Chapter Text
The first thing Zanka had learned about Jabber was that he never followed rules, the second that he had some screws loose in this head, and given the person Zanka was, it was enough to make him weary as fuck.
He stared down at the paper in his hands, holding a map of the Clutter dormitory that was soon to become his new home for the next six months before he graduated. A labyrinth of complex pathways, thick arches and graffiti walls courtesy of Gob. That man could never catch a break—or rather a blank canvas.
Riyo had promised to show him around since this was where she stayed with Amo but he was sure she’d gone goofing off again. It was alright, he could fend for himself. At least he hoped he could.
Finding his room was the least of his worries; it was who was in it that bothered him. Every year in the Cleaners Academy, students were made to change their rooms, and for someone like Zanka who wasn’t used to change, it had granted him a whole lot of trouble. His last roommate had been the dependable Gris, and he’d liked him quite well enough for him to wish Gris could stick around, until he reached the reception and was given his room arrangement.
Room 414.
Roommate Jabber Wonger.
He blamed Corvus for always admitting freaks, he never really understood what went through that man’s mind. Zanka had seen Jabber in his classes long enough for him to know he was bad news; breaking school rules, trashing at parties and behaving like a total barbarian. Unwavering and unpredictable. A menace, and Zanka’s worst nightmare.
Much to his decontempt, he landed in front of the wooden door with the plate number written on it. Instantly, he was hit with the tunes of loud music, rocking the world under his feet. He clicked his tongue and tightened his grip on his luggage and Lovely Assistaff—his only anchor when he felt like the World was about to tip off the balance in his head. Of course, each dorm had their own rules especially when it came to disturbing other students, but we’ve already established that Jabber isn’t the sort of person to nod along to whatever anyone says.
Zanka dropped his load and knocked—politely at first, but of course he got nothing. He did it again, higher this time but he was meant with the fast beats of a hip song. The intensity of his knocks increased with the next one and when he was already pissed enough to break down the door with his vital instrument, Lovely Assistaff humming underneath his palm, he heard a click, and the door swung open.
A tall man looked down at him with tan skin and dreadlocks framing his angular face, gold accents adorning each stand. He had eyes of twilight—the midpoint between dusk and dawn—the color of an old bruise that settled on the person in front of him. He was bigger than Zanka, with broad shoulders accentuated by the purple hoodie he wore.
Silence ensued between the both of them for a moment, before Jabber let out a coy smile, his eyes narrowing at the expression. “Welcome.”
Zanka snapped from his trance, his earlier frustration coming back to him. “I’ve been knocking for ten straight minutes.”
“Ah, sorry, sorry.” Jabber stepped back, allowing Zanka entry and a clear view of the room. It was completely dark; and it was still hours before nighttime. The room was equally trashed, with beer cans, food wrappers and cigarette buds littering the floor, the only source of light being the gleam from a laptop across the room. “I was playing music so we can have a welcome party of our own, sounds good?”
He had a bit of an accent as he spoke. Zanka rolled his eyes and entered in, face folding at the sight before him. The place smelt of smoke too, just how much of a stoner was this guy?
“Nobody asked you to, also you’re disturbing the others.”
“Who cares about them?” Using his legs, Jabber closed the door, and then stretched out a hand, gold rings laying on each finger, his vital instrument, Zanka had heard. “Jabber Wonger, nice to meet you, Zanka”
Zanka didn’t bother to ask how he’d gotten his name. He stared down at his large calloused palms for a moment before resigning to shake him. However, at that moment, Jabber tightened his grip on Zanka, pulling him closer towards him. Zanka, startled, lost his balance and found himself in close proximity with the asshole.
He heard a sniff.
“Nice smell.”
“Hands off me you dick.” Zanka took a step back, Lovely Assistaff humming slowly in his arms.
“It’s Jabber. You see this is the first time anyone has agreed to sharing a room with me, can’t blame me for getting a little excited can you?” The other boy smiled again then ambled down the room towards his bed side, the walls a mess of posters and a few artworks. He settled on his mattress, kicking his leg up and resting his head in his arms. “Can’t wait to spend the next six months with you, Zanka.”
Zanka wished to leave this place as soon as possible.
++++•++++
“It’s horrible! Fucking horrible!” Zanka was about to loose his shit, given, since the things he’d been put through this past week was enough for him to turn the Academy upside down. His tipping point was Riyo coming up to him before their Combat class to ask how he was coping in his new abode and he felt all the transgressions spill out him. “He never cleans after himself, doesn’t sleep and spends all night playing video games while shouting at the top of his lungs, or dancing like a freaking kangaroo every night till I can’t freaking sleep.” He pointed at the eye-bags marking his face. “And personal space? What the fuck even is that? I can’t stand at a place for three seconds before he comes over to coddle me—-I’m going to kill, I swear God—”
His complaints were cut off by Riyo’s heretic laughter. Gris stood next to her, his lips folded to hide the fact he was about to burst into laughter too.
“Yo, Riyo, stop that. He’s being serious here.” Gris said.
“But, but—” she couldn’t form her next words, clutching her stomach.
“I’ll kill the both of you!” Zanka yelled at them both, causing thier laughter to intensify some more. They were in an open yard, crowded with other third years about to have their Combat class taught by Enjin, the blond haired asshole. Zanka quite enjoyed his classes even though he wasn’t that that much of a great teacher.
“Rumor has it that he’s picked up another stray.” Riyo said, her red hair dancing with the wind.
“Again?”
“A brat named Rudo, said he found him in No Man’s Land.”
“What was he randomly doing there?” Zanka asked. Only those with a dying wish entered No Man’s Land alone and without a mask.
Riyo shrugged her shoulders. “And get this, he’s a Giver. I overheard Semiu and Enjin talking. Said he can control more than one item or something like that.”
“Impossible.” Givers were only granted one virtual instrument which was their prized possession, infused in Anima that granted them their power. It was impossible for one’s cared object to be more than just one.
“Wanna go check him out after our classes? We don’t really have the chance to see something that interesting.”
“Maybe later, I have Tamsy’s assignment to complete.” Zanka couldn’t help the curiosity that pricked at his temples, but his education came first, it always had to.
“Eh, boring.” Riyo pouted before turning away from him.
“Well look who it is, isn’t that your boyfriend, Zanka?” Gris mocked, pointing at the mop haired individual walking into the courtyard, adorned in his usual purple, wearing baggy clothes that hung on his frame.
“It’s like you want to die, Gris.”
The other man laughed. Soon after, Enjin came in. Although he didn’t particularly like him, Zanka admired Enjin; his charisma, his jokes and most importantly, the sheer power he wilded from his umbrella. As he walked in, the class attention instantly became arrested, his very step echoing across the floor. Beside him was a scrawny looking boy with white hair and eyes the color of blood, his face sewn into a distasteful look. He was new. Zanka placed his guesses that he was the rumored stray.
Enjin stood in front of them and gave a bright smile.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Your favorite teacher, Enjin has arrived.”
“You gave yourself that title, didn’t you?” Riyo countered, causing chuckles to ensue around the yard. Enjin only smirked and placed a hand on the twig of a boy's shoulder.
“This is Rudo, he’ll be joining your class today to see how the Academy operates before joining fully as a first year, say hi.”
“What an odd look on his face, like he hates every thing.” Riyo whispered to him and she was right. The lad looked dejected. Well, he had been found in No Man’s Land, who knew what might have happened to him.
“Today you’ll be engaging in combat with peers so I can evaluate and choose those who’ll be following me on a mission to take care of Trash Beasts.”
The students railed with excitement. For two whole years they had been couped up in the Academy learning about the Pit, Trash Beasts, how to wield their vital objects and so on. But finally, they would get to go outside, Zanka himself could hardly wait.
“Calm down now, don’t get all too excited. I’ve already decided on the pairs so when I call both names, you step out and give it all you’ve got. The rules are simple. Of course, you can not kill your opponent , two, you have to make sure you come in close combat with your opponent and get at least five strikes in before you’re considered the winner, and three, if I see shit begin to get messy, you stop, is that clear?”
“Yeah!”
“Good,” and then he began to list out some names. A circle of chalk was drawn around the fighters so as the protect the spectators of students. The first round was Gris and a Giver. Gris was a regular and held no power so he was already at a disadvantage, but he had the firsts to break through thick walls and whatever defense a Giver had. He was a formidable opponent.
However, only able get three strikes in, he’d lost to the Giver.
“Nice work out there, Gris.”
He smiled, then folded his arms.
Enjin called out more names, the air busting with sweat, dust and adrenaline. Zanka awaited his turn, gripping his Lovely Assistaff and feeling it course through his veins. Riyo had done her thing too, her sissors nearly snipping her opponent’s head in half before they’d tapped out.
Then, he heard the words, “Zanka Nijiku and Jabber Wonger, into the circle!”
His blood froze for a moment. He turned to stare at Jabber who was standing across the room, his back rested on a wall but it seemed as if the boy was looking at him long before then, his eyes holding something he couldn’t name. He took that as a threat and stepped forward with Lovely Assistaff.
“Now this would be interesting.” Riyo mused.
“Zanka.” Jabber said with a low purr to his voice as he neared the ring. “Never expected us to be on opposite sides, but the world works in mysterious ways doesn’t it?”
“Shut up!” Zanka said.
Jabber smiled. “Oh, how hot.”
Weirdo. Zanka aimed Lovely Assistaff, ready for battle. His eyes glowed as the power began to rush into him, causing a blue-like aura to emit around his vital instrument, distorting its curved shape. The training hall smelled of burnt metal and dust. Zanka breathed it all in, doing his best to concentrate.
“Remember the rules,” Enjin warned. “Five hits. That’s it. No killing, no improvising.”
Jabber smirked, a twitch in his eye that made Zanka’s blood run colder. “Rules are boring, Enjin. You worry too much.”
Zanka struck the end of the staff to the floor. Sparks flew as it snapped and then aimed for Jabbers side. He rolled forward, douging, but Lovely Assistaff had already struck at his shoulder. Hit one.
Jabber yelped—not in pain, but in amusement. He swung his fists, not unleashing his vital instrument yet. Did he think Zanka was weak? Zanka dodged his blows, swung his staff around and landed a hit on Jabbes back.
Hit two.
Dust and plaster rained down.
“You’re sloppy!” Zanka yelled. Jabber crouched and leapt backward, grinning, he lunged with a wild, spinning attack. Zanka countered, but the clash sent them both tumbling across the circle, his instrument screeched and clanged against the floor. The walls reverberated, metal ringing like alarms.
“ You’re not playing games with me today, huh?” Jabber said, licking at the blood on his lips. He didn’t look like someone that was loosing, he seemed excited —turned on—there was really no limits to his deviancy. Zanka used all the power in his arms to push him off, then swung Lovely Assistaff. Jabber barely deflected it, leaving a shallow gash bruise his arm.
Hit three.
They circled each other, chests heaving, eyes blazing. Every strike, every dodge, every clash sent sparks and lulls of dust into the air. The fight was messy—undisciplined chaos versus controlled precision. Zanka’s every move was calculated, but Jabber’s unpredictability kept him on edge.
“Oh that’s right, I haven’t shown you my Jinki. Sorry, I forgot.” Jabber said with a sadistic smile.
Zanka paused. Forgot? Who forgets about their weapon in a fight? Was he crazy? Jabber outstretched his fingers, a trail of purple miasma emmitting from it, reavealing ten sets of sharp blades like claws. Zanka had seen it rarely but up close it looked like a threat.
“You have to be careful, though, she’s sharp.”
“Ha, who needs your sympathy,” and then he lunged; determined to end this as soon as possible. He only had two hits left. It was Jabbers fault for revealing his vital instrument that late.
Jabber lashed, his hands reaching for Zanka. He was morbidly faster now, like a flip had been switched in him: Zanka had barely been able to dodge before countering with his staff, aiming for Jabbers side. He ducked, spinning under the low strike.
“Fuck.” Zanka cursed.
Jabber staggered but laughed, wide-eyed and reckless. “You’re boring when you’re serious, Zanka!” He swung his hands high, aiming to catch Zanka off-guard. But Zanka anticipated the move, pivoting and plunging Lovely Assistaff into Jabber’s shoulder.
Hit four.
Jabber stumbled back, tripping over a piece of debris. His chest heaved, the spark of defiance still in his eyes, but he was down.
Before Zanka could step closer, a sharp voice cut through the ringing metal and dust.
“Enough!” Enjin’s voice echoed around them, sending a reverberating shock through the hall. Sparks of residual energy from their instruments fizzled as he stepped between them. “You’re both insane!”
Zanka’s chest rose and fell rapidly, Lovley Assistaff still glowing faintly. Jabber’s Mankira settled back into rings in his hands. Both men were bruised, bleeding, and scorched.
“This is not about proving who’s stronger.” Enjin snapped. “You’re supposed to be training—learning, not destroying each other.”
Zanka lowered Lovely Assistaff reluctantly, his eyes still fixed on Jabber. Because of him Enjin was shouting at Zanka. The Enjin. He felt horrible inside, like a bucket of cold water had been dunked on his head. The chaos of the fight clung to him like smoke, and even in victory, his chest felt tight. Jabber smirked, blood and sweat streaking his face, clearly unbothered by the loss.
“You really do take this seriously,” Jabber muttered, brushing dust from his shoulder. He stumbled as he tried to stand.
“I always do,” Zanka said, voice low, almost a warning. “And don’t ever make me prove it again.”
“Challenge accepted.”
++++*++++
When he’d got back from classes, tired out of his mind, he opened his room door, only to find a fully naked Jabber, his body drowsed in water. Janka unconsciously took his head downward, and he felt his face instantly begin to turn pink.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? Put some clothes on!”
“Calm down, Zanka, it’s only my dick.” He chuckled and walked towards his dresser, searching for some clothes. He wore his pants, then a shirt that wrote : OUTLAWS GET NO ENTRY. Before he placed it over his head, Zanka caught the sight of a purplish bruise on the left side of his stomach.
“You did that to me today. Zanka,” Jabber said, noticing. “You showed no mercy.”
Zanka walked towards his side of the room, laying his staff at the corner. He was famished and quite frankly didn’t have the strength for all this. “You get what you deserve. It was an evaluation,” and he hoped he did well. Although Enjin had yelled at them both, Zanka was still the one to get the most number of hits so that meant he possibly had a chance to be picked. Possibly.
“That’s really heartless of you, I’m sore all over because of you and you’re here saying it’s my fault.”
Goodness. “What do you want me to do then? Go sort yourself out!”
The other man went silent and Zanka finally got his peace. He went in for a light shower, brushed his teeth and collapsed on his bed. Yet, and of course, he could not sleep. Jabber kept on groaning as he moved around the room, his knees buckling whenever he took a step and a painful moan easing out of his lips. This was rage-bait, of course it was and Zanka was on the verge of being baited. He wanted to sleep, he hadn’t done so in days!
“Fuck it, fine!” He dipped his hands under his bed and brought out a first aid kit he always had with him just in case. He then walked up to Jabber who was sat up on his bed.
“Strip.”
“Eh? Zanka what are you saying—”
“Shut it!” Zanka reached for the hem of his top and pulled it over his head. He was met with a toned chest riddled with scars from mild to outrightly nasty, then his eyes contacted with the purplish bruise his staff had given Jabber, feeling a bit guilty at how harsh he’d been. He placed his fingers on the warmth of Jabbers skin, avoiding the way it made his spine tremble.
“Oh, that is what you wanted to do. I’m quite disappointed.”
“Want me to give you another bruise?”
Jabber hummed and just simply watched as Zanka knelt, and brought out some tonics from his kit, dousing it over the wound before lightly wrapping him with a bandage, trying everything in his power to stop himself from thinking of where he was faced. He’d seen it minutes ago, that size was above average and he wasn’t sure if it was his inferiority complex that was making him think about it so much. He worked his hands faster on the bandages.
Jabber’s eyes was on him the whole time, burning with an intensity he wasn’t sure what it was. Then, he felt as the boy shifted his hands and lightly padded his rough thumb on Zanka’s cheek, before cradling his entire palm his his face, caressing his paper-like skin.
“You’re so beautiful, Zanka. Do you know?”
Zanka said nothing and continued working, ignoring the new strain in his jeans. He hated that he was reacting this way, there was no need to; yet with the way the air seemed so charged and his heart trembling in his chest, Zanka couldn’t help it and he needed to understand why.
He tied the bandage. Jabbers hands slid down to his mouth, playing with his lips for a moment then wedging his thumb in to pry it open. Zanka had had enough.
He bit down on his thumb, hard, and he felt the metallic taste of iron meet his tounge.
“Touch me like that again and I’ll give you worse bruises than this one.” He warned.
“Fuck, Zanka,” He licked the blood off his finger. “ I’m about to let loose. Keep talking dirty to me, I beg you…”
“You—” Zanka jumped back. What the actual fuck was wrong with this dude?
He heard a large boom that cut though his thoughts , and the world underneath his feet began to tremble, causing screams to tear through the hallway.
The Academy was under attack.