(dream o6) be careful with the details of the war (week 33, day 2)
The last things you remember: gray light, sand, and torrential rain pouring down over the entrance to a cave, pouring so strongly it looks more like a solid, shimmering curtain of water. This was the first place you'd slept when you first came here, to... to... to where?
And suddenly, you bolt awake in your bed in the Osiris Dorms. Sunlight streams in the window - you'd somehow forgotten to draw the curtains last night and the light makes your head hurt. What? You - you'd had such a vivid dream. For some reason, you feel uneasy. How high is the sun? It must be late in the day if -
oh shoot.
The final tests are today and they're probably happening right now and you're missing them! Which would normally be fine by you - you're probably running on two straight weeks of ignoring classes - but you'd promised you'd stay on the grounds to watch for signs that Darkness is on the move and if you fail out, they might kick you out, and then you'd be in trouble - anyway - the point is, you need to get there now.
Whip on your jacket, check your deck, kick the door open and you're on your way - you sprint to the Academy building in record time and hurtle into the exam room just as Chronos-sensei is about to shut the doors.
You're late, he scolds, but you see the relief in his face that you'd showed up at all. You didn't even have time to run a comb through your hair, so you know you probably look like a disaster. You thank him as you slide into your seat - Shou whispers where were you? - and scramble in your bag for a pencil. You find a dull number 2 pencil after about a minute of rummaging past wrappers, crumbs, and general detritus, and by the time your head comes back up from under the desk, the tests have been passed out and everyone else is writing.
You haven't been in a crowded room in something like weeks, and already you're starting to feel uncomfortable. (From here, your treacherous subconscious is already calculating, it's a dozen large strides to the closest door. Ten if you don't mind trampling someone.) You'll answer enough questions to keep from failing, you reassure yourself. Then you can leave.
First question: explain the difference between Fusion Summoning, Ritual Summoning, and sacrifice summoning. That's pretty basic, you think, writing away. Second question's on the fall of the Middle Kingdom, okay, you kind of paid attention in History of Duel Monsters enough to fake that one...
The constant background noise of pencils scratching makes you feel tense. Every time someone behind you shifts in their chair, you flinch.
(Last time you'd tried to go to class, you'd fallen asleep during the lecture. The resulting nightmare had you screaming so loudly when you woke up that two freshman girls became so disturbed, they'd had to leave. You'd spent several minutes gripping the desk, your vision gray at the edges, taking deep breaths, until you realized that the weight on your shoulder was Chronos' hand, and he was gently suggesting you should go get some water.)
No. Don't revisit those thoughts. You're doing better now. You've reconciled with your friends. You don't get migraines in well-lighted places anymore.
Damn, your hand is shaking again. You drop your pencil for a second, rub your face, rub your eyes, glance at the clock. It's one of those days when you forget the time the second you look away, and have to keep glancing back, trying to keep it in your brain. Give up, you know you don't want to be here.
You return to the test. Next question:
❝How many days can the average human being survive without an adequate supply of water?❞
Suddenly you are intensely aware of the faint tremors in your right hand. You read the question again. And again. (You remember the thickness of your tongue, the dizziness, the headaches, the - ) No. Why would this be a relevant question? Someone must have gotten into the copy room. Senior prank. Maybe the Blues did it. You'll skip this question. Next one:
❝What are the deleterious effects on human physiology of prolonged exposure to dangerous levels of electricity? Give examples.❞
You sit there, staring at this test. What. What the fuck.
Shou elbows you. Twenty minutes, he mouths. You don't have the time to deal with this. One more page. Someone screwed around with the sheet, that's all. That's it. Turn the page.
❝How many people have you watched burn to death?❞
The next thing you register is pain. You snapped your pencil in your hand, and the splinters are digging into the soft pad of your thumb.
Is everything okay? someone asks behind you. No, everything is not okay, either whoever made this test is some kind of sick psychotic lunatic or you're going crazy and honestly, the second option is probably the more likely of the two, and -
Wait. You know that voice. You turn...
Daitokuji-sensei stands right behind you, smiling in the same way he smiled all freshman year, like he had a secret. Pharaoh is nowhere to be seen. You stare at him.
Juudai? You've stopped writing, he says pleasantly. Is something wrong? Of course, you want to scream, of course something's wrong, because Daitokuji is dead and you know that because you watched him die with your own eyes. (The first of many. You hadn't known it at the time.)
Ah, he says, so you've regrettably broken your pencil, I see. Unfortunate. Don't worry, I'll help you. He takes the test. I'll administer it orally. You just have to answer aloud. You're frantically shaking your head. No, no, no, bad idea, what the hell is going on?
The eyes of everyone in the room turn to you and Daitokuji, as he says, So, Juudai, how many people have you watched burn to death?
Swallow. Swallow again. Your throat has gone dry. (You can remember the smell, the smoke that stained in the back of the throat. It never went away, not for days, not for weeks, not for months. The air in your lungs was filled with the dead.) This room is too narrow. Your hands are shaking.
I don't know, you say.
Is that an answer you find acceptable? Juudai-kun? Daitokuji's eyes glitter behind his glasses, as if with some private joke.
You shake your head, maybe a couple times too many. I don't remember. Too many. There were too many.
Are you sure?
Why are you asking me this? you hiss, fists balling up. There's not enough oxygen in this room. You have to breathe really hard to get it. You shouldn't have come.
Fine. Next question. Daitokuji is immune to your pleas. Every eye in this room is fixed on you. What are the fusion summon requirements for Colorless, Chaos King of Dark World?
That one you can't forget, no matter how hard you could try. And despite your own inclinations, you hear yourself saying them: One Devil of Dark World - Reign. One other Dark-World archetype monster. This next comes out quieter, grim: This monster cannot be Special Summoned except by Super Fusion.
Daitokuji cocks an eyebrow. Word-for-word. See, I knew you studied for this test, Juudai-kun. Your hand throbs. Next. What were the last words spoken by Brron, Mad King of Dark World?
"Their blood has already seeped into the sands of this field."
How many did the armies of the Supreme King number?
Forty-four hundred strong. Eight divisions. Fifty-five centuries.
How many souls did it take to complete Super Fusion?
I don't know, you say. I don't remember.
If a pin dropped in the room, it would have sounded like a gunshot.
You bolt. You don't make it more than three steps (completely disregarding what and who you're stepping on) before a sea of hands clamps onto you, pulling you back. You twist out of your jacket, kick off one of your shoes, clamp your injured hand onto the last desk in the row and pull yourself forward, before someone hits it and the pain makes you recoil and you fall down the stairs of the center aisle. Your head hits the floor and the room goes white and fuzzy for a second, like static on a television set.
The next thing you feel is Daitokuji's foot in your gut, slowly pressing down. You can't breathe. He doesn't look like Daitokuji anymore; his skin is cracking and wrinkling, the lines have sharpened, his hair is unbound and cascades over his face. This is Amnael, the alchemist who tried to play God.
Final examinations have concluded, he says.
[ Juudai practically claws himself awake, digging at the sand surrounding him with his hands before his eyes snap open. He's still in the cave. It's still raining - he got caught by a storm blowing in early when he was trying to dig for shellfish. Kannagara. He's still here. And he was -
a dream. It was a dream. ]
And suddenly, you bolt awake in your bed in the Osiris Dorms. Sunlight streams in the window - you'd somehow forgotten to draw the curtains last night and the light makes your head hurt. What? You - you'd had such a vivid dream. For some reason, you feel uneasy. How high is the sun? It must be late in the day if -
oh shoot.
The final tests are today and they're probably happening right now and you're missing them! Which would normally be fine by you - you're probably running on two straight weeks of ignoring classes - but you'd promised you'd stay on the grounds to watch for signs that Darkness is on the move and if you fail out, they might kick you out, and then you'd be in trouble - anyway - the point is, you need to get there now.
Whip on your jacket, check your deck, kick the door open and you're on your way - you sprint to the Academy building in record time and hurtle into the exam room just as Chronos-sensei is about to shut the doors.
You're late, he scolds, but you see the relief in his face that you'd showed up at all. You didn't even have time to run a comb through your hair, so you know you probably look like a disaster. You thank him as you slide into your seat - Shou whispers where were you? - and scramble in your bag for a pencil. You find a dull number 2 pencil after about a minute of rummaging past wrappers, crumbs, and general detritus, and by the time your head comes back up from under the desk, the tests have been passed out and everyone else is writing.
You haven't been in a crowded room in something like weeks, and already you're starting to feel uncomfortable. (From here, your treacherous subconscious is already calculating, it's a dozen large strides to the closest door. Ten if you don't mind trampling someone.) You'll answer enough questions to keep from failing, you reassure yourself. Then you can leave.
First question: explain the difference between Fusion Summoning, Ritual Summoning, and sacrifice summoning. That's pretty basic, you think, writing away. Second question's on the fall of the Middle Kingdom, okay, you kind of paid attention in History of Duel Monsters enough to fake that one...
The constant background noise of pencils scratching makes you feel tense. Every time someone behind you shifts in their chair, you flinch.
(Last time you'd tried to go to class, you'd fallen asleep during the lecture. The resulting nightmare had you screaming so loudly when you woke up that two freshman girls became so disturbed, they'd had to leave. You'd spent several minutes gripping the desk, your vision gray at the edges, taking deep breaths, until you realized that the weight on your shoulder was Chronos' hand, and he was gently suggesting you should go get some water.)
No. Don't revisit those thoughts. You're doing better now. You've reconciled with your friends. You don't get migraines in well-lighted places anymore.
Damn, your hand is shaking again. You drop your pencil for a second, rub your face, rub your eyes, glance at the clock. It's one of those days when you forget the time the second you look away, and have to keep glancing back, trying to keep it in your brain. Give up, you know you don't want to be here.
You return to the test. Next question:
❝How many days can the average human being survive without an adequate supply of water?❞
Suddenly you are intensely aware of the faint tremors in your right hand. You read the question again. And again. (You remember the thickness of your tongue, the dizziness, the headaches, the - ) No. Why would this be a relevant question? Someone must have gotten into the copy room. Senior prank. Maybe the Blues did it. You'll skip this question. Next one:
❝What are the deleterious effects on human physiology of prolonged exposure to dangerous levels of electricity? Give examples.❞
You sit there, staring at this test. What. What the fuck.
Shou elbows you. Twenty minutes, he mouths. You don't have the time to deal with this. One more page. Someone screwed around with the sheet, that's all. That's it. Turn the page.
❝How many people have you watched burn to death?❞
The next thing you register is pain. You snapped your pencil in your hand, and the splinters are digging into the soft pad of your thumb.
Is everything okay? someone asks behind you. No, everything is not okay, either whoever made this test is some kind of sick psychotic lunatic or you're going crazy and honestly, the second option is probably the more likely of the two, and -
Wait. You know that voice. You turn...
Daitokuji-sensei stands right behind you, smiling in the same way he smiled all freshman year, like he had a secret. Pharaoh is nowhere to be seen. You stare at him.
Juudai? You've stopped writing, he says pleasantly. Is something wrong? Of course, you want to scream, of course something's wrong, because Daitokuji is dead and you know that because you watched him die with your own eyes. (The first of many. You hadn't known it at the time.)
Ah, he says, so you've regrettably broken your pencil, I see. Unfortunate. Don't worry, I'll help you. He takes the test. I'll administer it orally. You just have to answer aloud. You're frantically shaking your head. No, no, no, bad idea, what the hell is going on?
The eyes of everyone in the room turn to you and Daitokuji, as he says, So, Juudai, how many people have you watched burn to death?
Swallow. Swallow again. Your throat has gone dry. (You can remember the smell, the smoke that stained in the back of the throat. It never went away, not for days, not for weeks, not for months. The air in your lungs was filled with the dead.) This room is too narrow. Your hands are shaking.
I don't know, you say.
Is that an answer you find acceptable? Juudai-kun? Daitokuji's eyes glitter behind his glasses, as if with some private joke.
You shake your head, maybe a couple times too many. I don't remember. Too many. There were too many.
Are you sure?
Why are you asking me this? you hiss, fists balling up. There's not enough oxygen in this room. You have to breathe really hard to get it. You shouldn't have come.
Fine. Next question. Daitokuji is immune to your pleas. Every eye in this room is fixed on you. What are the fusion summon requirements for Colorless, Chaos King of Dark World?
That one you can't forget, no matter how hard you could try. And despite your own inclinations, you hear yourself saying them: One Devil of Dark World - Reign. One other Dark-World archetype monster. This next comes out quieter, grim: This monster cannot be Special Summoned except by Super Fusion.
Daitokuji cocks an eyebrow. Word-for-word. See, I knew you studied for this test, Juudai-kun. Your hand throbs. Next. What were the last words spoken by Brron, Mad King of Dark World?
"Their blood has already seeped into the sands of this field."
How many did the armies of the Supreme King number?
Forty-four hundred strong. Eight divisions. Fifty-five centuries.
How many souls did it take to complete Super Fusion?
I don't know, you say. I don't remember.
If a pin dropped in the room, it would have sounded like a gunshot.
You bolt. You don't make it more than three steps (completely disregarding what and who you're stepping on) before a sea of hands clamps onto you, pulling you back. You twist out of your jacket, kick off one of your shoes, clamp your injured hand onto the last desk in the row and pull yourself forward, before someone hits it and the pain makes you recoil and you fall down the stairs of the center aisle. Your head hits the floor and the room goes white and fuzzy for a second, like static on a television set.
The next thing you feel is Daitokuji's foot in your gut, slowly pressing down. You can't breathe. He doesn't look like Daitokuji anymore; his skin is cracking and wrinkling, the lines have sharpened, his hair is unbound and cascades over his face. This is Amnael, the alchemist who tried to play God.
Final examinations have concluded, he says.
[ Juudai practically claws himself awake, digging at the sand surrounding him with his hands before his eyes snap open. He's still in the cave. It's still raining - he got caught by a storm blowing in early when he was trying to dig for shellfish. Kannagara. He's still here. And he was -
a dream. It was a dream. ]