The Blue Horizon: Sanji vs. The Gluttonous Inferno
While the northern docks fell silent under the frost of the Soul King and the shadow of the Demon, the western battlements of Hachinosu had been transformed into a literal hellscape. The air here didn't just carry the scent of salt; it was heavy with the smell of scorched earth and high-grade, combustible grease.
Sanji stood at the edge of the Great Feast Hall, his black suit jacket discarded, his white dress shirt scorched at the sleeves. His signature cigarette was a mere ember in the dark, but his eyes—hidden behind the sweep of his blonde hair—were glowing with a cold, predatory heat.
Standing across from him was Vasco Shot, the "Heavy Drinker." The man was no longer just a bumbling drunk. He had tapped into the "Drunken Awakening" of his Gabu Gabu no Mi. His body had bloated to twice its normal size, his skin a sickly, translucent pink. Around him, the air distorted; he wasn't just drinking liquor—he was secreting a pressurized, flammable gas that turned the entire corridor into a ticking time bomb.
"Gugaga! Black-Leg... your fire is cute," Vasco gurgled, a massive jug of ale gripped in his claw-like hands. "But what happens to a spark when it's drowned in an ocean of booze? You'll burn for a second, then you'll be extinguished forever!"
Vasco took a gargantuan swig and then exhaled. "LIQUOR NEBULA: BARREL BOMB!"
A massive sphere of high-pressure alcohol vapor shot toward Sanji. It didn't just hit; it expanded, seeking any spark to ignite.
The Ifrit's Ascent
Sanji didn't retreat. He couldn't. Behind him lay the only ventilation shaft leading to the lower levels where the freed slaves were being moved. If the gas reached that shaft, one spark would incinerate everyone.
"I've dealt with picky eaters and bad chefs my whole life," Sanji muttered, his voice dropping an octave. "But a man who wastes good ingredients to make a poison? That's a sin I can't overlook."
Sanji's left leg began to glow. Not the orange-red of Diable Jambe, but a piercing, ethereal blue. The heat was so intense that the stone beneath his shoe began to turn into molten glass.
"IFRIT JAMBE: POÊLAGE À FRIRE (Pan Fry)!"
Sanji spun, his leg becoming a blur of sapphire light. He didn't strike the gas; he struck the air pressure around it. The sheer thermal energy of the Ifrit Jambe created a vacuum that sucked the vapor inward, incinerating the alcohol before it could reach its flashpoint.
Vasco's eyes widened, his pink tongue lolling out. "Hot... too hot! You're not a human... you're a stove!"
"I'm a cook," Sanji hissed, his speed increasing until he disappeared from the naked eye. "COLLIER STRIKE!"
A blue flash struck Vasco's throat, but the "Heavy Drinker" moved with a sickening, liquid fluidity. His body wobbled like a bag of water, absorbing the kinetic force. He used the momentum to swing his massive jug, coated in Armament Haki, directly into Sanji's ribs.
The impact sent Sanji crashing through a stone pillar, the sound of cracking bone echoing in the hall.
The Science of Passion
Sanji spat blood, wiping his mouth as he stood up. His exoskeleton—the genetic "gift" he had once despised—hummed under his skin. He could feel his internal temperature rising. The fusion of his Germa durability and his trained Haki was creating something beyond science.
"I told my captain I'd be the wings that carry him to the top," Sanji whispered, his blue flames spreading from his leg to his entire lower body. "And wings don't break this easily."
Vasco Shot roared, his jug glowing with a dark, oily Haki. "DRUNKEN DRAGON: FLAMING GEYSER!"
He vomited a literal river of burning high-proof spirits. It was a tsunami of fire that filled the entire hallway, leaving no room to dodge.
Sanji didn't try to dodge. He ran into the fire.
He moved so fast that the friction of his body against the air, combined with his internal heat, created a "heat shield" that parted the flames. He was a blue meteor cutting through a red sun.
"IFRIT JAMBE: ÉPAULE (Shoulder)!" "CÔTELETTE (Rib)!" "TENDRE (Tenderloin)!"
A rapid-fire barrage of kicks struck Vasco in a dozen places at once. Each hit sounded like a thunderclap, the blue flames cauterizing the wounds as soon as they were made. Vasco tried to grapple Sanji, his drunken movements unpredictable, but Sanji's Observation Haki was tuned to the frequency of Vasco's erratic heartbeat.
The Final Course
Vasco was gasping now, his translucent skin boiling from the proximity of Sanji's heat. He tried one last, desperate move. He grabbed the pillars of the hall, trying to bring the entire ceiling down on both of them.
"If I die... you burn with me! Gugaga!"
Sanji looked up at the falling masonry. He took one last drag of his cigarette—which had been lit by the friction of the air—and exhaled a cloud of blue smoke.
"The secret to a perfect dish," Sanji said, leaping into the air, "is the finishing touch."
He rotated in mid-air, his body becoming a vertical drill of blue fire. All his willpower, all his love for his friends, and all his pride as a chef of the Baratie were concentrated into his right heel.
"IFRIT JAMBE OGI: BOEUF BURST!"
The kick struck Vasco Shot directly in his bloated solar plexus. The blue flame didn't just burn; it exploded. The shockwave traveled through Vasco's liquid body, igniting the pressurized gas within him.
A massive blue explosion ripped through the western wing of the fortress. The ceiling didn't fall on Sanji; the force of the "Boeuf Burst" blew the falling stones upward and outward, clearing the entire sector.
The western wing of Hachinosu was a cathedral of melting stone and blue-tinted ozone. The air was a shimmering haze of heat distortion, so thick it felt like walking through a liquid. In the center of this scorched arena, Sanji stood like a pillar of sapphire flame, his breathing heavy but rhythmic. Across from him, Vasco Shot—the "Heavy Drinker"—was no longer laughing.
The Graded Inferno: Sanji's Burning Resolve
Vasco Shot had fully unleashed his Liquor Nebula. The air was saturated with a high-proof, volatile gas that turned the hallway into a pressure cooker. With every movement, Vasco didn't just strike; he detonated the air.
"DRUNKEN DRAGON: SPIRIT MISSILE!" Vasco roared, spitting a concentrated glob of pressurized alcohol that ignited mid-air.
Sanji didn't flinch. He spun, his left leg erupting in the piercing, cobalt light of Ifrit Jambe. "COTES: INTERCEPT!" He kicked the incoming fireball, not just extinguishing it, but redirecting the thermal energy back at the source.
The battle moved at speeds that blurred the line between teleportation and motion. Sanji was a blue streak of light, executing a terrifyingly precise culinary execution.
"IFRIT JAMBE: POÊLAGE À FRIRE (Pan Fry)!" "SAUTÉ (Flash Sear)!" "HÂCHÉ (Minced)!"
Every kick landed with the sound of a sonic boom. Vasco Shot's "Drunken Body" was designed to absorb impact, wobbling like a bag of gelatin, but the blue flames of Ifrit Jambe were bypassing the physical surface. The heat was cauterizing Vasco's internal organs before his nerves could even register the pain.
"Why... why won't you... die?!" Vasco screamed, swinging his massive, Haki-clad jug.
"Because I have a captain who doesn't know how to give up," Sanji hissed, his speed increasing until he was invisible to the naked eye. "IFRIT JAMBE OGI: BOEUF BURST!"
The final kick struck Vasco Shot directly in the solar plexus. The impact didn't just send him flying; it ignited the alcohol within his very bloodstream. A massive sapphire explosion ripped through the wing, throwing the Titanic Captain through three stone walls and out into the churning sea below.
Sanji landed, his leg smoking, the blue fire slowly receding. He stood in the wreckage, gasping for air, looking toward the roof where the atmosphere felt... wrong.
The War Table: Shadows of the Blackbeard Pirates
On the northern docks, the Straw Hat "Support Team"—Nami, Chopper, Usopp, Robin, Brook, Franky, and Jinbe—had gathered the refugees and secured a defensive perimeter around the Thousand Sunny. The adrenaline was fading, replaced by a growing, nagging sense of unease.
"Did you feel that?" Nami whispered, clutching her Clima-Tact. She wasn't looking at the fire; she was looking at the sky. "The weather... it's not just Dragon's storm. There's a weight in the air. It feels like the island itself is being compressed."
"It's the Haki," Robin said, her arms crossed, her expression uncharacteristically grim. "Dragon's power level is... it's beyond anything the World Government's files suggested. He isn't just fighting Blackbeard; he's holding the atmosphere together. But something else is bothering me."
"The Blackbeard Pirates," Jinbe added, his deep voice rumbling. "They fought with desperation, but not with their full hand. I faced Pizarro, and while he was formidable, he felt... restrained. Like he was keeping a reservoir of power back."
Franky nodded, his metallic chin clinking. "Yeah. I saw some of the high-ranking enforcers retreat even when they had the upper hand. It was like they were under orders to 'save the best for last.' But what's better than winning a war for your own island?"
In the shadows of the crumbling fortress, a group of defeated Blackbeard Pirates—wounded, but not dead—whispered among themselves. They were terrified, not of the Straw Hats, but of their own captain.
"Why didn't he let us use them?" one pirate wheezed, clutching a broken arm. "The Saturn Clones. The old man's power... the bio-organic weapons we stole from Egghead. If we deployed the 'Gorosei-Archetypes,' we could have wiped this whole crew out."
"Shh! You fool!" a senior enforcer hissed. "The Captain's orders were absolute. 'The Saturn Project' is for the Future. He told us that today isn't about the world—it's about the Bloodline. He's testing something. He's letting Dragon and the brat push him. He wants to see the limit of the 'D' before he activates the true endgame."
The pirates looked toward the central plaza, where Blackbeard was currently being battered by Dragon. They saw their captain laughing through the blood. They realized that to Marshall D. Teach, Hachinosu was just a laboratory, and they were the expendable variables.
The King of Hell and the Fourth Placer
Sanji wiped the blood from his brow and began to climb the ruins of the central tower. As he reached the jagged rooftop, the wind was howling with a frequency that made his teeth ache. In the center of the rooftop, Zoro was engaged in the most bizarre dance Sanji had ever seen.
Zoro's three swords were drawn—Wado Ichimonji, Sandai Kitetsu, and Enma. His aura was a terrifying, swirling vortex of purple and black smoke—the "King of Hell" Haki. But Zoro was swinging at nothing. He was parrying empty air, his blades clashing against invisible steel with sparks that illuminated the dark.
Zoro was laughing. It wasn't his usual stoic grunt; it was the laugh of a man who had crossed the border into madness, a demonic, joyous sound that cut through the wind.
Sanji stood at the edge of the roof, looking at the "Marimo" with a mixture of exhaustion and disbelief.
"Hey! Marimo!" Sanji yelled, his voice carrying over the gale. "Who the hell are you fighting? Did you finally lose your last two brain cells? You're swinging at the air like a drunkard at a wedding!"
Zoro didn't stop. He pivoted on one heel, parrying a strike that came from absolute emptiness, the force of the invisible blow cracking the stone under his feet. He looked over his shoulder at Sanji, his one eye glowing with a predatory, demonic light.
"Shut up, fourth placer!" Zoro barked, his voice raw. "Go back to the kitchen and make some sandwiches! Can't you see I'm busy?"
"See what?!" Sanji gestured at the empty air. "There's nobody there! You're fighting a breeze, you moss-headed idiot!"
Zoro let out another chilling laugh. "That's because you can't feel it, Cook. You're looking for a person. I'm looking for the breath of death. There's an invisible devil here—Shiryu. He thinks his 'Suke Suke no Mi' makes him a ghost. But I've learned something..."
Zoro slashed a horizontal wave of purple Haki that seemed to part the very atmosphere. "If I can't see him, I'll just have to cut the air until there's nowhere left for him to hide. I'm not fighting a man anymore, Sanji. I'm cutting the space between heartbeats!"
Zoro turned back, his blades crossing. "Concentrate! I can hear the sound of his blood pumping in the silence!"
Sanji watched as Zoro dove back into the "empty" fray. To the naked eye, Zoro looked insane—a man fighting ghosts. But as Sanji focused his Observation Haki, he felt it: a cold, murderous presence that flickered like a dying candle, moving with the wind.
Zoro wasn't just swinging; he was dismantling the concept of invisibility with sheer, unadulterated violence. Every strike was becoming more precise, every laugh more terrifying.
"He's finally done it," Sanji whispered, lighting a cigarette despite the storm. "He's fighting the air itself... and the air is losing."
To be continued...