Chapter Text
The Dark Mirror chamber trembled, its surface pulsing like a blackened heart. Dire Crowley stood before it, blot dripping from his robes in lazy ribbons, his laughter echoing too brightly for a place that reeked of dark magic. Vast black wings erupted from his back, feathers slick with ink. His face became a grotesque avian mask—elongated beak gilded in gold, eyes glowing crimson behind a masquerade visor etched with arcane symbols. A crown of feathers and jewels sat crooked atop his head, dripping blot like tears.
Below him, the corrupted students and teachers loomed like broken statues, eyes glassy, mouths chanting in a language that hurt to hear. They were all about to be sacrificed to the darkness for his grand project.
Hummm…
A low, melodic hum slid through the chamber, soft at first, almost tender. Slow footsteps followed. Crowley’s grin twitched.
Bryce Lawrence appeared out of the darkness.
He was still unmistakably overblotted, yet wrong in a way Crowley hadn’t anticipated—no Phantom shrieking behind him, no mindless frenzy. Instead, Bryce carried himself with a heavy, suffocating calm, like a storm that had already accepted it would destroy something precious. Vast, leathery wings unfurled behind him, scorched black and veined with glowing indigo blot, each feather edged like torn night. Curved horns rose from his head, sweeping back like a devil king’s crown, etched with runic scars that pulsed faintly with every breath he took. A long, sinuous tail flicked behind him, its spade-shaped tip glowing as if dipped in starlit ink.
His dark hair was now styled into a sharp, punk undercut, strands spiked upward as though gravity itself had given up on him. Chains of spectral light threaded through it, clinking softly when he moved. His school uniform had been reshaped by blot. He was now clad like a erotic yet elegant Night Club Incubus DJ, complete with a leather jacket ripped open to expose ink-smeared abs and pecs, each one resembling fractured constellations of the Underworld and ripped jeans.Most haunting of all was his face.The wild, reckless grin everyone knew was gone.
In its place sat exhaustion and a hollow kind of depression that weighed heavier than rage ever could.An indigo flame leaked steadily from his left eye, smoke curling upward as though his sorrow itself was burning.
Crowley clapped slowly, mockingly.
“Well, well,” he crooned. “If it isn’t my most useful little problem-solver from Ramshackle dorm. Bryce Lawrence the beast tamer and grandson of Orcus. Overblot stopper and now—” his masked face tilted “—proof that even the exceptional break in the end despite gaining control.”
He gestured grandly. From the shadows, the first-year squad stepped forward.
Ace. Deuce. Ortho. Sebek. Epel. Yi Woo. Jack.
And even that stupid papa bear greek, Percy Jackson.Their eyes were dull, movements stiff, blot crawling across their skin like oil. Grim followed last, twisted into a monstrous being, eyes glowing an unnatural blue.
For a long moment, Bryce said nothing.
“…Hah.”
A broken laugh slipped out of his throat.It grew louder. Sharper. Unhinged.
Crowley recoiled a step. “What—what exactly are you laughing at?”
Bryce wiped at his eye with the back of his hand. Then he stuck out his tongue and threw up his signature triple-finger yo pose, grin flashing sharp and defiant despite the pain etched into it.
“I’m laughin’,” he said, voice rough but clear, “because you really thought you won while I’m still awake.”
Crowley scowled. “You stand alone. Look at them. Your friends. Broken. Corrupted. Controlled. How does it feel?”
Bryce’s gaze flicked back to the first-years. His grin faltered.“…It hurts like hell.” he admitted quietly. His scorpion whip materialized in his hand, its metallic spine now reinforced with writhing blot, barbs dripping with spectral venom.
“But pain’s kinda my thing.”
He snapped his fingers.
The chamber exploded into noise.School ghosts poured in from the walls, ceilings, and floor—hundreds of them—howling and laughing. Evil spirits followed, summoned from cracks in reality itself, drums pounding, bass thundering like a heartbeat as if the Underworld itself had decided to throw a satanic rave.
Bryce spread his wings wide, blot clogging raining down like fireworks.
“News flash, birdbrain,” he said, pointing the whip at Crowley. “I amn’t alone or under your control. Ambrose has my back. RSA’s right outside with the hero of light. STYX too.”
Crowley hissed. “Impossible—!”
“And another thing,” Bryce continued, walking forward, each step cracking the floor. “Darkness isn't pure evil. It’s balance. A shadow cast by too much damn light.”His flaming eye narrowed.
“And I’m not the only one here who can rule their inner darkness. Come time to punish you.”
He ordered his ghosts to attack.The Dark Mirror hissed at Crowley's orders. From its surface, seven colossal spectres tore free—warped, ink-soaked mockeries of legend. The Queen of Hearts loomed first, her crown cracked and bleeding blot. Scar followed, mane rotting into shadow. Ursula’s tentacles dragged rivers of ink across the floor. Jafar’s serpentine staff hissed with living darkness. Maleficent’s wings blotted out the light. And Hades—burning blue-black, laughing without mirth.
Bryce’s ghost army was obliterated in seconds—spirits torn apart, swallowed, scattered like sparks in a storm. The impact sent Bryce crashing into a shattered pillar, stone exploding around him. His wings faltered.He coughed, blood dripping from his lips.
Bryce staggered upright and began to sing.
His voice was hoarse. Raw. Unpolished—but real.
---
Bryce:
Nothing but the truth now
Nothing but the proof of what I am
The worst of what I came from, this form I’m ashamed of
Things that even I don’t understand
The chamber trembled—not from power, but from recognition.
I tried to fix it
I tried to fight it
My head was twisted, my heart divided—
(Malleus flinched.The spell snapped like glass.
His green eyes widened, silt pupils refocusing as he turned toward Bryce, breath uneven)
My lies all collided…
(Riddle staggered beside him, clutching his head)
I don’t know why I didn’t trust you to be on my side—
(Leona’s claws dug into the floor as blot peeled away from his arm. Vil gasped sharply, glamour shattering like a mirror.Azul fell to one knee, glasses clattering. Jamil hissed clutching his head. Idia yelped blinking and dropping his tablet.They looked at Bryce dazed and then stepped forward, joining the song.)
Malleus:
I broke into a million pieces, and I can’t go back—
Vil:
But now I’m seeing all the beauty in the broken glass—
Leona:
The scars are part of me—darkness and harmony—
Jamil:
My voice without the lies—this is what it sounds like—
Idia:
Why did I cover up the colors stuck inside my head?
Riddle:
I should’ve let the jagged edges meet the light instead—
Azul:
Show me what’s underneath—
I’ll find your harmony—
(They stood together now—seven former harbingers of ruin and the boy who had walked through hell first)
All eight:
The song of our darkness we couldn’t write—
This is what it sounds like.
----
They nodded at one another. An unspoken truce.Vil, Malleus, and Riddle shot Bryce sharp, lethal glares—we are absolutely discussing your overblot rampage later—which made Bryce groan.
“Yeah, yeah, fam,” he muttered. “Put it on the agenda.”
Azul smirked. Idia cackled. “Oh, you’re dead.
Crowley shrieked.
“NO—! KILL THEM!”
The spectres charged. Grim twitched—but didn’t move. That was enough to shatter their peace.
----
(The eight moved as one.Riddle’s long golden-and-crimson spectre ignited. Leona summoned his lion-headed knobkerrie, sandstorm magic roaring.Azul snapped his silver walking cane.
Jamil tore the serpent-headed staff from a dazed Kalim. Vil unfurled his Japanese war fans, petals of poison blooming. Idia launched his skull-shaped drone, code screaming like banshees. Malleus lifted his massive rod, the wheel atop it spinning with draconic runes.
They charged—with Bryce at their lead)
Bryce:
We’re shattering the silence, we’re rising, defiant—
Shouting in the quiet—
You’re not alone—
Everyone:
We listened to the demons, we let them control us—
But none of us are out here on our own!
(People shuddered in the crowd. The music spread)
So we were cowards, so we were liars—
So we’re not heroes—we’re still survivors—
The blot army began to fall—ripped apart by focused magic, precision born from shared pain.
The dreamers, the fighters—no lying, I’m tired—
But dive in the fire, and I’ll be right here by your side!
(Bryce slammed his fist into the ground.
Blot surged outward—controlled, braided, deliberate. It flowed into the seven.
They overblotted artificially—no phantoms.
Jamil slithered first—sleeveless, regal, cobra hair hissing, eyes molten gold. Azul expanded into a towering male Ursula, inked tentacles etched with contracts. Malleus erupted into a male Maleficent, horns crowned with lightning.
Idia burned blue as a tech-Hades, cables and dark techsuit. Riddle transformed into a steampunk Red Queen, clockwork roses spinning. Leona became an African barbarian prince Scar, roaring. Vil ascended as the Evil Queen, radiant and terrible—holy and deadly all at once. Flames resmebling their dorm colours appeared in their eyes.)
Then pounced.Each clashed with their spectre counterpart—magic colliding, legends shattering.Bryce held the line, wings spread, whip cracking as he kept the blot army at bay.
Everyone:
We broke into a million pieces, and we can’t go back—
But now we’re seeing all the beauty in the broken glass—
The scars are part of us—darkness and harmony
Our voice without the lies—
This is what it sounds like.
----
One by one. The spectres fell.
Crowley shrieked in fury. “GRIM! ATTACK!”
Grim didn’t move but stared at Bryce.
Recognition flickered.
Crowley squawked and began to draw all the power of the the Dark Mirror.
Blot surged into him, swallowing feathers, flesh, and mask alike. His form twisted grotesquely—wings splitting, bones cracking, beak distorting into something monstrous, the masquerade mask melting into his face as he turned into a monstrous raven demon.
All eight overblottees including Malleus and Bryce froze.
Crowley's voice split into a dozen overlapping screeches—teacher, tyrant, beast, god.“YOUR VOICES—YOUR PATHETIC UNITY—MEAN NOTHING!” he roared. “I AM TWISTED WONDERLAND'S EVIL ITSELF!”
A cataclysmic beam erupted from his beak—pure mirror inky blot and cosmic magic, dense enough to bend the air, shrieking as it tore across the chamber.
"This is no good. We still don't have full control over our powers and yet he is using his ultimate attack?!" cried Jamil.
"And he plans to take out both us and the audience!" spat Azul.
"This is like the last boss of revealing its second form when we are this close to victory." croaked Idia.
"How desperate this crow is!" sighed Leona.
"Real." groaned Vil.
“JUST BLOCK IT FOR NOW! WE NEED TO COMBINE OUR ABLITIES AGAIN!” Riddle shouted.
The eight overblotees slammed their magic together. Draconic lightning. Poisoned peacock feathers. Sandstorms. Infernal serpents. Underworld coding. Contracts and ocean magic. Clockwork fire. Underworld flame.
The beam hit.
The floor cracked open. Columns vaporized. All the overblotees began to driven back too, boots grinding against shattered stone. Bryce dug his heels in, teeth clenched so hard they hurt.
“C’MON—!” Bryce snarled, forcing more blot into the barrier. “DON’T YOU DARE—!”
Then the pressure vanished, heat was gone and the silence felt wrong.
Bryce opened his eyes to check and froze. Something stood in front of them blocking the attack.
“….Grim?” he whispered.
The direbeast stood there on trembling paws yet determined, blot burning away from his body as his massive form collapsed inward, shrinking, unraveling—returning to his small, familiar feline shape. Then his body began cracked into glowing fragments, drifting upward like ash.
He still managed his usual feline grin.
“The Great Grim,” he rasped, coughing sparks of blue flame, “just successfully protected his minion… and the fellow troublemakers of NRC.…Though, guess this’ll be the last time, huh?”