Chapter Text
I.
Distant and incoherent sounds filtered through the recesses of a discombobulated mind. The lithe darkly clad figure adorned in black attire with a dark flowing cape blinked his eyes open slowly with a pained groan. A sharp and assessing blue gaze took in the vast scenery of expansive green in bewilderment.
Sanji Vinsmoke - the notorious pirate born in the North Blue seas and the cook of the Straw Hats crew - sat up with a grimace and pressed a hand to his enflamed side. He winced at the painful motion and looked around at his surroundings.
Trees.
Tall, tall trees stretched on for miles far into the skies and they surrounded him from all sides. Sanji blinked warily at the unfamiliar landscape and he pulled himself upwards with a shaky breath.
The pirate looked down at his dark raid suit - the weapon created by Germa 66- and he heaved a relieved sigh. It was fully intact. The material of his suit was durable and sturdy. The strong blast had not damaged the suit and the only damage sustained was to his ribs.
Sanji pressed two careful fingers to his side and he ran his palm gingerly over his injuries. Two broken ribs. He tsked in irritation - a minor inconvenience - he had sustained way worse injuries through his unsafe endeavours across the Grand Line.
Sanji lifted his gaze upwards and he frowned at the sight of the clear blue skies- It had been nighttime in Wano Kingdom. The final battle was carried out under a stormy and tumultuous dark sky. The current blue and large clouds signified a temporal shift. The cook pursed his lips in concern and he stretched out his observational Haki, seeking out the presences nearby.
Three energy signatures were close. Two were faint and flickering away rapidly.
The energies were unfamiliar. Sanji didn’t recognize them. More of Kaido's underlings, great. Sanji stretched out his Haki further, hoping to catch a glimpse of his crew mates. Robin’s smooth and crisp energy was absent. Nami’s warm and trickling energy was unreachable. The infuriating green swordsman’s cool and sure energy was unattainable. The nervous and jittery energy of the sniper was silent. The bubbly and excited aura of the youthful doctor was missing. The laughing and joyful presence of the skeletal musician was gone. The keen and innovative aura of the mechanic was absent. The larger than life energy of his captain was... gone. There was a gaping hole in his chest- a large chasm - and the cook felt it with sudden surety.
They were gone.
They were not on this island.
Sanji frowned at the forlorn thought and shook his head. He didn’t need another long separation. He had endured two full years on the island of hellish nightmares, running and running and running, surviving without his crew by his side. He didn't want to go through that again. The cook scowled to himself. He desperately wished for a smoke.
The blond moved upwards, dispelling his invisibility barrier on his suit -Black Stealth- and he took to the sky with fast hurried steps. He moved up, up and up and propelled himself towards the noise of blades and metal clashing against each other. Sanji stared down at the battlefield and he narrowed his gaze at the sight.
Three darkly clad bodies were moving in a whirlwind of speed. Kunai blades clashed against each other in a rapid dance. Movements were fast and each swipe and throw was meant to kill. A lean figure wearing a white mask with red etchings moved his hands in rapid successions. His two opponents were larger, taller and they wore dark cloth masks over their faces. Their bodies were littered with numerous injuries and they fought with feral ferocity.
Their features were obscured and their eyes were hard and clinical as they dove after the masked man. The man had gravity-defying silver locks and he murmured unfamiliar words in a toneless voice - Doton: Doryūheki - He slammed his gloved hands on the ground, morphing a large mud wall as a slew of knives sailed towards him. The blades hit the wall and clattered noisily into the ground.
The masked figure disappeared behind his sturdy barrier and reappeared behind his opponent in a single flash. Sanji watched in alarm as he drove a blade through the man’s neck, severing through his jugular muscles with ease. His movements were robotic and practiced. His gait, his movements, and his detached demeanour reminded him of Germa 66 army soldiers. Killers.
The assassins - the Sensōya - had been warmongers. Germa 66 was the strongest underworld mercenary force - an army of ready-made soldiers - born, bred and cultivated to eliminate their targets. It was their sole and only purpose. Perfect tools, perfect soldiers. Sanji watched with an unsettled gaze as the man choked on his blood and he fell to the ground, unmoving and dead.
The cook pursed his lips tightly at the gruesome sight. The silver haired figure weaved through his remaining opponent and he cleaved him in half with a thin sword. The masked man moved over the bodies with an unbothered display and took off in a flash, leaving behind an assortment of leaves in his place.
The blond haired cook gazed through the thicket of tall trees as he hovered in the air silently above the dormant bodies. Sanji Vinsmoke eyed the desecrated battlefield with an unsettled gaze and his blue eyes locked on the corpses and the seeping pools of blood. He lowered himself to the ground and gazed at the maimed bodies warily. He grimaced at the gruesome sight and a desperate thought ran through his mind in a cyclical loop.
I need to get off this island.