Chapter Text
And when Zanka felt that inhumane force pierce through his chest—he thought he was going to die. At this rate, with his glaring incompetence, he wasn’t shocked that he was going to die. He could feel his entire body burning up and contorting painfully as he sprawled on the floor with his hand clutching Assistaff. The only sense he could feel in his body was agony, regardless of how hard he wanted to scream in desperation, Zanka couldn’t do anything but lie uselessly on the concrete.
He could feel his body being hoisted up by someone as his ears rang in an unbearable pitch. Being carried as his body laid limp placed force on his ruptured stomach, as scorching blood pooled from him. Whoever had picked him up took his vital instrument from what he originally thought was a grasping fist, only to be easily loosened. Zanka could only feel the sickness swirling in his stomach, wanting to lurch out from his mouth.
He wasn’t going to survive this time.
Zanka’s eyes tear open, and his body shakes as he wakes up. Both of his elbows hit the sides of something when he jerks. As his vision begins to become clearer, he notices that he's in some box in darkness he could barely adjust to. And for some reason, he was standing upright. Grunting as he forces himself to be more aware, he instinctively, reaches onto his back to try and feel for his vital instrument, only to find nothing tangible.
Zanka inhales sharply at that realisation, scrunching his face together as he panics, trying to retrace his memories that seemed eerily vague. His heart beats far quicker than necessary; he could feel his stomach sink as he remembered.
Mymo.
No, that… whatever it was. He's alive. Irrationally.
There was no way he could have survived, and his stomach felt almost no pain, only the discomfort in breathing from being in this… weird box. Whoever was carrying him just before he fell unconscious must have Lovely Assistaff. Nobody in the cleaners would take her from him. He would be in Eisha’s infirmary.
Unfortunately, he was definitely not with the cleaners. And chances are, he’s probably with the Hell Guard. That still seemed unlikely, but more likely.
Zanka tries to take a step back, but his foot hits against a back wall only a few inches back. Whatever. It would do. He takes a sharp inhale of the limited oxygen and twists his body as he rams his upper arm and part of his back into the wall.
Nothing. Although he thinks he hears some… meow or something. The lack of air in his system must be getting to him.
Or the fact that he should totally be dead, but he could be concerned with that later.
Zanka runs his fingertips down the corner of the box, and manages to feel the presence of hinges. It is this side, then. But it’s awfully inconvenient that he has no room for almost any force. Sliding his foot back again, he grits his teeth together and rams his shoulder into the wall again.
This time, it hurts more when he hits the wall, but Zanka stumbles forward as the wall falls down.
Wow. That wasn’t that bad. He rubs his eyes hastily as bright lights blind him, impairing his vision. When he looks down, he notices the shape of the door he just broke down. It looks an awful lot like… a coffin.
What the hell?
Feeling his chest contort, Zanka steps out more, glancing around briefly before a screech comes out, and boiling warmth begins to form at his feet.
“You… human! Gimmie your uniform!” A feral creature yells at him. It would have been decently entertaining to watch a talking cat, but it spewed blazing, blue fire at Zanka’s feet like a dragon.
“Excuse—Why can ya even talk!” Zanka kicks his legs as his shoes catch flames, and he was indeed wearing ceremonial attire, but that was the least of his worries. He felt his hand get burned, a blunt clue that whatever was happening was actually happening. Luckily, his instincts begin to work again and he clambers onto a wooden table. He's in an awfully fancy library, one that was far fancier than even the Hell Guard Academy’s.
Leaving that until later, Zanka clumsily jumps backwards off the furniture, onto the floor once again. The talking weasel chases him—he didn’t have anything to defend himself. With haste, Zanka rushes to a ladder and clambers onto the second floor of the library. Once he reaches the top, Zanka sluggishly crouches down and places both hands on the ladder, then pushes it over so the weasel couldn’t follow him. Zanka pauses, breathing heavily, watching as the cat scrambles closer.
This was seriously a fever dream.
“How dare you! Come back down here!” It screams, futilely throwing its paws in the air.
Why should I? Zanka slowly stands up and leans against the dark shelves. Ever since he arrived here, he's been feeling horrible. He couldn’t tell what was happening at all, when he’s usually good at calculating what actions to take.
“I’m on a tight schedule! Get back!”
“Hey. Weasel.” Zanka sighs as he still has to breathe heavily.
“I am not a weasel! I’m Grim, sorcerer extraordinaire!”
“...Anyway, where am I?” Zanka grimaces; his only source of information was a creature with an inflated ego.
The growling creature releases more flames from its mouth, which nerves Zanka slightly, but they didn’t get very close to him. Actually, now that he pays more attention, there’s a man just behind the cat, who proceeds to grab it from the collar and lift it in the air during its distracted phase.
“YEOW!!! That hurts! Let go of me!“ The man who carries him gracefully murmurs some words that Zanka couldn’t distinguish, nor lip-read, but his tone was disapproving. Eventually, the cat’s—or Grim’s—struggling stops as he gave up on his muffled hissing.
This new guy also looked like a complete oddball, shoulders covered in feathers and dull, black clothes that seemed to radiate darkness. “Thanks.” Zanka calls out with a shaky voice. Can he trust this guy?"
“Ah… well, no issue, I am ever so kind, young man! But, please do not bring such feral familiars with you. It’s a clear violation of the school’s rules.” The man exuberantly projects, as if he's hosting a performance. “And to answer your question, you eagerly managed to break out of your gate, and caused damage to it! Now you are in the infamous Night Raven College’s library! And, you should head to the mirror chamber posthaste!”
“The mirror chamber?” Zanka could still feel the sensitive skin of his palm stinging from the burn.
“Indeed, you have been chosen to join the Night Raven College student body!” He beams with far too much passion, “Only those who the Dark Mirror perceives as having a talent for magic are admitted to the college!” He added on whilst tapping his chin with his pointy fingers.
A talent? Him?
”Er. Thank you." Zanka awkwardly responds, shrugging. "What kind of school…is Night Raven College exactly?” He shouted down, wishing he were closer so he could relax his throat.
“Why, we are a magical academy! The best one on this island, in fact! And I am its headmage!” The man—headmage—seemed to emphasise every word he spoke, attempting to make himself seem important. But now that he takes in this hellishly fancy place more; there are literal floating books. The infrastructure was incredibly futuristic for the Ground. It wasn’t anything even the richest areas of the Ground could have. All the materials were shiny and new—nothing was rusting or rotting here.
What if this wasn’t the Ground?
And what if he was genuinely in some fucking magic school?
“Nice. Magic. Could you, er, put the ladder back up?” Zanka holds his burnt hand in his other undamaged one. The man sent out a response of agreement; then lifts up the ladder with as much grace as he could. “Thanks.”
Carefully, Zanka lowers his body and climbs down the ladder far slower than when he ascended it, minding his disadvantaged hand. Once he reached the bottom, the man instantly started talking again.
“Now, we must head to the ceremony quickly, boy!”
Zanka nods in response to his loudness, still feeling deeply nauseous as his vision seemed to blur, dragging behind slower than when it was adjusted. “May I ask some questions, er, sir?”
“Of course! I am ever so kind.” The headmage smiles with pride, his heels clacking as he leads the way to this mirror chamber. For now, Zanka wants to lie low and pretend he belongs here. It isn’t as if this man seems to be considering he doesn’t anyways. As soon as he figures out the gist of his situation, and he has Lovely Assistaff he can leave this… surreal place. Probably.
Zanka wants to figure out what magic is defined as here. He needs to know if this is the Ground (It likely isn’t, hell, this might be the sphere somehow). He needs to know where his Vital instrument is.
“Er. Magic is really crucial right?” Zanka awkwardly coughs as he cringes at himself. Whatever. Nothing that some bluffing couldn’t pull off.
“Indeed, dear boy! Magic is the centre of our curriculum, here at Night Raven College, you will learn everything you need to be a successful mage! Medical mages, Spelldrive players, Alchemists, ah, you fine students have so much to offer…” He replies with multiple tangents.
Okay. Yeah. Magic could be anima, but probably not. Most vital instruments are designed for offense or defense, becoming familiar with alchemy wouldn’t directly link to one’s instrument. And, what the hell even was Spelldrive? Zanka inhales through his nose deeply, before opening his mouth. “Mhm. Er, givers.”
“What?”
“Givers. Are givers mages?” Zanka speaks flatly, feeling his cheeks burn slightly in embarrassment.
“What is a giver?” The headmage questions, tilting his head as he pauses his walk, the background noise of heels pausing.
“Polluted zones. Trash beasts. The Sphere and the Ground.”
“What are you talking about?” Laughing with perplexion, the man reaches to open the door of the library. It leads straight outside, and it was night time. However, the sky was so clear, Zanka could see stars in the sky and not a single cloud of humid pollution wafting and obscuring the view. Let alone any trash flying about. If this man hadn’t already confirmed it, this definitely meant that he wasn’t on the Ground. What was it that Rudo said they called the Ground on the Sphere…?
“Oh. The Pit.” Zanka spits out shrugging with as much indifference as he could manage.
The man still looks completely unaware.
So Zanka wasn’t on the Ground, not even the Sphere, but in some foreign, magical, overly passionate man’s obsession of a school that resided in an entirely new world.
“Young man, these terms have no meaning to me, would you elab-”
“I was thinking about a fiction novel I’m writing.” Zanka bluntly replied, biting his tongue as he finished to stop himself from writhing. The cat creature muffled a growl in response to that.
“Oh. Alright.” The headmage coughs.
Zanka scoffs as he notices he doesn’t even know this guy’s name. “Sir, what’s your name?”
“I am Dire Crowley, headmage of Night Raven College!” He exclaims childishly as they approach a door into seemingly the mirror hall of the campus. Well yeah. Zanka already knew the latter. “And you?”
“Zanka Nijiku.” His surname meant nothing here luckily.
Crowley pursed his lips as he paused at the door. “That is an odd name… Zan… Zanka?”
It was certainly an awkward experience to watch a grown man struggle to break down two syllables. “My name is Zanka Nijiku.” He repeats, probably coming off as slightly rude, but it seriously was not hard to say at all.
“Zanka Ni…jiku.” He used a short I instead of a long one after the j. Nobody has ever struggled to say his name ever.
“Ni-ji-ku.”
“Nijiku.” Crowley hums absently. “Well, Zanka Nijiku, let us attend to your orientation!”
The towering door opened with splendour, revealing an even more impressive display of architecture behind. Walls curled inwards with implausible height. Green glows illuminate the room alongside purple decor that supports the precisely carved stone.
When Crowley stepped into the mirror hall, practically all of the pupils present latched their eyes onto him, and then onto Zanka.
Awkward.
“Ah, speak of the devil.” A red haired boy spoke with poise, sighing slightly in his tone. There were some other students in the crowd who whispered, wondering where their headmage had been.
“Maybe he had a tummyache?” A gleeful boy shouts out, with a purple ceremonial sash tied on his head. Everybody else in this room seemed terribly gloomy, so he stuck out.
“I most certainly did not!” Crowley yells back unprofessionally, as if he isn't in charge of the whole institution. He walks down the aisle that splits the student body in half with confidence. “If you must know, I was searching for a particular someone who failed to show up for orientation!”
Didn’t this guy say he was eager to get up earlier..?
“And with a poorly trained familiar, no less.” He exaggerated his complaint with a soft groan, but still only talked loud enough for Zanka to hear. Although, regarding the fact that said familiar was in Crowley’s hand for everybody to see, it didn’t matter.
“The cat doesn’t concern me.” Zanka insists, digging his nails into his palm slightly with frustration. The animal hisses as well. After a handful of seconds that felt too long, they reach the mirror at the front of the ceremony.
Well, it was hardly a mirror. It was more a mask with black markings on it, placed inside a golden frame. It wasn’t reflecting a thing.
“State your name.”
He swallows, still adjusting to his surroundings. Zanka focuses back on the present moment.
“Zanka Nijiku.”
…
“The nature of your soul is…”
…
…
Was this mirror going to even speak or what?
…
“Unclear to me.”
Oh, okay then.
However, Crowley seemed to be far more concerned than Zanka was. “What did you just say?” He was taken aback, adjusting his cane to lean further backwards.
“I sense no magical power from this one. Soundless. Colorless. Shapeless. Utterly vacant.” The speaking mirror continued, seeming to radiate unintelligible emotions. “Therefore, no dorm would be appropriate.”
Zanka didn’t really know what he expected from this thing, but whatever. Why should he care about what it had to say? However, that headmage was evidently freaking out. “Are you suggesting that the black carriage went to receive a person who cannot even use magic?” He spoke with exasperation, making emphasised gestures. “But that is absurd! The student selection process has not erred once in its century of existence! How could this have happened?”
Zanka stood behind him, out of place, glancing around at the crowd of students that focused on him.
“ME! Let ME have this student's seat!”
If he had Assistaff Zanka would have pummeled that talking cat into the floor. Crowley recoiled as that weasel shook its body in his grasp, managing to land on the floor with confidence smeared on its face, “Unlike that human, I can actually use magic!”
Jeez, Zanka wished he had Lovely Assistaff.
But before he could keep entertaining his own thoughts, the ground beneath him lights up again, and the entire ceremony room was burning a scorching blue. Zanka’s body jerks as he steps back instinctively—having to then step back again with his other foot to absorb the impact. Someone from the front of the crowd shouted out for everybody to get down, but he could scarcely make it out over the hyperactive growling.
“Er. Sir.” Zanka’s trembling voice spoke out, only to have his voice completely overridden by some kid shouting that his butt was on fire. He was pretty sure it was the same guy who suggested Crowley had a stomach ache—but whatever. “Sir.” He tried to reiterate, feeling his chest become heavy and sick again.
“Someone catch that blasted animal before it sets the school ablaze!” Crowley sent an order to his whole student body, displaying his panic in a stationary footing instead of even trying to save his own school. Was this guy always this incompetent?
Predictably, all of his students completely ignored him. Except maybe one or two; Zanka didn’t really pay much attention. He scrunches his face up slightly as he traced his eyes on the animal that was pouncing about. He wanted to just grab the ugly thing to stop him, but whenever it started… spitting fire, it made Zanka feel so nauseous. This place is so horribly foreign. He needs to go back home. Actually, will he even be able to?
“I’m sorry, were my instructions unclear?!” Crowley yells again, getting more and more agitated. Yet, his feet still didn’t budge from the centre of the mirror chamber.
It was so loud in here.
Zanka felt his chest growing heavier. His vision was getting splotchy as well.
“-rule breaking! You will be judged by my hand!” The red haired boy from earlier shouts out, making Zanka bring his attention back in as his legs grew weak and his ears ring. He huffs, as he watches the student, alongside somebody with glasses chase after the cat.
He needs to get out of here. This stupid dizzy spell was making him go crazy. Zanka turns around to walk towards the door he came from—down the dim hallway. Although, it wasn’t really a hallway anymore; now that the alley that was formed by the segments of students had become fully displaced. There were a couple students crowding around the door, most of them looked to be younger out of the lot. Maybe they were new here.
Zanka coughs into his sleeve as his eyes water. Unfortunately, he needs to find her first before attempting to leave here. Maybe he can read the books in the library to try and grasp how this place works, although studying was the last thing Zanka wished to do. Simultaneously, he can find her. Seemed like a good enough idea. But that would mean getting cosy with these people first.
Well, if anybody could get him home, it would probably be this Crowley guy.
“Off with your head!”
Zanka jerks as he turns around at the sharp burst of light from the heart of the mirror chamber. The red haired boy swiftly captures the cat with a spell that appears to be a collar in the shape of a heart. How cute.
“Myah! What are you doing!” It screams, wriggling futilely At least that was done with now, Zanka should be able to look around the campus soon.
The red-haired student steps forward, grabbing the animal by the collar he had just activated. “Queen of Hearts’ rule number 23: “One must never bring a cat to a formal affair!””
Right...
Grunting, Zanka takes another quick look at his body to check he didn’t get burnt again. Doesn’t look like it. He tries to blink repeatedly to make himself more alert, which doesn't help. He absentmindedly surveys the trio over there arguing. For one reason or another, it seemed the boy with glasses and the red-haired one were fighting more than the weasel was.
“Was I not clear that you are expected to take responsibility for your familiar?” The headmage shouts at Zanka with a reddened face. Despite the fact that Zanka owned none of said responsibility, he still felt guilty as he was reprimanded.
Sighing gently, Zanka grits his teeth as he responds, “I’ve already told ya that it’s not mine.” He had to force himself to speak louder, but his dizziness seemed to be slowly dissipating now.
“Oh. Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“Ahem, well, I shall have it expelled from campus then.” Crowley attempts to recover, coughing. “Someone please take this away.”
The cat continued to growl and grit his teeth, clearly powerless. Not even spitting flames. Now that he noticed that, it likely means that the spell in the form of a collar deactivated his ability to summon fire. What a handy trick, particularly for situations like this.
Zanka takes in a few more breaths as his queasiness faded, before approaching closer to the headmage who was surrounded by some eccentric students chittering. Once he reached one or two metres away from him, Crowley sent him a look of pity.
Why are you looking at me like that?
Zanka bites his lip as the masked man sighs once his pupils’ talking ceased, “Well, Zanka, I’m afraid you will not be able to attend our school as you lack the magical capability to do so.” Thanks. “Worry not, the Dark Mirror will see you safely return home now.”
“Oh? Really?” Zanka raises his eyebrows, then Crowley nods. Surely it wasn’t this easy. Especially considering the fact he should have an absence in his body. Is he just going to die as soon as teleports “home”?
“Now, step into the gate and visualise the place whence you came.”
Zanka pictures the cleaners. He pictures himself safe in his room, or the medical bay. He didn’t really care.
“O Dark Mirror, return this soul to where it belongs!”
…
“Ahem…”
…
“Let us try this again…”
…Well shit.
“O Dark Mirror! Return this soul-”
“There is no such place.”
“What?”
“There is no place in this world where this soul belongs. None.” The mirror broadly explained. Its speech felt ominous; despite the monotonous way it presented itself.
Crowley slowly turns backwards to face Zanka dramatically. He just shrugs blandly, not having much anticipation in the first place. “Tell me: from which land do you hail?” The headmage questions lowly.
He sighs and looks to the side, the floor is still charred from earlier. There wasn’t any way Zanka could just make up a real place in this unknown world. “Er, what do you want me to say?” He offers, smiling slightly.
“Now isn’t the time for jokes, Zanka.”
He purses his lips, reluctant. “Uhm. The Ground.”
“...I have never heard of such a place.” Crowley pauses for what feels like an eternity. “Shall we check the library?”
At least Crowley wasn’t listening to whatever he was talking about earlier.
The headmage shuts a thick book with a collection of maps closed with a thud. “Just as I had suspected. Nothing.”
Zanka exhales, staring at the cover of said book. He couldn’t even understand the text, it was in some completely different writing system to what they used on the ground. Nodding and humming seemed to get him by though. It was by no means accurate, but he had to guess what was happening based on Crowley’s annotation and images alone.
“Are you quite sure you come from such a place? Not a lie or jape?” Zanka mumbles in disagreement to respond, moving his eyes back up from the book.
“The only explanation is that you have been summoned here from another planet—or dimension.”
“....Yeah, probably.” He sighs gently with frustration. It might have appeared sarcastic, but Zanka was fully sure that he had. Was magic here so prominent that the idea of genuine alternate dimensions was easy to wrap your head around?
“Show me everything you have brought with you. Identification? A license?” Crowley questions quickly, bringing his hand up to his chin with a theorising look.
Zanka shakes his head. “Everything I had on me beforehand is gone. Actually, er, I have a request if I may.”
“Yes… well be quick about it…” He seemed to grow more frustrated.
“I…” Zanka pauses, trying to think of a way to put it without sounding crazy. “I have this teal staff. And it’s really important, because, er… it’s my... training weapon?” He tilted his head as he spoke, averting his line of sight in awkwardness. “If you happen to see it, please tell me. It has two branches that split off from the top, kinda like this-” Zanka creates a gesture of a kind of Y, “-and has bandages around it.”
“Ah… well I shall if I notice it seeing as I haven’t. Anyways,” He quickly moves on (which annoyed Zanka, for the dignity of his instrument), “I do loathe to expel a student with no way to get home, or a parent to contact… but I am ever so kind. We do have a spare building on campus, in fact, it used to be a student dorm!”
“Truly..?” Zanka half-asks, feeling surprised at the offer. In honesty, he was expecting to be kicked out as quickly as that cat.
“Indeed! But, it does have plenty of… character one could say.” Crowley smiles generously at Zanka’s neutral—somewhat confused—face. Well, something was better than nothing.
Nevermind.
Zanka wants to spit out that there was no chance he was going to take residence in a glorified polluted zone, but he held his tongue. Sure, it certainly looked like an old dorm. (A very old dorm) because of its expansive size, but the whole place was lathered in cobwebs and rotting. It was incredibly derelict, and there had to be five or six shattered windows.
“It’s delightful, isn’t it!” Crowley beams, contrasting the literal pit of gloominess that they were in. “Come on, scoot in, there you go.” He ushers Zanka in excitedly—who pushes his feet into the floor unwillingly—despite seeming to be opposed to the building himself. “This is Ramshackle!”
Yeah, it looks like one.
“Er… thanks?” Zanka scrunches his nose up, the lounge smelled like dust, which was probably drifting around far too much because he couldn’t breathe very well in here. “So, uhm, where can I get necessities from? Like… a broom.”
“Oh, we have a lovely school shop run by Sam! If you walk all the way back down to the mirror chamber, then walk a little further, you should find his store to your right. He has everything there, trust me!” The headmage exclaims, Zanka nods unsurely. “Actually, that gives me an idea…”
Zanka holds back a scoff and bites his lip momentarily, “And what would that be?”
“As you know, I can't simply let you stay here for completely free despite my generosity…” Crowley mumbles beneath his breath, looking at his hands as if it was mandatory for him to ask for things. “So, I will lend you all this refuge in exchange for you becoming a janitor for my college!” He smiles. “That will be in exchange for money and other commodities—of course.”
Great, so he has to become an actual cleaner to stay here and have the basic funds for survival? In this excuse of a residence?
“...Okay.” Zanka agrees hesitantly, he didn't have any other options anyway. Sucking up his annoyance at this guy and working a light job would be good enough for the time being. He would also be able to get a decent amount of information from here. Being left out to fend for himself without Lovely Assistaff in this world would be far worse. Who knows what kind of people are out there?
Crowley hums for a few seconds, before pulling some kind of currency out of his pocket. “Here, take these; thaumarks. It will be enough for the essentials, do not buy anything for fun.” He tuts patronisingly, which frustrated Zanka, why was he assuming he was irresponsible? The headmage pushes the money into Zanka’s hands, a couple of beige bills with a letter T on it.
“Thank y-”
“You should be fine for the time being—I have research to do, ta!” The headmage hastily summarises, before speed walking out of the dorm. Zanka was left to his own devices.
It was terribly silent. But it did mean that it was peaceful. Zanka sighs quietly as he walks down the hallway, trying to find a bedroom he could clean out. It would be best to find one on the ground floor, seeing that the panels of the building were so frail. The first room he opens the door to was a bathroom, which was barely visible in the darkness. All of the sanitaryware was tightly packed in the small room; greyed curtains hid the bathtub at the back.
His feet pat on the floor quietly as he moves to the sink, which was slightly molding from the moisture that it would have fed on. Zanka hesitantly moves to open the small storage cupboard nailed above, which was mostly filled with webs but it had a left over face towel in it. Trying to not gag, he picks it up and turns on the tap to try and rinse it out.
…
The water didn’t work here.
Actually, he could still hear it.
Zanka slams the tap off harsher than he meant to, scowling, but it didn’t look damaged. Grunting, he kneels down and opens the oak sink unit. Answering him, the pipe below looked corroded, and water leaked out onto the floor. He would have to get a screwdriver then. Groaning, he used the grimy towel to soak up the liquid.
He needs to get a lot of things from “Sam’s store” now that he thought about it. A broom, a duster, towels, a hunk of medical supplies, clothes… Zanka really hopes that this guy actually had everything as Crowley had put it. What else did he need… literally every sanitary product, new bed sheets—
A glow illuminated the hallway suddenly from under the door, an extremely pristine white, not one that would have been caused by the glow of Ramshackle’s lanterns. Zanka quietly stood up, leaving the soggy towel on the floor. Was it some kind of prankster student hoping to mock him for being ‘magicless’? Or was it an intruder?
Creak…
The floorboards squirmed out underneath Zanka’s light step; he curses it internally. Impossibly, he swears he heard a giggle. But last time he ignored the sounds he heard, that cat was chasing him so perhaps he should trust his gut.
…Whatever, it was probably just his mind playing tricks on him after all of this confusion. Although the glow seemed to reside right outside his door. Ignoring the fear of the unknown which Zanka seemed to carry with him constantly now, he pushes open the door and the white glow burns his eyes in contrast to the dimness surrounding it.
Zanka shields his eyes for a second with his forearm, before forcing himself to look at what was inside the dorm. Some kind of white blob he couldn’t make out well. His vision starts getting cloudy again, and his brain felt like it was trying to escape his skull. Despite that, he could still hear that unnerving laughter.
Once he was able to see clearer again, Zanka manages to make out the image of… ghosts!?
“Wha-What the hell!” He yells out, stepping backwards in shock. First a talking, fire breathing cat, a fortune telling mirror and now ghosts? Attempting to shrug off the supernatural beings, Zanka inhales, coughing out the dust wafting around and throws a kick that came naturally at the largest of the group of the three spirits, who was smiling as it came through the doorframe. Unsurprisingly, his attack managed to do absolutely nothing and his foot only came back with a stinging sensation as he reluctantly lowered it back onto the floor.
“Yee-hee-hee… We haven’t had visitors in ages!” One of the ghosts—gaunt and slender—teases. “I’m just itching for new friends!” Another glowing spirit agreed behind it, giddy.
“Go look for some other friends!” Zanka spits out, sweating. He's far more nervous than he pretends he is. Generally, Zanka wasn’t scared of supernatural stories, but listening to and watching a physical ghost was far more terrifying than any books.
“All the people who used ta live here got scared of us and ran away.” One of them explains casually, with low eyelids and full cheeks despite its transparent body.
“We just want a new ghost to play with! What do ya say, buddy?” The ghost closest attempted to coerce him. Its smile uncannily stretches further than it should have, with excessive excitement.
“Absolutely not!” Zanka emphasises in response, exasperation in his voice. Additionally, the longer he stayed here, the more ill he felt. It was beginning to feel repetitive, whenever one of these fools used magic, Zanka began to feel queasy. First, his chest would grow heavy, then his head would throb, his vision would blur and his muscles would weaken, and finally… Well, something would probably happen.
One of the radiating ghosts disappears, then its voice echoes behind Zanka, “Look over here!” It gleefully said like a child playing a game. Zanka slides one foot out and pivots with his arm out in front of him on instinct, and the spirit had indeed reappeared on the other side of the room. He stumbles slightly at the ‘party trick’ the ghost had, then hastily turns back around to the other two ghosts still watching him.
Yeah, he’s getting out of here.
Ignoring the risk it probably posed to him, Zanka allowed himself to phase through the intangible body of the ghosts blocking the hallway—gagging and coughing as the magic seeped into his burning lungs. Moving one clawing hand to grasp his itching chest, attempting to push his heart palpitations back into his ribs.
“-come back! You’re our visitor!” One of the spirits calls out. Zanka didn’t care which one, let alone wish to respond. Maybe that was a bad idea, he couldn’t breathe as the toxic magic diffused into his veins. Pushing away, Zanka sped-walks through the lounge and pushed the door open hard, his footsteps slowing down as he was met with fresh air that he gasped in.
Instead of nauseating magical potency, it now smells like aging smoke drifting in midnight black. The few lanterns along the barren path barely brightened up the campus enough for Zanka to tell where he was going, but he kept his feet moving along desperately. Slowly, his retching calms down to scarce coughs once the miasma dissipated from his body and his eyes began to cease watering.
Oh well. Zanka had to go to that store to get supplies anyway. He inhales deeply as his symptoms fade. For now—Zanka coughed again—he urgently needed to treat this burn.