Fortunae Gauntlet
Part eleven of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma
Disclaimer: I do not own, or pretend to own, One Piece or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs solely to Eiichiro Oda. The only thing that belongs to me here is the concept for the story.
Music Box: As if you even need to ask? Fight Back Sanji and Usopp, and Sanji's in a Big Pinch!, both from the One Piece soundtrack.
"I'll smoke the last cigarette," he said to his wife. "Stupid of me, it was the one thing I forgot to bring back..."
~The Birds, Daphne du Maurier
Usopp stared out at the astral-world outside anxiously, fighting the urge to start pacing. He was sitting on the lookout rock where Sanji had left him, keeping watch as they had agreed to, but it just didn't feel right. Not with only Luffy snoring lightly behind him.
The truth was, he was worried about Sanji. That in itself felt strange, because he never really thought he would have to worry about Sanji before. Unlike Luffy or Zoro, their cook had enough brains to know how to get himself out of trouble, in addition to enough brawn to hold his own in a fight. More often than not it was Sanji looking out for him. And if anyone would be safe alone out there, it'd be their cook.
But something about the whole situation made him feel vaguely unsettled in the pit of his stomach. Sanji was smart—smart enough to know it was foolhardy at this point in the game to wander off on his own. Especially when they still expected him to be the next target. Usopp didn't know why Sanji had insisted so intently on leaving by himself, but he had a feeling nothing good was going to come of it.
Still, he had to trust his nakama, and Sanji had made more than a few good points. So he waited, ticking off the minutes as carefully as he could in his head (he lacked a watch, but could count to sixty repeatedly well enough). Twenty minutes had passed now, and Usopp was starting to get anxious. Sanji had promised to be back in no later than half an hour. Shouldn't he be back by now, with news or something?
Another three minutes passed, and Usopp finally caved. Taking one last glance around (still nothing, other than the same rocks and the same red moon) he crawled to the back of their small encampment and shook Luffy awake. His captain blinked lazily into consciousness and looked around with confusion before remembering where he was.
"Time to win?" He asked sleepily, flexing his hands as if readying for battle.
"Maybe. Not yet. I think something's wrong." Still looking anxious, Usopp explained his encounter with Sanji. "He just left," the sniper finished, wringing his hands. "I don't know, something doesn't feel right about this..."
"How long?" Luffy asked, looking more awake now.
"Eh?"
"How long since he left?" the captain repeated slowly.
"Well...it's only been about twenty five minutes now, but—"
"Then we'll wait," Luffy decided.
"Wait? Luffy, he could be in trouble—"
"Sanji doesn't break his promises," the captain explained. "If he said he'll be back in half an hour, then he'll be back in half an hour. He promised." Yawning, he used the opportunity to slip one rubbery hand into Usopp's bag and snatch one of the fruit-nuts free, attempting to eat it whole.
"Not like that!" Usopp hissed in exasperation, and snatched it back quickly, cracking it for him the way he'd seen Sanji do it. His captain's confidence was catching though, and he supposed he was being a little paranoid. Who wouldn't be, with this cruel game, after all? But Sanji still had five minutes, and it wasn't as though he'd ever lied to them before. Luffy was right. He didn't break his promises. He'd be back. They just had to wait.
Sanji expected his initial attacks to be avoided somehow, and true to form Moult dodged the first flying kicks with ease. That was fine. They had never been meant to hit anyway, though it would be nice if they did by accident. More importantly than a hit, though, was position. When Moult dodged, it allowed Sanji to slip around him and leap to the front, blocking his path.
There was a long moment in which nothing was said, and Moult stared at him with mild confusion, still chewing on his toothpick. Sanji could feel the light brush of the wind on his face, saw it ruffling Moult's hair as well, and smiled. Confusion and surprise were good, and it was only about to get better from there.
The tracker finally spoke up, blinking slowly. "You're tricky. Pretty good." Sanji merely shrugged, and the other man added, "But it still won't be enough to stop me, you know. I have to report back to the Boss, so I'm going to go report back to the Boss." And he took another step forward.
Now things would get difficult. Moult could smell intent, and action, so he had to make sure he disguised his real intentions with more predictable, obvious ones. He had already managed that before, with his improvised sniping shot earlier that day, so as Moult stepped forward he jumped and launched into a rapid series of kicks, each with enough force to break a man's skull.
Moult only snorted in disappointment and batted each attack aside, or dodged out of the way of the more forceful ones. When Sanji finally fell back, the tracker said, "That's it? That's your plan? I thought it would be more interesting..."
"You didn't move forward," Sanji pointed out. "I count that as a success."
"Not for long," the sniffer answered with a bored sigh, and began walking forward once again. Sanji launched himself forward a second time with another furious barrage, repelled just as before. When the dust cleared Moult was another foot closer to leaving and looked bored out of his mind.
Perfect.
Panting slightly, looking determined and smothering his smirk as best as he could, Sanji reached inside his coat pocket and removed the last of his cigarettes. He went through the routine with practiced ease; the roll felt comfortable between his lips, and he lit it without even glancing at the match, never letting his eyes stray from Moult. The smoke twisted behind his head and above, but he wasn't worried about the signal. It would fade alway long before it was of any use to the crap-Scorpions.
Moult eyed him critically. "Those are bad for you, you know."
"So sue me." Sanji shrugged. "They calm me down."
"I can tell. You smell more relaxed. But it still won't help you."
Sanji clenched his hands so hard it hurt, digging his fingernails in deep, just to keep from reacting to that sentence. He couldn't give it away, not now, not if this was going to work...
"I'm leaving now," Moult told him, and took another step.
This was the moment, Sanji knew. He had to be sure his plan would really work, and to do that he had to test it. If it failed, he would have to run, much as he hated it. Go back, warn Luffy and Usopp before Moult could report, and get ready for a full-on assault. But if it worked...
Moult took another step, and Sanji launched himself forward again. He began with another flurry of rapid kicks, which Moult blocked with absent minded boredom, just as he had the first two times. It was as if he wasn't even bothering to pay full attention any more, which worked perfectly with Sanji's plan. Altering his attack pattern slightly, the cook suddenly leapt into the air, twisted, and brought his leg smashing down with a roar of "Épaule Shoot!"
Moult blinked at the change in attack pattern, but slapped the offending foot away just as easily, clearly able to smell Sanji's intent to kill. That was fine. In fact it was more than fine. Sanji certainly hoped to kill the bastard with the move, but it wasn't his only reason for it. As Moult blocked his attack, he spun with the momentum and flipped forward even further, at the same time that he reached up to his mouth and removed the cigarette from his lips. The flip continued, the wind was with him, and Sanji abruptly exhaled—sending a lungful of secondhand cigarette smoke straight into Moult's face.
The man screamed in agony, and the wail sent a shiver up Sanji's spine; he hadn't realized such a noise could come from the normally droopy, uncaring man. Moult was clawing at his face now, looked as though he wanted to scratch his nose clean off, and his eyes were squeezed shut.
Sanji didn't hesitate. He landed poorly from the forward flip, but rolled to his feet immediately and spun out, connecting with a series of kicks and finishing with a collier. The enemy tracker was sent flying, smashing into one of the younger spiral trees with a groan of pain.
The cook shot forward to press his attack, but Moult recovered himself quickly. His eyes were still watering and he shook his head rapidly, as though trying to clear his senses, but he managed to block three of the five kicks Sanji swung his way. Sanji made careful note of it; while Moult had blocked, the blocks were less precise and effective, still allowing the cook to land glancing blows instead of missing outright.
Still, Moult was recovering quickly now, as the smoke dissipated. His blocks became rapidly less human and more precise as the seconds went by, and within moments he was just the same as before, albeit a bit more battered. Sanji made a mental note of that as well: he had less than a thirty-second window in which to attack before the man was back to his perfect defense.
"You...you son of a bitch," Moult scowled at him, and now his lazy look was gone. "That burned."
Sanji shrugged, flicked the ash from his cigarette. "People always told me secondhand smoke was bad for others, but right about now I'm glad for it. Guess being a sniffer has its disadvantages, huh?"
Moult looked furious. And then, much to Sanji's surprise, the man darted forward and launched a series of rapid punches and kicks himself.
It seemed being a sniffer was just as useful for attacking as defending. The man's attacks themselves were weak by comparison to most members of the Strawhats' crew, but a vast number of small attacks added up to just as much damage as two or three large ones, and Moult's ability to predict enemy moves meant he always knew where to throw his hands and feet. Sanji grunted as he was hit again and again, countering as best as he could with his own blocks and attacks, which were quickly deflected. He had to cut off Moult's ability to smell again, but the man was clever. He wasn't letting Sanji get close enough to send another breath of smoke into his face.
But Sanji was no fool, and had already thought through that particular problem. As Moult lashed out with another attack, Sanji dodged sideways, shifted backwards, and abruptly bolted.
"Running away?" Moult shrieked, now clearly angry. But he paused as Sanji ran in a half circle around the small opening they were fighting in, his back to the trees, and stopped.
"Not hardly," Sanji answered in response, and then inhaled deeply. The cigarette came away between his fingers, and the cook darted forward suddenly, breathing out another lungful of nicotine fumes. The smoke was carried downwind quickly to the stunned sniffer, and Moult screamed again as the toxic aroma hit his nostrils, stumbling backwards in pain.
Sanji was on him in seconds, releasing some of his most powerful kicks at his foe in rapid succession. Normally he wouldn't have unloaded quite so much against a clearly disarmed opponent. He did fight with some degree of honor, after all, and wouldn't destroy the reputation of the Black Leg so foolishly. But his nakama were on the line, and so the situation was completely different here. By unleashing everything he had on this man whenever he could, he was one step closer to rescuing Nami-san, Robin-chan, Chopper, and Zoro.
So he lashed out with all his strength, ignored the bruises and cuts received from Moult as he pounded with all his fury and focus. And when the man had finally managed to recover, Sanji was grimly satisfied to see him bleeding heavily and favoring one leg.
Moult eyed him with murder in his eyes. "That thing won't last forever, you know," he snarled at the cook, eyeing the cigarette once again between Sanji's lips with loathing.
"That's fine," Sanji answered cooly. "I don't need forever to kill you, anyway."
The taunt worked well, and Moult threw himself forward with a furious scream. Sanji noted that the more the man was injured, the more aggressive he became. His control was starting to slacken, though it wasn't necessarily a good thing. He was certainly easier to bait now, Sanji noted, as he exhaled another lungful into the shrieking sniffer's face. But his attacks hurt more as he put more frenzied power behind them, and he was still viciously accurate, even without sniffing out Sanji's next moves. In the five seconds it had taken for him to incapacitate Moult's sense of smell again, the man had launched a brutal kick to his shoulder, and Sanji's left arm hung limp now.
Not that it mattered. A little injury was nothing, as long as he could beat this guy. So the handstands were out; that still left plenty in his arsenal. And as long as he stayed upwind of Moult in the fight, he'd be able to use his cigarette until it burnt down to the filter. He had to have beaten the guy by then, but it would be fine. He was sure he could manage.
The fight felt like it went on for a while, or at least Sanji thought it did. His only unit of measure was the cigarette instrumental to his combat strategy. He was being very careful with it, trying to make it last as long as possible. But it was already half gone, making him guess they had been fighting non-stop for at least five minutes. Five minutes didn't sound like a good deal of time, but when it consisted entirely of rapid-fire punches and kicks, blocks and dodges, it stretched on forever. And something nagged at the back of his mind, too, something about time. The fight, combined with all the time it had taken to lead Moult out here, had taken up at least twenty minutes, maybe more. Something screamed at him that he had to finish fast, and get back to the others.
But in his combat haze he couldn't quite remember why, and pushed it to the back of his mind. Instead, he focused hard on the fight, tracking the wind carefully and being sure to keep it always at his back. It moved a few times, but he was able to recover appropriately, still sending the smoke in Moult's direction. When the man tried to skirt around him to take the upwind position, Sanji would press him hard to drive him back, taking advantage of the man's weakening nose and lack of predicting ability to do so. He had Moult on the defensive now, really and truly. He could win.
But the man was becoming even more aggressive as well, and with his loss of Devil Fruit sniffer predictions he was turning to other tactics. Sanji noticed grimly that while the man's attacks seemed to be everywhere, Moult was specifically targeting his head and hands—his dangling left arm was clear proof of that. Sanji had a feeling he knew what the man was up to. He already couldn't use his left hand to remove his cigarette, in order to breathe out his smoke, and had to rely on his right arm alone. If that was broken too, or if the man somehow managed to break his jaw so that he couldn't hold the cigarette in his mouth anymore, he'd be shit out of luck with his aroma counter-strategy. He'd already blocked a number of attempted strikes on his right arm, and Moult had narrowly missed kicking his head in at least three times.
He couldn't afford to lose that cigarette. Contrary to everything anyone had ever told him about them, and in an ironic twist of fate, that lone, half-smoked roll of tobacco was the only thing standing between himself and certain death.
But there was an exchange, a price Moult paid for his new, confrontational tactics. The man was clearly pouring on the pain now, trying to do as much damage as he could as often as he could in a violent offensive, but his defense—once so perfect—was starting to develop cracks. Sanji made note of them, aimed when he could for Moult's unprotected chest, legs, arms, with unhesitating surety. And whenever Moult scrabbled backwards from the latest dose of nicotine, screeching in pain and clawing at his face, Sanji was on him, mercilessly delivering every ounce of strength he had to bring the man down.
And then he saw it. It was approximately ten seconds after he had given the enemy tracker another dose of cigarette smoke, and the man was going berserk with frustration and pain. He reeled back, dropping his hands for a fraction of a second, and in that moment Sanji saw it clearly—a perfect path to the man's head, and the final blow. If he could connect now, the man was as good as dead. He had taken too much damage from Sanji to be able to recover.
The time for the final strike was now, and Sanji didn't hesitate. He launched himself into the air as Moult wrenched his eyes open, finally saw his mistake. The cook spun quickly, building momentum for a killing blow. He didn't often descend to Red Leg from Black Leg; that had been crap-geezer's thing, and Sanji had never really had any desire to kill anyone, only to protect himself, his friends, and their goals. Luffy didn't like it anyway, and he was the captain. But he could see, in his mind's eye, each of those four lifeless bodies that they had been forced to leave behind, and it was all the inspiration he needed.
Red-Leg Sanji descended, every ounce of power he had left in his final attack, and roared, "Concassé: Final Crush!"
It connected solidly, just as he knew it would. His heel came smashing down on Moult's head with all the force he could muster, and even through his dress shoes he felt the man's skull shattering underfoot, caving from the impact. The man didn't even scream; he wouldn't have had time to. The deathblow Sanji delivered was near instantaneous, just as powerful as the crap-geezer's attacks had been back in the day.
He felt all his anger, all his fury melt away in the moment of blank, cold satisfaction as he finished the deed. One more down, one step closer. He hadn't expected himself to feel quite so empty when he killed, figured it would affect him more. But every time even the slightest tendril of shock crept into his mind, the image of the stunned Nami-san in his arms, or the shuddering Robin-chan, the staring, unseeing Chopper, or Zoro sleeping in that pool of blood would chase it away with unbelievable strength.
It all flew through his head, cycled, melded, spun, and worked itself out, over and over again, in a matter of seconds. He came to terms almost immediately, was satisfied that he had helped get them one step closer to rescuing their nakama...and that was when he saw it.
Moult had not been idle. He had seen Sanji leap into the air, and even without his sniffing abilities it was probably easy to predict what the cook would do next. Even as Sanji's leg came down for the final assault, the tracker kicked high, aiming just as he always had for Sanji's face.
And even dead, the momentum still kept. Sanji could see the boot swinging up now, impossibly fast, and yet ridiculously slow at the same time. There was no way to dodge, not in midair, not at this juncture. Worse, Sanji's death kick had forced the blow a little lower, and now it was aiming straight for his vulnerable neck.
There was too much brute force behind that kick. Sanji had been fighting for years, and he could tell that immediately. Too much force, no way to dodge, targeting an incredibly vulnerable and weak place on the human body. He was as good as dead.
He processed it all in less than two seconds, and then the final attack hit. He felt disappointed, on a very distant level, that he wouldn't be helping further; he hadn't meant to leave quite this early. He felt the cigarette slip from his lips, heard something very close grate and snap with a spine-chilling disgustingness, and suddenly the world was leaving him at an alarming rate, faster than he could keep up with.
Shit—
"Luffy," Usopp said, anxious. "It's been thirty-one minutes, and he's still not back. Do you think something's wrong?"
The captain looked up from where he had been inspecting his hat (after all the running around in this strange atmosphere, the edges were getting a little frayed). He seemed puzzled. "Thirty one?"
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure. I've been counting."
"But he promised he'd be back in half an hour," Luffy said. "He should be there." And he bounced to the front of their shelter, stuffing the hat back on his head with a note of finality.
"That's what I'm saying, Luffy. I don't see him. He should have been back by now." Usopp pointed in the direction Sanji had taken and added, "I made a deal with him that we'd start looking in half an hour if he didn't come back. He seemed to think he would, but..."
Luffy stood quietly, watching out into the yellow stone quarry by the light of the blood red moon. He shaded his eyes with one hand and did a quick sweep, but like Usopp he saw no movement, no indication that their cook was returning to them.
"You made a deal?"
"Yeah. Yeah, we did..."
"Alright," Luffy said, suddenly very serious, and Usopp didn't have to look that closely to see the quickly covered up flash of concern that raced through the captain's eyes. "Let's go look for him." And, scooping up Chopper's backpack once more, he strode forward in the completely wrong direction. It took Usopp a few seconds to grab his own bag and snatch Luffy's wrist to redirect him, but then they were off, heading down the quarry while keeping a wary eye out for enemies.
They also kept a wary eye out for Sanji, who could probably blend into some of the darker shadows quite well in his black suit pants and dark dress shirt. Usopp wasn't entirely sure why Sanji would want to hide from them, but his mind worked quickly, and he had fabricated a number of excuses for the cook in seconds. Maybe he had walked really far, and was just taking a break in the corner. Maybe he was going to jump out an surprise them. Maybe he had found some cave-mushrooms hidden in one of the deeper spots of the quarry and was doing his cook-thing and collecting them (Usopp wasn't partial to mushrooms, but he'd take any excuse at this point).
He knew those excuses were fairly weak, but as they walked on he found himself becoming more and more worried. All lying aside, he had hoped they would meet Sanji on the way back. The cook had probably only lost track of time, and just been late by a few minutes, even though he'd never known Sanji to be late before. They would probably walk right past each other, and then they could meet up and exchange news. There was no danger involved, not here.
But they walked on for nearly ten minutes, and as they began scrabbling out of the quarry to the wide stretch of packed dirt between the stone and the strange spiral trees, Usopp got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. More than forty minutes since Sanji had walked off, and they hadn't even met him halfway. He wasn't one to break his promises, and he wouldn't play tricks on them in a situation like this, not with four of their nakama d...dead. Something had to be wrong. Luffy seemed to think so as well, because he suddenly picked up the pace, pushing forward even faster than before with that blank, empty expression on his face again.
They ran on now for another five minutes, and now Usopp could see the edges of the great spiral trees in the distance, looming above them. Something about those trees felt forbidding, dangerous, and he found himself not wanting to approach them. Goosebumps rising on his arms now, he swept the area quickly, hoping against hope he wouldn't spot any of the three remaining Scorpion hunters.
That was when he saw the strange, huddled shape on the ground, just before the trees.
Before he knew what he was doing, Usopp had grabbed his captain's wrist and hissed, "Luffy! Get down!" He hurled himself flat to the ground as well, hoping the odd shape—definitely a person, it had to be!—hadn't seen him. Luffy kept running out of reflex and stretched, but his arm snapped back as he spun around quickly and threw himself down next to Usopp, watching him curiously.
Now satisfied that they were at least somewhat hidden, Usopp tried to figure out exactly which Scorpion Hunter they were dealing with. The huddled shape was too difficult to make out by the red moon with his naked eye, so he hitched his goggles down and adjusted the lenses quickly.
And froze.
That wasn't one crouching mass...it was two forms, jumbled together. He couldn't see the faces, but he was definitely counting more than one pair of human legs in that shadowy mess, and he didn't think there were any other Devil Fruits besides Robin's that let you sprout extra limbs.
And then he saw the faint, tiny wisp of white smoke a few paces from the mass, and suddenly he was up and running forward as fast as his legs would carry him, with Luffy calling out confusedly behind him. All he could manage to yell was "Sanji!" and then Luffy was racing past him at breakneck speed, determination and worry in his eyes.
He reached the confusing mass after Luffy did, just in time to see his captain pulling it apart. The mass resolved itself into two bodies more clearly now, a tangle of limbs with one laying face down half across the other. Luffy was carefully pulling the topmost body free from the tangle, and when he finally managed he rolled the man over with surprising care.
It was Sanji. For the briefest of moments, Usopp felt a surge of hope as he looked down at their cook. The man was bruised and bleeding from a few minor cuts here and there, but lacked the gaping wounds their other nakama had received. Yet his eye was half-lidded and staring blankly, not flickering with recognition. And Usopp was pretty damn sure necks weren't supposed to bend like that, not unless you were Luffy.
Panicked now, Usopp dived forward and snatched one of the cook's wrists, pressing fingers to it carefully. But no matter how long he waited he found no tell-tale life beat at his fingertips, and he could see plain as day that Sanji wasn't breathing.
"D...damnit," the sniper choked. "I knew I shouldn't have let him go...what was I thinking...damn it!" A wash of emotions rushed over him, and he went to his feet quickly, began pacing restlessly. It brought him closer to the wispy trail of smoke, and he noted with surprise that it was the stub of one of Sanji's cigarettes, still burning feebly as it neared its end. That only made Usopp feel worse. If the thing was still burning, Sanji had to have lit it recently...meaning they had missed saving him by minutes. He ground it out furiously.
Luffy's head was down now, and Usopp couldn't see his eyes; the brim of his hat cast a dark shadow that was impossible to see through in this gloom. He was sitting cross-legged next to Sanji's body, and as Usopp watched his captain reached out and quietly closed Sanji's eyes, even brushing the dead man's hair back into place over his left when he was finished. And then very quietly, so low Usopp almost didn't hear it, he said, "Thanks for helping us out, Sanji. I don't know if you can hear me, but I promise I'll get you back."
"Helping us out?" Usopp asked, bewildered. And then he looked over at the other body, the one he had been ignoring up until now, and stared. It was Moult, the tracker for the Scorpion Hunters...or what was left of him. Usopp had to identify the man by his clothing, because his head was almost entirely caved in, a mass of gore that made the sniper want to be sick. Stunned, Usopp's eyes flew to Sanji's feet, and he was unsurprised to find one leg drenched in the same disgusting stuff. He suddenly had a very, very clear idea where Sanji's mentor had earned the term Red Leg.
But if Sanji had killed Moult, then that meant... "There's only two left," Usopp said out loud. "Sasori and Kawazu...the leader and his second in command."
Luffy nodded in agreement. "Two left," he said, and his voice had that low, dangerous tone he took just before he was about to unleash all his fury on an opponent. "I don't like this game, Usopp. It isn't a game. It's bad. It tears nakama apart. This isn't fun at all."
"I know, Luffy," Usopp said tiredly. "But there's nothing we can do about it—"
"No. I can finish it," Luffy growled, suddenly rising to his feet. He lifted Sanji with him—the cook's head flopped even more unnaturally on his broken neck, making Usopp shudder—and carried him over to one of the spiral trees, laying him gently at its base. Then he turned, looked Usopp square in the eye, and said, "They're at the mountain, right? Let's go."
"What...now? You want to find them now?" Usopp asked, panic in his voice. "Luffy, it's still dark out, and we don't even know that they're there! And even if they are, we think it's their stronghold, remember? We'd be walking right into a trap—"
"Usopp." The sniper cut himself off. Luffy was still meeting him gaze for gaze, and while he looked determined, terrifying even, he felt a strange sense of safety near his captain. He nodded slowly, and Luffy continued. "I couldn't protect the rest of my nakama. They've all been hurt in this fake game. But I'm going to get them back. We're going to win, and we'll leave that stupid island and never go back. And I promise you, I'll protect you with my life, Usopp."
And the sniper knew, without question, without hesitation, that Luffy meant it, every word of it. His captain would do everything in his considerable power to protect his crew, both living and dead. Because it was Luffy, and he might not have been the smartest man in the world, but he always knew what to do for his friends, and would give everything he had to look out for them all.
It was a strangely comforting thought, and Usopp found himself nodding. Next to that, it was all he could do. He didn't have nearly as much to offer as Luffy did, but he'd still give it willingly, because he loved his nakama too and didn't want to see them hurt anymore, and because Luffy was doing the same for him without hesitation even now.
"All right," Usopp said, voice grim but determined. "Then let's go finish this."
Yeah so...I'm just...going to sidle on over this way before a horde of crazed Sanji-fans move in to kill me...
Also, if you happen to use OneManga for your manga-reading needs, heads up! The site is getting completely shut down next week (check the main page for news). Download what you can, because One Piece will be hella expensive to legally purchase...
You know the drill guys. Reviews with SUBSTANCE. I like those. :D
~VelkynKarma
