(A/N)

If any of you noticed that chapter eleven was slightly darker than pretty much everything before it, prepare… for some WHIPLASH!

(End A/N)

Letting out a sigh of content, Gnarl cheerily set his teacup on the table. Across from him sat Giblet, who was tentatively sipping from his own cup's steamy tongue-scalding contents.

"Isn't it positively wonderful to enjoy some nice, hot tea after a long day of effort, Giblet?" Slightly worn from the long trek down the stairs to the ever-warm Spawning Pits, the elderly Minion's slightly sweaty skin glistened in the bright candlelight.

"Ow! Yes, relaxing! Ai!"

One of the servants walked through the door with a wide smile, carrying a tray of baked goods and a steaming teapot. As she set about refilling Gnarl's cup, he continued to marvel. "Muffins! Mm, positively scrumptious muffins! You've outdone yourself this time, eh… Maid #5!"

"#3, Gnarl, sir!" Cheerily correcting him, the woman beamed and left the room.

"Shame to my old bones; I can't get the maids straight! I must be growing senile in my old Evil days!" With a grin, Gnarl ate another piece of the muffin. "Not enough to retire, though! Say, Giblet, any ideas on how to get the Tower Heart working like a little girl promised she'd get a pony if she tended the pumpkin patch?"

"Methods escape me, Heart confusing." Managing to consume a muffin without sending crumbs everywhere while speaking, Giblet responded with a similarly gleeful tone. "Where Quaver? Maybe he have idea!"

"Oh, that rascally ol' troublemaker? I've had him in a large hamster wheel connected to the Tower Heart ever since he made that crack about my ears! Of course, I neglected to mention when he could stop running! Oh ho ho ho ho!"

"Ah ha ha ha- ow hot hot!"

"Do be careful, young Giblet!" Jolly, the old Minion leaned back in his chair. "Things would be a lot easier if trinkets such as giant hamster wheels helped power the Tower Heart, eh? Almost make it too easy!"

"Giblet fine with easy!"

"Aha, but in order to be Evil, we must allow Good to have a chance, so there's something to compare us against to make us seem as Evil as we really are! If we were too powerful and vanquished all Good, we wouldn't be Evil by comparison! Such a funny thing, oh ho- …"

"Ah ha ha- something wrong?"

"It… just… why in the blazes are we laughing? We're Evil Minions, not pansy royalty on a balcony! Get these, these sparkles away from me!" Aggravated, the old Minion swatted at the seemingly ambient pink-and-yellow motes of light that had been surrounding his head. "Who has been tampering with the bloody Happy Ball!"

Instead of the usual obscenities, the Marine instructor called out: "Straighten those backs, men! Sweat like you mean it! Get that decking back together before noon, and maybe the captain will let you out on the town!"

The instructor's superior couldn't help but smile; the bright, cheery morning's contagious happiness had spread throughout the men, even the laziest of the slackers working to repair the damage inflicted by pirates.

Adjusting the course slightly, Vonvarr himself was affected by the morning glee; he hadn't felt so refreshed for some time. Though, it was slightly strange; for some reason, his body felt sluggish, as though it was carrying the burden of recovering from some extreme damage.

While he was thinking, one of his Sergeants clapped him on the back. "Don' look so thoughtful, sir! Enjoy the mornin' like any ol' pal, it'a do your body some good!"

His worries cast aside, Vonvarr grinned and shrugged off his coat as he grabbed a pint of grog from a tray that was being carried by. Smoothly, the scene changed from the ship in a bay to a pleasant pub, filled with wide grins and massive… laughter on the serving women.

A dark, dark place; she felt weak and without any strength, mental or physical. She'd not felt this bad for many, many years and the mere return of the helplessness was almost as terrifying the feeling itself.

Curling into an even smaller ball, she floated in a sea of images, ever-changing and ever-horrifying, and each time she caught a glimpse of one her mind felt like it was under a great pressure and her lungs struggled to bring in air.

Though the horror was declining on average, it spiked whenever she saw an image; she couldn't close her eyes, as they were frozen open to stare t nothing and everything as the images of a pure power, untouchable yet moldable, floated aimlessly around her.

Images, she knew for some reason, which were directly related to, if not images of, the force that came with the man who fell from the sky.

"It's been getting worse, huh?"

Grimly nodding, the chef looked at the archaeologist. Though she'd been mostly inanimate, Robin had gradually become more active while unconscious; from the murmuring before Sanji had gone after Steve, now to heavy breathing laced with an occasional unintelligible exclamation.

Contemplative, the swordsman on the opposite side of the bed crossed his arms. "Wouldn't think she'd to be the type to have nightmares like this."

"She's not the type to have nightmares like this! It's all that man's fault, wracking her illustrious mind and beautiful body with his magic and wavy aura-presence thing!"

"If she was close to the source of that pulse… I certainly don't envy her." Reaching a conclusion, Zoro nodded and began walking out of the room.

"What are you going to do?"

"Going to try waking everyone else again."

"But that didn't work a few minutes ago, how would it be different now?"

"Because this time," he said with a smile and raising of a clenched fist, "I'll be much less nice about it."

Not-so-silently clonking, the Giant Slayer thought to himself about his predicament. He'd nearly been killed, which was bad. He'd been kept alive, which is good. He was following a spirit-like being down a pitch black stairway that lead into the main area of the island which he had just left not long before, which was… less than ideal, but not exactly bad. He had remembered to remove his helmet before going down the stairs, which was good. His armor still twitched of its own accord every few minutes, which would potentially be very, very bad if he was knocked off balance and down the steps.

In fact, just as the thought crossed his mind, the damaged portion over his abdomen seized and sent him sprawling down the stairs. Thankfully for Steve, the Leaderess seemed to have retained some reflexes and moved out of his way as he rolled by, preventing a burst of heavy spasms to accompany his passing.

Far too many moments later, the Most Overconfident Master's helmet rolled down the steps and bumped against his skull, which was attached to a body that once again had to undergo the Health Regeneration system trying to mend minor internal fractures.

"Was that an attempt to try and improve my conception of you? If so, then… I'd give you a three. Out of ten. And that's only because you managed a neat spin after-"

"That… was not… intentional!"

"Oh? Even that airborne bit right before you bounced off the top of the stairwell?"

Waiting for the spasms to stop completely, the current Overlord put his helmet back on ignored the dead woman, instead looking around the room. Though the light coming through the roof had dwindled since he left, there was still plenty to see with, and he could see that the room was just as vast as before, fading to shadow wherever he looked.

"Now that we're here, I've just got to know: why is there a damned hole in my roof?"

"Forgot… to ask…" Clenching his teeth, the Wench Bane pushed himself off the ground and rose to his feet, staggering for a step before regaining his full balance. "Which way?"

"Follow. You'd better fix that hole later." Following the wall, the entity turned right from the stairway and hovered away at a semi-rapid pace.

With a grunt, the Duke of Domination followed with a slight limp.

Grins a plenty, the crew of the Bucket started their third consecutive drinking contest, this time between the champions from each Squad. The winner would then go against Sergeant 'B', who had held the crew's position of Best Liquor Holder for over three years.

Having been eliminated pretty early on, Vonvarr reclined on a chair with his men, egging on his most durable subordinates as they downed stein after mug, bucket after pitcher. Although the best cheer he managed was probably a slurred holler, he still tried.

Sergeant Baldrick, Vonvarr's most trusted subordinate and second-in-command, rubbed his pained jaw as he listened to the rest of the men rising from the deck of the Bucket. Turning to survey the bruised and broken bunch, the sergeant had decided what was to be done. "All right, men!"

Still moaning in agony, the heads of the Marines turned to the leader of Second Squad, who grimaced.

"We're obviously extremely outmatched! Therefore, I'm declaring this to be a special circumstance assignment from here on! Yes, Jackson, that means we get those out. Make sure everybody gets one, and that they perform any maintenance necessary! Roland, get to the helm and get us back to that ship, pronto! Oxburg, ready the specialty rounds for the cannons, just in case." With orders delivered and received, the crew staggered about completing their tasks. Near the stern, Baldrick winced and put a hand back over his sore jaw and contemplated the various plans Vonvarr had drilled into him.

Snarling at his own laziness, the Marine captain violently shoved himself off the ground, clutching at his head with one hand. He felt like he'd been thrown off a balcony, only if the ground below that balcony was covered in swords and hammers of every shape and size, and he'd been blasted downwards from the balcony by a cannon. And he'd been stabbed beforehand. Right after half his bones were broken. But not before his beautiful suit was pummeled to shreds by angry boxers with stone gloves.

Unsteadily raising himself back to his feet, Vonvarr checked his wounds- everything was sore, but the bleeding had seemingly stopped- which was by itself something abnormal, since Vonvarr was certain he would have bled to death- yet there he was, gasping in pain and not complaining that he was still alive.

Though he was slightly weak from the blood loss, it wasn't as bad as it should have been. Looking towards the sun, his mouth split in a grin- not much time had passed, but the 'Steve' guy was already gone. Both weapons also; he had probably taken them.

Finally getting around to looking around the area, his morale sank immediately; all of First Squad, except for himself and one other, was burned beyond recognition. Even the guns they once held were warped, presumably from the same heat that caused the giant charred circle they were strewn around.

The other Marine was collapsed a few feet from where Vonvarr had been. He recognized him, as he made a point of knowing all his subordinates: Seaman Wilbert, one of the relatively newer recruits. Prioritizing the still-breathing Wilbert over the burnt remains of First Squad, the captain knelt at his man's side.

His grief only increased as he saw that Wilbert's face was not of a sane person, maybe not even the face of a man with any mind at all. His eyes were rolled back, and were watering; his mouth agape, with small choking noises as his possibly damaged brain tried to keep the body alive in vain. The occasional twitch racked the man's body, and he still clutched tightly to his bayoneted rifle.

Feeling very, very vengeful, Captain Vonvarr gently pried the rifle from his beyond gone comrade, as well as its spare ammunition. He felt like venting frustration, and he knew just the person to do so on, as he looked at his fallen men before following the bloodstained footsteps of a man in armor.

"What… is this?"

"Part of a plan," Levitating in front of a depression in the wall, the entity traced the carvings in the stone with one hand. "You read at least some of the Records, didn't you?"

"Yes, though I don't recall them mention-"

"They would not. He wasn't aware of this; the plan was devised between the most senior advisers and I while the Leader was out being a menace to society. I'm not sure if he knew or not, but the… this island was sinking into the ocean."

"I… remember something about a receding beach."

"That was only a small, obvious part. Though it seemed to have landed on a shallow part of the ocean, the land was still soil; it absorbed water, slowly took on more weight and slowly the bottom crumbled. Before I was sealed into the sarcophagus, there was still quite a fair amount of land between the shoreline and everything else."

"But now?"

"After I got out of the sarcophagus, I immediately descended. This structure… before, there might have been a way to preserve it. Seal the dungeons, something. Now, I'm glad to see that Knot managed to finish this emergency plan."

"… Eh?"

"You'll find out later. For now, I'll instruct you in a way you'll understand: Put. Magic. In. Hole." After a moment of thought, "Twit."

Grumbling, Steve did as he was told. Reacting to the mana, the carvings glowed brightly and the light spread along the walls, illuminating a section of it.

A tone of relief entered the entity's previously emotionless voice. "Splendid… very good, we have several dozen more to do."

"Several-I don't have enough mana for that!"

"Man up, Princess. Several dozen more to go."

"I take it there wasn't much luck."

In response, the swordsman showed the knuckles of one hand; they looked as though he'd been punching something metallic. "Franky is sleeping very heavily, and doesn't take kindly to rude awakenings. In fact, I think he was still asleep when he shot at me. Nobody else even got that far."

"Crap. So, what'll we do in the mean time?"

A glance at the bed showed that Robin had not improved a great deal. Facing the chef, Zoro answered. "I've been doing some thinking. You?"

"Of course."

"If Steve's magic is what caused this, then there are two possible things that might help. Staying far away from magic, or finding Steve and seeing if he knows any way to help her."

"Right. But if we go back to the island, we'll be bringing everyone back into contact with the magic-"

"-Which may make it even worse. So, I've come up with two possible solutions."

"Two solutions? Best I've got is that one of us stays with the crew while the other returns to the island to find that armored bastard."

"That's my first choice. My second, and far less preferable, is that I knock you unconscious and take the entire ship back to the island." Not pausing for an angered retort from Sanji, Zoro continued. "I'd prefer option A, you're too stubborn to stay down. Now, I can't decide on who stays here and who goes back."

Frowning, Sanji looked to the ceiling; even he didn't feel like putting the challenge into an insult. "Well, you can't go because you'd get lost."

"You can't go, because you're harboring a grudge against the guy that might be able to help, and would probably lose control when you saw him. And you certainly can't stay aboard because, quite frankly, I'm not entirely sure you can be trusted alone with these two while they're unconscious."

"Are you insinuating that I would-"

A sheathed blade found itself bearing the weight of the swordsman's hand. "We don't have time for that. We should get the boat close enough to the island that it's an easy jump across."

Gritting his teeth, Sanji glared at the swordsman. "Fine. But why are you giving orders all of a sudden?"

"With Luffy out, I have seniority."

"That's a load of-"

"And, we'd never be able to live it down or live with ourselves if some kind of permanent damage occurred to her," he gestured towards the sleeping woman, "or any other member of the crew."

The chef also knew he wouldn't live down admitting defeat to Zoro, but he didn't have much else in the way of choice.

"Also, you're coming with me on the island."

"What? Why?"

"Like I said, you probably couldn't be trusted alone with these two."

"You son of a-"

"Greater good. Remember, greater good."

Growling, Sanji took several deep breaths. "Greater good. Okay, fine. For the ladies. All right."

"… Curlef."

"Curlef? Curl… ef, che- you lookin' for a fight?"

Slamming to the ground with a roll, Vonvarr's legs immediately declared war against his mind and began an attrition of agony. Unable to stand for several minutes, he seriously reconsidered his decision to take the short way by jumping down a hole in the ground.

Once he was able to stagger back to his feet, he still had no idea of where to go; despite having guarded the island for a majority of his time as a Marine, he'd never been inside. Nobody had managed to find a safe way to get in that didn't have a chance of damaging its potential contents, and as a consequence the Marines had no idea of what said contents may be.

Whatever they were expecting, a vast and empty chamber certainly wasn't on Vonvarr's list. He'd been guessing it held something more along the lines of glittering mounds of treasure, not dust and rodent feces.

Taking Wilbert's rifle back in hand, he closed his eyes and concentrated heavily on sound. It took several moments, but he could hear the distinct noise of bent and damaged metal plates scraping against one another.

Remembering those who had been roasted alive and the one who had had his mind torn asunder, the captain tightened his grip on the rifle and half-staggered, half-limped towards where he thought the scraping emanated from.

Alongside Quaver in the Wheel Room now ran two of the servants and a Red, as well as a Green thrown in to make everybody else's day worse while it sweated, courtesy of Gnarl and his irritation at the two humans and Minion who had been directly responsible for dropping the Happy Ball. Unfortunately, however, said Happy Ball's activation mechanism was slightly damaged from the fall, and its effects were wearing off… rather slowly.

"Miss #6, I would kindly like ano- agh! #6! Get me another damned muffin! And a sheep! And a club to hit the damned sheep with! And if you would be so kind, could you bring me one of those positively delightful cups- GAH!"

(A/N)

It was way too much fun writing that first part. And yes, this was released two weeks early; I'm sure none of you are terribly riled about that. Thirteen will still be updated at the beginning of March, provided I can blast through it like I did this one.

Arse-Pullatorium- I MEAN ANSWERS TO THINGS THAT YOU MAY HAVE WONDERED ABOUT

Q: Dude… do you, like, hate Robin and Steve?

A: Actually, Robin is one of my favorite characters. Steve? He's the protagonist, practically obligated by contract to always have a bad day.

Q: Everything else?

A: MAGIC.

(End A/N)