Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

What is that saying again, about patterns? Once is happenstance, twice a coincidence, three times a pattern? What would the fourth occurrence be, in this scenario?

Yuura pushes the thought aside. Whatever the answer is, she'll have to ponder upon it later. The closer they approach Scarabia Dorm proper, the clearer the signs of Overblot become. The overall oppressive atmosphere, making hairs stand on end as if in anticipation of lightning. The choking miasma of Blot in the air—cloying and almost tangible, that same sickening sweetness, this time undercut with a sharp, bitter pungency. The warped sky she saw in Heartslabyul, in Savanaclaw, in Octavinelle—turbulent, roiling clouds like an incoming thunderstorm, heavy with something thicker than rain, wine dark and foreboding.

In the middle of the day, at dusk, at night, under the sea—it's always the same sky.

She coughs and presses the back of her hand to her nose, the one not holding Kalim's hand in a white-knuckled vise. She doubts it'll ever get any easier, breathing this stuff in. It's like trying to breath in dense fog, or a haze of filtered tobacco smoke.

Their Octavinelle companions are already on the move as soon as Floyd and Jade shift back into their land forms. Grim darts past her, pausing for a split second to snap his tail against her leg with a thwack. "Quit gawking, henchman! No time for sightseein'!"

"Ah, my apologies." She gets an eye roll and a headshake from Grim before the cat monster dashes after Azul and the twins. Probably eager to get this over with, probably excited by the thought of humiliating Jamil and putting him in his place, since that's most likely all he derived from Yuura's quickly laid out plan.

Yuura sighs. "Senior Kalim..." Turning to her upperclassman, she falters—at the conflicted expression on his face, struggling between indignation, and determination, and trepidation. At the stiffness in his arms, the near painful grip he has on her hand. Those lively red eyes are downcast now, his thin lips devoid of that persistent smile. That phantom ache in her chest where her heart should be grows harder to ignore.

A cold desert wind sweeps past them from over the dunes. Already chilled to the bone after being half-submerged in water for the better part of an hour, the pair shiver, huddling close together. Yuura rubs hard at the goosebumps that break out across her skin, and her worried mind returns to Kalim. Even with the supposed temperature-regulating charm woven into his clothing, she suspects even that has it's limits.

"Senior Kalim," she says again, tugging at his hand. He finally turns to her, eyes wide, like he's just remembering now whose hand he's holding. "Kalim, do you trust me?"

His answer is immediate: "Of course I do." His eyes fall again. "You're the only person I can completely trust right now."

The smile she offers him is tight-lipped. "Then trust that this plan will work, and that we'll be able to save Senior Jamil in time."

Oh, she meant what she said earlier—that he was a bad person for manipulating everyone like he did. For manipulating and hurting Kalim as he did. For betraying his trust.

But there's blame to lay on both sides. Kalim isn't entirely faultless, either. And he's still Jamil, and Yuura can't—won't stand by and lose him like this. Not with so much left unsaid.

This isn't her first Overblot. She's done it with Riddle, and Leona, and Azul. She can do it again.

"...okay." Kalim nods, almost mechanically, stepping closer so that their shoulders nudge together. "I can do that."

"Bring on the food! Bring on the drinks! Today we celebrate the deposal of the old, useless king, and the crowning of a far more deserving successor!"

"I couldn't agree more, Master."

"You are most fit to be king of Scarabia, Master Jamil."

"Long live Master Jamil!"

"Long live Master Jamil! Long live Master Jamil!"

Everything happened so quickly—Azul's deception, Kalim's denial, Jamil's breakdown. Yuura barely had time to think about the other Scarabia students beyond dodging their attacks, not when Jamil was actively Overblotting in front of them and poised to punt them into the sky.

Somehow, it's so much worse seeing them like this—eyes glazed over, tinted with the soft red glow of Snake Whisper's mind control. From her vantage point behind one of the marble pillars, Yuura tries to identify and name the students she can recognize. Sadık, Yousef, and Haroun are over there by Jamil, who's lounging on a luxurious mountain of pillows like one of those pictures from her copy of One Thousand and One Nights. She sees Kyros and Efraim from Freshman Class A, her class. Selim and Yahya from the newspaper committee, standing near where Floyd and Kalim are hidden. Then there's Binyamin, and Yaser. And Zoltán, and Mehmet, and Timur...

Yuura's heart sinks. She recognizes all of them.

Jamil's echoing laughter draws her attention back to him. "Tha—a—at's it." He waves a dismissive hand over his hypnotized dorm-mates. "Go on, keep singing my praises."

Azul steps out of the shadows, followed close behind by Grim and Jade.

"I never realized what a gallant figure you cut..."

Yuura slinks behind another pillar, pulling the striped bow around her neck loose.

"You oughta live on a throne...!"

She pulls her hair up into a tight tail, letting her collar fall open to reveal the garnet red choker Kalim gifted her... what must've been a scant few weeks ago. It feels like ages.

"Your intelligence is beyond compare..."

Crouched low to the ground, scurrying behind a row of Scarabia students, the gloves are shoved into her pockets, her blazer knotted around her waist. In the process of rolling up her sleeves, she elbows one of them in the back of the knee.

"There's royalty, and then there's you..."

The charmed student merely sways in place. Yuura risks standing up to wave a hand in front of his face. Unresponsive.

"You look so strong and powerful!"

To the devil with it. Yuura slips between still bodies and low tables to take her place beside Kalim. She cups her hands around her mouth and cheers: "Jamil, Jamil, he's our man!"

"Heh, you flatter me... Wait, it's you?!"

"Cower before my might! Phenomenal—cosmic—power!"

Yuura is absolutely intimidated, for sure. Only a fool would claim otherwise, in the face of a powerful, unstable Overblot. But the effect is rather mitigated by the fact that Jamil... just quoted the movie? It isn't even something Jafar said, that's a Genie quote. And considering his reaction—the entire dorm's reaction to that Song she performed during that one training exercise a week or so ago...

"Gyaah! This is still one scary monster!"

"I'll knock some sense back into him!"

"Focus, Grim!" Yuura doesn't bother looking over at the Octavinelle trio. The painful grunts and sounds of bodies being thrown are telling enough. "Azul-san! Jade-san! Floyd-san! Remember the plan—take care of the mind controlled students!"

"Our trust is in your hands, Miss Yuu!"

"Give 'im hell, Shrimpy!"

"Grim, Kalim—I need you buy me some time, just a little bit."

"Pfft. Are you doubting the Great Lord Grim, henchman?" Grim evades a spiraling blast of dark water, retaliating with a gout of blue hellfire.

Kalim shoots her a resolute nod, readying his own staff. "Take as much time as you need, Yuura!"

It happens faster than she can blink—a flash of light, and the Shield flares to life inches from her nose. Interlocking geometric shapes in shades of gold, amber, and violet—like pieces of stained glass—shudder under the impact of Jamil's fire spell. Yuura grimaces, fixing her chain to sit over her clothes.

"Senior Jamil!" she shouts. Narrow black eyes meet hers through the fading Shield. "You were wrong about Azul-san, and me! He's no more your 'genie in a bottle' than I am!"

"I have nothing to say to backstabbers and traitors like you." Another stream of fire, another flash of light.

Yuura laughs, an humorless, choking thing. "Traitor? You have the audacity to speak of betrayal to me?" The Shield shatters as she rushes through it, running ahead of both Grim and Kalim.

"Whoa! Henchman, what're you doin'!"

"Prefect, be careful!"

"You should be glad that I'm not an actual genie." She cracks her neck, letting that strange, familiar tingling sensation wash over her skin.

"Genies can't kill anyone..." Kalim catches a glimpse of the smile that stretches across her face and stumbles. "But you'd be surprised what you can live through."

"Oh, spare me your dramatics." This time, there is no light—only a blast of black-edged fire, and the spot where Yuura was standing is empty.

"Yuu!"

"Prefect!"

Jamil cackles, smug triumph twisting his gray face. "Who's laughing now, Yuura?"

"Why... I believe it's me."

Kalim and Grim gape as Jamil whirls around, snake-like hairs whipping through the air and spitting ink. The Prefect stands behind him with a bemused expression, a rich blue haze rolling down her shoulders, her arms, off of her skin.

Jamil hisses. "You."

"Me!" And Kalim and Grim brace themselves as solid blue swallows their surroundings, that sourceless music blaring to life.

"I must admit, your parlor tricks are amusing." She jumps and digs her fingers into the folds of Jamil's headdress, dragging him into a dizzying spin across the room. Wait, were they even still in the dorm lounge?

"I bet you've got a bunny under your hat." It unravels in a long, slick black train, and a giant, fat rabbit bursts from its confines, sending Jamil sprawling to the ground with a thud.

"What the—!"

Somewhere, Kalim shrieks as the rabbit bloats up, pink eyes bulging and limbs inflating, exploding into bursts of shiny confetti. Jamil has barely a second to lie on the ground, dazed, before an invisible force yanks him up into the air by his ankle and drops him back down onto his knees. The gold chains of his headdress—all that remains of it—dangle over his face in awkward angles as he lifts his head to find the Prefect standing over him, shuffling a deck of Heartslabyul-backed cards with an ominous grin.

"Now here's your chance to get the best of me—" She flicks the deck into the air. Cards expand and fall around them, forming a wall of stern-faced suits staring down at Jamil with disapproving, judging dark eyes. "Hope your hand is hot!"

The Prefect reaches towards him, this time tangling her hand in his chains on his face and throwing him into the card walls with alarming strength. They explode into more blue smoke as Jamil crashes through them, bouncing along the ground as playing cards scatter from above. He lands on his back, and then there's a sudden pressure on his sternum. The Prefect leers down at him, digging her heel into the curtain of gold beads draping his chest. "Come on, clown, let's see what you've got!

"You can try to slam me with your harder stuff." Jamil snarls and throws a hand out, crackling fire licking at blackened fingertips. But the Prefect's already gone, disappearing in a puff of smoke. The ground tilts and Jamil slides across the floor, clawing at grooves in the tile and the tufted carpets as throw pillows and metal decanters come dangerously close to smacking his face.

He's deposited into an empty void of swirling shades of blue, where the Prefect waits for him with a cartoonish, oversized mallet in her hands. A manic grin splits her face as she lifts it above her head. "But your double whammy isn't up to snuff."

Jamil's sent flying once more. "I'll set the record straight—" Head still spinning, he finds the Prefect looking down on him again, having caught him in a dip, mallet slung over her other shoulder. Brown eyes flicker blue, pupils constricted into pinpricks. "You're simply out of date. You're only second rate."

She disappears, dropping him flat on his rear. Her voice continues to ring out from all directions—whatever counts for directions in this hellish abyss of solid blue. Jamil can barely tell up from down. What is he standing on?

Confetti explodes around him with ear-ringing pops. Gigantic house cats emerge from the smoke, encircling him, kneading the ground and eyeing him like a tasty treat.

"You think your cat's a meanie, but your tiger's tame."

"No, wait—!" The cats pounce with hungry yowls, claws sharp and fangs bared. Jamil ducks, throwing his arms over his head.

"You've got a lot to learn about the genie game." Human hands wrench his arms away. He's sitting at a desk now, the Prefect leaning over him—one hand tapping a pointer at a chalk board reading 2 + 2 = FISH, the other holding a paper cone that says DUNCE. She nudges the glasses on her face further up her nose with an imperious sniff. "So for your education, I reiterate—you're only second rate!"

She slaps the dunce cap onto his head, and everything turns upside down. Jamil flails, bracing himself for impact.

It's a very painful impact—Jamil thinks he might be back in the lounge. He also thinks he might have carpet burns and bruises from falling and skidding across the carpeted stone ground. It hurts to lift his head, but there's the Prefect stalking towards him, empty-handed this time. He can't scramble away fast enough, limbs tangling in gold jewelry and tattered skirts. The Prefect only smirks, lifting her left hand with the pinky extended.

"Men cower—at the power—in my pinky..." She rolls her wrist in a circle, faster and faster. Looming behind her, a column of sand churns, coalescing into a colossal hand. "My thumb is number one on every list!"

Jamil shoves himself off to the side, just in time. Mimicking the Prefect's movements, the hand slams down where he was just a moment ago, shaking the whole ground, grains of sand spraying outward.

The Prefect seems miffed, but undeterred. As the hand rises back into the air, reforming, she spins on her heel, spreading her arms wide to Jamil. "But if you're not convinced that I'm invincible, put me to the test!" She swings her arm again. This time, sandy, clawed fingers dig into the floor next to Jamil, tearing through stone like wet paper, exposing a yawning, dark blue chasm. The Blot monster tethered to him tumbles in first, dragging Jamil down with it, even as he scratches for purchase into the carpet. "I'd love to lay this rivalry to rest!"

He's on his feet, for once, when he lands. And there's the Prefect, standing across from him. Whether out of genuine anger, or maybe desperation, Jamil throws out another attack, another spell that bounces uselessly off of that damn shield.

"Go ahead and zap me with the big surprise!" The Blot monster behind him points to her. Rivulets of ink stream from its glass vial head, shooting out with enraged hisses. They slither up her body and coil around her limbs, binding her in place, strangling her. Her amused expression does not waver. "Snap me in a trap, cut me down to size!"

She vanishes, her bindings collapsing on themselves. "I'll make a great escape—"

"Whoa—!" The void beneath his feet turns into... cake frosting? Jamil slips, sinking partway into a thick layer of white icing decorated with blue and pink cream rosettes and green leaves. Winding candles sprout from the rosettes, spewing pillars of white hot fire. The heat is enough to start melting the frosting into sugary sludge and send molten hot droplets of wax down like rain.

"It's just a piece of cake—" A powerful gust of wind extinguishes the candles, blowing them out of place and Jamil along with them. "You're only second rate!"

Jamil hits the ground with a wet SPLAT, leaving a smeared trail of frosting that evaporates into blue mist as he slides to a stop. This time, the Blot monster is dragged along for the ride, leaving its own streaky black marks.

"You know, your hocus pocus isn't tough enough—" Choking down another gasp, Jamil ducks and rolls. There's a scorch mark on the solid blue ground inches from his face, and a grinning Prefect just a few feet away, holding aloft a crackling, faceted black gemstone between her fingers.

(In his whirring mind, slowly growing clearer with each fright and near miss, Jamil tries to recollect where he's seen that gem before. A black one, at that. Is it... that brooch the Prefect wears on her blazer?)

The magestone in her hand sparks. His Blot monster yanks him further back, narrowly avoiding another electrifying ZAP that cracks the ground this time. "And your mumbo jumbo doesn't measure up. Let me pontificate upon your sorry state—you're only second rate!

The Prefect clutches her stomach and giggles—half-mad, and menacing, and absolutely maniacal. "Run, little garden snake, run! Ahahahaha!"

He does.

Jamil bolts with no regard for direction. Away, away, far, far away. Away from here. Away from her. The blue void shifts and reshapes around him. Dark, judgemental eyes blink in and out of existence. Gaping mouths melt open, chattering and gasping and spewing venom. Grasping hands reach out from the aether, clawed and spindly and broad and thin, shackled in gold and grabbing at whatever catches in their nails—his hair, his arms, his clothes, his ankles.

"Zaba-caba-dabra!" Jamil shouts and skids to a stop. He veers in another direction, leaving the Prefect's disembodied head cackling behind him.

"Granny's gonna grab ya!" Burning hot hands seize his arms. The Prefect stares up at him, smile stretched tight, blunt nails cutting into his skin. She shoves him to the ground, panting heavily, her shadow growing longer, wider, taller.

Jamil can only gape, tilting his head back as the Prefect swells in size, towering over him, growing bigger and bigger with each breath. Her hand is big enough to eclipse him as she bends down and snatches his Blot monster like a wriggling doll. The inky chords tying them together snap as she stands.

"Alakazomnibus..."

"Stop! No!"

The Prefect ignores him, twisting the Blot's glass head with a sickening crack. Sticky strands of black string between its detached head and stump neck like guts, like viscera. The vial shatters in her fist.

"And this thing's bigger than the both of us!" Digging her fingers into the stitches of the monster's headless, writhing body, she tears it in two. Thick tar splatters the ground, oozing down her hands and wrists, staining her grinning face. The pieces fall at her feet, a nauseating thump, thump, a jerk and twitch before going still. The Prefect stomps on them with her giant shoe, grinding them into dust with her heel.

Horror grips Jamil, more aware of the ink spraying his face with each twist of the Prefect's heel, than of the Blot sloughing off in viscous sheets, his body regaining heat, his clothes returning to their normal state.

The Prefect cocks her head to the side, clutching black hands to her chest. "So spare me your tremendous scare!"

Jamil isn't fast enough this time to evade her sudden lunge. She grabs the hood of his uniform with her thumb and forefinger, lifting him up to her face. Jamil kicks the air, tugging at his hood, unable to look away from the Prefect's taunting smile.

"Prefect, stop, please! Yuura! Ahhh!"

The Prefect shakes him up and down by his hood. His teeth rattle in his skull. Jamil plummets, bounding off the yielding surface of her open palm. Dangling above, his hoodie and vest remain pinched between her fingers.

"You look horrendous in your underwear."

Jamil throws his arms over his exposed undershirt. "Prefect, wait!"

"And I can hardly wait to discombobulate!"

A giant nail punches him in the nose. Jamil goes flying.

"I'll send you back and packing in a shipping crate!"

His back slams into something cold, smooth, and hard. The air is punched out of him, bruised body screaming. Then the world starts whirling and blurring, and Jamil clings frantically to the edge of the shiny white platform with what little strength he can muster.

"You'll make a better living with a spinning plate!"

Cold ceramic folds like wet clay, collapsing and shrinking. It closes around Jamil before he can reach the opening at the top, sealing away the light and plunging him into darkness.

"You're only second rate!"

"Let me out!" Jamil bangs his fists on the walls. The space grows smaller, and smaller, and smaller. He trips, crying out when his knees are forced to his chest, the walls pressing painfully down on his bent ankles and outstretched arms, jabbing his elbows into his own ribs. "Yuura, let me out, please! Yuura!"

"...Jamil?"

"I was finally going to be number one... I was finally going... to be free..."

"...who's trying to understand me?"

"Stop. Just stop."

"I... I want... I want to be number one, too."

From out of the blue haze, a furry bundle of gray and blue flames tumbles out first. Then it spits out Kalim, staff and all, forehead to the floor and hands on his knees as he pants, trembling and shaken. By the time the smoke finally clears, most of the beaten Scarabia students are regaining consciousness, groaning and cursing.

"Kalim!" Azul's cane tap-tap-taps the ground as he approaches his fellow Dorm Leader. "Kalim, where are the Prefect and Jamil?"

Kalim's head snaps up, eyes wide as saucers, mouthing wordlessly. "I—the—Yuura—Jamil—"

"Housewarden, look!"

"Yuu!" Grim scampers over to the Prefect's motionless form. He nudges her arm, curled protectively around a strange, glassy orb, about the size of a basketball. "Henchman, get up! C'mon..."

The Prefect stirs. "Hmm... Grim?" She pushes herself up with one hand, her movements stiff. "What... what happened?"

"What happened? You don't remember going vengeful, psycho-mode on the slimy snake?"

Slimy snake...?

Yuura gasps. She cradles the orb in her lap, swiping her hand over the polished surface. The fog within clears. Inside...

"Jamil!" Kalim cries.

Inside, a tiny Jamil curls up in the cramped space, spine bent into a severe curve, face buried in his chest, arms wrapped tight around his knees. He shakes with silent sobs.

"Oh, god!"

"Yuura, you have to get him out!"

"How did the Prefect even—?"

"Is that the Vice Housewarden!"

"Yuu, what did you do?"

"Ahh!" Yuura heaves the orb as high as she can and throws it onto bare tile. It shatters, flooding the lounge with pink mist. But instead of glass shards, when the air clears once more, there lies Jamil, back in his dorm uniform and perfectly still.

Kalim trips over his feet getting to him first. "Jamil!"

Yuura jumps to her feet. Her knees buckle and her vision blurs.

"Miss Yuu." White gloved hands hook under her arms. "I would advise you sit this one out."

She squirms. "Jade-san, let me go. I need—I need to—"

Another gloved hand settles on her arm. "Miss Prefect, we must insist—"

"Senior Azul." His hand jerks away, startled by the bite in her voice. "Let me go." Yuura glares, struggling out of Jade's hold. He doesn't stop her.

She staggers over to Kalim; he's crying now, shaking Jamil's shoulders and pleading for him to "Wake up, please, wake up!"

"I can fix this," Yuura mumbles, staring down at her hands, expecting them to be dripping with tar and ink. "I can fix this, I can, I can—"

Jamil's pulse is sluggish as she cups his face. Barely a flutter beneath her fingertips—but there, still there.

"Flower, gleam and glow, let your power shine..."

"Go on, everybody! Eat, dance, and sing the bad times away!"

A raucous cheer rings out across the oasis. Yuura laughs and claps along with them, though her eyes keep drifting back to a certain brunet...

"Myah, Yuu." Grim frowns up at her, dusting sand from his fur. "You gonna talk to the guy, or are ya gonna keep staring at him like a creep?"

"I'm not staring at him, Grimsby," she insists, readjusting the parasol balanced on her shoulder. She sighs. "I doubt Senior Jamil would even deign to speak to me, anyway. Not after what happened."

Grim shrugs, circling around her legs before resting in her shadow. "Eh, he'll turn around like the others. Happened before, didn't it?"

Yuura sinks to the ground, crossing her legs and settling Grim in her lap. "Perhaps. But that still doesn't guarantee it happening again." Once is happenstance, twice is a coincidence, and three is a pattern, but even Yuura isn't so optimistic as to believe Jamil will forgive and forget what she did to him.

And what a shame that is. She really did enjoy his company.

(Finally shaking an annoying Dorm Leader off his back, a certain Vice Housewarden finds his gaze falling upon a certain figure sitting on the sandy bank of the oasis, half-concealed by a fringed parasol that shakes with quiet laughter, gold tassels swaying.

(Maybe, if he just...)

"...eyy! Heyyy! Heyyyy!"

"What's that runnin' up from across the desert?"

"Heyyyy! Yuura! Grim!"

"Are you two okay!"

"Wha—? Ace! Deuce! You came!"

Tossing her umbrella aside, the Prefect stumbles as she stands, throwing her arms first around the panting redhead, then the gasping blue-haired boy. "You actually came! I missed you both so much!"

(He turns away.)