Last Time:

Rasoul's weight stayed on him, for a moment, breathing hard in his ear, until he pulled up with an unpleasant grunt, dragging Aladdin by the waist to the bed, where he collapsed, arms round his younger partner's middle as he succumbed to post sex exhaustion.

Aladdin stared at the wall for some time before he too slept.

Sunlight poured into the room in thick rays, bar shaped streams of honeyed sunlight, carrying the noises of bustling, human activity that accompanied morning in Agrabah. They stirred Aladdin, brought an unwelcome awakening. He rolled over in the sheets. Instantly, he was aware of a crippling, burning, ache that was vividly present in a place no one should hurt like that. He groaned, gritting his teeth and trying to find a way to lie where the hurt turned from raw slivers of hot, nerve pain, to just a dull, red ache. When his thighs brushed together, they felt sticky, and itchy. Sickly, he realized that was dried blood, chapped on his skin. He realized dully he'd have to find some place to shower.

He turned over, seeing the great indention where Rasoul had lain asleep. It dipped into the yellowed, torn sheets, and the musk of the man hovered like a testament to his last-night presence.

Aladdin swallowed, feeling the extent of how raw his throat had become in such a short time. He wasn't surprised Rasoul left, he never stayed after he got what he wanted. He had a family to go to and a job.

Now was a time of great disorder in the city, and there was a determined scramble to get things back under reign. There were muggings and looting wildly abroad. The few innocent remaining weren't safe, and there just wasn't enough manpower to keep all criminals and scum under control. Foreign dignities poured in daily, trying to force the still grieving Sultan's hand into action. Villains and enemies of the crown saw all of this like one giant field day, and attacked daily. Genie was hard pressed, as was Carpet and what remained of the defenders.

Nothing would ever be the same after the death of Agrabah's princess.

Her funeral was a huge, devastating, openly brokenhearted affair. Men, women and children sobbed in the streets, following her black, lace thrown coffin as it was carried by eight of the royal stables finest white horses. The casket was closed, as her mangled corpse was not how the city wanted to remember her.

She was beautiful, assured to take over when the Sultan died and bring about a better, smarter, more benevolent rule. From her marriage to Aladdin, and her deeds following, it was clear she was to change things, and her people couldn't wait. The entire citizen populous followed the carriage containing her coffin, the Sultan riding in the front seat, stone faced, and never tearing his eyes away from the horizon, which was insufferably bright and sunny. She was to be buried in the same oasis her mother and father had visited on their honeymoon, where the late Sultana was laid to rest. For weeks, mourners poured into the haven, laying down offerings, flowers and sorrow.

What had bothered Aladdin after the most was how unexpected Mirage's attack was. They had exchanged...words during his and her last encounter, taunts and mocking jeers, the usual, nothing out of the ordinary, then, on the day of a public address to the city, she had struck.

Mirage descended like a black cloud, with her firecats, her hell fire and brimstone. There was instant pandemonium, as the citizens scrabbled from the public square they were all so vulnerably gathered in. Naturally, the wonder team split to do as much good as they could, Aladdin originally going after Mirage herself, though Genie taking over. Aladdin was whisked away atop Carpet and, sword in hand, set himself to keeping the firecats from mauling and scarring his future people, the women and children he had grown up with, such easy targets for the beasts. It was a desperate situation, and Aladdin could only assure himself Jasmine was still doing what he saw her attending to last, trying to safely get her father back into the palace, so she too could join the good fight.

Then there came the screams. Aladdin looked up, and instantly, a bubbling set of claws raked across his front, and in shock, he fell, hot blood pouring from his wound. But still his eyes were set on the balcony. Jasmine, backed into a corner, Mirage, bearing down on her like a vixen of hate. Aladdin struggled to his feet, clapping an unconcerned hand to his muscle deep marring. He stumbled in his blood, the shifting, melting sand, and numbly started to run. Where was Carpet? Where was Carpet? He tried to whistle for his friend, he did.

Carpet slid under his feet and carried him into the air just as Mirage's hissing green claws fell.

He had shouted her name in heart tearing agony, watching in abject horror as she crumpled. He got there and hurtled off Carpet when Mirage was then leaning over Jasmine, taunting her as Jasmine stared up, disbelieving the pain and the blood soaking her top.

Guards were yelling, her father, restrained from running to her, Mirage, casting all of Jasmine's protectors aside effortlessly. A scream of rage, and Aladdin, without the inhibited restraint that before had kept his killing instinct at bay, plunged the sword into the small of Mirage's back. She had reared, roaring and spurting catatonic hisses, clawing to reach back and remove it. Grimly, Aladdin twisted the weapon, shredding her insides. She turned swiftly, pivoting to strike Aladdin across the face, open clawed. He turned at the last moment, and received the wound that would result in a cross shaped scar across his face. She then disappeared in green, and assumedly, her cats with her.

But that was of no importance to Aladdin. He pushed through the crowd kneeling, hundreds of people, caring, worrying, crying and supporting. He clapped a hand across his mouth, feeling the reflexive nausea.

There were awful tears across her throat and neck, seeping red incisions, blood flooding her, the acid in Mirage's attacks blackening her surrounding skin. He knelt by her, took her hand, weakly saying her name over and over, screaming angrily for Genie, a doctor, bandages, someone. He pressed her spasmodically refluxing palm to his cheek, kissing it, smoothing the sweaty bangs from her brow. She was in pain, her expression twisted, tears blurring her vision. She said his name, arched off the ground, cried his name, and finally whispered it as he said a thousand apologies, and begged her to stay.

She shuddered, and smiled at him. Then she was no more, eyes slipping close, head turning to the side.

Aladdin wouldn't leave her body, wouldn't give up, until he was forcibly pried from her cooling body, which the palace attendants had silently taken away to be cleaned and dressed. He had beat on Genie, cursing him, asking what was his use?

Soon, he fell into one of the deepest holes human emotion can lead you in. It was a dark, deep, impenetrable depression, prone to fitful, occasional, rages, at Mirage, at Genie, at himself. In next to no time, he boiled over with self-hate. Why couldn't he have been there? Why hadn't he been faster? It was his entire fault.

The city turned against him too, though some choose to do it silently, giving him long, hard looks of accusation when he would occasionally come down from his hovel roof, where he spent weeks without food or water, company or accommodations. His howls, his pain and intolerable loss weren't enough, as it cycled deep with in him. It made his eyes dead, his friends abandoning him as lost and crazed. They were sad for him, but the chaos immediately following the assassination needed them, and they had their own mourning.

There was no light at the end of the tunnel for him, until he had chanced upon meeting Rasoul and his men when he had wandered alone and lost down the back alleys of the cities.

More exactly, they had cornered him, and used him to the full extent of their emotions, pouring all of their blame into him and the fists that connected with his skin. He didn't put up a fight, and was soon subject to physical tortures. No pity for his pain did he find amongst these scorned men. He was tied, beaten, dragged, spit on, kicked, speared and cut, burned and whipped.

Eventually, as the shadows began to lengthen, and he lifelessly rose to his broken knees, shaking the fluids they pissed upon him from his hair, he was approached by Rasoul. He was given an offer he couldn't refuse, nor did he want to.

That's when it all began.

He knew Rasoul blamed him. He blamed himself, quite frankly.

He and Rasoul had a weird relationship. And yet it worked. You see, Aladdin needed to repent, and Rasoul was all too willing to oblige