He unstuck his glued eyelids. Heavy crimson fog was floating in front of his eyes. He tried to blink and instantly felt throbbing pain in his head.
Sanji lifted himself from the ground slowly, unstably. Blood. Blood was all around him, covering his limbs, his face – dry. He looked at his right hand. His index and middle fingers were torn off; raw flesh gaped disgustingly still fresh, red liquid.
Sanji stood up, his vision blurred. His head was dizzy, but he managed to comprehend it was necessary to find the others.
As soon as he straightened, pain pierced his right leg. He glanced down: a deep cut was crossing his shin from the knee and down to his ankle; muscles ragged and pulsing violently, exposing a bone.
Sanji pressed his palm to his mouth, feeling a heavy wave of nausea. He needed to search for the crew no matter what, and the man silently hoped his torn leg wouldn't prevent him from leaving.
He tried a step: immediately every cell of his beaten body screamed of unbearable pain. He clenched his teeth tight, biting his lip accidentally and discovering it was deprived of the upper layer of skin. He whined quietly, trying not to think about what his face looked like.
Suffering from all these terrible wounds, his walk was hitchy and slow. The leaden sky loomed heavily over him.
He looked back at the place where he had woken up: sapless grass was soaked with his own blood - an unbelievably huge area. Breathing erratically, barely moving his tormented leg, Sanji walked a few meters and noticed two small objects in the dust. He stooped to grab them: these were his fingers. Crooked, gross pieces of flesh, filthy with blood and dirt. Sanji's arms and knees were shaking severely; he instinctively shoved his lost fingers into a pocket, avoiding looking at them closely. But the nausea wave finally succeeded in winning him over: he dropped to his knees, vomiting all the contents of his stomach mixed with blood.
Sanji continued to walk then, scarcely crossing the prairie. Rain started from the heavy sky, and the water that touched his raw wounds made them burn unbearably. Rare wizened trees looked at him as if he was an intruder; yet desired intruder for the island's dwellers.
Climbing on the hill was hellishly painful, but he needed to reach the top to observe that whole obscure land. Sanji panted, hardly moving his almost numb leg, and finally stopped on the vertex. He looked around, his eyes pulsing as if ready to give in to blackout. He gathered all his will to concentrate.
Beneath, not far from the hill's base, a senseless body was lying. Sanji's eyes widened as he recognized the three swords, resting on the sand near the man.
The blond rushed down with the last effort, feeling his limbs torture him viciously, flesh pulsing and his wounds crying a blood river. He collected his entire strength to ignore the pain.
When the man's figure on the sand became sharply visible, Sanji thought he'd faint from the bloodcurdling state of his body. He blocked a loud gasp with his left hand, feeling shudder crawl down his spine.
Sanji leaned over the bloody mess that was this man's body just a while ago. He bent as low as his wounds allowed to catch Zoro's breath.
The swordsman was completely covered in blood: every fracture of his battered body was dark-red. But the most terrifying thing about him was the absence of his left forearm.
"Zoro, wake up," The cook breathed out huskily, but the answer never came.
Sanji was trembling from the core of his being. It couldn't be like that, their adventure couldn't end like that, in a place like that… He shook his head sharply and blinked, but the image in front of his eyes remained: the swordsman with ragged flesh and uncounted deep cuts was barely breathing.
With shaking hands Sanji lifted Zoro from the mud. His damaged skin was as cold as snow. He looked closer at the green haired man's face.
Cuts, cuts, blood and deep cuts again were all that remained of Zoro's face. Sanji's heart was thudding rabidly. He pressed Zoro tightly to his chest, constrained sob spilling out of his throat.
"It's too late to say anything, right?" He whispered. "I refuse to believe… It can't be…"
Now Sanji deeply, sincerely regretted he never told Zoro about his feelings. Pretending to be a cocky bastard, who could only fight with the swordsman and mock him, he always tried to hide his real emotions towards the man. And now it was too late.
His ears caught a suspicious rattle from the side. Then it became louder and louder and finally enveloped everything around.
Dark, shapeless creatures crept to them, exposing their sharp as knives teeth with loud clatter. Their voices were sputtering something incoherent, but Sanji's fading mind caught the words "blood", "suck dry", "hopeless humans". He squinted his eyes shut, clenching Zoro tighter in his trembling arms.
"I'm not afraid, Zoro… And you shouldn't be afraid…" He managed, his voice on the edge of cracking, before they both disappeared under the surging darkness.