Ch. 35 – Buu

Sleep 12, 855

Buu heard his name, spoken softly among a string of words his brain could not disentangle. Latching onto the sounds, he tried to follow them away from the darkness.

“… didn’t see much. Me and some of the others hid as soon as we realized…”

Soft sheets surrounded Buu, smelling of soap and strong herbs. His chest ached, but distantly, as if feeling his ribs splay and snap had been a dream, half-remembered by his body. Mouth dry, he tried to smack his lips, to work up some spit to relieve the dusty feel of his tongue. His mouth flooded with the bitter tang of morning breath.

“That’s good. We didn’t even realize they had breached the dorms until after the grimm arrived. They must have been there before they even took the gates.” Aru’s voice.

Buu forced his eyes open, squinting against the gentle light streaming into his room. He lay on his bed, his books and whittling piled neatly beside it. If Aru and Idah had looked less grim, he could have fooled himself into thinking he had simply fallen asleep, and the rest had been a terrible dream.

Idah noticed him shift, standing up from the chair she had pulled beside his bed to lean over him.

“Buu? Are you alright?” she asked, a crease pulling her brows together.

Grunting, Buu maneuvered onto his elbows, propping himself up to look at his friends properly. They had the heavy, downturned look of people short on sleep, eyes dark and shoulders slumping. Tuag lurked by the door, sullen and bloodstained.

“Easy. I did what I could for you, but you’ll need to sleep and let your body do the rest,” Aru insisted, moving a pillow to take his weight.

Buu patted his chest, his arms like lead weights, and found his previous agony numbed so the pressure only sent a twinge of discomfort through him, rather than shooting pain. He blinked slowly, trying to take stock of the rest of his body. When he returned his attention to Aru and Idah, they smiled at him, frightened and hopeful at once.

“Where did they come from? They killed Vaelis.” Buu gestured to the wall that backed onto the other boy’s room, remembering the washed-out spirit that had emerged the night before.

Aru released a long exhale, closing her eyes for a moment as though she wanted to hide from the question. Her hand began to tap out a nervous rhythm on her leg, but her eyes remained steady as she met his stare.

“They used an emergency tunnel. Only a handful of people had access, and the lock wasn’t tampered with. Someone inside the school let them in.”

They sat together in the pregnant silence, both children processing Aru’s words. Idah swallowed, face draining of colour, and Buu wondered if he looked as shocked. He doubted it. Since his arrival, he had the sense that few of the faculty, soldiers, or students agreed on what path the school should take. Most of the students and teachers had roots in Zadyatan. Some had family there. How did no one see this coming?

“Is everyone else okay?” Buu felt heat creep up his neck as the question left his mouth, the naivety of it uncomfortably obvious once it floated in the open air.

Aru shook her head, fists clenching in her lap. For the first time, Buu noticed the blood staining the front of the professor’s robes. She’s a doctor, he remembered. She’s had to see it all up close.

Idah squeezed her aunt’s knee, hesitantly filling in the silence. “Both sides of the fighting had casualties. A few of them started attacking Thaven students, and when the professors realized, they joined the fight. Professor Ryoh’s dead. Professor Anji is in the infirmary. She’s… It’s pretty bad.”

Buu should have felt emptied out — shocked at the violence and the loss — but he couldn’t find that fearful cold within himself. He had spent too much time with death lately, he realized. It didn’t feel permanent anymore. More like passing onto the next room: sad for those left behind, but just another room for the ones that moved on.

“How many students…?” he asked, because it felt like something he should want to know.

Idah brightened slightly, sitting a little taller as she answered, “Only a handful. It would have been worse, but Professor Dong managed to smuggle quite a few of them into the root cellar. He must have realized what would happen as soon as the soldiers breached the university and gathered them up. He’s a hero.”

“Old Dongers?” Buu smiled, trying to imagine the university’s friendly, dopey head cook leading hunted students through the dark halls to safety. His imagination added a full suit of knight’s armour and a sword to the image, wholly out of place on the skinny, smiley man. Idah nodded, sharing his smile.

“Who could have let them in?” Buu asked, trying to remember all the faculty he had met since his arrival. He would have suspected Professor Ryoh if he hadn’t died in the attack. He had never liked the professor, and that made it easy to see him as a villain. Though, he was probably too tight-laced to do something like this.

“Very few people could have accessed the key,” Aru said. Her dark look and clenched teeth made Buu’s chest tighten, and he had to remind himself that she didn’t suspect him. He pitied whoever would be on the receiving end of that wrath. “I’m sure Headmaster Sanir will want to investigate the matter himself.” Aru bit out the words.

A knock sounded at the door, and as it opened, the headmaster stood at the threshold as if summoned by his name. He looked like he had aged ten years overnight, haggard lines forming around the dark circles of his eyes. Beside him, Captain Riying waited, nodding to Buu as they caught his eye.

They stepped inside without waiting to be invited, leaving the door open behind them. The captain led, Headmaster Sanir pulled along in their wake. Ignoring the tension growing in the room, Idah stood, hugging her father in a rush.

“Our apologies for interrupting,” the headmaster said once he’d exchanged murmured reassurances with Idah. “But we need to borrow young Buu for a moment.”

Aru sat taut as a bow string. Eyes narrowed and flitting between the captain and headmaster. She clenched her fists in her lap, folds of her robes caught up in her grip. When she smiled, her lips drew a tight, thin line. The expression didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” she began, standing and smoothing her clothes. “Buu has been through a lot and needs to rest now. As his caregiver, I cannot allow him to come under any more strain until he has recovered more of his strength.”

A crackle of electricity seemed to snap between her and Headmaster Sanir. They glared at one another, understanding and fury passing silently back and forth. Buu felt the hair on his arms stand up and Idah took a step away from her place at her father’s side, casting unsure glances between them.

“Be that as it may,” the headmaster said after a long moment, keeping his voice light but authoritative, “Buu is not your only patient today, and you should be tending to the others too. I’m afraid this cannot wait. We will do our best not to be too wearing on the boy.”

Aru shook her head once, face colouring though she kept her speech steady. “I did not choose to come to Three Lakes to play doctor to soldiers. I am a researcher, not a medic. Buu’s uncle entrusted me with his safety and I have not taken that responsibility seriously enough. That changes today.

“This boy nearly died last night at the hands of soldiers. He is entitled to a break from this war.” This time she shifted her iron glare to the captain. “He is a child, not a resource to be tapped.”

Captain Riying met Aru’s gaze with a sombre nod of their head. They stood stock straight, caught halfway between ease and attention.

“I understand, Professor Dian, but you need to look at the bigger picture. The Zadyan militia killed students last night, and my soldiers gave their lives trying to stop it. We want to keep these children safe as much as you do, but the Zadyans will return, and our reinforcements are far away. We need any advantage we can get.

“Now, please.” The captain stepped to the side, gesturing to the door with an air of finality. “Some privacy.”

Aru crossed her arms, setting her feet and lowering her head like a ram readying a charge. Buu had wanted a protector like this — someone to take his side and keep the dangers away. To stand bulwark against the grimm and the ghosts, the bullies and the schoolwork.

But Buu had seen poor Vaelis’ confusion as he walked away from his body. He felt the militiaman’s hands around his throat, strong fingers digging into his skin. He knew the fear that awaited them if the Zadyans came back with more men.

The Thavens could just leave, Buu thought to himself, if they took the Thaven students and all their soldiers away, Zadyatan wouldn’t have a reason to hurt anyone. But he knew the empire would not relinquish their hold on the university without a fight. That would mean caring more about our lives than their conquest. And as he knew all too well from Old Lady Firas’ stories, Thavens loved nothing more than conquest.

“It’s okay, professor,” Buu croaked, clearing his throat and gratefully accepting an offered water cup from Idah. “I don’t mind talking to them.”

A relieved smile spread across the headmaster’s face. “See Aru, Buu understands. Wait in the hall if you must, but go. I’m sure your cooperation in caring for the Thaven soldiers will be kept in mind when funding is re-examined for your grants.”

Aru chewed her lip before giving Buu a long, worried look and stepping out the door. Idah hesitated, tugging her father’s sleeve.

“I should stay. I’m Buu’s best friend.”

The words took Buu by surprise, and he gawped at Idah. He had never had a best friend before, and he had never considered that he had gotten one since arriving at the university. Somehow, he thought there would have been more fanfare to it. But Idah said it so simply, so assuredly, without ever having discussed it with him. Buu cleared his throat to try and keep the burn of tears from his eyes.

“Wait in the hall, dear.” Headmaster Sanir pushed Idah gently but firmly towards the door, and she offered Buu a shrug and an eye roll as she left.

Buu stared after her as Captain Riying took the seat beside his bed and the headmaster hovered between them and the door, looking like a rabbit that might bolt at any moment. In his peripheral vision, Buu noticed Tuag stir, watching the captain closely as they leaned in to speak with Buu. He had gotten used to the grimm’s burning-ember eyes and hulking presence, but his sudden alertness made the hairs on Buu’s arms and neck rise.

“How are you feeling, Buu?” Captain Riying asked. “You gave Professor Dian quite the scare.”

“I thought I would feel worse. Aru — uh, Professor Dian — is really good. Mostly I just feel like I could sleep until next season.” Buu shrugged.

His limbs felt like lead had been poured into them. It took no small measure of will to keep his eyes open and the throbbing ache in his throat grew painful the more he spoke. But Buu didn’t want to tell the captain any of that. Buu had the distinct feeling that the captain could sense vulnerability in the same way his uncle knew when a log would have a knot in it. A sixth sense for weakness.

“You spent a lot of magic last night,” Headmaster Sanir said. “Our ability to use magic can be like a muscle, and there’s a good chance you pulled yours. You’re lucky — most mages with so little practice would have had a lot more backlash from their powers.”

Buu only nodded in response, more grateful than ever for Idah and her secret practice sessions. Given the nature of his abilities, he didn’t want to know what that backlash might have looked like. As the captain began speaking, Buu struggled to dismiss the image of himself shambling around as an animated corpse.

“And we’re lucky that you seem to have an innate understanding of your abilities, too.” Captain Riying sat back, hands folded on their lap as their eyes bore into Buu with a focused intensity. “The Zadyans crossed a line last night. Killing children? It’s unthinkable. It’s more clear to me than ever: Zadyatan needs the guiding hand of the empire. A civilized hand to stop these kinds of atrocities from taking place.”

Buu thought back to his first encounter with Thaven troops, their general beating him close to death to feed him to a monster. Somehow, he doubted sharing this detail would end well for him, so he kept his mouth shut.

“Between the attack, and your grimm’s retaliation—” The captain held up a quieting hand when Buu opened his mouth to protest. “We have suffered too many losses. When the Zadyans return, and they will return now that there is blood in the air, we will not have the soldiers to hold Three Lakes University.

“The last wave of reinforcements went to the southern camps. They were sorely needed for the push into Zadyan territory there. We will not see more aid for at least two weeks, and by then it will likely be too late. We need more forces.”

The captain’s serious expression and dark eyes made Buu sit a little straighter. Adults talking about adult issues. It felt a lot like his classes; educated people discussing Big topics while Buu floated through their words like a fishing bobber — always just above the surface or completely swamped.

“Are you going to make the students fight?” Buu asked, eyes travelling from the captain to the headmaster.

The rumours of student conscription for active duty circulated the university regularly. A few students took watch shifts on their time off already, but until now, the school banned them from taking part in anything outside training and watches. Buu’s insides twisted at the thought.

“No. As long as I am headmaster here, no students will ever be allowed to fight. What they do after graduation is their business, but this is a place of learning, not a fort.” The headmaster’s eyes didn’t leave Buu’s, but they twitched as if he wanted to be directing the words to the captain.

“Indeed,” the captain agreed, shooting Sanir an annoyed glance but keeping their expression earnest. “The safety of the students here has always been a top priority for us as well. We would never ask children to fight unless circumstances became truly dire.”

The room seemed to chill, the dropping temperature prickling gooseflesh over Buu’s arms and his stomach clenched tight. Headmaster Sanir’s face fell, dark as a storm cloud, but he did not speak. Suddenly, he seemed to have trouble meeting Buu’s eyes.

“Dire like now?” Buu wished his voice didn’t sound so small.

Captain Riying nodded, a solemn air settling around them like a cloak. “That’s right. But I want to avoid putting anyone in danger if I can. That’s why we’re here, actually. Because you can keep everyone in these walls safe.”

Buu shuffled, uncomfortable, pulling his legs towards his chest. He glanced at Tuag, watchful and sulking in the corner, and remembered his last conversation with Captain Riying. Now that he had seen what the Zadyans could do, he had fewer reservations, but one major problem persisted. “I still can’t control the grimm… I can kind of… shove him, I guess, but that’s it. And I don’t really want to get involved — it’s all been miserable.”

“That’s okay.” Captain Riying offered a reassuring smile. “While I miss not being able to loose the beast on the enemy, that’s not why we’re here. You can help end this, without the grimm.”

Buu looked from one adult to the other, confused.

“I saw the horses. They stood against the grimm until there was nothing left to do the standing. Tough as nails. And it got me thinking: we have no shortage of corpses lying around.” Captain Riying raised a questioning brow.

Buu felt queasy at the thought of using his powers again so soon. He didn’t know how to feel about using his abilities on humans deliberately and without an immediate emergency to make it necessary. He had only ever risen human bodies once, and the results had been gruesome and not something he wanted to remember.

“The Thaven soldiers who fell last night would be honoured to know there was a way for them to continue to serve after death. They believed in our cause and can march again, with your help.”

Headmaster Sanir blanched as the captain spoke, but when he noticed Buu watching him, he swallowed, straightening and giving Buu a hesitant nod. He clasped his hands behind his back, a faux calm coming over his sharp features like snow blanketing a jagged landscape. Buu could still see the muscles in his neck flexing as he ground his teeth.

“That seems… unlikely,” Buu offered, before he had a chance to think better of it. His head throbbed, stuffed with cotton, and his thoughts moved sluggishly. He had seen the spirits of fallen soldiers before. None of them had ever looked eager to fight, just haunted by what they’d seen before they died.

Captain Riying scowled, so Buu quickly added, “Not that I don’t think they like their jobs. Just feels like the dead mostly want to rest is all.”

The headmaster cocked his head, studying Buu but saying nothing. Buu wondered how much the headmaster guessed about his abilities, but he did not want to give away anything that he didn’t already know. Headmaster Sanir cleared his throat.

“It does seem a little… extreme?” His voice had a wheedle to it, totally divorced from the knowing authority he usually used.

“It is time for extreme,” Captain Riying replied, mouth settling into a grim line.

“I’ll think about it.” Buu hoped they would leave. He felt so tired. “Can we talk more when I’m better?”

The headmaster began to nod, a look of relief on his face. “Yes, of course. You need to—”

But Captain Riying cut him off. “No.”

Buu stared at the captain, watching the dark resolve solidify behind their expression. Their hands balled into loose fists in their lap, flexing and relaxing in a rhythm. They took a deep breath before speaking again, inflating with certainty. “We’re going to do this now. We don’t know when the Zadyans will try again. We need to be ready, and you’re the man for the job.”

“I’m nine!”

“Young man, then.” The corner of the captain’s mouth quirked in a humourless smile. 

Before Buu could respond, Headmaster Sanir stepped forward, hands up in a disarming gesture. “Now that I cannot allow!” He blinked too fast, brows drawn together as he clamped down on the beginnings of a gasp. The captain’s chair did not leave enough room for the headmaster to step between them and Buu, but he stood close, awkward and stiff beside them. “Buu has already over-exerted himself. He needs to rest. Trying to use his abilities again so soon could cause permanent damage and make the magic unstable.”

“But he could do it?” Captain Riying did not turn to look at the Headmaster as they spoke, voice low. Instead, they stared straight at Buu in challenge.

“Just because something can be done, does not mean it should! This is my school, and I will not allow it.” Headmaster Sanir waved a long, delicate finger in the captain’s face, his frustration rising with his voice.

The captain finally broke eye contact with Buu, standing swiftly and turning on Headmaster Sanir with a snarl. “You are no longer in charge here!” They stepped forward, forcing the headmaster back. “If you cannot see the threat on your doorstep, then it is my duty to keep you and your students protected. My soldiers sacrificed their lives trying to save you last night. We need to put the good of the many above the good of the one. Always.”

Their expression softened as they turned back to Buu, not quite making eye contact. “Even when the one is a child.”

“But—” Headmaster Sanir began to protest, the words snatched away as the captain’s fist found his mouth.

The motion looked too easy, effortless violence that knocked the headmaster to one knee, cradling his face with both hands. Buu cried out, pushing himself into the furthest corner of his bed, trying to make himself small. His hands shook, so he squeezed the edges of his sheets to try and still them. He became suddenly aware of his bladder, full and pressing.

Shocked silence settled in among them as Headmaster Sanir unsteadily regained his feet and Captain Riying shook out their hand, massaging it absently. They had the air of someone who had made up their mind but didn’t much enjoy the choice. Finally, they cleared their throat, gesturing for Buu to stand.

“Get up.”

When Buu hesitated, the captain took his arm with surprising gentleness and pulled him to his feet. They held him by the shoulders until Buu steadied, legs weak and body swaying.

“Come,” Captain Riying ordered, leading Buu to the door.

Buu looked to Tuag hopefully. The grimm never liked to see Buu in danger, and this definitely felt like danger. But Tuag just watched them with a wary, sulking expression. For a moment, it looked like the grimm might not follow them — leaving Buu to whatever fate the captain had planned for him. Buu thought back to the previous evening: Did he do something to offend the grimm? Tuag had nudged him, hurt him, and he’d tried to push him away with magic before he blacked out. Had he hurt the seemingly indestructible grimm, or had the creature finally decided not to bother with Buu anymore?

Shit timing.

The headmaster trailed in their wakes as they entered the hallway. Aru and Idah bombarded them with questions and protests, but the captain simply pushed past them, half-supporting, half-dragging Buu after them. Idah and Aru fell into step beside Headmaster Sanir, their furious interrogation redirected to him.

Students sat huddled together in the common room, whispered conversations floating over the sombre atmosphere of the day. Most wore black scarfs or armbands, and a heavy smell of incense clung to Buu’s thin bedclothes as they passed through. Heads swivelled to watch them go, whispers ceasing as the captain escorted Buu from the building, his apparent entourage in tow.

Buu began to shiver the moment the cold Harvest air hit his skin. He did not think to grab a robe as they left his room, and the wind snatched from him in a moment what little warmth he had held onto. As Aru’s objections grew louder and more insulting, the captain waved to several guards to join their march. They inserted themselves between Buu and the others, their presence and the headmaster’s hissed warnings enough to quiet Aru to a simmer.

Nothing familiar remained in the cafeteria, now converted to a makeshift field hospital. The groans of wounded men and women replaced the happy white noise of gossip and conversation. Instead of bacon and fresh bread, Buu smelled infection and vomit. The tables and benches looked like strange, multilayered beds, sheets and table clothes thrown over their surfaces to lay the wounded on.

As the captain passed their soldiers, they exchanged nods, glances passing from their leader to Buu with looks ranging from hopeful to afraid. Buu swallowed, trying to keep his feet under him as the captain increased their pace.

“You’re hurting him!” Idah shouted. Her loud voice felt obscene as it broke through the solemn hum of activity.

The captain slowed, turning to scrutinize Idah with a flinty glare. One of the guards escorting them reached out one giant hand towards her, but Aru stepped in front. Without taking her glare off the captain she said, “At least slow down. He can’t keep up.”

Buu felt heat tingle on his cheeks, but he offered Idah a small, grateful smile as they continued at a slower pace. She nodded to him, but her eyes had widened, her glances at the guard who had reached for her frequent and darting.

At the farthest end of the cafeteria, the tables had been pushed away from the walls, leaving a large, open space. The dead lay shoulder to shoulder on the ground, sheets in a variety of shades draped over their bodies. Faceless and uniform — like statues, still as stone.

Captain Riying finally released Buu’s arm, and he had to resist the fanciful urge to run. He wouldn’t make it two steps before the captain or one of their guards grabbed him. Probably wouldn’t even make it ten before he fell over all on his own.

“These are them,” the captain said, holding his arms out to encompass the thirty or so bodies before them. “And it’s time for them to get back on duty.” They held their hands behind their back as they pivoted to Buu, almost standing at attention before him. “What do you need?”

I need my uncle. Buu thought. But he just said, “nothing,” while waving the captain back.

Captain Riying hesitated, staying close for a moment as if worried that Buu would topple over without their support. Buu set his jaw, locking his knees in place and standing taller. Every fiber of his body wanted nothing more than to lay down and sleep. The previous night — maybe the previous months — had hollowed him out, wearing him down even while his magic strengthened his body.

He didn’t want to give the Thavens an army, even a little one. No matter what the captain said about the attack on Red Birch, they didn’t know about the general and his attempt to feed a beaten and bloody Buu to the grimm. But after what the Zadyan troops did to poor Vealis and the other Thaven students, Buu didn’t much want them around either.

Could he even do this? Raising the soldiers at Red Birch had taken everything he had, leaving him to succumb to his wounds once they’d fallen to Tuag’s snapping teeth. He had grown stronger since then, magic swelling and stretching with each practice session, but as he tried to sense the cold, empty presence of the corpses, a spike of pain shot through his temple as if he’d eaten ice too quickly.

Buu gripped his head, grunting at the pain, and distantly heard an argument begin behind him. An upset Idah and furious Aru waving his pain like a banner to try and make the captain understand. As Buu glanced back at them, hoping for a reprieve, Captain Riying’s patience wore out.

Their hand moved as fast as a lightening strike, gripping Idah by the back of her robe and hauling her in front of them. Aru and Sanir both moved to stop them, fire erupting from Sanir’s hands and shouts of protest on their lips as the captain’s guards stepped forward to restrain them. When the captain’s blade touched Idah’s throat, all the resistance rushed out of the adults.

“You will do this,” they insisted, their cold, empty eyes meeting Buu’s.

Idah kicked back at the captain, held in place by one strong arm, her struggles not even seeming to register. She locked eyes with Buu, electricity passing through the length of their gazes. Buu had failed to save Idah once — not that she’d needed it that time — but a tingle of determination shot through him not to let it happen again.

Buu raised his hands in surrender, turning back to the corpses before him. The captain didn’t deserve his help. Didn’t deserve an army. But when the dead marched, they listened only to Buu, and if Buu had an army, then he didn’t need to listen to anyone at all.

Thirty of the dead wouldn’t be enough to kick the Thavens back past the eastern forests and into the prairies of their Thiab allies, but it might just be enough to get them out of the university. Enough to keep anyone that wanted to take these walls at bay and make a safer space for the students. For him.

He could man the battlements with a force that had no appetite or need for vengeance. Nothing to turn their blades anywhere that Buu did not will them. He could decide who stayed and who went. When he felt better, maybe he could even take back Red Birch and go to live with his uncle again. Or he could bring his uncle here and take care of him for once instead of the other way around.

Buu set his feet, taking a shaky breath and trying to ignore the shuffling sound of Idah’s struggling and the silent, sorry stares of Aru and Headmaster Sanir. The soldiers and nurses in the infirmary whispered to one another as they watched the proceedings, their conjecture just audible. Buu’s legs shook, but he sent out his will anyway, hoping he could stay upright and keep his dignity intact.

Finding the absence of the corpses took only a moment, Buu picking each out and adding them to his awareness the way someone else might add a new flower to a bouquet. Holding them all in his mind, he took a deep, shuddering breath, chewing his lip and bracing himself. He sent his power and will into the emptiness of the bodies.

He knew immediately that he had made a mistake.

His head tore in two, the pain blinding as magic seemed to pour from him in a torrent. Screaming, Buu tried to claw it back, to put himself back together, but grey faces pressed in at him from every angle, streaming in from nowhere and knocking him off his feet. People shouted his name, but Buu could not place the voices.

Someone ran past, ignoring him as he writhed and screamed on the floor. He spotted a missing arm. A cleaved torso. Bodies that should not have risen without his direction, up and fleeing, stealing his rogue magic and making a break for it. Bodies that would not fall easily, turned loose within the already weakened university.

Buu wanted to reach for them, to stop the stampede of the dead streaming out past him, but he could not concentrate long enough to grab hold. Even if he had been able to focus, his magic felt wild, completely out of his control. The ghosts pummeled him, grabbing at his magic and pulling as they cascaded into him in its place. He saw flashes of their lives as they entered.

A woman laughs, pulling a pile of coins towards herself and flashing me that devilish smirk of hers. No one else at the table knows we’re lovers — that their money will be split two ways later. She’s an incredible actress. Gods, I love her.

The endless swaying grasses of the plains disappears beneath my horse’s hooves as we fly towards Midormere. It’s just me and Tallow — my favourite mare — and we’ve never ridden faster. The army waits for us, along with a military salary. It’s a much more reliable income for my family, at the cost of my presence. But for now, all that matters is the ride.

A naked back heaves, heavy breathing in my ear and incense hanging thick in the room. My lover grunts — Buu shook his head furiously, breaking out of the vision quickly before being taken by another, and another.

He heard Tuag’s snarl only distantly, relief washing over him. The grimm would scare the ghosts away. Without the ghosts, Buu might be able to pull the parts of himself back together. He could stop the undead running directly into an unsuspecting school, and into his unsuspecting friends. My best friend, Buu reminded himself and grit his teeth.