Did you want to read something sad and angsty? There you go !
Disclaimer: I do not own any Magi characters (which is a good thing, because I'd probably kill most of them for the sake of drama), Judal, Sinbad, Aladdin, Ja'far and Yamraiha were created, written and drawn by Shinobu Ohtaka, and we are grateful that she did.
Rating: M, for drama, gore, torture, dark themes and mild swearing
Warnings: Torture ahead, folks! Read at your own discretion.
Chapter 1: Save me
'Save me' Judal thought, aiming his wand at his enemy.
"You should listen to your generals more often, stupid king," he advised with a cruel smirk. "One of these days, this carelessness of yours is gonna get you killed."
The stupid king in question waved the threat aside with a confident grin and asked him once more to follow him to Sindria.
"Hell no!" Judal retorted with an overplayed tone of disgust.
For good measure, he shot a few icicles at the moron, but, of course, the stupid king dodged all of them. This was expected though, and Judal was mostly attacking for emphasis anyway.
With Sinbad, Judal's attacks were usually on a conversational level.
"As if I'd wanna work for a moron like you!" he added after a few minutes of the said moron just smiling like an over-confident idiot. "I'd rather cut off my own feet than let you order me around!"
Save me.
The stupid king shook his head, and Judal was both furious and ashamed to detect the pity in his eyes.
"I would not force you to do things you don't want," came the unfazed king's reply, "and you would be protected too."
"Ha!" Judal retorted with a forced laugh, "I'm a magi, idiot! I don't need protection!"
He extended his arms and ice magic rained everywhere in a forty meters radius. He then put his hand on his hips, an arrogant smirk stretching his lips as he looked down, his feat all the more obvious, since he was floating twenty meters above the now ice-covered ground.
Sinbad was unscathed, obviously. How he had dodged was a mystery but, again, Judal was not attacking seriously.
"I meant from Al-Thamen, and you knew that," the king answered. "They would never touch you again."
Judal's joyless laugh echoed between them and he raised his wand, preparing to strike again. Deep inside, he was screaming.
Save me.
"You really are a moron!" he bit out, his voice full of scorn. "I don't need your protection against the ones who make me strong!"
Sinbad raised a skeptical eyebrow:
"I don't think you realize how wrong what they're putting you through is."
Judal's eyes narrowed in anger. That royal idiot had no idea what Al-Thamen was doing to him. Granted, most of the time, Judal himself was not informed of what was being done to him, but he could see the results and that was all that mattered.
"Like you'd know anything about that," he snorted derisively. "It's for my own good, and, like I said, they make me strong."
He attacked again, this time a lot more seriously. The stupid king just dodged, as if they were still in the conversational level of the battle, which was infuriating in its own right.
"I would not hurt you," Sinbad declared, "even for your own good."
He placed a hand over his heart in a solemn gesture and added: "I would never hurt someone who serves me."
The moron was looking at him with pleading eyes and, in this short moment, Judal was convinced that Sinbad was telling the truth. He would never hurt him. For a brief instant, trust flashed in his heart.
Save me.
The fallen magi clenched his fists.
"And I," he said, stressing the 'I' with a cynical expression, "would never serve someone who's such a huge moron!"
This time, he poured everything he had into his attack. He did not stop. He was not going to let Sinbad win yet another argument – or battle for that matter.
He belonged to Al-Thamen. There was no escaping it. It was a fact, and they had made sure that he would always be aware of it. Yet, despite all of his most deeply ingrained certitudes, every time he was in that stupid king's presence, there would always be this frail glint of hope – for what, he was not sure – like a stifled voice, murmuring in the darkest recess of his mind.
Save me.
Ѻ
Judal was walking down the stone steps of the darkened staircase. He had been requested – ordered, rather – to descend to the room. The place certainly had a real name, but he had never cared enough to remember. Though, to be honest, he would have rather not called it at all.
The spiral staircase seemed to have no end and every step he took further in that dark abyss seemed to send one more chill up his spine.
Of course, there was no way that he would admit to being afraid. He was a dark magi, after all. A powerful magician of creation, fallen into depravity – or so they said – as he was loved by both the white and the black rukh.
Still, no matter how many times he had descended it, this never-ending spiral of cold steps always meant that he was about to experience pain; and that was hardly a pleasing prospect.
Nonetheless, Judal kept walking down the stairs, his bare feet slowly becoming numb from the contact with the cold stone.
When he finally reached the bottom, the soles of his feet were freezing, and he was very grumpy.
Two faceless minions were waiting for him. Their black robes and cloth-covered head made them look really stupid – but not as stupid as the stupid king. When he approached, they opened the golden metallic door that was behind them and Judal sighed.
They entered the Room and his sigh died in his throat.
The place was crowded with minions, all faceless, all cloaked in the same ample black and white robes and with the same thorn crown on their heads… They were at least a hundred. It was as if all Al-Thamen had gathered today.
This was going to be a major ritual, Judal realized, which meant that he was probably going to get stuck down here for a few days. His stomach growled and he sighed, annoyed. He should have thought about eating something before coming down here.
He was motioned to the center of the chamber where, he knew by now, laid an altar made of black stone. When he approached, he noticed the iron chains that had been added. It did not presage good news for him.
They only restrained him when the rituals exceeded his pain tolerance.
Fuck.
One of the minions pushed him in the back – just a small push, they would not have dared to actually hit him – and Judal stepped forward, stilling the slight trembling of his hands. The sooner they began, the sooner it would be over.
He lied down on the cold stone, cursing to himself for not bringing warmer clothes – or at least clothes that covered his back – and let them fasten the cuffs to his wrists and ankles.
He cursed in silence one more time when he realized that the iron handcuffs were meant to hold his bare wrists, which meant that his bracelets – that he had forgotten to take off – were taking room that was not available. It was already mildly painful and, by the time they were done, it would probably hurt like hell.
He knew, however, that asking to be untied now would be useless, so he shut his mouth and waited for them to begin.
After repositioning in a few neat concentric circles around the altar, the faceless began mumbling low monotonous incantations. Judal had never known if they did not enunciate because they wanted him to remain ignorant of the process and purpose of the rituals they were performing on him, or if it was because the incantations were just that boring to chant.
Tense, he focused his attention on the movements of the rukh in his body. At first, he did not feel anything weird, except for a slight buzzing sensation coursing through his stomach, and he began to believe that this might not be too horrible.
After a few minutes of the creepy humming inside his stomach, he noticed that black rukh was slowly concentrating on top of him. He looked around as well as he could from his lying position – at least the altar was somewhat raised – and noticed how the rukh was converging from the chanting minions to form a dark sizzling sphere above him. It was getting bigger and bigger with every second and, suddenly, it began to descend towards him. He stared at the ominous sphere with curiosity. Were they going to inject his body with black rukh?
Maybe this ritual would not be so bad after all.
When the sphere touched his bare stomach, he shifted in his chains. It was not really painful, but it was definitely uncomfortable. Still, he thought, this was largely under the brink of his resistance.
Perhaps they had decided to restrain him on every ritual? He did not really like the idea, but if it meant that this one was not going to be as horrible as he had anticipated, he was actually kind of glad; especially since he could feel his new power merging with his bones. The black rukh tingled within his limbs and he relaxed on the cold altar.
A second black sphere was created and, like the first one, descended into his stomach. This time, the unease was deeper, but it was still not painful. Perhaps a bit nauseating. It did not matter, though. He could feel himself growing stronger. He smiled.
This was going to be a blast.
Ѻ
This was not a blast.
Judal was gritting his teeth as yet another globe of blackness forced its way into his body. A few hours had passed, with the same procedure going on in a dull and endless repetition. Judal had very quickly realized that each new sphere would be more uncomfortable than the one before.
Now, the regular waves of black rukh had become mildly painful and Judal would have rather not realized this, because he could not – did not want to – imagine what it was going to be in another few hours. Between two nauseating spheres, he shuddered at the idea that this ritual would probably go on for days.
Of course, the black rukh stored within him would prevent him from dying of hunger, but it did not mean that it would be pleasant. The ache was rapidly nearing the point where gaining more power became less important than his well-being, but he still had some space left for more black rukh. And, in the end, he would become more powerful, so it was all for a good cause.
He clenched his jaws – he had once bitten his tongue and was decided not to do it again – and gripped the cold edges of the altar.
Like every other time, he would endure.
Ѻ
This was not a blast at all.
Two days had passed, and the ritual had not stopped. Not even wondering how his torturers could keep it up without eating or sleeping, Judal had suffered the first day draped in a silent dignity. However, when dawn had come – or what he thought was dawn, there was no way to know in the underground room – he found his resolve shattering.
Now, Judal was screaming at them to stop, writhing in his chains, trying to escape the new black sphere that descended onto him. When he failed again – and when the rukh forced its way inside his body – he wailed for what felt like the hundredth time. Each new wave was a torture, seemingly pushing away his innards. His skin gave him the impression it was going to crack.
How could he contain so much rukh without exploding?
Another sphere crushed his body and he howled until his voice broke. Pain was not new to him, but today, for the first time, he was afraid that the ritual would actually kill him.
'They would never touch you again.'
The voice had risen in his mind and Judal closed his eyes, trying to ignore that his body was being burned by acid from the inside out.
'I meant from Al Thamen,' the familiar voice resonated once more. 'They would never touch you again.'
His wrists felt like they were being chewed and Judal tried to prevent himself from remembering where he had heard those words. He somehow knew that it would only bring more, and he had other things on his mind right now.
'I would not hurt you, even for your own good,' insisted the voice, its tone so gentle that it was almost foreign to Judal's knowledge.
The image of Sinbad formed over his shut eyelids. The stupid king was looking straight at him, his golden irises filled with ridiculous concern.
'Let me protect you,' said the vision, offering him a hand. 'You could become Sindria's magi. You could be safe.'
Another black sphere forced its way inside his stomach and Judal's eyes snapped open, dissolving the vision in a haze of blackness. The room was really dark, he realized. Too dark. Was night falling? Maybe his vision was being blurred by all the black rukh mashed inside of him. The dark butterflies could have been pushed into his eyes by now and that was why he could see them dancing in painfully throbbing whirls.
He was hallucinating. Great.
'I would never hurt you,' Sinbad's voice said again, enticing him to dive back into the dream. 'You would be protected…'
"Liar," Judal whispered at the illusion. His mind seemed to shatter as yet another wave of pain brutally sliced through him.
He screamed, hoping he would eventually lose consciousness from the pain.
He did not.
Ѻ
Swords clashed against swords in a deafening cacophony. Men shouted, some of them falling from a wound, some dying, some others already dead amidst the bloody confusion that had submerged Kou's imperial palace. At the center of the chaos, Hakuryuu was fighting with all his strength.
The Seven Sea Alliance had attacked Kou; or, more specifically, Sindria, Imuchakk and Artemyra's forces. Most of the palace guards had been taken entirely by surprise at the unexpected attack and were getting overwhelmed by the – though less numerous – highly skilled fighters, most notably five of Sinbad's Eight Generals.
However, it was not the foreign warriors that Hakuryuu was fighting.
Using the power of Zagan, the young prince forced deeply buried roots and vines to erupt out of the ground and motioned them at an alarming speed in the direction of the Kou soldiers. Ignoring their shouts – most of them accusing him of treason – he restrained their movements until they could no longer move. These men were loyal to the Kou Empire and he did not want to take their lives. They were not his real targets.
Hakuryuu looked around him, searching for dark robes and black staves but there was no member of Al-Thamen around and he turned back to another group of soldiers running in his direction. As much as he would have preferred to be with the main force to help with the real purpose of the raid, he knew he was requested here. The simple soldiers did not deserve to die and Zagan's power was extremely suited for restraining without hurting. It was the reason Sinbad had asked him to go to the front lines while the main force would kill Al-Thamen without him.
He hated the fact that he would not be able to exact his vengeance on Gyokuen, but he knew a good plan when he saw one.
And the plan demanded that he remained out of the most important fight.
Ѻ
It had been a week. Maybe more. Not that Judal was in any condition to confirm. Lost in a black mist, he vaguely noticed, at one point, that the number of the faceless minions had been reduced to a half.
A blurred movement caught his attention and he glimpsed two silhouettes leaving the circle in a hurry. Another sphere of black rukh crashed into his body and one more time his limbs were mashed with hot iron. The scream died in his throat before he could even articulate it. There was no strength left in him to beg them to stop.
He had no idea how he could endure this.
He closed his eyes – or were they opened? – begging once more the illusions to free him from the pain.
'I would never hurt you' Sinbad's voice immediately murmured in his mind.
Judal's body twisted and he distantly wondered how he could not have broken any limbs yet. Perhaps he had. Perhaps he could just not feel the snapped bones or the torn muscles through the rukh's torture.
Somewhere in his mind, a weak voice was pleading.
Save me.
Ѻ
"Ja'far?" Sinbad asked anxiously. "Have you found it?"
"If I had, you'd be the first to know," his advisor grumbled with exasperation and Sinbad went back to his search.
They had been inspecting this specific section of the palace for more than half an hour now, and had yet to find any clue as to the presence of the secret passage Kouen had mentioned. A slight tremor shook the ground – probably due to Masrur's attacks outside – and Ja'far looked helplessly at the finely decorated walls. The maps supplied by Kouen were precise but, as the first prince had explained, he did not know where the passage was. Only that it was around here.
They had inspected everything Ja'far's ex-assassin's mind could think of – walls, carpets, floor and even ceilings – for an opening mechanism and they had yet to make any progress. The fact that Sinbad was pacing back and forth between the two connected rooms did not help his advisor to concentrate. Ja'far knew his king was frustrated. It was not that hard to guess – hell, he was frustrated too – with the full-on battle raging outside and Sinbad being stuck here on this vital part of the plan.
At least, it was what Kouen had implied when he had advised that it should be the legendary dungeon capturer that went down to what he had guessed to be Al-Thamen's ritual chamber.
Kou's first prince and Sindria's king had been communicating secretly for a few months now.
When Hakuryuu had come to Sindria, searching for an ally in his vendetta against Al-Thamen's leader, Sinbad and Kouen had decided to put the young prince in the confidence. They were going to need all the help they could gather and Hakuryuu – if handled carefully – could become a formidable ally. The young prince had gleefully accepted to join them and, on Sinbad's advice, had requested to accompany the group he had sent to conquer Zagan's dungeon. Of course, Hakuryuu had been asked to act as if it was his own idea and decision. There were spies everywhere and secrecy was too important to be risked. Sinbad's plans had been rewarded when their new ally had ended up with a strong – and extremely useful – djinn vessel.
The raid on the palace was not supposed to happen before Sinbad could assemble the whole Seven Seas Alliance, but the last of Kouen's messages had requested they acted sooner. The crown prince had apparently stumbled on a crucial bit of information and it had been enough to put their plan in motion.
Al-Thamen was going to conduct an important dark ritual and the whole organization would be gathered in a single location for a few days. This was too good to ask for.
They could not allow such an opportunity to be wasted.
The problem, however, was that they had been searching for an untraceable pathway downstairs for half an hour now.
"That is enough," Sinbad suddenly declared, drawing his sword. "Bararaq!"
Ja'far only had the time to close his eyes as a blinding flash of lightning erupted from the blade.
The ground shook violently and, when the dust settled down, Ja'far could see the giant hole that had been torn open in the floor. He stared at Sinbad, too shocked to form words. Had his king any idea how hard this wanton destruction would be to explain?
Oblivious to his advisor's reproachful look, Sinbad fully equipped his djinn and jumped down the dark hole.
Ja'far swiftly readied his knives and called out Yamraiha who had been searching for magical wards in a different set of rooms.
Together, they followed their king.
Ѻ
They had found Al-Thamen.
Yamraiha brought her staff down in a twirling motion, shifting the patterns of the rukh around her, forcing the water to swirl and bend, the pressure and speed turning the innocuous liquid into a deadly weapon. Ja'far's knives crackled with electricity, dancing around them in a spinning motion.
They had found Al-Thamen, Yamraiha thought, or Al-Thamen was not bothering to hide anymore, which was already a more worrying prospect. Her mind raced, considering what that could imply, as she and Ja'far were fighting their way down the stairs, trying to follow their king's pace.
The thundering sounds soon reached their ears and, a few dozen steps lower, they saw the bright flashes of Sinbad's lightning reflected on the polished stone walls. Readying her staff once more, Yamraiha jumped into the fray, using her water magic to slice through Al-Thamen's minions.
Why were they not hiding anymore?
Every time she brought one of them down, she could see their black rukh leaving their body and, instead of dissipating like any dying person's rukh, the black butterflies retreated further down the stairs, as if attracted by some inaudible call. She frowned in worry.
Just what the hell was really going on?
Ѻ
Pain.
There was no more respite between each wave. The rukh crashed within him in a never-ending stream, breaking and burning everything in its path.
Darkness.
Everywhere he looked, the world had been engulfed in a thick blanket of blackness. It blurred everything and dulled his perceptions to nothing.
Fear.
He was drawing close to a limit. He knew that, when he reached that edge, there would be no going back. He would die miserably, alone and helpless.
'Save me' he tried to call and could not tell if he had actually formed the words.
Reason told him that there would be no saving. Nothing would stop the pain. The frail part of his mind that had kept murmuring throughout the ordeal was slowly weakening. Bit by bit, he was drowning in the darkness.
Hope was wavering, but not yet extinct.
Not yet.
Ѻ
Wave after wave, they crashed against him.
They did not seem to care for their lives, throwing themselves at his blade, seemingly begging to be reduced to ashes by the lightning of his djinn. It took Sinbad a moment to realize that their intention was to slow him down and, when he did, he gritted his teeth in anger. Accelerating his pace, he tried to unleash more strength in his blows without making the tunnel collapse.
Wave after wave, they crashed against him and, wave after wave, he would destroy them all.
The slaughter continued for a while, until he reached the bottom of the stairs. A swarm of his faceless opponents seemed to be waiting for him there. As they sent a combined attack at him, he glimpsed the shape of a gigantic metallic door behind them.
So… they're guarding this place…
He raised his sword in a defensive gesture, forcing the lighting to cut through their debased magic. It tore through their ranks as if they were nothing but a sheet of paper. When it clashed with the golden door, the metal yielded under the pressure. The smell of heated iron filled the air and the two panels thundered to the ground.
Sinbad strode towards the red-hot remnants of the door, sword clenched tight in his hand.
Ѻ
The flow of black rukh increased again and Judal jerked helplessly in his chains, unable to control his own limbs. He could not feel the limits of his body anymore. There was just pain. His back twisted into yet another improbable position.
He felt something snap.
Ѻ
The room was darkened by black rukh, so much that it had become visible to non-magician eyes, but Sinbad did not pay any attention to it. The white veils of Al-Thamen's last members occupied his whole field of vision. Behind them, he caught glimpse of an altar where the rukh was crashing down in the form of a small dark tornado. Whatever they were doing, it seemed he had arrived before they were finished. Just in time to stop them.
For what he knew would be the last time, he raised his sword, the attack already charged.
"Bararaq saiqa."
Ѻ
Light filled the room.
Agonizing heat.
The pain blurred to blackness.
Ѻ
Sinbad contemplated the charred corpses. None had escaped, it seemed. Slowly, reluctantly, he sheathed his blade.
It was over.
A barely audible wheeze caught his attention and he turned in the direction it had come. He narrowed his eyes in the thick darkness that had engulfed the room after his attack. Raising once more his lightning-covered sword as a torch, he approached.
When he had climbed the small stairs that lead to the altar he froze, his mind refusing to admit what had been revealed to his eyes.
Because the shackled, bloodied, broken human in front of him could not be Judal.
Slowly, with a shaking hand, Sinbad pressed two fingers to the side of the magi's neck. He felt a frail pulse waver under the skin and he wanted to sigh in relief… but he did not know if he should be relieved that Judal was still alive, because he was obviously in so much pain…
Chasing the hesitation from his mind, he moved to the iron handcuffs binding the magi's ankles and tried to pry them open. They broke under his fingers and Sinbad could only imagine what quantity of magoi had needed to go through the metal to weaken it like that. He glanced back at the magi's limp form.
How was he still alive?
Deciding that the question could wait, he focused back on the task at hand and went to free Judal's arms. When he put his fingers on the wet and sticky shackles, however, he had to bite his tongue to repress a curse.
The metal was covered with half-dried blood.
Raging inside, he broke the iron circles apart. There was a faint whimper of pain from the hurt magi and Sinbad cursed at himself for being too rough. More delicately, he brought the unmoving arms back to Judal's side. The golden bracelets that usually adorned his forearms were warped and spewing blood. When he looked more closely at the magi's oddly angled hands, Sinbad realized that both his wrists were broken. Then his attention wandered to Judal's face, blood and tears leaking from his half-closed eyes, and that was when the first real urge to puke forced him to avert his eyes.
"Sin!" Ja'far's voice called.
Sinbad glanced to the side, viewing his most trusted advisor running towards him, Yamraiha close on his heels.
Both of them stopped when they caught sight of Judal's wounded form. Cautiously, they approached and Ja'far's expert eye trailed along the motionless body:
"Is he…?"
"No," Sinbad cut him off sharply, "not yet. He's still alive. Barely." He turned to his magician. "Yam', is there any healing you can perform?"
She nodded and raised her staff over the magi's chest. She stayed silent for a few seconds, her face furrowing in concentration that slowly turned to surprise and frustration.
"Is there something wrong?" he asked.
"I don't understand," she answered. "The rukh isn't listening to me. It's like it doesn't want to heal him."
Sinbad froze.
"What."
"It just…the rukh… it refuses to come close to him… I… I don't know why. This has never happened before…"
"But he's a magi," Ja'far interrupted, "shouldn't be loved by the rukh? Aladdin-…"
"I never had any problem of the sort with Aladdin."
"Maybe it's because he's fallen into depravity," Ja'far proposed. "He uses black rukh, so your white…"
"No," she interrupted. "A magi is loved by all of the rukh, this is not normal, this is…"
"They were conducting a ritual, maybe that's why…"
Sinbad was staring at Judal, his generals' conversation blurring in the background. He was looking at the motionless body, at the broken bones, protruding from under the pale skin, the dark red lines of dried blood and cleared streaks – tears – that colored his cheeks.
Not even two weeks ago, they had been sparring. Judal had been flying around, taunting him, laughing at him.
Somehow, he felt responsible for this.
"Sin?" Ja'far's voice brought him back to the present. "What do we do with him?"
"We…" He trailed off as he studied the wounds. "Yam, do you think it's safe to move him?"
"I'm not sure," his magician answered. "The rukh won't let me get an idea of his current state. I'm sorry."
Sinbad thanked her with a short nod and turned to his advisor.
"Ja'far? Your opinion?"
The ex-assassin knew a few things about surviving torture.
"Kill him."
Sinbad sighed.
"Your opinion on how to help him." Ja'far gave him a disapproving look and he added with an undertone of irritation: "You know I'm not going to abandon someone, anyone, in a situation like that. So, please, give me your professional advice."
Ja'far sighed.
"If he's not dead yet, then he's fighting to survive. Staying here will not help him, he'll only get worse. Check his neck for broken bones and if there's nothing, carry him out of here."
The king nodded and sheathed his sword to cautiously feel around Judal's neck. Yamraiha immediately created a handful of blue, glowing spheres, visibly relieved to be a bit more useful to the current situation.
Slowly, delicately, Sinbad slid an arm under Judal's knees and another behind his shoulders. He raised him up with all the gentleness he could muster, barely suppressing the spewing rage that was boiling within him.
How could anyone, even Al-Thamen, hurt one of their own like that?
In his arms, the broken form shivered weakly.
"Sin…bad…?" a torn voice croaked.
Hearing the pain in Judal's voice somehow made it more real. He clenched his jaw and glared angrily at the charred corpses of Al-Thamen's last members.
"Yes, it's me," he answered in a comforting tone. "It's over, you'll be fine, now. I promise."
His words felt empty, but he kept murmuring meaningless reassurances nonetheless.
"It's over, you're safe. You're… you're safe, now."
Judal's breath hitched but it was the only proof that the magi had heard him.
"S-save," Judal mumbled incoherently, "…me …save… s-save me…"
Sinbad tightened his grip on the delirious magi, feeling a terrible hatred burning in his chest.
"I will," he promised.
Ѻ
The story has been sitting in my back drawer for 3 years, almost complete save the last chapter. It's actually the first fanfic I started to write for the Magi fandom.
It's... pretty dark.
It's also the only fic that has been reviewed by a competent beta - BloodRaevynn, you're amazing ! - who taught me a lot about writing in English.
I'll post one chapter every day, hopefully, by then, I'll have finished the story.
Hope you'll enjoy (and don't hesitate to comment) !
Sincerely,
Claywind