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Kingdom Come

Summary:

Sanji is the failure of the Vinsmoke Royal family. Day after day, they try to beat him into the prince he was born to be, but it just isn't working -- it's never worked.

Then a stolen sword finds its way into the kingdom, the man who owns it soon to follow.

It's going to take one hell of a swordsman to cut Sanji free. And eventually, the Vinsmokes will tire of stringing along such a worthless prince. It's only a matter of time.

Notes:

I have been planning this for ages, and I'm so happy to have finally started working on it.
I really hope you guys enjoy it, and I look forward to your comments! As always, let me know what you think.

Now, let's begin.

Chapter 1

Notes:

my art -> (royal au tag for fic art) tumblr
cover page drawn by carriecmoney

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Sanji staggers back from the swipe, unable to restrain his instinct to reach for his cheek. He hisses as the stinging blade cuts his skin and his sweat drips into the shallow wound just an inch from his eye. 

“Too slow,” Yonji sneers, the blade whistling violently as his brother swipes the sword back to his side. 

Sanji grits his teeth and pulls bloodied fingers from his cheek, adjusting his other hand on his own sword. He learned a decade ago not to retort or wail, not even when the blows hurt more than just a graze. His palm is sweaty on the leather-wrapped hilt of the broadsword. No matter how many years he’s spent learning to wield it, it’s never felt quite right in his hand. 

Not slow. Niji is to his right and just behind his peripheral vision, swiping his own sword against the sheathe to make annoying, distracting, ringing noises. The sun is too high in the sky to cast Niji’s shadow far enough for Sanji to read it. 

“What are you waiting for, boy? The enemy has killed you by now. Strike back!” The instructor orders from the sidelines. 

Sanji already knows the outcome, but he tightens his grip on his sword anyway, rolls it in his hand to mirror Yonji as he locks eyes with his brother. Yonji sneers, beckoning for Sanji to take the next swing.  

It's not like he could make his father proud. The sword just doesn't fit right in his hand, and he’s stopped trying to make it. Try as he might though, he can’t get himself out of these lessons, and he might as well try not to get flattened so badly. He tries to remember the attacks their teacher has only spent the last decade or so teaching them. 

Yonji gets bored, sneering and lunging forward, snapping his blade upwards in a deadly backhand swipe. Sanji jumps back and lifts his sword urgently to block the second lightning-fast strike, his arm vibrating with the strength of the blow his brother deals. Yonji puts his strength into his swings, prowling forward in an attempt to break down the defenses of his opponent. 

Sanji side-steps swing after swing, blocking his brother’s blows where necessary. Niji is refraining from making distracting noises this time. Sanji is tempted to let himself forget about him and Ichiji watching the exchange, but he knows better than that. 

“Too scared?” Yonji goads. 

Switching from wooden swords to real ones for training was always a bad idea, Sanji thought. Someone is going to get gutted one of these days, and it’s most likely going to be him. 

Somewhere in the barrage, Yonji’s gleeful smile drops away, his taunting eyes burning with cold flame. The next strike is sharper, closer. The instructor is calling him to retaliate, and his other brothers are goading, but he has to shut them away. Sanji puts both hands on the sword, his muscles trembling from blocking so many hard hits. 

The faintest smile curls his brother’s lips. Yonji strikes down, knocking the tip of Sanji’s sword deep into the trampled grass of the training area. The second whips across, and Sanji lets go and leaps back as Yonji’s sword clashes with his own still upright in the soil. It barely misses his fingers, and Sanji instinctively pulls his hands into his body to protect them. 

Yonji stalks around the abandoned sword, lifting his own. Sanji backs up, keeping light on his feet as he decides whether to dart around his brother and retrieve his sword, or if he should just surrender and save himself another grueling round of blocking attacks. 

Sometimes they get bored of him. Sanji can tell by the look in Yonji’s eyes that today is not the case. It’s not like waving the white flag ever worked anyway... Sanji shifts his weight and keeps his fists near his body, but raises them to protect his face like Zeff taught him – you choose your head and face over your hands every time. Sanji slides one leg back to prepare a kick. If he can aim right, he can kick straight past his brother’s sword swing and strike him in the face. 

It would surprise everyone, that’s for sure.  

Yonji lifts his sword, and Sanji bunches his muscles, hesitating for just a second as his eyes cross over the sharpness of the sword about to swing for him. It doesn’t matter anyway: a boot jams into his knee from behind and he loses his balance, falling into the grass. Yonji comes to a halt beside him, the tip of his sword falling into the grass as if in disappointment. 

“If you’re going to waste so much time and lose anyway, you might as well just give up,” Ichiji says. “Save us all the trouble. Teacher, is this really the best he can do? This is boring.” 

Sanji plants his hands and climbs to his feet, dusting grass from his pants. At least the grass stains can't get any worse. 

“Go again,” the instructor orders. “One more try, and then we move on to the next lesson.” 

Sanji avoids making eye-contact with his brothers – he doesn't want to see just yet if the coldness has died away. He grabs his sword and pulls it out of the grass, turning back around. Niji and Ichiji return to the sidelines and Yonji steps up to try one last time. 

“Fight back this time,” the instructor orders. 

It’s worth a shot, isn’t it? As much as he knows that he wouldn’t get off as cleanly as his brothers do if he managed to land a physical blow during training, it would be satisfying to return the favor. Sanji obliges the invitation, slowly crossing his arm over his body and stalking a few paces forward. Then he leaps and swipes as hard as he can, using the added weight of the sword to increase the speed of his twist. He spins his body and aims for a kick, dodging the swing Yonji makes to deflect the false sword attack. His foot flies toward Yonji’s exposed shoulder. 

Ichiji swings his sword down into Sanji’s airborne body, smashing him in the waist. If the blade weren't sheathed, it would have cut him in half. Sanji thumps onto the grass on his side and drops his own sword, Niji quickly kicking it beyond reach, and Yonji resting the flat of his blade on Sanji’s shoulder, the tip grazing his jaw. 

Winded, Sanji shuts his eyes to catch his breath. 

The sword lifts off, and a boot stomps into his shoulder, rolling him onto his back. Ichiji stares down at him, the sun directly above casting his face in shadow. “What the fuck was that, huh?” He plants his feet either side of Sanji’s ribs as the other two laugh. “Trying out some new moves or something? Well maybe if you stuck to the lesson plan like the rest of us, you wouldn’t suck so much.” 

“Nice one,” Yonji laughs from a few feet away, steel ringing on steel as he sheathes his sword. “He just sucks. Nothin’ anyone can do about that.” 

“Yeah, well, he could at least make a bit more fun for us.” Ichiji stares out of the shadows cast on his face, eyes glinting in the ambient light that strikes them. His hand flexes briefly on his sheathed sword, and Sanji can’t help but flinch. Ichiji’s menacing stare breaks apart as he laughs, lifting his face to let the sun hit it. “Fucking pathetic.” He steps over Sanji, callously kicking his boot into his brother's bruised side as he does. 

“Training isn’t finished!” the instructor calls. “Get up!” 

Sanji winces and sits up, rubbing his bruised side and reaching for his sword. Niji walks by, swinging his foot into Sanji’s hand and kicking away the sword as he does. 

“Keep up,” Niji scolds, striding after the others for the next round. 

Sanji keeps his mouth shut, climbing to his feet and reluctantly picking up his sword. He looks up at the hot noon sun and hopes that his brothers will get bored soon. 

-- 

Eventually, they do lose interest. It’s more interesting to fight each other, fight the instructor, and train as the warriors they’re supposed to become. That means it’s easy to slip away. Sanji sheathes his sword and abandons it with the rest of their training gear. When the instructor is focused on correcting his brothers’ forms, Sanji ducks behind the rack of spears and runs off. 

It’s tax collection day, so he can’t visit Zeff, much as he wants to take refuge at the inn in the center of town, serve up a few meals in the kitchen to hungry guests and the usual stream of local customers. Sanji leaves the training grounds and joins the common people mingling in the inner city, ducking his head down. The people know what their royal family looks like, but if he keeps his head down nobody pays him any notice. They’re used to his brothers storming loudly through the streets making a fuss. It certainly works to Sanji’s favor: he makes his way to the walls of the castle in no time, glancing behind him one last time. 

The castle stares down at him from the top of the incline, outlined in bright sunlight as the sun sets behind it, but dark from the front as its shadow starts to lengthen and darken the city below. Sanji looks away and hurries through the gates to the outer city, content that nobody is following him. They never do. 

Father will punish him for this, but it doesn’t really matter when his brothers beat him all day long anyway. There are only so many hours in the day. Sanji slows his pace as he walks the streets, wishing that he could nurse his bruises in the back of Zeff’s kitchen, but knowing he can't risk for either of their sakes being caught on the premises when his family stops by. 

Sanji moves through the bustling streets and finds a convenient spot to slip between the buildings, making his way toward the outskirts where the forest touches the boundary. He dodges guards on patrol, maneuvers past a few more people who either don’t notice him or don’t care, and finally flees into the forest. The safety of the foliage swallows him, and he runs off again. 

Being in the forest always makes him happy. The castle is as invisible as it’s ever going to be, its spires just visible through the trees. Sanji keeps his back to it, focusing instead on the shrubbery as he makes his way to his secret camp. 

In this climate, there are plenty of fruits and vegetables that grow most months of the year. Sanji plucks berries as he finds them, until his cupped hands are full. Between him and the local birds, there’s more than enough to go around. When he makes it to the river, he follows it downstream until he spots a familiar knurled tree on the other bank. Carefully cradling his berries, Sanji nimbly hops across a few protruding stones and leaps over the deepest part to reach the other side without losing a single berry. Sanji smiles and walks past the tree amidst the bushes. 

The camp is far enough from the river that nobody would spot him if they happened to walk by. Not many people come through this part of the forest though. Sanji sets his handful of berries in the grass and goes to collect some sticks from the area. 

The fire will be too small for the smoke to be visible above the trees. Even if someone were to wander by, Sanji already has a few good hiding spots mapped within a few feet. 

Sanji makes a small pyramid of sticks and lights the kindling like Zeff taught him. With the small fire burning healthily, Sanji rolls a fallen log off a patch of soft soil and uses a flat rock to dig up a bundle wrapped in linens. He unwraps the sheet and lays out his small iron pan, a piece of metal decor he stole from the dining table, a few utensils, and a pouch of spices taken from the kitchens, plus a few herbs he gathered himself. 

The metal decor makes the perfect rest for his pan. Sanji puts it over the fire and sets his pan on top, leaving it to heat while he looks for something to cook. 

There are often eggs in the area, sometimes an abandoned nest or two. The alternative is to catch a fish from the river, which is harder but more filling. Sanji likes the taste of fish much more than eggs. Removing the scales and filleting the fish takes more work than cracking an egg, but it’s worth it. If he minded, he would wait to eat in the dining hall with everyone else. 

Sanji finds a worm in the soil and unwinds his fishing line, baiting the hook and sitting cross-legged on the bank to fish. He leans back and watches the line cut through the gentle river current. The salmon aren’t due for another couple of months, but when they come they’ll turn the river bright red from one side to the other for miles. Bears will already be on their way in anticipation for the feast. 

Salmon come from the ocean, Zeff explained, bringing rich nutrients inland where they die and feed the entire ecosystem. Empty as it may sometimes seem, the ocean is churning with life. Look at it from above and the water looks black, but plunge below the surface to find that it is brilliant blue. 

“The brightest blue, Eggplant,” Zeff explains. “Blues that shine green. And when you look up, the sky is blue too. There is nothing but blue as far as the eye can see, and thre is nothing more beautiful than that.”  

Sanji kicks off his boots and dips his toes into the river, trying to imagine what it might be like to see only blue, what ocean creatures there are to discover out there. The city is too far inland to trade for ocean fish, but they wouldn’t look the same on the chopping board anyway. These trout will lose some of their brilliant shine as soon as he pulls them from the water. 

The line goes taught. Sanji pulls on the thick stick his line is wrapped around and starts to wind in his catch. He gets onto one knee and tugs, ignoring the tightness in his bruised muscles. The trout fights, but it’s a medium size and he overpowers it without much trouble, lifting its thrashing body out of the water. 

Sanji lays the fish in the grass and kills it swiftly, easing the hook from its mouth. He goes to get his knife. 

The handle fits in his palm like it was made for him, carved from wood. The design is simplistic, but the materials are sturdy. Zeff took good care of it before giving it to him, and Sanji intends to do the same. He sharpens the blade with the stone it took from the kitchens and prepares the blade like Zeff taught him. 

Fish bones are soft, and the knife cuts right through the head. Sanji doesn’t bother gutting the fish, slicing the fillets from the carcass in a couple of clean swipes. The fish meat is perfectly edible raw, but Sanji opts to cook it. He tosses the fish remains into the river and washes his knife and hands, taking the fillets back through the bushes to his fire. 

The fish sizzles in the hot pan, releasing oils from the skin and flesh. Sanji lightly salts the flesh and watches as the heat cooks the bright pink into a softer color. 

When the skin is crispy and the flesh fully cooked, Sanji takes the pan off the heat and takes it back to the riverbank with his handful of berries, leaving the fire to slowly die. He sits down in the grass and takes off his shirt to inspect his bruises while the fish cools. 

Sanji dips his hands into the river and wipes blood from his cheek. The cut isn’t very deep, but after fighting and sweating so much, the blood is smeared all over his face. Sanji rubs it off carefully so not to reopen it. It should heal in a couple of days. 

The bruises, on the other hand, will stick around for a while longer. Having inherited his mother’s pale skin, the dark blotches stand out more viciously. Sanji lays his cooled hands over his side, grateful at least that Ichiji didn’t strike him in the ribs. His brothers are stronger than he is, and this is going to make bending and twisting hurt for a while. 

It’s not the worst he’s ever had. Sanji dips his fingers into the pan, testing the temperature before picking up one of the fillets to eat. The skin holds the flaky fish together, and it tastes delicious. Less is more, Zeff has always taught him, and fish on its own doesn’t need the salt to be tasty. The fresh berries and a few sips of river water wash down the meal. It’s not exactly a five-course dinner in the royal palace, but it tastes better than anything served at that table. 

Sanji sighs and flops down on the grass, kicking his toes in the water and watching the clouds roll by. The trees lean over the river, their foliage almost touching. Birds flock overhead in plentiful numbers, making use of the daylight to breed. 

Soon, the sky will start to grow dark, and it will be time to return to the castle. If he’s lucky, his father and brothers will be too busy to care that he left training early. Best-case, his father denies him supper, and keeps his brothers too busy to bother him later in the evening.  

Sanji doesn’t like eating with his family, anyway. He gets to his feet and cleans up his supplies, bundling them into the sheet, scraping the dirt over top, and rolling the log back into place. He scuffs out the embers of his fire and pats dirt over top. If he walks at a leisurely pace, he’ll reach the castle before the dinner bell rings. Sanji dries his feet in the grass and puts his boots back on, crossing the river the way he came and following it back upstream. 

A strange noise cuts through the forest sounds. Instinctively, Sanji stops walking and ducks down, looking around for the source, heart lurching in his chest. It’s very rare for him to encounter other people in this part of the forest, but not impossible. Don’t find me. Don’t see me. Sanji takes a few more cautious steps toward the noise, moving away from the river bank as he continues to follow it, so that the bushes better conceal him. 

It sounds like panting. Sanji steps even more carefully as the sounds get louder. It sounds like only one person, breathing in short, controlled huffs. The closer he gets, the more audible the pants become. He can hear the whistle of air along with the panting. 

Movement draws his eye. Sanji crouches lower and steps carefully up the bank until he can clearly see the person on the other side of the river. 

It’s just one man, legs spread to form a strong stance and his bare toes gripping the grass. His torso glistens with sweat, tan skin covered in scars. His body faces sideways to Sanji, looking upstream as he punches the air one fist at a time. With each punch, his fist snaps firmly in front with practices precision, and the other returns to his hip, huffing through his mouth and nose with each strike. The sun sits low in the sky, highlighting each curve and groove of muscle, every raised or dipped scar. 

The clear area the man has chosen is surrounded with chopped firewood, an axe resting next to it. The man’s clothes are draped over the pile. 

If he weren’t so out in the open, his bright green hair would blend right in with the forest. It’s green like Yonji’s, but the man’s eyes are focused resolutely forward, completely dedicated to his training routine. Mesmerized, Sanji watches as the man finishes his routine and turns his body to face the river. Three gold earrings catch the fading sunlight – more than that, the giant scar bisecting his chest from left shoulder to right hip, thick and deep and still pink with healing. 

Sanji stops breathing. The wound doesn’t look fully healed, but the man is moving as if it hardly bothers him, stretching with a wince and a yawn, but moving straight into a set of push-ups. Sanji backs away from the river. 

His foot catches on a tree root. Sanji stumbles into the tree behind, and the man stops mid push-up, flicking up his head to stare through the bushes directly at Sanji.  

Sanji rolls around the tree and runs, not caring to find out if the man can even make him out through the shadows. 

Sanji runs as fast as he can. He runs all the way to the edge of the forest, slowing only to slip back between the buildings and into the city. Sanji risks a glance behind him as he merges with the crowd, staring into the shadows between the houses. The man didn't follow him, as far as he can tell. At least not fast enough to have caught up yet. Sanji hurries one street over and puts his head down, dodging the evening guard rotation and crossing through the gates into the castle walls. 

The guard uniform doesn’t look like that. Sanji walks through the inner city toward the castle, thinking back to the man’s clothes draped over that firewood. The guards don’t look like that. The soldiers of Germa endure harsh training regiments, but they just don’t look like that .  

It doesn’t matter. Travellers pass through the Germa kingdom quite often, and the forest is a beautiful place to take refuge. 

What kind of trouble do you have to get yourself into to get a scar like that?  

Trouble Sanji needs to make sure to stay away from. Next time, he’ll remember to keep his eyes peeled, maybe move his camp a mile or so farther downriver. Just to be safe.  

Sanji walks up the steps to the courtyard and strides across the intricate stone, shivering as the shadows cast by the deep evening sun steal away the day’s warmth and swallow him. He walks up the front steps and passes by the guards. The main doors will be shut for the evening soon, and not even moonlight will make its way into the main hall. 

As it is, what remains of the ambient daylight fades into the main hall, casting faint shadows of the pillars across the open space. There is barely enough light to reach the empty throne at the end of the hall. Sanji walks off the red carpet and onto the polished floor. The guard lets him through the side door and into the vast corridors of the castle. 

A few attendants and dignitaries walk among the guards on patrol, giving their Prince little bows as he passes. Sanji can already hear the bustle of dinner being served. 

Hey! ” 

Sanji pauses and looks behind as footsteps thump down the corridor after him, followed by the clatter of armor as guards pursue. 

Hey, stop! ” The guards shout.  

A door bangs open, and a man runs through. The dignitaries move out of the way, and the patrolling soldiers turn to respond, readying their spears, but the man is already racing by. Sanji steps out of the way, watching as a man in leather armor runs by, fear in his eyes. 

A strange look for someone running into the castle. The guards follow, shouting, but the man ignores them as if they don’t exist. Curious, Sanji follows the commotion. 

The chase passes by the dining room doors. Sanji jogs after the group, frowning as the man runs in the direction of the armory – not just the armory, but his father’s collection. Sanji picks up his pace, but by the time he reaches the room, the guards have already chased the man through the double doors and down the steps into the large torch-lit room. 

The stone walls are lined with shelves and boxes displaying any number of items retrieved from conquests; rare items put on display as trophies taken from foes defeated by the Vinsmoke family. Entire cities razed to the ground, leaving nothing but a collection of precious gems and the kingdom’s flag. Decorative weapons, vases, paintings, carvings, and other unique items symbolizing the kingdom, village, or person who used to own it. 

The soldier in charge of dusting the shelves is lying on the ground, and the man is rushing to the far wall, reaching up and wrenching an object from its display before the rest of the guards can tackle him. One swipes of a guard’s sword cuts into the back of the man’s leg, severing the tendon in his knee and felling him. The man goes down with a cry, but keeps his arms wrapped tightly around the object. 

Sanji moves through the guards and they step aside to let him through. 

Blood pools on the stone as the man sobs and clutches the white katana as the guards try to wrest it away from him. Sanji has no doubt that there are people who would be willing to kill to retrieve some of these items, and Sanji wouldn’t blame them for it. But the look in that man’s eyes is one of fear, not of rage. 

The sword doesn’t belong to him. 

It must be a new addition to the collection, because Sanji doesn’t recognize it since his father last brought the princes down here a few weeks ago. 

No! ” the man shrieks as the guards manage to tear the katana out of his hands, reaching with desperately to try to snatch it back. One of the guards stomps on his hand, crushing it into the ground. The man cries out in pain, but it doesn’t stop him from reaching. “No , I made a mistake! Please, let me speak to the king!” 

“You made a mistake by breaking into the royal vault,” the guard explains. “To take what belongs to the king is an offense punishable to the highest order. Beg for your life and hope he takes pity on you by leaving you to live in eternal servitude instead.” 

“Please!” the man wails, fighting to get his legs under him. The guard kicks him to the ground before his injured leg has a chance to collapse under him. He goes down in a sobbing heap, blubbering pleas that fall on uncaring ears. 

Nobody in their right mind would charge into the king’s private collection. And to know about it in the first place... Sanji opens his mouth. 

“What’s going on down here?” Judge descends the staircase, the other three princes just behind. 

“This man attempted to steal this from your collection, Highness.” The other guards make way so the one holding the sword can offer it up with a bow.  

Judge glances as Sanji as he lifts the sword to inspect it. He runs his hand along the sheath in search of damage.  

“Please...” the man moans, crawling on the ground and reaching for Judge’s boot. His leg trails behind, leaving a bloody streak. “Please! You must listen!” 

Judge makes no move to move his foot – a guard spears through the man’s hand and pins it to the rock before he has to. The king stares down at the man and hands the sword off to another guard. “You bring me this gift, and then you try to steal it back?” he asks coldly. 

“No!” he man wails. “No, I made a mistake! The sword isn't mind to give!” 

“You had no problem with that when you gave it to me. You are a thief, are you not?” 

“I didn’t know!” the man screams. “I didn’t know! He’ll come for you!” 

Yonji laughs. 

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Judge replies calmly. “I would worry about your own skin. You tried to steal from your king, and whoever tries to steal this sword from me will meet the same fate that you are about to meet.” 

The guard pulls the spear from the thief’s hand, and Judge steps back. His three sons waiting behind him are already moving in with anticipation, grabbing the thief off the floor and wrenching him to his feet. Sanji backs out of their way, but Judge’s hand lands on his shoulder and squeezes tightly. 

“Go with them,” he orders. 

Sanji looks up. His mother was tall, but his father is taller still, towering over everyone in the room. The only warmth present in his eyes is the torch flame flickering in them. Sanji finds himself stuck in place. 

Ichiji grabs his other arm, tightening around his bicep and dragging him away from their father and after the other two. 

Sanji knows very well where they’re headed, and he wants no part of it. He wants to dig in his heels, beg and plead to be left out of this. Instead, he stumbles along beside Ichiji, watching as the thief is dragged in front of him, blood dripping from his ruined leg and his pierced hand. 

The hallways grow darker, the torches placed at less frequency intervals. The smell of blood grows only stronger. Sanji coughs as it starts to settle in his throat, his brothers’ laughter echoing down the long hallways. The thief screams when he recovers the breath, whimpering in between. He struggles fruitlessly between the Vinsmoke princes. 

Ichiji takes a torch from the wall, dragging Sanji with him. The other two hang back to let them pass, Ichiji leading them down the staircase and lighting the torches as he goes. 

The dungeons are much deeper than the vault. The air is cold and musty, and the smell of blood is wretched. Sanji holds his hand over his mouth, and Ichiji sneers at him in the darkness, tightening his grip so hard Sanji winces as fingers dig into his bicep. The thief continues to shriek and moan as he’s dragged along behind. 

If Sanji were a braver man, he would grab the spear from the nearest guard they pass by, turn around, and kill the thief himself. 

The cells are mostly empty. Ichiji takes a set of keys from the guard and bangs them on the cell bars as he passes. The occupants flinch, all except one, whose slumped form doesn’t stir. 

“Shame.” Ichiji gestures the guard but doesn’t linger, walking right by. Sanji is glad he doesn’t have time to get a good look at the body before it’s out of sight.  

The brothers have their sights set on something much more interesting than wasting prisoners. Ichiji doesn’t stop until they reach the final cell. He unlocks it and lights the torch on the wall, shoving Sanji into the corner. 

The floor is splattered with many layers of blood dried over each other. Sanji doesn’t even dare touch the walls because he knows it’s splattered there too. The thief is dragged in, the brothers lining him up in the center of the room and shoving him to his knees. Niji and Yonji grab an arm each, locking thick shackles to his wrists and looping the connected chains through rings on either wall. 

The brothers pull hard, straining the thief until his arms are stretched out on either side of him, muscles straining. The brothers lock the chains links to the rings on the floor, and Ichiji lifts the coiled whips from the hook on the wall. He lets the leather uncoil, and it smacks to the floor, dragging along as he steps up. Niji draws a knife and slices off the thief’s clothes without caring much about cutting skin, too. Sanji glances at the exit, but Yonji is already on his way over, standing in the way of escape. 

“Perhaps if you’d begged for forgiveness, you could have saved yourself this fate.” Ichiji grabs the thief by the throat and lifts his head. 

“Please...” the thief splutters, but that fear in his eyes was there long before the Vinsmokes got their hands on him. 

“Beg.” Ichiji growls, loosening his grip just enough for the man to speak. 

“Please...” the thief coughs again. “Please! He’ll come for you!” 

Ichiji smiles cruelly. “I’d like to meet any man who think he can stand a chance alone against the Germa kingdom and the Vinsmoke family. Such doubt in the strength of your king is almost enough to call treason.” 

The thief chokes out a crazed laugh. The fear never leaves his eyes, but his bloodied lips curl into a smile. “When he comes, your strength will be tested. Are you prepared, Warrior Princes of the Vinsmoke Family?” 

Ichiji’s eyebrow twitched and his jaw flexes, his hands tightening on the whip and the thief’s throat both. “Evidently his strength isn’t formidable enough for his name to reach us.” 

The thief opens his mouth, his eyes glazing over as he stares past Ichiji, past the cell, and into a world that only he can see. If he was going to say something though, Ichiji cuts him off, hopping over the thief’s strung-up arms and raising the whip. Sanji looks away, but he hears the leather split flesh, and the chains rattle as the man strains them and screams. 

Ichiji grunts as he brings down the whip over and over again. The whip cracks with each strike, and the man screams over and over again. Now, he begs for mercy, but it’s too late. 

“My turn.” Yonji pushes off the wall and grabs greedily for the whip. Ichiji is reluctant to give it up, but he lets his brother have a turn, joining the others by the cell door to watch. Yonji is just as forceful. Sanji can cover his eyes at least, but he can’t block out the screaming. 

Splatters of blood fly off the whip and cover his arms. They dot his shirt, incriminating him. All he would have to do to end this man’s suffering is deliver a strong kick to the throat, break his neck. End it. Niji swaps with Yonji, and the man’s screams grow hoarse, forced out of him though his body grows weary. Blood rolls off his body and drips into the puddle forming around his knees – Sanji can hear it dripping. 

“Hey Sanji,” Ichiji whispers in his ear, making him flinch. His brother’s arm grips him where it did before, digging into the forming bruises. “Want a turn?” 

“Yeah, it’s your turn.” Niji holds out the whip and Yonji takes it, offering the handle out to Sanji. 

The leather is smeared with blood, and the whip leaves trails of it on the floor as Yonji brings it over. Sanji stares at it, not daring to look up in case he gets too good of a look at the thief slumped and moaning from his chains. 

He could take the whip, walk behind the man and wrap the coils around his neck. Pull hard enough, and death would be quick. He can’t make his arm lift up to take the whip. Yonji sighs with frustration and grabs his wrist, shoving the whip into his hand, but Sanji’s fingers are too limp and the handle slips out of them. The whip falls to the floor. 

“Fine.” Yonji picks up the whip. “I’ll take your turn then.” 

“Good thing you don’t run the kingdom,” Ichiji laughs, shaking Sanji by his arm. “You’d let the whole place get overrun.” 

“Sanji is weak. And a coward. What’s new?” Yonji lifts the whip. Sanji turns away again. The whip comes down, striking wetly as it cuts through the torn flesh. 

The man lurches his head upright with a scream. “He’ll come for you! ” 

Sanji flinches as Yonji strikes again. “Shut up!” Yonji growls. 

The whip cracks and the man screams again, blood gurgling in his throat and his voice hoarse. “He’ll come! ” 

Again, the whip comes down. And again, the man screams. 

The Demon of the East will come for you! ” 

“Let him come!” Yonji howls. “I’ll kill him myself and dump his corpse on top of yours! ” 

Ichiji’s grip loosens for just a moment, and Sanji takes his chance, wrenching his arm free and stumbling backwards, running out of the cell. 

“Scared of some thief’s nightmare?” Ichiji calls after him, but nobody follows. The brothers just laugh, their laughter chasing him down the dim hallways chased shortly by a sickening scream. Sanji doesn’t stop. 

The laughter echos, and the screams continue even after the whip cracks stop. Sanji lunges up the dungeon steps two at a time, clutching his ears. Even after the sounds are no longer audible, he can still hear them ringing in his head. Sanji runs all the way through the castle, into his room, and shuts the door. 

Notes:

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