The Magicians' Realm Chapter 71: Administrating Confrontations, a yu-gi-oh fanfic

Chapter 71, everybody! Which goes about as well as you can expect….In other news, the computer tried to eat my document with an error message about whitespace and wouldn't let me open it—but the joke's on the computer! Because I LISTEN to my Mom and save my documents in three different places, including One Drive, and saved this one recently, which means that at most I lost maybe a page of work. Which is good, because there would have been MUCH wailing and gnashing of teeth if I had lost this document—536 pages and counting….

In related news: this makes the second chapter of this fic to make use of FanFiction's spacers, and is probably going to be the last for a long while. Savor it….Maxwell's dead cat reference, by the by, is a reference to the phrase "curiosity killed the cat." "Snafu" is a real word, is technically an acronym, and apparently originated with the Marines in WWII-one possible translation for the acronym is "Situation normal: All fouled up." Unless, of course, you're not concerned with keeping swearing to a minimum, in which case….Fun fact: I first heard the term on an episode of Lilo and Stitch. Yes. A kid's show. Might be safe to say they weren't aware of the full meaning when they included that (or maybe they did, in which case seriously, Disney?).

Movie this week is Oz: the Great and Powerful—I like to think that, during and immediately after working on this movie, James Franco switched his answering machine message to him going "I. Am. OZ! The Great and Powerful! Why do you seek me?" *beep*

…And now I'm kind of tempted to make that my answering machine message….

Angiembabe, thanks for the review! All right! Glad that read well. :D Eheh, yeah…"I want to panic, but that's not going to help here" kind of reaction. Oh yes indeedy…and maybe….

FluffyIdiotIsI, thanks for the review! Mwahaha, thank you. :D Oh, I wouldn't dismiss him entirely….Me too (I already have a couple of encounters written up, but I really need to get everything smoothed out and in chronological order to get things working again). Good question—perhaps Yami Skellington is a lot more powerful than the Administrators feared….Probably…actually, that's a good idea. *note to self: write that* Heheh, that's more Hephaestus and Vulcan's forte, honestly….Now all that there…might be very, very likely….Thank you! I hope to continue to please! :D

FicReader, thanks for the review! Yes, I agree. Yes, he is! Huzzah! :D Eh, in retrospect, they should have just stuck with the head idea (what a sight that would make, his body bouncing around wherever it was until Kineil told him to knock it off and put his head back on. Which, honestly, is probably something he'd do on a slow day…). Yes! Mostly. And definitely. Oh yes—"Oh look! Relatives! Here, hold that thought—things to do, people to see!" Um…yes, actually…are you peeking at my notes?

References:

Original characters, + setting © Kineil D. Wicks (myself, not the girl in the story)

The more things change, the more things stay the same, Yami Skellington thought as he strode down the streets of Delvaire.

He had a leftover copy of the Delvaire newspaper in his hands, and after a minor exclamation at seeing the date, he started leafing through the paper, seeing what was going on in town after a thousand years.

A thousand years.

It had felt like longer.

One thing that certainly hadn't changed was how early Delvaire closed up shop. It was shortly after nightfall—eight-thirty, according to the trusty town clock—and all but one or two windows were dark and dim. Without the Lackadaisy Venue, there was no place for people to go after dark. Everyone was bedded down for the evening, except for a handful that listened to a late-night radio program or two.

He took comfort in that.

He certainly wasn't getting any comfort from the paper.

Subdued Harvest Festival? Absent Punkie Night? Rules and regulations that might as well included proper volume for sneezing? And what was this about "literature concerns"?

One thing was obvious: something had to be done.

But to do that, he really needed his friends, the very people who could counter the Administrators.

And to do that, he needed a way to bring them back.

He turned towards the imposing façade of the Administration Building; he had been unconsciously heading for it the whole time.

And now he was going inside.

Administrator Mesthil was old, even by Magicians' standards.

He was nearing the two-thousand mark, which meant that he was revered to the point that no one bothered him anymore. Of course, no one bothered with him anymore, but that didn't bother him—he preferred not being bothered.

Right now, he was shuffling down one of the Administration Building's many halls, lantern held aloft. It was one of his favorite pastimes, and he enjoyed hissing at anyone who dared trespass here at night.

Of course, this new generation was ruining everything. That Gregor Montgau kept trying to buck the system, and that son of his, Yami—well, he hadn't seen a heathen like that since—

A clatter in the archives room startled him.

He paused by the door to listen; he was definitely going to enjoy startling this one. He could hear him now: "Where where where—"

That voice sounded familiar.

"Let's see," the voice continued, a low murmur. "They opened up a small portal, I think, so there should be a way to reverse it. It can't be just one way…."

Yami. That's who it sounded like.

Mesthil grinned. He was going to enjoy this.

He shoved the door open and held his lantern aloft. He bellowed into the room: "Just what do you think you're doing—"

The person inside turned around and straightened up, startled, allowing Mesthil to see him perfectly.

It was Yami.

Just not Montgau.

"…young…man…." Mesthil trailed off, horror settling in.

"I suppose I am a young man compared to you," the specter said, taking a step forward. "Forgive me if I'm not being respectful—the last time I saw you, it was through flames."

Mesthil fell backwards, the lantern crashing to the floor, grasping his chest as he gasped out the name of the horror before him.

"Skellington!"

Maxwell was back to annoying the other Administrators in the best way he knew how: putting the spells all out of order.

Granted, it was a thankless job, and one generally attributed to gnomes, but he assured himself that it was the little things that made it all worthwhile. He had to feel like he was doing something—otherwise he'd go crazy. Er.

And unfortunately, he may have to give up on his current plot with the Montgaus. At this point, with interest apparently dying, nothing short of bringing the two Yamis face to face would—

"Skellington!"

Maxwell nearly leapt clean out of his shoes at that—that had come from the archive room.

Grateful once again that he had chosen shadow magic as a discipline and assured of a speedy getaway if things went south, Maxwell eased down the hall and gingerly stuck his head around the shelf. A dark shape on the floor, with a lantern guttering out behind it. Not ominous at all.

Common sense dictated that he get out while the getting was good—he wasn't all that fond of dead cats. Straighten up—

And nearly drop dead on the spot upon coming nose-to-nose with one of the last people he expected to see.

"Max!" Yami Skellington greeted, smiling blandly; Maxwell almost expected him to clasp his hands behind his back and start rocking on his heels like he used to. "So good to see you, and looking so well. I think I'll kill you."

It was said so matter-of-factly and was so far out to left field for Yami that it took Maxwell a moment for what he said to register—by which time he found himself a good foot above the floor, pressed against the wall and notably bony fingers digging into his throat.

"Why did you do it, Max?" Yami growled, voice gravelly. "What were you even thinking, you…you traitor!"

Some detached part of his brain that was by some fluke still receiving oxygen wondered how, exactly, Yami expected him to answer that when he was currently having all the life choked out of him. Clawing at skeletal thin arms wasn't working, everything going fuzzy….

And then suddenly he was dropped to the ground.

He was smarting from the impact, expecting a blow to the ribs in the midst of greedily sucking in air—

Yami was gone.

Voices alerted him as to why.

"Mesthil! He's dead!"

"Search the area!"

Maxwell retained enough sense in his oxygen-starved brain to roll into a shadow and teleport away. It wasn't as good an option as standing up while doing it, and he really had less of a chance to control it this way, but he had to get out of there and his muscles were currently too much like jelly to be of use.

And of all places, he tumbled out in the little graveyard in town. Well, at least he'd be able to air some grievances.

In the meantime: air. Lots and lots of very important air, because he really didn't like being that close to being actually dead…which was honestly something, considering all the curses the other Administrators had put on him.

That kid…that stupid kid….

He dragged himself upright, using one of the headstones and muttering a muted apology to whoever owned it, stalked back to a specific grave, working himself up and trying very, very hard to get his shaking muscles under control.

"Of all the stupid, harebrained schemes," he snarled, jabbing a finger at the headstone as he neared it. "I should have never listened to you! I told you you were giving that kid too much credit! That—that stupid moron went and summoned Skellington back! Do you have any idea how bad that is!? One Administrator is already dead, and I was nearly joining him! In what universe was using that kid ever a good plan!?"

He turned away angrily, hands behind his head and him trying to control his breathing. Here he was, arguing with a dead person; his life had long ago gone past surreal. Of course, he had almost been killed by a dead person….

He had nearly gotten his breathing back to normal when a quiet voice finally asked "Are you done?"

"Oho, she speaks," he noised, turning back to the grave and not at all surprised by the little blue orb of light floating around it. "I will grant you, I had a general grasp of what I was getting into when we started; being choked to death by a dead guy was not on the list!"

"Are you saying you didn't deserve it a little?"

"I'm not answering that question," he snarled, turning away and crossing his arms tightly. What was he doing? Skulking about in graveyards and plotting against the other Administrators had had its perks, and it had felt good to give them the shaft—but now everything had come to a head, and he had had plans to be as far away as humanly possible from it when it did.

Except it had come to a head too soon—that stupid kid….

He winced and flinched back as the little blue orb was suddenly in front of his face. "What? What?" he snapped, waving it away.

"I asked you how he was."

"Words cannot accurately describe how furious he is. Understandable, all things considered. And the plan was you explain things to him before he kills me!"

"You don't want an answer to that statement," she replied smugly. Ugh.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm getting out of here while there's still a here to get out of. The elder Yami was in the archive room, and since I do know better, I know what he's planning, and that's going to result in a lot of angry dead people running around."

"And?"

"And that kid's lucky I don't have time to stop and wring his neck on the way out." Maxwell gingerly touched his own neck at that—ow, that was going to leave a mark. "Pass on the favor for me."

"You're not sore about that, are you?"

"I'm going to be sore for a while."

"No choking anyone."

"That kid snafued everything."

"You're just jealous that he figured it out."

"Oh yeah, sure. While we're tossing about obscenities, then: this makes the second time you've fallen head over heels for some spiky-haired Magician and lost all common sense for it."

The light froze, blinked out—

Maxwell was suddenly struck hard in the gut, hard enough to fold over on the point of impact as the breath wheezed out of him and he collapsed to the ground.

"All right," he gasped, turning his head so he wasn't sucking in dirt. "I may have deserved that one."

"Good." The little blue light was back, dancing around his head like it thought it was those little birdies in the cartoon. "Does that mean we're back on schedule?"

"We're back on a heavily accelerated schedule," Maxwell muttered into the ground, not wanting to get up. It wouldn't be the first time he slept in a graveyard. "Anything pressing you have for me before I run for all I'm worth?"

"I need you to open the ghost catchers."

Ah, but of course. She'd have extra empathy for the poor spooks trapped in those jade thermoses. "Wonderful. Anything else?"

"Toss them and the soul catchers into the Ravine, and please, make sure they can't come back. I'll take things from there."

"My, but aren't we getting cunning in our old age."

"Are you done?"

"Very. Try to make sure no one comes along and buries me."

"If you don't want that, then I recommend getting out of here. Or do you honestly think he won't come visit me?"

Oog. Right.

Maxwell struggled upright, managed to get relatively perpendicular to the ground before dropping away with no parting shot; he simply didn't have the energy for it.

He came out next to the bench he had camped out on a…was it a few weeks ago? He didn't remember—he really only had the energy to flop down on it, bone tired and trying very hard not to aggravate his injuries. Someone coming up on him might think he had been mugged; he felt like he had been mugged.

Yami Skellington was back. And whatever fate awaited one whose bones were banished, it had obviously worn away his patience and usual affability.

Words simply could not describe how screwed they all were.