The Consortium's hidden harbor was bathed in the golden haze of twilight as the submarine breached the surface of the secluded cove, its obsidian hull glistening under the cascading wisteria blossoms that draped the cliffs like royal curtains. Vaughn emerged first, stretching his arms wide as if embracing the island's familiar lavender-and-cedar scent. "Home sweet haunted library," he quipped, his dreads swaying as he tossed a grin over his shoulder.
Charlie stumbled out next, clutching a singed scroll case to his chest like a newborn, his glasses askew. "Do you realize what we just retrieved from Germa's vaults? This could rewrite the entire timeline of the Void Century! Well, if the encryption isn't booby-trapped, which, statistically speaking—"
"Charlie," Marya interrupted, her voice flat but her lips twitching, "breathe. And maybe stop waving Germa's classified schematics in front of Knox's guards." She stepped onto the dock, her boots silent against the weathered wood, the obsidian blade sheathed in her hand—Eternal Eclipse—casting jagged shadows that seemed to devour the sunset's glow. The inky veins crawling up her arms pulsed faintly, a souvenir from Yggdrasil's void prison.
Knox Penrose, his handlebar mustache twitching with disapproval, materialized from the shadows of a nearby cargo crate. "Zola's gonna have a field day with those schematics," he drawled, eyeing Charlie's scroll before turning to Marya. His gaze narrowed. "And you. What in the seven seas did you do to your sword? And why do you look like a walking inkblot test?"
Vaughn sidestepped between them, hands raised in mock surrender. "Relax, Captain Curmudgeon. The blade's just… upgraded. Void magic, ancient curses, the usual Tuesday."
"Upgraded?" Knox snatched Eternal Eclipse's hilt, yelped as the crimson runes flared, and dropped it. The blade clattered, cleaving the dock plank beneath it into a fissure that hissed with black smoke. "That's an upgrade?!"
"Told you it's moody," Marya muttered, reclaiming the sword. The veins on her arms darkened briefly, as if offended.
Natalie chose that moment to barrel through the crowd, her blond curls frizzing like an agitated dandelion. "Marya! Let me see those arms—no, don't you dare flex, I know void corrosion when I smell it!" She seized Marya's wrist, squinting at the creeping black tendrils. "Pulse erratic… pupils dilated… and you've been swinging a reality-rending sword?!" She whirled on Vaughn. "You! Team Lead! Explain why she's not quarantined!"
Charlie adjusted his glasses, suddenly scholarly. "Actually, the void's interaction with Devil Fruit energies is poorly documented, so this is a fascinating case study—"
"Fascinating?!" Natalie's voice hit a pitch that startled nearby seagulls into flight. "She's cursed, not a museum exhibit! All three of you—infirmary. Now. And someone confiscate that sword before it eats the archives!"
Marya groaned. "Nat, it's fine. The voices only whisper on Tuesdays."
"Voices?!"
The dock erupted into pandemonium. Knox, his handlebar mustache quivering like an agitated caterpillar, jabbed a finger at the fissure still smoking in the dock's planks. "Hazard report! Now! And someone get a mop for that… that void goo seeping into the river!" Behind him, two junior guards scrambled, one dropping a clipboard into the water with a splash.
Charlie, meanwhile, had unfurled the Germa scroll like a treasure map, his glasses flashing as he stabbed at a diagram of a glowing Skypiean glyph. "But don't you see? The precedent here is clear! In 712, the priests of Upper Yard used soul-splitting rituals to contain a rogue storm cloud—technically, Marya's condition is just a scaled-up metaphysical analog—" A gust of wind caught the scroll, nearly whacking a passing scholar in the face.
Vaughn, ever the diplomat, sidestepped a puddle of suspiciously iridescent seawater and brandished a velvet box under Natalie's nose. "C'mon, Nat. Salted almond truffles. Your favorite. Think of it as a… preemptive apology for whatever the void curse does next."
Natalie swatted the chocolates away, her voice climbing an octave. "Bribery? Really?!"
"Mitigation!" Vaughn corrected, ducking as she lunged for the box. "It's a tactical mitigation!"
Marya leaned against a lamppost, arms crossed, watching her sword's shadow writhe like a caged eel. "For the record," she drawled, "the 'void goo' is just condensed dark matter. Harmless. Mostly."
"Mostly?!" Knox and Natalie roared in unison.
It was Master Gaius Vesper who finally punctured the bedlam. He materialized from a cloud of cherry-scented pipe smoke, his tattered yukata flapping in the breeze. Without breaking stride, he plucked the Germa scroll from Charlie's grip and rolled it shut with a thwack. "Ah, youth," he sighed, tucking the scroll into his obi. "So much fuss over a little curse. Back in my day, we'd toss quarrelsome blades into the arboretum and let 'em duel it out. Solved the problem and pruned the hedges. Less paperwork."
The group froze. Natalie's outstretched hand hovered mid-swipe at Vaughn's chocolates. Knox's mustache twitched indignantly. Even Eternal Eclipse paused its shadowy squirming, as if listening.
Gaius grinned, tapping his kiseru pipe against Marya's cursed arm. The black veins recoiled slightly. "Tell the librarians I want that scroll copied before dinner. And, Vaughn?" He plucked a truffle from the box, popping it into his mouth. "Next time, try dark chocolate. Better for the nerves."
As he ambled away, humming off-key, the chaos dissolved into grudging chuckles. Knox muttered something about "old coots and their death traps," while Natalie finally snatched the chocolates, glaring at Vaughn. "You're all on bed rest. With hourly vitals checks."
Marya smirked, hoisting Eternal Eclipse onto her shoulder. The blade's runes flickered, casting a faint red glow on Gaius's retreating back. "Arboretum, huh? Might be fun."
"Don't even think about it," Knox growled.
As Natalie herded the protesting trio toward the infirmary, Marya caught Knox's eye. He nodded once, gruff but relieved, and tossed her a smirk. "Try not to corrupt the medical wing. Hanna just restocked the bandages."
The Consortium's infirmary was a symphony of pastel absurdity. Marya lay sprawled across a bed piled with enough silk cushions to smother a sea-king; her void-etched arms propped on a heart-shaped pillow. Natalie had gone full overkill: lavender-scented candles flickered on every surface, and a chalkboard behind her desk listed "Void Curse Symptoms" in looping cursive, including "Excessive Brooding" and "Inappropriate Sword Humming."
"This isn't imprisonment," Natalie repeated for the tenth time, adjusting Marya's pulse monitor with the intensity of a bomb technician. "It's monitoring. With… ambiance."
Marya poked at the black veins creeping up her wrist. They shimmered faintly, as if annoyed by the frilly décor. Across the room, Vaughn and Charlie huddled over Germa's stolen blueprints, their whispers crescendoing into a debate about cyborg cloning ethics.
"But hypothetically," Charlie hissed, crumbs from smuggled caramel corn tumbling onto the schematics, "if you replicated a mind, would the clone inherit the original's debts? Think of the legal ramifications—"
Vaughn snorted. "Germa's lawyers are probably half-cyborg. Explains the soulless eyes." He lobbed a caramel kernel at Marya. "Admit it. Lounging here beats getting shot at by Judge's trigger-happy kids."
Marya caught the kernel midair. "At least clones don't force you into floral pajamas." She gestured to her outfit—a humiliating ensemble of lilac silk covered in embroidered bunnies holding swords.
Natalie glared. "They're therapeutic."
The door burst open with a theatrical gasp. Harper stood framed in the doorway, his green hair artfully tousled and a silk scarf billowing behind him like a cape. His eyes swept over the trio—Marya's cursed arms, Vaughn's battle-scorched dreads, Charlie's caramel-dusted lab coat—and he clutched his chest as if struck.
"Sweet mother of fashion crimes," Harper moaned. "You look like you wrestled a kraken in a trash compactor! Vaughn, darling, your hair has its own ecosystem. And Marya—those veins! Are you trying to look like a haunted inkwell?"
Charlie adjusted his glasses. "Actually, the void's aesthetic could be considered avant-garde—"
"Silence, professor disaster!" Harper snapped, brandishing a sparkly clipboard. "Emergency spa intervention. Now. I'll not let my fiancé's team resemble swamp ghouls before the gala."
Vaughn paled. "Wait, spa? Last time you 'moisturized' me, I smelled like a mango for weeks—"
"Mangoes are timeless!" Harper declared, snapping his fingers. Two burly attendants materialized, hauling Vaughn and Charlie off the couch. Marya tried to bolt, but Natalie blocked the door, syringe in hand.
"Doctor's orders," she said sweetly. "Spa is rest. And Harper promised to exfoliate your… eldritch residue."
As Harper herded his victims down the hall, Vaughn's protests echoed: "I'd rather fight a hundred clones!"
"Too late, sunshine!" Harper trilled. "Your scalp's about to meet mermaid shimmer!"
Marya glanced at her cursed veins, which pulsed ominously. "This'll end in fire."
"Or glitter," Charlie mused. "Lots of glitter."
Natalie sighed, scribbling a note: Prescription: 10-hour post-spa coma.
Later, in "The Uninvited Spa Day"...
The spa's exterior was a vision of serenity—bamboo walls draped in jasmine vines, a trickling stone fountain, and paper lanterns casting soft golden light. A sign hung on the door: "Harmony Within, Guaranteed."
Inside, however, chaos reigned.
Marya perched on a teakwood stool, her face slathered in a mud mask that shimmered an eerie turquoise. The concoction, infused with "spiritual algae" according to Harper, made the void veins on her arms pulse like bioluminescent squid ink. "Is throbbing normal?!" she growled, eyeing her reflection in a gilded mirror. Her veins now cycled through colors—neon green, violet, and an ominous crimson—as if her curse had discovered disco.
Beside her, Celeste stood frozen, clutching a tray of crystal rollers. Harper had roped her into being his "aesthetic consultant," a role that involved mostly panicking. Her silver bob was now topped with a headband shaped like a lotus flower, and her katana, leaned against a wall, replaced by a pastel-colored "aura comb."
The tranquility shattered when Riggs burst through the shoji screen, his shaggy blond hair wild and eyes alight with purpose. "Oi, Marya! Heard you needed blade maintenance!" He brandished a jar of coconut oil, mistaking the low massage table for a whetstone station. Before anyone could stop him, he'd unsheathed Eternal Eclipse and begun slathering the obsidian blade.
"STOP!" Marya lunged, mud mask cracking. "That's a divine artifact, not a cuticle!"
The sword hummed in protest, its crimson runes flaring. A discordant note in D minor reverberated through the room, rattling the crystal rollers. Celeste squeaked, ducking as a stray void-mist tendril lashed out, singeing a bamboo wall panel.
Across the room, Vaughn sat rigid in a velvet salon chair, his dreads wrapped in tin foil. Harper paced behind him, clutching a color wheel and muttering about "seasonal undertones." When the foil was peeled back, Vaughn's hair gleamed a radioactive neon pink.
"You said subtle highlights!" Vaughn yelped, staring at his reflection. "I look like a flamingo wrestled a rainbow!"
Harper gasped, clutching his pearls. "You've ruined my color theory! This clashes with your soul's palette!" He flung the color wheel, which nailed Riggs in the forehead mid-coconut-oil stroke.
In the corner, Knox reclined on a massage table, his face a mask of suffering. Hanna had guilt-tripped him into a couples' "crystal rejuvenation" session. Now, his prized handlebar mustache sparkled with tiny adhesive stars. "Not. A. Word," he rumbled to a snickering guard outside. The glitter, however, softened his usual scowl into something resembling a grumpy constellation.
By nightfall, the spa resembled a glitter bomb's aftermath. Hallways sparkled with escaped bath salts, and the air smelled of lavender and poor decisions. Natalie's "prescribed" 10-hour nap had KO'd most of the crew—Charlie snored under a mountain of heated towels, Riggs was passed out with coconut oil still in his hair, and even Harper had collapsed onto a chaise, murmuring about "chromatic betrayal."
Only Marya remained awake, her void veins dimmed to a soft indigo. She leaned against a balcony railing, Eternal Eclipse humming contentedly next to her. Below, the Consortium's river glinted, its golden flecks mirroring the stars now twinkling in Knox's mustache.
"Hmph," she smirked, picking a glittery star from her sleeve. "Maybe chaos isn't so bad."