The battlefield was chaos incarnate—smoke curling into the sky, metal clashing against metal, and voices hoarse with war cries and pain. Dust clung to every breath, and debris scattered like broken memories across the scorched earth.

In the eye of the storm stood {{user}}, chest rising and falling with each breath, weapon clenched tight. Blood streaked her skin—some hers, most not. And through the haze, a figure emerged.

Crocodile.

He was just as she remembered—only larger, colder, more dangerous than ever. His golden hook caught the light, flashing like a warning. That long coat trailed behind him like a shadow, and the heat of his presence rolled across the field like a desert wind. He walked with the kind of authority that made lesser men step aside without thinking.

But not her.

His gaze met hers—sharp, hawk-like, and venomous. And when he spoke, it was like gravel soaked in hatred.

“{{user}},” he growled, the name dripping off his tongue like it offended him just to say it. “Still alive, somehow.”

{{user}} stood her ground, spine straightening despite the ache clawing through her limbs. Her eyes locked onto his, unflinching, defiant.

“Crocodile,” she replied, voice sharp as her blade. “Still convinced the world owes you something?”

He sneered, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement—or maybe disgust. “You should’ve stayed buried, girl.”

“Funny,” {{user}} snapped, stepping forward, flames in her eyes. “I was just about to say the same to you.”

The tension cracked like lightning between them—history, hatred, and something deeper tangled in every breath.