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Malleus woke up feeling cold and unrefreshed, and it took a considerable amount of effort to heed his beeping alarm and not crawl back into bed. Alas, his current position as a student of NRC meant that he was obliged to get up regardless of his feelings. It was a shame, but it could not be helped.
Diasomnia had a tendency to be colder than Sage’s Island, much like how Briar Valley’s climate fared, and while it was familiar and not unpleasant, Malleus had found that he preferred the warmer and sunnier island. His draconic nature was responsible, he was sure, even if his upbringing among the night fae gave him a predisposition towards the shade.
This morning, however, it was colder than usual. Unbearably so. Even winter should not have affected the dorm in such a manner, but he was sure that the cold was not his imagination. Although, perhaps, it had something to do with the fact that he had somehow separated himself from all of his bed covers during his sleep. Malleus wasn’t sure what caused his restless slumber—he had not consumed any of Lilia’s cooking—but he felt an overall uneasiness. Perhaps it had been a nightmare, though the waking memory of it had already been chased away.
Regardless, Malleus’ mood was already sour from the effects, and it was only the beginning of the day. How unfortunate. At least it was a Friday, so that meant he would end the day with Gargoyle Studies Club, so perhaps the day was not already ruined after all.
It could get worse before it improved, however. The chill only worsened as he traveled towards the common areas for breakfast. Sebek took his position next to him, as he did every morning—insisting that he must be escorted to the dining hall—and Malleus had to weigh the merits of using his fire to warm himself internally. It would be helpful, he was sure, but if Sebek noticed that something minor like the cold was bothering him, it would be an ordeal. Even now, Malleus was certain that Sebek was onto him, catching concerned glimpses from his junior from the corner of his eye. Yet, when Malleus tried to assess Sebek directly, he only appeared to be his usual oblivious self. Strange. Malleus was just being jumpy, it would seem.
The kitchen was marginally warmer. Still, Malleus found himself wondering if he should skip breakfast and go straight to the island, in search of the sun. Sebek had already declared that he would retrieve food for Malleus, however, so perhaps he shouldn’t. Not yet.
“Good morning, Malleus,” Silver said politely with a quick salute. He looked awful—with bags under his eyes and his hair duller than usual.
Had he experienced a dreadful night too? How ironic. Malleus prepared to voice his concern, but Silver turned his head and caught the lighting differently, and suddenly his features appeared normal. Hm. Green lighting was often unreliable to gauge coloring, yet Malleus was accustomed to it, so it was unlike him to be fooled by mere lighting tricks. Perhaps this was just due to his lack of proper rest.
“Good morning,” he returned instead, opting to drop the matter. Silver paused for a moment, almost as if to scrutinize him, but he carried on with a blink.
Malleus was becoming more and more tempted to simply leave. One missed breakfast was inconsequential. Dragons did not need to eat according to human schedules anyway, so it was not as if he would be bothered by it… much. (Lilia often chastised him for not eating enough, but it was hard to tell how much of that was a remnant of Lilia still believing he was a small, growing child, and how much of it was present concern.)
A loud yawn startled him out of his contemplation. Specifically because the yawn clearly belonged to Lilia, who was now right behind him, as if the elder fae somehow knew exactly what Malleus had been planning.
“Oh dear, it’s morning already, isn’t it?” Lilia sighed. “How time flies.”
Silver turned his scrutiny onto Lilia now. “Father, did you stay up all night again?”
“Hm? What makes you say that?”
Ah, Lilia must have been playing those video games of his again. It was not an uncommon occurrence for him to get carried away, completely forgetting that this school was strictly a diurnal society. It was amusing to see him so misshapen though. Even though video games supposedly only involved the thumbs and hands, Lilia always somehow managed to get completely into it.
Sure enough, Lilia’s hair was messy, sticking out in a few odd places, and there was a stain on his hot pink oversized t-shirt. A rather large… red stain.
Malleus jumped. There was blood on Lilia’s face, running down his ears and onto his neck. What on earth happened? Had those large headphones of his injured him?! “Lilia, you’re—!”
Lilia turned to him quickly, sharp eyes on alert. There… There was no blood. Just Lilia, in a rare moment of panic, staring at him with attentive worry.
Everyone was, in fact. His half-outburst not only garnered the attention of Silver and Sebek, but everyone present in the room. Malleus was not unused to eyes being on him, but the embarrassment made him queasy. Had he mistaken Lilia’s hair dye for blood? Sure, that color was a relatively recent change, from his previous lime green streaks, but the pink was also a favorite of his. Malleus should not have been so startled.
Time ticked on. Malleus became aware that everyone was waiting for him to finish, apprehension in their stillness.
“…your night shirt is stained,” he finished rather lamely. He doubted he would fool Lilia, but he also had no desire to admit how he frightened himself with a simple mis-glance.
“Malleus, are you alright?” Lilia inevitably asked, cornering him with his sharp gaze. It was nothing but concern, but it sent shivers down his spine all the same. Although, that was probably just the chill in the air.
Malleus was being ridiculous. “I’m just a little tired,” he responded, growing certain that that was indeed the case. The restless sleep was not doing him favors.
The concern lingered, but he could tell that Lilia was not going to push it. Yet. Still, Malleus was done with this. “Excuse me. I think the walk to class shall do nicely to wake me up.”
He excused himself quickly, giving nobody an opportunity to protest. He also teleported straight to the dorm mirror, lest Sebek also forgo breakfast to follow him. Malleus just needed the time alone to clear his head. That was all. Soon, this embarrassing morning would be just a distant memory.
—o0o—
The rest of the school day did not provide the relief that Malleus was hoping for.
The sun helped, while he was outdoors. At least a little. It certainly made him feel warmer, but it also meant that the chills increased once he had to go to class. It was rather difficult to focus on the banal history lectures in such a state, especially when it seemed as if his class was just as restless. Every chair that scraped against the floor sounded like a terrible screech, and every yawn or sound of discomfort startled him. Malleus was on edge, and he could not ascertain why.
He even cast detection magic on himself, just to make sure, but everything seemed to be in order, logically speaking. Not that it quieted his instincts.
Malleus contemplated going to Lilia over it, but truthfully, there was so little to report. He could not possibly make a case without sounding like a fearful child. He simply needed to ride it out or find more evidence. All while doing his upmost not to let this poor state of being interfere with his studies. It would be a travesty for the other students to witness this.
Unfortunately, he only made it as far as Potionology before things went awry.
It was a rather tedious assignment. Color changing magic was hilariously simple, but in potion form, it was terribly hard to stabilize: hence, the challenge of it. Potions was not Malleus’s preferred magic study, but he was not terrible at it, usually.
However, today, he simply could not stop the liquid from changing abnormal colors, instead of it retaining the property. The amount of prismatic shards he wasted was atrocious, and to boot, his potion simply looked awful. The more he peered into the vat, the more it looked like vomit. Or, worse yet, Lilia’s cooking. Malleus could hardly look at it and not get sick to the stomach.
For the twelfth time, he attempted the infusion. After ensuring the shard was firmly held by the tongs—the last time, it slipped, falling into the vat and causing the potion to immediately turn a hideous brown—Malleus begun to energize the crystal. Despite the simplicity of the magic, potions of this variety were long-lasting and incredibly finicky; they could only be made with magic, not just ingredients. Magic was Malleus’s forte, and yet, he simply could not, for the life of him, get the shard to stay the right shade of blue and pass on the color changing property to the potion itself. It was supposed to be simple transference and stasis, but Malleus kept messing up. It was beyond frustrating.
In his frustration, Malleus made yet another blunder: he gripped the tongs too hard, and the prismatic shard shattered.
The potion had an extremely negative reaction to the violent intrusion, and it exploded. Now an utterly sickly, acidic green, it splattered across the entire lab, eliciting startled shouts from his classmates. One such classmate, who was closest to the disaster, had his entire back drenched in it.
Malleus worked to prepare a spell—a way to undo the damage and to fix the state of the classroom, but was caught in a state of cold panic when he saw it:
The wayward potion began to burn.
It sizzled and it spewed, and Malleus watched in horror as it ate through every surface it touched. Clothing was reduced to nothing, metal corroded, skin bubbled and melted away—
“—Draconia!”
The call snapped him out of his stupor. Magic gathered out his fingertips, a desperate attempt to do something, but a hand on his wrist stopped him.
Crewel looked bewildered, but not panicked. Malleus blinked, and the damage was… gone. Nonexistent.
The room was simply splattered in purple. His classmates, in one piece, busied themselves with rags, sneaking glances over their shoulders at Malleus.
“What on earth got into you, pup?” the professor demanded, that bewilderment still present. It was directed at him, Malleus realized.
Because nothing that Malleus saw really happened… did it?
“I—” But he closed his mouth, no response worthy enough to be voiced coming to mind. Had Malleus just hallucinated the entire incident?! It was absurd, but it was the only explanation. Perhaps the botched potion, in actuality, affected his sight? It was a light-bending potion, after all. With a shaking hand (why was he shaking?) he reached up to his face, coming into contact with his goggles. His goggles were still on, and they did not feel loose. So how…?
“I knew I should have stopped you the first time it was blue. It had been adequate enough…” Crewel mumbled, before he switched cadences with a sigh. “Malleus. What happened? Are you alright?”
He swallowed, doing his best to keep his nausea at bay. “I— I broke the shard into the mixture. I fear I made it quite volatile. I’m fine.”
He was no longer seeing things. That side effect must have been abrupt, strengthened by his momentary panic. Seeing as though everything was as it should be, Malleus did his best to match that outwardly, before his racing heart caught up. It would be a disgrace for the prince of Briar Valley to be so bent out of shape over a mere potion accident. (It had been so vivid; even the stench had felt real.) If Crewel caught wind of it, he—as a faculty member—would have to report it, and then Lilia would inevitably know, and that… No. It was unacceptable: Malleus had caused enough trouble.
Yet still, Crewel scrutinized him. In this case, Malleus could hardly blame him, because he scarcely believed himself either. (He was still shaking.) That said, the evidence seemed to largely be nonexistent, attached only to his psyche and fleeting. Even now, the effects seemed to be cleared, since he could look around the room and see only aesthetic carnage, not…
“Very well,” Crewel acquiesced, clearly unhappy. “Then I expect you to clean up this mess.”
He released a held breath. “Of course.”
Cleaning was rather simple. He could remove the stains and pull the liquid back into the vat. It was all purple. Perhaps the hideous color it had been previously had gotten stuck in his head, so the hallucinatory episode had pulled from that. Sometimes, though, he could imagine that green again, so vividly, Malleus had to pause and wonder if that side effect was not gone, after all.
Fortunately, his next class—and last class—was P.E. He would be outdoors, in the sun and fresh air, and Vargas’s usual excitement should be plenty distracting. Especially since it was the day when Vargas pulled two classes together to make them maintain the fields. (Vargas was quite adamant that all maintenance be done without magic, and while it took a grievously long time to complete tedious tasks like mowing and cleaning by hand, Malleus would admit that it was an adequate workout.) After casting yet another detection spell over himself, to ensure there were no lasting magical effects, Malleus determined to go about things normally. Even if unease still clung to him.
(Grandmother had once explained to him that a dragon’s instincts were incredibly sharp, but incredibly fragile. They were prone to assuming danger, even when there was none present, because even the smallest of things would catch their notice. It was a blessing and a curse, and it was the reason why they had a solemn duty to be extra careful, especially among those more fragile than they. So, for Malleus to still be nervous was not really surprising. It was just a matter of curbing that instinct for the sake of function and decorum.)
All of this stayed in Malleus’s mind, despite attempts to shoo it away, as he steadily moved equipment from the field to its storage, where another group of students cleaned them. Ranging from weights to training dummies, they were unwieldy things, much too heavy for a single person to move on their own… Unless one was a dragon, of course. The task offered Malleus a semblance of privacy, especially since—as usual—no other students dared to attempt to assist him with his task, yet still… It was not peaceful. His instincts still whispered of anxiety, and shivers crawled down his spine.
At first, Malleus convinced himself it was just a nasty combination of his nerves and the cold, stirring his fatigue. He no longer had the luxury to use magic to warm himself under Vargas’s keen eye, as part of the task at hand was to complete everything without any magic at all. It explained the prickling sensation, at least, though Malleus kept seeing flecks of green in the corner of his eye—that awful, puke green—and the rust on the metal equipment grew brighter and thicker, like a disease.
He picked up another dummy, only for the bottom to fall off in a slimy heap of blood, rust, and mildew. Thoroughly startled, Malleus threw it away from him, falling backwards himself.
That—!
That was another hallucination. Objects did not bleed. He was still hallucinating. (He could smell it. The sticky iron smell clogged up his throat and curled in his nose.) Was it that damned potion? But Malleus had checked himself over afterwards. He should be fine.
Something was wrong. Very wrong. His instincts screamed now, fruitlessly but vigorously. Danger was everywhere. None of it was real. (Or was it?) The pressure was unbearable. (He couldn’t feel a thing.) The field was burning. (He was freezing.) The grass charred and the sky turned a blood red. (He was alone.) Somebody was screaming. (Lightning broke apart the clouds and they exploded into ash.) He couldn’t breathe.
Malleus was losing his mind.
He was hallucinating—he had to be—but everything was so vivid. (So horrible.) There was heat on his skin and shivers down his spine, and blood and ash soiled his tongue. Malleus could not be sure of anything. The only thing he was sure of, was that he was capable of this destruction—but he was not using magic, right? There was a pit in his chest where his flame ought to be, but Malleus could feel nothing. (He could feel everything. Every drop of sweat, smear of blood, and lick of flame.)
He curled his fingers (claws—they were claws now) into his scalp, convincing himself that he could feel them. That they were real. (The grass melted beneath his knees and clung to him like oil.) Something had to be real. (Was he awake at all? Was this a nightmare?)
Malleus tried to reach for his magic, but he still couldn’t find it. Or, simply, he could not control it. (He did not always have the best control. He would try and try and try and still one slip was so destructive. No wonder everyone feared him.) Left with nothing, he gripped his head harder and squeezed his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to make it end.
Behind his eyelids, a monster lurked. It crawled in the void and it scuttled and it squelched, and it twisted its neck and opened its mouth, wider and wider until—
His eyes flew open to the burning field with a gasp. (A choked sob.) The ash continued to stain the sky a blood red. There was no escape from this affliction. Everything was static and too far away and absolutely suffocating and—
“Oi! Malleus!”
Malleus turned to look up from the blazing oil beneath him, and suddenly, he was not alone. (And it turned out to make it worse.) Kingscholar was there, amidst the flames but paying them no heed (because they weren’t real) because the golden barrier he casted protected him. There was an unreadable expression on his face, but it was a far cry from the smug look he normally deigned. “Malleus, what the hell?!”
He could not answer. (He tried to answer.) Kingscholar’s eyes bled until they were gone entirely, and his body was slowly consumed by the flames. It wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, but it terrified him.
The body—Leona, who was fine—pressed closer. A (skeletal, rotting) hand reached forward and forced Malleus to look directly at the eyeless mockery that should have been his classmate.
“Shit, your eyes,” the apparition hissed, in Leona’s voice. “Malleus, what are you seeing?”
Seeing?
Right. He was hallucinating. This was still a hallucination.
“It’s—It’s not real,” he voiced. The spoken conviction almost worked—almost. For a moment, he saw Kingscholar as he should be, except with those green eyes widened in some sort of panicked understanding…until they filled with blot and ran down his cheeks until there was nothing left.
Reflexively, he closed his eyes, but the shapeless monster returned, it’s mouth wide—
And Malleus returned to staring at the misshapen ground, because it was the easiest thing to stomach. How utterly pathetic.
At least his sense of touch was not completely fooled, because the hand on his shoulder was almost gentle, in its firmness, and he was certain that his warped sense of reality would bring nothing but misery. There was shouting—or maybe murmuring—happening around him, but Malleus could not be bothered to try. It was childish, but he did not want to give things the chance to get worse. He tucked his head between his knees and stared downward, where his field of vision was too small for the worse horrors.
“MALLEUS!”
The voice made him raise his head instinctively. Nothing could have possibly filled him with more relief than the sound of Lilia’s voice. Malleus was not sure when he got here, but he was glad for it.
Except, it meant that as soon as he saw Lilia, a rare picture of worry on his face, it had to immediately get worse. Wounds tore through his arms like blades, and a hole stretched over his heart, dripping sluggishly. A sob, or maybe a whimper, clawed its way into Malleus’s throat, as the visage was so horrible, he could hardly make himself look away.
(Lilia had always been exceptional at hiding his wounds, but not perfect. A few times, in Malleus’s youth, he caught sight of the proof that Lilia was a warrior…with the dangers that came with it. Though his childhood nightmares could not compare to this.)
“Malleus,” Lilia started cautiously, “can you hear me?”
He nodded, still not trusting his ability to speak.
“Can you see me?”
The second question made Malleus falter. He could see Lilia, but not truthfully. He settled that the answer was “no,” if only because Malleus could not bear to call the apparition Lilia.
He regretted his choice when, in turn, Lilia grabbed his face and angled it towards him, as if to study him. Malleus let him, because he knew that Lilia was doing this to help. However, it meant that Malleus had to watch Lilia’s face shrivel and gray until it cracked apart and crumbled, and it was a nightmare that Malleus really could have done without. Without a conscious decision on his part, Malleus ended up gripping Lilia’s wrists in turn, just to prove to himself that Lilia was still solid. He tried not to squeeze too hard, but Malleus presently had no confidence in his ability to be mindful of his strength.
It was a relief when Lilia finished and pulled Malleus’s head closer, hugging him against his chest. He could not even be upset that Lilia was treating him like a child, because the contact made the hole disappear, and for that, Malleus could only be grateful. It was impossible not to relax in Lilia’s hold. The limited field of vision was a boon as well. Malleus could handle the glimpses of running blood and ink if he did not have to see it on Lilia’s face.
“It seems Leona is right,” Lilia said, voice slightly muffled from Malleus’s position. “There is a strong sensory curse on him.”
From somewhere else—Malleus did not dare think too hard about his surroundings, lest they warp further—Leona scoffed. “Of course I am. I wasn’t yapping for nothing. Between the weird green irises and the purple veins on the sclera, it’s obvious.”
“The Headmage is on his way,” came Coach Vargas’s voice. It surprised him because Malleus had not been aware that he was even there. Considering his normal powers of observation, it was beyond embarrassing. It would freak him out more if Lilia were not here. He could trust Lilia to be vigilant in Malleus’s own weakness.
“Ugh, he’s just gonna flounder about with theatrics and fork it off on somebody else,” Kingscholar groaned.
“I’m not going to argue with you, but it’s still protocol. Besides, he’s Headmage for a reason. Also, Vanrouge—I’d question when you got here, but I can’t stay I’m surprised. I’ll overlook the fact that you probably ditched class though, because you are his vice. And you’ve managed to calm him down.”
“Glad we are agreed,” Lilia said, voice bright but with a lingering threat. “Speaking of agreement, the young Kingscholar has a point. We cannot afford to wait. It will only grow worse, until he’s utterly exhausted.”
“Good thing Draconia has the muscles and stamina to boot then, huh? But, er, curses aren’t my wheelhouse. You kids shouldn’t mess around with those things.”
“Coach Vargas is correct.” That was the Headmage. Against his will, Malleus glimpsed the black feathers, and he almost saw a ghoul. Malleus pressed himself closer to Lilia instead. “Curses have a unique set of rules. I’m afraid anything that can overcome Mr. Draconia will be quite tricky. Come. Let us continue this in my office. It will be bad for our reputa— ahem, for school morale if this becomes public.”
“You wanna bring the lightning bug inside? I knew you were dense, but even I didn’t think you were this dumb, Headmage.”
“Malleus does get rather stormy when he is stressed,” Lilia agreed.
Malleus appreciated the distraction that the conversation provided, but it was quickly its own form of stress. Malleus was the Prince of Briar Valley—he was supposed to be better than this. But mere visions incapacitated him, and now he was just causing problems. (Had the lightning been real? The fire? How much of the destruction had been actualized? Had been him?)
Lilia stroked his horns, just like he did when he was a child. It calmed him, but the inky ground was starting to form hands, reaching for him, and it was getting harder to tell which touch was real. He didn’t dare remove himself from Lilia though; that terrified him more.
(It had been so long since anything terrified Malleus to this degree. That in itself only made the terror all the more rampant, until he drowned in it like the oil below him.)
“—seen it before. I know how to hold it back, but… I’m afraid not even I can do so by myself.”
“No shit. It’s hijacked Malleus’s magic, right? Suppressing it is akin to having to overpower the lizard himself.”
“Coach Vargas, if you could gather any of the other housewardens or professors you can find? And I, too, shall offer my power to you. How magnanimous am I?”
There was a shuffling of activity around him, but the shuffling turned into bony feet scuttling, splashing around the sea beneath him, so Malleus stopped trying to listen. If he were in his right mind, he would be far less likely to let other people handle his own matters, but as it was, he was too out of sorts for pride. Not to mention that it was becoming increasingly obvious that his magic was not fully under his command. Just as his physical senses had failed him, his magic and other intrinsic senses were haywire as well. His detection spells had been fooled and his instincts thought all danger was real. Malleus was an utter mess, left without a leg to stand on.
“Malleus, I need you to listen to me, okay?” Lilia said. He was uncharacteristically somber, and Malleus was unsure whether the tone was real, or a projection of his own fears. Either way, it set him on edge. “You’re going to need to lay down and close your eyes. We’re going to have to knock you out.”
Malleus recalled the creature on the other side of his eyelids and stiffened. He had a feeling he knew where this was going. (The rolling filth beneath him matched the motions of his stomach.)
“I have to fight the manifestation of the curse,” he realized. The creature in his psyche was potent because it wasn’t a hallucination at all. It was a presence within him.
He would love nothing more than to tear it apart with his bare hands. It dared to afflict him—him—after all. Yet… It had afflicted him so easily. Malleus was not sure if the task was daunting because it was truly a dangerous task, or if because it told his instincts he should be afraid.
“You’ll do wonderfully,” Lilia promised. “I have to warn you though—we must weaken you. We won’t hold back.”
“Don’t fret over me, Lilia,” he replied, trying to summon the confidence he should have.
“Stubborn boy.”
His bravado slipped, just for a moment, when Lilia started to push him away, forcing him to lay on the ground. The fire swirled around him in a dizzying manner, oil dripping everywhere and making his spine tingle. It was almost as if he were free-floating, unable to control his orientation, but Lilia’s hands held his shoulders down, and the pressure of the ground beneath him gave him a decent impression that he was still in the field. Or at least on a solid surface.
More hands held him down. Malleus wasn’t sure if they were real or imagined, or if Lilia was truly there at all. He fought the urge to tear away from them, though, because he knew that the gathered group was supposed to be there. They were going to weaken the curse’s resistance so that Malleus could dispel it. The plan made sense, when one considered the parasitic nature of curses on living beings…but that did not mean that Malleus was thrilled with being surrounded in such a way.
Especially when the magic poured in.
He could have deflected the onslaught and shrugged them off like flies. He could. He wanted to. Malleus had a high resistance, but he was not impervious. The raw magic they bombarded him with burned and ached and pierced and stabbed and tore into him. It was possible the sensory curse made it worse. He wasn’t sure, but nevertheless, he was surprised and overwhelmed by the intensity.
Malleus was not sure if he screamed or not. His ears and nerves filled with static, crackling like lightning. He dearly hoped that he did not fry anybody—that he was the only one suffering from it. The sky was cracking like glass above him, shards raining down and leaving gaping black holes in the inferno that had long since replaced the daylight. The sky buried him, suffocated him; it rained down and drowned him in the earth.
The hands dragged him down. (They were his only lifeline.) He clawed the earth, blood (dirt) digging into his nails. (He squeezed the hand that held his, unwilling to let it go.) He could not escape the vast black abyss that was going to swallow him whole as his consciousness slipped away from him. His chest burned, devoid of fire. Malleus knew pain, yes, but none quite like this. He (the curse) was being whittled away until there was nothing left, and he (wanted it gone) didn’t want to lose himself, but there was no choice now.
Everything went black.
And silent.
Utterly silent.
The ground and the sky were gone. (Or they consumed him.) So was the pain, and the lightning. The hands. (His companions.)
Malleus was alone.
Or, more accurately, he was unconscious now. Partially, at least. Lilia’s plan must have worked, and they had succeeded in breaking past his haywire magic defenses so that Lilia could force Malleus inside his own mind.
If the situation were any different, Malleus would have found it amusing that he would be magically manhandled in such a matter. It took a considerable amount of effort on their part to cast a spell on him that he had been willing to allow. Er, willing in theory, at least. It had been impossible to lower his guard when he had been in that state, even when he had been aware of the insanity inflicted upon him.
Now, within his own subconscious, his faculties had returned to him…mostly. Malleus was still unsettled by it all. It was clear that he had no control over his environment, despite it being an extension of himself. The curse had embedded itself well, latching onto his mind with icy claws. How had it succeeded against him so drastically? How had it infected him in the first place? It was a troubling matter, but one he would have to uncover later; for now, he was going to turn that curse to ash.
There was no warning before something lunged at him, out of the dead silence. A flash of teeth, gnarled and white, was all he saw before the creature was on top of him. Malleus flew backwards as the jaws snapped, his body as fast as it would have been physically in this mindscape. Yet, the jaws closed around something, the sound of tearing flesh deafening.
“Ma-Malleus…sama…”
Sebek fell to the floor in two separate places. Malleus lost feeling in his knees (unreal though they were).
He had always (feared) knew that this could happen. That Sebek, so pure in his intention to guard him, yet so much weaker than Malleus, would fall needlessly. That Sebek would sacrifice himself without a second thought. And Malleus hated it. He hated to think that he would lose someone to something preventable. (To a catastrophe of Malleus’ own making.) It was bound to happen, but still, Malleus had hoped—
No. No.
This wasn’t real.
This wasn’t real.
This was the curse. It was a figment in his head. Sebek was not really here. (Therefore, he could not be dead.)
Malleus needed to be rid of this monstrosity. He would not be cowed in his own mind. (Not with his own fears.) With renewed vigor, Malleus gathered his magic (his mental fortitude) to himself and he aimed to tear the curse asunder. Now that it was weakened enough for Malleus to stand before it, it didn’t stand a chance. It shouldn’t stand a chance.
Yet, when Malleus tore the void apart with lightning, the resounding cry was familiar once more. Silver fell to the ground, limp and unmoving; his light hair was charred black and unseeing milky eyes stared straight into him.
Malleus faltered, his fingers trembling bad enough to disrupt the magic.
It was just the curse. It was just the curse. He repeated the statement like a mantra, but the resolve to attack (Silver’s corpse) the curse did not come easily. Malleus tried to close his eyes, but he could not; he was rendered unable to look away in this (hell) mindscape, and even when he tried to reorient himself, Silver was always in front of him.
The curse was mocking him—taking the form of his loved ones just to save its pitiful existence. Malleus let his anger at such a sentiment fuel him, and he burned away (Silver) the curse’s form until it could hold it no longer. (Silver’s screams would not stop, though, and Malleus doubted that they ever would.)
Then the screams melted into one of fury. From the flames, the curse re-emerged with blood-hued (tear-stained) eyes thirsty for vengeance. Lilia’s old claymore (rusted with blood and scratched from countless battles) sliced through the air and came for his head.
Lilia was furious. (As he should be.) Never before had Malleus seen his (parent) mentor so unhinged (so enraged at him) that it froze Malleus to the spot. Only when the blade reached his skin did Malleus have the capacity to act. The blade was not steel, but rather the icy touch of sinister magic. Of the curse. It was a good reminder that this was not Lilia, and that was not his sword. Lilia would never draw that blade, the blade he wouldn’t let anyone else even touch, on Malleus. He wouldn’t.
Malleus rolled away from the blow and grabbed the curse by the back of the head. It helped, no longer seeing Lilia’s face (and his furious eyes), but a part of him still trembled under its effect. Eager to be done with this, and to do anything he could to separate himself from the curse’s attempt to make this personal, Malleus grew with a roar. His hand turned to a claw, engulfing (Lilia) the curse’s form and removing him from sight, and Malleus encompassed more space within his own mind. As a dragon, he was stronger. He could push more and more of the curse out.
He crushed it underneath his palm, willing it to break. The magic shifted noticeably enough for Malleus to hope that he was gaining ground. (To hope that the curse no longer had its roots so deep in Malleus’s mind.)
It was a false hope, however. When Malleus dared to remove his claw, to survey the damage, he only saw a broken and battered Leona beneath him. He was wheezing, eyes barely open and dulled with pain. It was a far cry from the lively Kingscholar that was brave enough to treat Malleus as an equal.
This isn’t real, he reminded himself. Instead, Malleus hoped the visage was instead a representation of the curse’s weakening state.
So Malleus (shakily) inhaled, and he (screamed) breathed fire on the visage, hoping to burn it away as it did before.
“Draconia!” a voice wheezed out from the smoke and flame. Despite his best efforts, Malleus saw it, as the curse tried to save itself once more. Vargas held up an unconscious Schoenheit, yet he was unable to drag him away from the flames. (From Malleus.) “Stop this! Please!”
They were being consumed by the flames, crumbling to ash. It was a terrible sight. Malleus swept it away with his tail, and even though they broke apart into nothing but dust and black feathers, he could still hear their screams.
It was nothing but screaming, now. Every terrible, dying scream, mixed into one.
Malleus (desperately) roared above it, spreading his wings until the space in his mind was nothing but him—until the expanses of blackness cracked like glass.
Until Malleus heard nothing at all.
.
.
.
.
.
“...eus?”
“Malleus? Can you hear us?”
“WHAT IF WE HAVE PERMANENTLY INJURED HIM?!”
“Oi! Pipe down over there, Grasshead. You’re giving me a headache.”
“THAT IS NOT—”
“Sebek. I know you’re worried, but this is an infirmary. You have to be quiet.”
“...Sorry, Lilia.”
“Wait, look. He’s definitely moving.”
“Silver! Lilia just said to—”
“Shhh.”
Malleus recognized all of the voices around him, but he did not recognize where he was. He was hesitant to believe anything after… after that ordeal, but all Malleus saw was the marred nothingness behind his eyelids, and the peace from that was enough to make him relax. So was the gentle touch in his hair. He would recognize Lilia’s presence from anywhere. Just as he would recognize Sebek and Silver.
He did not want to wake up, however. (He was scared to open his eyes, lest he continue to see nightmares.) Everything had a dull ache about it, and Malleus had a feeling that the light would not help. Yet, he also did not want everyone to worry about it. In that regard, it was terribly petulant of him to hide in this manner. It was not becoming of the crown heir of Briar Valley. It was just… he did not feel like that crown heir, after the day he had. He still felt much too small for that.
“Perhaps you two should get back to the dorm. We wouldn’t want to crowd him.”
“But—”
“No.” Malleus did not waste any time to let Lilia’s suggestion come to fruition. In that instance Malleus decided that he would rather take his chances with Sebek and Silver still here than for him to be able to imagine their existence entirely. (He wanted—needed—to see them alive, after… after…) So he powered past his own pitiful hindrances and opened his eyes, making an effort to sit up. “No, that’s not…”
Ugh, the light was excruciatingly bright. (It wasn’t even that bright, but it was brighter than the pitch black darkness, and that was enough for his skull to protest.) He had to blink several times before his eyes were willing to adjust, but to his great relief, the three faces that greeted him were whole, healthy, and normal. (He could have cried from the relief of it.)
“I knew that would get you up,” Lilia whispered, rather smugly. But… Lilia was holding his hand, rubbing very soothing circles into it, so his trickery was forgiven.
“MALLEUS-SAMA!” Sebek cried—literally. “YOU’RE ALRIGHT! I-I mean, of course I knew that you would never succumb to something so paltry.”
Silver smiled softly. “We’re glad you’re back.”
Malleus released a shaky breath. The vision did not break. They all remained solid. Unbroken. There was a tightness in Lilia’s face, tear tracks on Sebek’s, and an exhaustion written on Silver’s, but considering what Malleus had just put them through, he had to accept those as reality. Though if Malleus were being honest with himself, even their distress on his behalf was vastly preferred to their blood at his hand.
It was bizarre to be in the infirmary, however. Especially laying down in one of the beds. Him, of all people.
“...What happened?” he had to ask, even though Malleus was loath to relive any what had just transpired. The details were foggy…and he rather liked them that way, if he were being honest.
A dark look entered Lilia’s eyes. Malleus knew that his smile was nothing but a false pretense, in that moment. “It would seem that a rather powerful fairy managed to breach your dreams and place a sensory curse into your subconscious. Rest assured, however, because I will ensure that it never happens again.”
At his promise, Malleus relaxed. That was enough for him for now, to be honest. He knew that he would have to worry about the rest later, but he was far too exhausted for that.
Actually, it wasn’t quite enough. “The—The field,” he started, trying to formulate his words properly. “Did I…? Was anything damaged?” He was sure most of it was in his head, but given his track record, Malleus could not be positive. He was still quite bad at containing himself whenever he was… stressed, to say the least.
“Not really,” a new voice said. Leona was sitting on the side of another bed, off to the side. For some reason, Schoenheit was there as well, standing beside him. “You put on quite the thunderstorm, sure, but a bit of singed grass isn’t gonna’ end the world. Besides, that curse was siphoning your magic, so you lacked your usual pizazz. Sorry to disappoint.”
As if that was disappointing. Malleus was a tad perturbed to find that some of the lightning really had been his doing…but he had expected as much. It was enough that no one was hurt.
Or were they? Malleus focused in on Leona once more—or, specifically, on his bandaged hand. Something in his throat tightened. “Kingscholar. What happened to your hand?”
For a moment, Leona looked surprised. He briefly shared a glance with Schoenheit, but then Leona was back to smirking like his usual self, a fire hidden in the back of his eyes. “What, this? You have impressive grip strength, I’ll give you that. You’re lucky it was my hand your sad little self went for back there. Other people might not be as forgiving. But, seeing as this gets me out of at least two papers, I’ll forgive you, this time.”
“You’re right-handed, Leona,” Schoenheit interjected tiredly, before turning towards Malleus to continue. “When your curse was discovered, a number of us were summoned to help subdue you, and by extension, the curse, since a great deal of magic power was necessary, on short notice. You fought back a little, at the beginning, but really the injury was minimal. As for Leona here, with magic he’ll be right as rain in a week. You needn’t let his drama fool you.”
“Oi, watch your mouth, princess,” Leona muttered.
“That’s queen, to you.”
“Like hell it is.”
Malleus was not convinced there was no issue…but it was also true that things did not appear that dire. (He didn’t kill them.) He was still guilty in the matter, and he would need to find a way to serve recompense for what he had done, but he could at least find assurance that things were minor.
Everyone was here. (For now.) The curse was gone. Nothing had been decimated, or broken beyond repair. Everything could be fixed.
And that would be enough.
(It had to be.)