A thick layer of dark red volcanic rock covered the surface of the volcanic island. The instant a foot touched down, searing heat penetrated the soles of the specially made leather shoes. Even specially treated materials could not fully insulate against the waves of heat from the magma churning underground.
The air reeked of pungent sulfur mixed with fine volcanic ash. Every breath felt like swallowing scorching grit, sending waves of dry, stinging pain through the depths of the throat. Thick black smoke slowly rose from the enormous crater at the island's center, trailing a twisted, ink-black streak across the gray sky. It was a sign of magma surging wildly underground, as though a blazing torrent might burst through the crust the very next second and swallow the entire island.
Strangely shaped basalt formations left by an eruption a thousand years ago littered the ground. Tempered by the passage of time, this solidified magma was as hard as refined steel, its edges sharp as blades. Through cracks in many of the rocks, dark red magma could still be seen flowing below. Faint flames flickered in the fissures, and occasionally a scalding bubble rose with a soft pop before bursting, releasing scorching sulfurous vapor that traced a fleeting white streak through the air.
Sanji stood on a relatively flat plain of volcanic rock on the island's eastern side, a lit cigarette held between the index and middle fingers of his right hand. Pale blue smoke rose perfectly straight through the stagnant hot air without the slightest waver-the air here was so hot it seemed almost solid, and even the wind had been roasted until it lost the strength to move. He still wore his signature black suit, his collar neatly fastened, never allowing himself the slightest lapse even in this desperate