Every Truth A Lie

"But then what, Nii-sama?" Mokuba queried eagerly. The story had swept him up in its grip, whisking him away to a world long gone, filled with magic…and betrayal.



Kaiba shrugged, carefully fingering the Rod. The knife was still unsheathed. Mokuba watched his brother brush fingers along the length of the glittering steel. "Does it matter?" Kaiba asked softly, seeming absorbed in his own actions, hardly paying Mokuba attention at all. "Does it really matter?"



"Nii-sama…" Mokuba rested a hand on his brother's thigh, leaned against him. Seto was cold, he noted with resignation. His body felt like ice even through his clothing. "Nii-sama, it matters," he answered. "It matters to me." When his brother still didn't reply, he added, "Please, Seto. {lease."



Kaiba looked down at him then, dull eyes flecked with gold. Mokuba tried to remember if there had ever been gold in his brother's eyes before all this had begun. He couldn't recall a time. So what does that mean? he wondered. What is happening to my brother?



The gold fluxuated, gaining and losing ground against the blue. Unabashed, Mokuba stared into Seto's eyes, watching the interplay with fascination. Now nearly blue, now all but the slightest hint of blue obscured. Nothing else seemed to change; maybe the metallic character of his psresenc,e but that was unpredictable anyway.



"Why does it matter?"



His brother sounded so tired. The energy in his voice, in his posture, changed with the tint in his eyes, Mokuba realized fleetingly. It's the Rod, I bet, he though, wondering if such a harsh statement was only giving words to his jealousy of the damn Item. It has to be, he reasoned against reason. Nii-sama's never been like this before. Of course, he conveniently forgot late nights, early mornings, false dawns when Seto came tottering in, beyond exhausted, only held up by the walls.



"It just does, Nii-sama. Seto, trust me. Tell me," Mokuba pleaded. He wasn't sure it would work; his brother hesitated so long that he considered another ploy. Kaiba's eyes were solid gold when he spoke again, glaring past the barrier of mental obscuring the free blue of his real eyes.



When Kaiba opened his mouth to speak, Mokuba knew that the voice that would echo so similarly to Seto's yet so different…that would be the voice this imposter would speak with. And he was pretty sure he knew who it was speaking as well. It was the Rod, using his brother as a tool to communicate with the outside world. Just another reason to hate the thing, even before his brother began talking.



"Mokuba." Under its influence, his brother's voice was harsh and scratchy, unfit to be heard, though logically, he knew it was the exact same voice. Maybe the confidence was compromised a bit, perhaps a touch of un-earned arrogance to compliment it, but the same voice. Except, it wasn't.



"Mokuba – you want to know our story?" It was teasing him, asking the question it knew the answer to.



It didn't give him a chance to answer, which was just as well.



XXXXX



We were always fighting. The pompous Puzzle thought it could continue to rule through him, but it was mistaken. He carried it everywhere, but not once did he ever reach for its power. Thwarted it at every opportunity, and used me more than ever.



He always used to hush me when I invaded his mind, but now…now, well, I think it's to keep the Puzzle off balance. It hates when we speak, and the ferocious anger boiling within sends chills of hot satisfaction through me, through him.



His cousin no longer rules. Now he commands, and thus do I!



Yet there is discontent among the others. I can feel them all, always. The Puzzle is furious, as I've always known it would be. There is nothing it can do. The Eye has chosen to back my bearer. Though he knows it not, the ties of blood call even to us.



The Puzzle has been demanding the support of is lesser, and they have replied to its challenge. The woman and her lover have ever been close to the ex-Pharaoh. I am disappointed in the Scales. Did we not once combat side by side? If there are two among the Items that understand one another, it is we two. But the Scales follow the damned Tauk, as the pup lusting after the bitch.



There never was a question of the Ring's allegiance – I doubt even the Puzzle offered it anything. Loyal lapdog to the end, of course it would fall in line so obediently behind the Puzzle.



The last was a surprise, though. Never has the Key or its bearer displayed any loyalties before. Surprise, and pleasant for me then, to learn that it had chosen our side in this.



Colors of unity arrayed against dissention of new order. The Eye, the Key and I stand together, prepared to fight for the right to rule the ex-Pharaoh abandoned when he abandoned my keeper.



Not that I think he minds really. There always was an uneasiness that raced through him when the ex-Pharaoh would come near him. Jealousy is too mild a term, hatred too vivid. It is easiest to say things were never well when the cousins were near to one another.



But now that they are well and truly separated…we shall see, I suppose. We shall see. The bearers of the Items – besides him, of course – have no idea what is going on. They may feel the need to avoid one another more strongly than before, but we have ever strove to shun one another.



I am grateful the Eye stands beside me. Its wielder cast his lot, and is gone, but even without a bearer; it is powerful and power hungry. It would not have been odd to be engaged in a three-way struggle for power. But with two of the strongest arrayed against it, the Puzzle has no chance of survival. The Tauk worries me; its bearer is almost as unique as mine. She bears two Items, though in a different fashion than he. She controls the Scales through its bearer.



Such a thing confuses me. He would never allow another to control him. The Scales never were passive. Why, then?



It is of no great importance; perhaps stale blood went into its creation. Curiosity claws at me is all. But distractions are for the weak. We will not be distracted.



I can feel him, satisfaction burning through him. My own reflects back, bolstering him. I hust when he requests, but the overflow of emotion has left some residue I can still feel. It shapes us, their emotions.



His are powerful, controlled. His iron will holds us together.



And the Puzzle is finally learning its place.



XXXXX



Time passes in strange ways. Yesterday he woke me. Today it is his son, holding me for the first time. There is weakness here – I can feel it. The Puzzle too, for it wakes for the first time in a long time, stretching out bits of quiet thought towards the boy. In the back of his mind I receive the reassurance that this is my new bearer.



I am not reassured. He is gone though, I suppose. My task is to prepare his son. I believe the task will be difficult. Where is the drive for power? Where is his sire's iron will? Flawed…he is flawed.



The Puzzle feels it too, but it does not send the same rejection. I feel it coaxing him. This will not do. In years past I have grown strong. I drive the Puzzle out. It fights, the first time in a long time.



The boy's mind becomes our battleground, the only place we can harm one another.



Stupidly, the Puzzle expends energy it lacks to shield the boy's mind. It leaves itself open to attack, and I esaly dispatch both. Only when I roll from limp fingers do I realize the potential problem I have encountered.



The ex-Pharaoh is gone. He is missing. His son is dead.



Is there another who would bear me?



I look, casting about wildly. The puzzle's bitter satisfaction echoes the metallic ring of swords and shields. Through it I feel the Tauk working, pulling the future closer.



There are outsiders in its vision. Strange men clad in metal, lusting after destruction and blood. The Puzzle sends ungently to the others. There is fear.



Destruction is chaos. The Puzzle's element is not chaos - I am the ruler of the unrulable. I shall be the one to master this newest challenge!



XXXXX



They are nervous. The others vibrate in silence beside me. We do not care to be locked up like unreasoning beings. We are sentient. Being shut away from human minds is…uncomfortable.



We are alone and I reach to dominate the Puzzle…only to find the lowly Ring blocking me.



Please.



A word. The first we have heard in this strange place without human minds.



Please.



Stronger now, the same word, again and again. The others relax. I cannot, for he gave me so much more than one word when we were one. The others may be content; I never will until I rest in his hand again, and finish what I set out to do. Stand by me, authors, artisans, historians – I am rewriting history.,



XXXXX



"Nii-sama! Nii-sama, are you all right?" Mokuba asked worriedly, shaking his brother's shoulder.



Seto had simply collapsed after the retelling, completely without warning. Mokuba's fingers sought his brother's neck, frantically trying to find a pulse. There! It raced, frenzied under his fingertips, so far out of pace with his brother's gentle breathing that Mokuba felt compelled to check Seto's wrist, attempting to find something less aggressively wrong.



The pulse floating in his wrist was just as rapid, pounding swiftly. Seto's breathing was growing shallower. Mokuba swore softly and tried to pull his brother into consciousness.



"What happened?" The door had creaked open, and Honda peeked in, settled halfway between entry and retreat. Mokuba glanced up.



"Nii-sama was telling me about the Items," he relayed, a corner of his conscious mind pleased when his voice didn't betray him by shaking. "He just – collapsed."



Honda slipped in, leaving the door swinging wildly in his wake. "Checked his pulse?"

the biker inquired sharply. Mokuba was too numb to register the hard tone. He nodded; watching anxiously as Honda pulled his brother's unresponsive body away, laying him out.



"He's too hot," Honda muttered.



Hot? Like, fever?



Honda's fingers rested for a moment against Kaiba's neck. Mokuba watched the biker's eyes widen in surprise, then narrow with agitation. "It's beating too damn fast," he murmured. "Like a humming bird… He can't be pumping any blood like this – "



Is he dying? Once the thought would have broken him. Not long ago, the possibility would have destroyed him. Am I in shock? Or is it something else? I can't feel anything…anything at all.



He barely reacted when Honda shoved a small black object into his hands. "Call for an ambulance," the biker directed, resting his hands back on Kaiba's neck. "Damn, it's getting faster," the biker growled softly. "If it keeps up, his heart will explode."



His fingers dialed emergency on their own. Mokuba's eyes never abandoned his brother, staring curiously at the wreck of a once-invincible human being. The operator on the other end was difficult to understand, muffled and disinterested. He hung up after a minutes pointless exchange.



"Are they coming?" Honda demanded.



He only nodded in response, cold creeping in.



"They better hurry," the biker snarled, "or he'll be gone before they can figure out what's wrong."



What's wrong. What really was wrong? The flickering of ceiling lights, the heat of the room, the oppressive carpet bleeding dust motes. The air choked with dirt, windows smeared with filth, peeling wall paper, cracks in the door. Pulsing heat, rolling off Seto in waves, the white-hot Rod still encased in his brother's grip, beginning to smell of burning flesh.



Mokuba lunged forward and tore the thing from his brother's grasp, yelping as the burning metal contacted his skin. Honda had started in surprise at the sudden action, but his focus wasn't on the biker. Seto had drawn a deep, shuddering breath.



Feeling came flooding back into Mokuba. Overwhelmed by anxiety, fear, despair, he threw himself at his brother holding him tightly.



"Nii-sama, don't ever stop breathing again," he whispered into Seto's chest, shaking as he held him.



A hand ruffled his hair lightly. There was tired laughter in the voice that replied, "I always come back up for air."