement.

"So, you're the one causing all this trouble," the man said, his voice smooth and cold.

Namor tilted his head, studying the newcomer. "And who might you be?"

The man smirked. "Crocodile. One of the Seven Warlords of the Sea. You've caught my attention."

Namor chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "A warlord, you say? How quaint. Tell me, warlord, are you here to grovel or to die?"

The air crackled with tension as Crocodile's smirk widened, the sand swirling around him like a living entity. Namor stood firm, his trident gleaming under the relentless desert sun. Arlong and Mr.1 both watched from a distance, the two had paused their battle to watch this more closely, aware of the danger but unwilling to intervene.

"You're confident," Crocodile said, his voice smooth and sharp like a blade. "But confidence won't save you."

Namor sneered. "You talk too much."

Without warning, Crocodile flicked his hook hand forward, sending a torrent of sand toward Namor with incredible speed. The grains twisted and churned, forming a massive wave that threatened to engulf him.

Namor leaped high into the air, propelled by the small wings on his ankles. He twirled his trident, creating a burst of air pressure that scattered the incoming sand. Landing with grace, he thrust his trident forward, aiming directly for Crocodile's chest.

Crocodile didn't flinch. The trident passed through him harmlessly, his body dissolving into sand. "A waste of effort," Crocodile said mockingly, reforming a few feet away. "You can't harm me."

Namor frowned, realizing the nature of Crocodile's power. 'Logia-type. Intangible.' He gritted his teeth, his mind racing. "So, you're nothing but a pile of dust," he said, lowering his weapon slightly.

Crocodile scowled, the sand around him growing denser. With a motion of his hand, he summoned a massive claw of sand that lunged at Namor like a wild beast. Namor dodged, the claw smashing into the ground and kicking up a cloud of dust.

"Is running all you can do?" Crocodile taunted.

Namor didn't answer. Instead, he surged forward, his trident spinning in his hands. He closed the distance in a flash, slashing through Crocodile's form in a flurry of precise strikes. Each attack passed through harmlessly, Crocodile's body reforming as though nothing had happened.

"Persistent, but pointless," Crocodile said, lifting his hook. The golden weapon gleamed as he unleashed a powerful blast of sand, sending Namor skidding back.

Namor growled, the sand stinging his skin. He planted his feet firmly, his sharp mind assessing the situation. Crocodile's intangibility was a problem, but he refused to believe he was powerless.

Crocodile raised his hand, and the ground beneath Namor began to crack and crumble. "Desert Spada!" he shouted, and a massive blade of compressed sand erupted from the ground, aimed directly at Namor.

Namor vaulted over the attack, the wings on his ankles giving him an edge in mobility. "If you think sand is enough to defeat a king, you're sorely mistaken!" he bellowed, hurling his trident with incredible force.

The weapon cut through the air like a thunderbolt, heading straight for Crocodile's head. Crocodile let it pass through him, smirking as it embedded itself in the sand behind him. "Missed," he said.

Namor grinned. "Did I?"

The trident began to glow faintly as it pulled sand toward itself, disrupting Crocodile's form. The warlord staggered slightly, his body momentarily destabilized. Namor took the opportunity to charge, his fist slamming into Crocodile's face.

Crocodile stumbled back, more out of surprise than pain. He reformed quickly, his smirk gone. "So, you're not completely useless," he admitted. "But you'll still die here."

The battle raged on, Crocodile summoning massive sandstorms and shifting the terrain into a deadly desert landscape. Namor dodged and weaved, his movements fluid and precise. He managed to land a few solid blows, but Crocodile's intangibility rendered them ineffective.

Namor's frustration grew. Despite his strength and skill, he couldn't land a decisive blow. Crocodile's laughter echoed in his ears, fueling his anger.

Finally, Namor stopped, his chest heaving as he glared at Crocodile. "Enough of this," he muttered. Closing his eyes, he let out a deep breath, focusing his will.

A wave of dark turquoise energy exploded from him, radiating outwards with incredible force. The air grew heavy, and the ground trembled. Crocodile froze, his smirk replaced with a look of shock.

"Conqueror's Haki," Arlong whispered, his eyes wide as he watched from the sidelines.

The energy struck Crocodile like a physical blow, stunning him. His body trembled, and the sand around him fell lifelessly to the ground. For the first time, Crocodile looked vulnerable.

Namor didn't hesitate. He retrieved his trident and surged forward, his weapon glowing with energy. With a single, powerful thrust, he pierced Crocodile's shoulder, the blade slicing cleanly through flesh and bone.

Crocodile screamed as his right arm, hook and all, was severed. Blood sprayed across the sand, and Crocodile collapsed to his knees, clutching the stump where his arm used to be.

Namor stood over the bleeding Crocodile, his trident still glistening with fresh blood. Crocodile's mangled form twitched as he clutched his severed shoulder, his once-proud aura shattered. Arlong approached cautiously, but before he could say anything, a sudden wave of footsteps echoed across the dunes.

Namor turned his gaze toward the horizon and saw a large group approaching. Baroque Works agents, numbering at least a dozen, emerged from the heat haze. Among them were notable figures: Mr. 2, Mr. 3, Miss Doublefinger, and, walking with calm confidence at the back, Miss All Sunday—Nico Robin.

"Crocodile!" Mr. 1 called out, his metallic body reflecting the sun's harsh glare.

Namor glanced at the reinforcements with mild disdain. "More insects? No matter. You'll all share his fate."

Miss All Sunday's eyes narrowed as she scanned Namor. Her calm demeanor betrayed no fear. "You're not from this world, are you?" she said, her voice soft but cutting.

Namor smirked. "Perceptive. Not that it will save you."

The Baroque Works agents fanned out, preparing for battle. Mr. 1's body shifted into gleaming blades, while Mr. 2 struck a flamboyant pose. The others readied their weapons or abilities, the air thick with anticipation.

"Take him down!" Mr. 3 shouted, his wax powers forming massive constructs.

Namor's wings twitched, and he leaped into the air, his form rising high above the desert. He hovered effortlessly, looking down on the battlefield like a god surveying his subjects. "I grow tired of these interruptions," he declared, his voice booming across the sands.

From the sky, Namor extended his trident outward, and a powerful current of air spiraled around him. His wings flapped harder, generating waves of pressure that forced the sand below to swirl violently.

Miss All Sunday tilted her head slightly, her usual calm breaking for a moment. "What is he doing?"

Namor raised his free hand toward the heavens, his trident glowing with an otherworldly energy. The sky darkened unnaturally, clouds gathering as if summoned by his will. The temperature in the desert dropped, and a deep rumble echoed through the air.

"What's he planning?!" Mr. 2 shouted, his voice tinged with nervousness.

"Arlong," Namor said without looking back, "step away if you value your life."

Arlong, sensing the immense energy radiating from Namor, quickly retreated to a safe distance, watching in awe.

Namor's voice thundered across the battlefield. "You dared to challenge a king. Now, you will face the wrath of Atlantis!"

With a roar, he hurled his trident high into the air. The weapon spun rapidly, generating a massive vortex of wind and water in its wake. The clouds above crackled with lightning, bolts striking the trident and amplifying its power.

The agents below staggered, their footing unstable as the ground trembled. Crocodile, still kneeling in the sand, looked up with wide eyes. "No... this is impossible…"

Namor raised both arms, commanding the vortex to grow. The winds howled, tearing through the desert landscape. The sky seemed to collapse as the vortex descended upon the Baroque Works agents, its immense force aiming to obliterate everything in its path.

"IMPERIUS REX!"

"Scatter!" Miss All Sunday shouted, her calm replaced with urgency.

Mr. 1 tried to leap away, but the sheer force of the vortex dragged him back. The swirling mass of water and wind slammed into the Baroque Works agents, tearing through the sand and leaving devastation in its wake.

Crocodile attempted to use his sand powers to shield himself, but the vortex's intensity overwhelmed him. His screams were drowned out by the roar of the storm.

From above, Namor hovered, his expression cold and detached. "Know your place," he muttered, clenching his fist.

The vortex finally dissipated, leaving behind a massive crater in the desert. Baroque Works lay scattered, their forces decimated. Crocodile's form was barely recognizable, his body buried in the sand.

Miss All Sunday stood at the edge of the crater, unharmed but visibly shaken. She looked up at Namor, who descended slowly, retrieving his trident from the ground.

"You..." she said, her voice trembling slightly.

Namor smirked. "I am Namor D. McKenzie, the submariner. And you'd do well to remember that."

Without another word, Namor turned and walked toward Arlong, who was still frozen in awe. "Let's go," Namor said. "There's nothing left for us here."

Arlong nodded silently, falling in step behind Namor. Miss All Sunday watched them leave, her mind racing with questions about the man who had just destroyed one of the strongest forces in the desert.

Before she could think further, a trident ripped through the air and flew straight through her left leg, severing and destroying it completely before flying back to where it came.