The Return

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! belongs to Kazuki Takahashi.

Argle. (relevant notes below)

This chapter set out to prove Murphy's Law, and it did so very well, affecting both myself and my beta in the process. Rather than going into an extended explanation involving missing video tapes, sprained ankles, and computer viruses, let's just leave it at that.

A note: As you can tell from chapter 3, I started this fic before the AE/RPG of Darkness arc began, and I made up a back story based on the dub's claim of everything happening 5000 years ago rather than 3000--setting everything in the Old Kingdom rather than the New, giving Yami Yugi the name of the really cool insane pharaoh of that era in order to connect Priest Seto's betrayal with the religious war going on between the Horus and Seth cults at the time, making Yami Bakura Sumerian instead of Egyptian, and basically causing almost everything involving the past lives to be canonically incorrect. But dangit, I went to a lot of work on that back story, and I really do know what I'm doing. So it's staying, incorrections be damned. (Just don't ask me what I'm going to do when the story reaches the AE arc. I'm still working on that.)

I also need to note that this chapter is supposed to be occurring only a couple weeks after chapter 12 and 13, which had the morning duel between Yugi and Bandit Keith and the afternoon aftermath respectively. These things heavily influence much of Yami Bakura's ranting in the first half of the chapter. Also in chapter 12, Bakura and Marik technically "met," since Bakura used the Ring to break the Millennium Rod's power over Keith and the two had a Shadow fight or summat, but they've never met face-to-face.

That should cover everything--and I am very sorry for such a delay betweenpterpters, but there was nothing to be done for it. If you even remember and are still reading this story, believe me, I'm grateful.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Patience is the darkest side of power.

He is dark.
He is black.
He is exquisitely powerful.

He has made pain his lover
and hidden her completely.

Now he will never forget.

She will give birth to memories
they believe he is broken of."

-- "The Panther," Mark Z. Danielewski

He woke up abruptly, automatically checking to see how much Bakura had overheard. He let out his breath in a sharp hiss that he refused to call relief once he found that the boy was still asleep in his soul room. He kicked the blankets further away and slid out of the bed.

There was no point trying to wake Bakura up to dress himself. In the past two weeks, the boy had done nothing but hide in their mind and sleep. He'd finally given up on making him act and had taken to forcing Bakura into control only to go to school and do his homework, and cook on the occasions when his father was out lecturing. He disliked the taste of most the meals this country had, but Bakura refused to take care of himself, so he had no choice but to eat in his stead.

The bad food would have been worth the peace and quiet that the boy's mental absence gave, if he had actually had any peace. He wrenched the final button on Bakura's jacket shut and yanked the satchel off the desk, growling reflexively as the action made the case slam into his thigh. He ignored the sting and left the room, striding down the stairs before bypassing the kitchen where Bakura's father was sitting and storming out of the house.

The dreams were coming more often.

It was probably for the best that Bakura was choosing to avoid him as much as possible these days--the boy would have been too easy a target for his frustration. The dreams left him angry, violently so, because they made him live through those damned years again. His past had already built him into who he was--he had no need to relive it.

But that didn't change the fact that the memories kept returning. Ones that were useful, yes; but also ones that would have been better left as dead as the man who'd had such a large part in them.

Once he reached Domino High, he pushed Bakura into control and watched as the boy sleepily waved to his friends.

~~~
It was a stroke of fortune that the boy's father left the paper out that Sunday morning, rather than putting it away like usual. Though, it was about the man's museum, so it made a bit of sense. Perhaps he'd been trying to tell Bakura something.

The boy, still hiding away, had paid the paper no attention, but he read through it quickly. As soon as he'd finished, he collected his deck and tucked the switchblade he'd stolen and started carrying after that warehouse confrontation into his pocket. Then he set off for downtown.

~~~
The subway was noisy and crowded. He would have put Bakura in control so he could think in peace, but he didn't want the boy know where he was going. He had misguidedly allowed Bakura too much access to his plans before. That was going to change. The boy had crawled under his skin, caused him to act far too leniently. If he had had reason to think more highly of him, he would have considered it a trick to uncover his secrets. But Bakura was neither masochistic enough to have first chosen this route, nor clever enough to find a way to work it to his advantage once it occurred.

The trouble all along was that he had thought too highly of the boy. He had imagined that his reincarnation would share some part of his personality as well as his appearance, some kind of drive, some sort of ambition. Some thing that, if Bakura could be quickly and properly subjugated, would have made him a useful and possibly even trustworthy partner. He had assumed that Bakura could serve a purpose beyond that of being his host, and he had been wrong. So it was time to return to their old relationship.

The boy was broken far enough that he wouldn't bother fighting as he had in the beginning, and he himself did not currently have time to be distracted by anything deeper. All diversions could become dangerous, and those that were within his control had to be ended immediately. He was not going to give himself liabilities.

The incident in the warehouse had taught him a valuable lesson. The plan for reaching his goal had only one unstable place: he was not Seth-Peribsen.

Being faced with the broken Puzzle had been an infuriating testament to his own failure, but it could not be ignored. Yugi was the only one with the ability to piece together the Pharaoh's puzzle. Yugi was the chosen heir. That meant Yugi had to be protected, at the expense of everything but his own host's life, until the other four Items were his. Only then could he risk killing the teenager. His goal could not succeed without Peribsen's Item whole and intact.

The king did not need to know this, of course. He doubted Psen sen would trust aid from his quarter, anyway.

The fact that he did not control a part of this situation was going to remain as secret as he could keep it. He had made a mistake, allowing his control to slip and admitting to Bakura that he couldn't build the Puzzle himself, but toy hoy had forgotten that small fact soon enough. The damage he had done to Bakura's mind that afternoon would be, in the long run, less risky than if the boy had held a weapon against him. And with Bakura clueless, so long as he maintained a façade similar to his earlier thieving actions, Peribsen and his court would be unaware of their advantage as well.

He had only let his control drop momentarily, and he had fixed things as soon as possible. His mistake would not have consequences. He wouldn't allow it.

The subway finally reached the stop he'd been waiting for, and he elbowed a lanky teenager out of his way as he stepped out the door. The Ring began glowing as soon as he reached aboveground, and the pull only grew stronger as he made his way to the art museum and headed up the steps.

Though the Egyptian exhibit was new, the inside of the building was relatively uncrowded. Most of the people who had the time to waste this morning were enjoying the spectacle of Kaiba's tournament. He didn't bother to keep the Ring in a less conspicuous place than his hand.

It practically pulled him through the grand hall, jerking to the right once he approached the entryway to a smaller corridor. He curled his fingers tighter around the rim and simply followed, long since used to the sentience of the Item.

He strode down the hallway without bothering to glance at the decorations lining the walls. He cared about the past only in how it could aid him, and these testaments to ancient Egypt's cultural and political power were useless in that respect. The present meant more: in it, the Ring was humming with power in his hand.

The mystical Millennium energies are growing stronger...I must be getting closer to the source.

His footsteps--already soft--became inaudible as he reached the staircase, stepped over the velvet rope in front of it, and descended.

The moment he reached the foot of the steps, the Ring gleamed and hummed more quickly. Yes. He smiled slightly. The Millennium Item I seek is here.

No sooner had he thought that than the Ring thrummed anxiously, as if straining to catch something. Then the pointers went limp and the Ring fell still again. He blinked.

What's this? He hissed, baring his teeth in annoyance. The force is gone! He glared at the Ring for a moment, then glanced up at the room and narrowed his eyes. Only the mind-Items can hide their presence like this....

He was carrying the Eye. He was never so foolish as to travel without it on his person, and he did not allow Bakura to do so either. The feel of the energy for this Item was not that of the Rod, but it was not the Key, either. He had sensed that particular Item back in Pegasus's castle, but the battle with Pegasus had taken just enough out of him that he had withdrawn to the Ring instead, leaving Bakura in place to hide his presence. Shadi was the only Item holder who unsettled him, because he had not yet figured out who the man was or what he was trying to accomplish.

That left only the Necklace. It could not read minds, nor control them, but it could sense the future; whoever wore it might very well have known he was coming.

But why then would they have lingered until he was practically upon them? He must not have been given away by the god Sin yet.

Unless it was a trap....

He took a careful look at the room. There was no one else visible, but a person of average height could crouch unseen behind one of those statues.

The statues....

Something about the statues pulled at his memory, and he lee the thought emerge.

The opening room to one of the richer tombs he had robbed--and two seated figures beside the entryway. Guards. The statues were a form of guards: more of that Egyptian mysticism. Was this just an attempt to recreate the atmosphere of a tomb, or...?

He took a further step into the room, glancing at the carvings standing in alcoves along the walls. Pieces of a tomb, yes...but that picture in the corner....

He strode forward and scanned the stone, then glanced at another carving on the opposite side of the hall. They both had it. And that third stone further down....He took a closer step forward. It had the hieroglyph as well. He recognized it, because Ishtar had pointed it out to him once. The man had been trained as a scribe before he abandoned the court, and so was one of the few people in the land that could understand what the strings of pictures that the kings painted on their tombs meant. The irony had amused him, so he hadn't forgotten. That picture was a symbol of protection. And all the slabs in this room contained it.

It could not be a coincidence. He gave the archway further down the hall a speculative look. Whoever had designed this particular display had something to protect, and it was likely that the designer was the Necklace's bearer. But unless they were fool enough to leave the Item in the open, e wae was something more here. And the subtle focus of the room suggested that the one who had done this had a greater grasp of Egypt's old culture than he had come to expect in this and and age. They might even know that they had come to Domino at the very time he and Peribsen's connection was playing itself out.

That was an interesting thought.

Even if all this was no more than a stylistic effect that would go unnoticed by the mass of visitors, it did not change the fact that there was someone within this building that carried a Millennium Item. So he ought to be careful, since it stood to reason that something about them had to have been strong enough to pass the test the Necklace would have given.

He had lied to the boy about that. It served his purpose at the time. Bakura had not undergone a for for the same reason he was sure that Yugi hadn't: there was something withhe bhe boy that was the same as within himself--though he'd be damned if he knew what it was--and the Ring had recognized it immediately and just begun the process of waking him up from his five-thousand-year-unconsciousness to occupy his new host. It was that shared aspect of their souls that tied them together, and that murdered the both of them slowly when they were apart. The Ring, though the house of his soul during that five millennia and currently the tangible connection between them, was only a medium. He had driven the pointers into Bakura's chest to get the boy to shut up and listen while he was introducing himself.

Bakura had been fortunate, really; the other Items surely tested their respective owners to confirm their right to wield their power. Only the Puzzle and the Ring contained souls to serve as a comparison.

Not that the test appeared to guarantee an intelligent bearer. Pegasus, for one, had used his Eye for little more than parlor tricks. But the owner of the Necklace seemed at least slightly more aware of the Items' story.

Five thousand years ago, the deliberately laid out hallway would have made him more cautious. Now, he was impatiently curious. He widened his stride slightly so that the fabric of his jeans wouldn't make a sound as he walked, and draped the Ring over his neck to free his hands. He tapped into its power, prepared to call the Shadow Realm forth at the first hint of an ambush, and finally stepped through the archway into the next room.

His eyes widened when he spotted the two tablets encased behind glass. It can't be....

It was. "The Pharaoh's tablets are here!" He stared for another moment, and then a smirk crossed his face. Of course the tablets were here. This exhibit was sponsored by an Item holder, was it not? If anyone could make it through the traps and tests that Peribsen had installed in his tomb, it would have to be one of the seven. Even he had nearly lost an arm climbing through that tomb, and it had only been half-built then. "Heh. It's been quite a long time since I laid my eyes on these stone carvings." His smirk grew wider. "But I'm sure--" he caught himself and returned to his will-steal-everything façade "--once I obtain the seven Millennium Items I can unlock the shadow magics it depicts."

The smirk slipped away and he gave the case a critical look, stepping forward and running his fingers idly over the glass.

Even if there was one flaw in his plan, there was also one sound point.

Time had only proven the theory he had formed during that last game with Peribsen at Duelist Kingdom: the king had performed the spell to infuse his Item with his soul incorrectly, and in doing so had lost his memories. He, however, had not; and if his store of knowledge was only partial it was still far better than Peribsen's utter lack.

The dreams, even if he hated them, gave him an upper hand over Seth-Peribsen; and those memories were a card he did not intend to reveal until much later. With contemplative look, he scraped a fingernail over the glass, scratching a line through the profiles of the king and the high priest. Then his gaze slid to the right, where the second doorway lay.

A very obvious hiding place.

He could even hear the tap of shoes faintly echoing down the hall beyond. He moved quickly, the soft soles of Bakura's sneakers making no noise as they crossed the floor.

He had just stepped over the threshold when the Ring jangled loudly. He glanced down.

The fluorescent lights reflected off the gold with a sheen far brighter than they should have allowed, and the metal was growing warm. He looked back up and eyed the corridor suspiciously.

It was just a hallway. There was a bend to the right at the end, but othhan han that, nothing.

He didn't believe it for a moment. There was something down that hallway, something that the Ring wanted. And it wasn't a Millennium Item. He knew the feel of all the Items now, and this was something completely different. Also, the pointers were still hanging loosely.

The metal was growing painfully hot. He stepped back over the threshold, still watching the corridor. The Ring jangled again, almost angrily, but after a moment it fell silent. The heat and the glow faded until its appearance had returned to normal. He gave the hallway another suspicious glance.

Then, aware that the bearer of the Necklace would have had ample time to escape by now, he turned around and strode out of the room.

He would get to this new person later. Right now, he was hunting the Rod.

~~~
He had paused in the middle of one of the streets that Kaiba had closed off for Battle City, debating which direction to take, when the Ring gleamed again. This time there was no mistaking the aura of the Item that it had picked up.

He started and glanced around the area. When he saw no one in immediate range, he gripped the cord in one hand, telling the Ring to pull back while it was still undetected. It lingered briefly, almost affectionately, on the trace of magic that the Rod gave off, but obeyed.

He was already faintly disturbed by the Ring's earlier actions, and this new one only added to his unease. After all, there was a difference betweccepccepting the semi-sentience of his Item and imagining it to have emotions. If it could feel affection, then it could certainly be...calculating?

He shook the thought away. He began to focus the Ring's ability actively, using the barest amount of energy to locate the other Item and set its position within the city.

"Hey Bakura!" Téa's cheerful voice called from behind him. He started again and turned slightly, then caughmselmself before they could see his face. He cursed that he'd been caught off-guard and shown it.

There the the sound of more feet. "What's up, man?" added Tristan's voice. His self-control prevented his hands from clenching at the sound. "Here to check out some duels?"

He didn't miss the inflection on the last word. If left alone, the brunet really could prove to be a liability....

He couldn't move his hands to slide the Ring beneath his shirt, so he expended the energy required to make it sink through the rialrial. Then he smiled and let his face slip into Bakura's gentler features before turning around. Yugi's court stood there, minus Yugi, and plus an elderly man he hadn't seen before. "Oh, hey guys. So tell me, how is the tournament progressing so far?" he asked pleasantly, mentally daring Tristan to call him on the length of time it had taken him to respond. Erasing four minds would hardly be a drain on his abilities.

Any response Tristan might have made was cut off by the blond. "Great!" Joey crowed. "I already scored four locater cards," he added, holding them up. "All I need're two more, an' I'll be in th' finals!"

He made a note of that detail and nodded cheerfully. "That's quite impressive." He made a faint gesture to Téa. "And where's Yugi?"

Téa shook her head. "We've been looking all over for him!" She raised a hand to her chest and made a triumphant fist with it. "I'll bet he's probably somewhere kicking some serious butt," she said enthusiastically.

Joey also made a fist, going into something that was appaly sly supposed to resemble a victory pose. "Can't ya see it? Me 'n Yugi in the finals, battling in th' rematch of the century!"

Tristan gave him a half-smirk. "Aren't you gettin' a little ahead a yourstherthere, champ?"

"Well, I do need to crush a couple more duelists first," Joey conceded.

He didn't have time for this. The Millennium Rod was somewhere in this town, and he would be damned if he didn't find the bearer first. What would be the fastest, least suspicious way to ditch these pests?

His scheming was interrupted by Téa suddenly jogginst. st. "Hey, check it out!" She waved a hand over her shoulder. The other three promptly followed.

Well, that was useful. He waited a few moments more, until he was certain that their attention had been captured by the sign that Téa had noticed. Then he walked over slowly, stopping just close enough to appear with the group but far enough that he could easily slip away. He debated checking for the Rod's location, and ignored what they were saying--since it seemed to be only about the man whose picture was scribbled on the sign--up to the point where Joey straightened and ran off yelling "Finals, here I come!"

"Joey!" Téa yelled, before taking off after him. Tristan huffed and followed on her heels, and the old man began chasing after them as well, calling for them to wait.

"Keh," he snorted. It was nice when the pests removed themselves. He let his face sink out of the boy's annoying expression and turned his back, walking away. He pulled the Ring out and immediately began concentrating on the Rod again.

...It was much closer. Not on foot, then. So, it had to be someone either old enough to drive, or someone who looked old enough. There was the possibility that they were being chauffeured, but it would be stupid to let another person that close to their power. Humankind was nothing if not greedy.

Then again, it was the Rod, so the bearer could simply be commanding someone to drive them. It hardly mattered, aside from giving him an extra person to worry about. He focused again.

This was delicate work: locating the Item without having his own energy noticed, let alone traced, required concentration. And putting that location into a specific spot on a wider field was no less difficult. He waited until he reached a convenient alley and slid inside before holding the Ring in his hands and feeding it more of his strength.

The Rod was to his left. The east. And, judging by the speed, it was not only in a car, it was on a less-trafficked road. He had memorized a map of Domino City long ago--what minor roads were in that direction?

The answer was simple. The tane ane wharf road that climbed around the cliffs. It began in the docks, which would explain why the Item seemed to be flying along with no concern for traffic whatsoever. But the road also eventually merged into another highway whicssedssed right through the heart of what Kaiba had declared to be "Battle City." That only added to the logic: the Items were gathering in this place, for whatever purpose.

He knew what his purpose was. He did not know what the Ring's purpose was. And in the end he didn't care, so long as his own goal was accomplished.

There was something between the dock road and Battle City, however. He remembered that. What was it?

...the warehouse district. He laughed. Fitting.

He let the Ring drop, the thud of the thick gold a familiar weight against his chest, and left the alley. He headed for the section of warehouses that intersected the wharf road.

~~~
Between the shriek and roar of the engine and the cackling that bounced off the walls, it wasn't too hard to tell that the Rod-bearer was heading in his direction. He could see the machine, turning the corner a few blocks ahead--

....

...Tristan might be a potential threat, but at least he had the bloody sense not to drive a two-wheeled vehicle on one wheel.

Well, if the bearer happened to kill himself first, it would make gaining the Rod easier. It would force him to find a different way to answer his questions, but he would still have a legitimate right to take the Item. Death was the ultimate loss in the test of life.

His eyes narrowed as he watched the motorcycle roar closer...closer....

Now.

With a grunt, he threw himself out from the wall he had been hiding behind and skidded partially down the concrete, planting himself in the center of the alley and directly into the bike's path. He threw an arm out to the left, cutting off more space so that there was no going around him.

There was a split-second where the bike kept moving, and then the high-pitched squeal of brakes echoed through the narrow alley. He resisted the urge to wince at the sound and watched as the Rod-bearer twisted his motorcycle sideways, dark tracks staining the concrete behind.

Sohis his person did not have the strength to simply mow down someone in his way. This would be easy.

The bearer righted his bike from its position nearly parallel with the grounnd tnd then wrenched off his helmet and jerked his head around to glare.

His hand twitched involuntarily, even as the rest of him suddenly froze.

Ishtar?!

It was impossible...the man was dead, he'd seen to that himself! This couldn't be!

The bearer slammed his helmet on the handlebars and pulled the Millennium Rod from what looked like a side pocket in the bike. "You're in my way," he snarled, and the voice--the voice that was different from what he'd known, the voice that didn't match the face--snapped him back to the situation at hand.

Ishtar had had dark eyes. Very dark eyes. This look-alike had light ones. He focused on that discrepancy as he pulled the ends of his over-shirt to the side, revealing the Ring. "You have something I seek," he replied with no less venom.

The look-alike's eyes widened slightly as the gold began to glow in the close proximity of another, familiar Item. "The Millennium Ring," he said with a hint of surprise.

Apparently he hadn't been thought about after that day in the warehouse. He decided not to inform the teenager in front of him that he was the one who'd broken the Rod's power over Keith--there was no need to give away too much information too quickly. "It seems you're the dark force whose presence I've been sensing," he commented, folding his arms. "Give me your Millennium Item and you may pass by."

The surprise on the teenager's face shifted to confidant arrogance. "Hmm," he drawled as he climbed off the bike. "You are somewhat familiar with the ancient ways."

He raised an eyebrow at the strange comment, but the teen continued. "Why do you want my Item?"

Yes. Let me tell you my plan. You have to activate the Rod before it controls people, idiot. The corner of his lip twisted up in a mocking sneer. "If you must know, I'm a...collector of sorts. And once I possess all seven Items, I'll control ancient powers strong enough to the the entire world!" he answered, the attitude of his cover story falling easily into place. He replaced the smirk with a cold glare. "So I will ask you once again to hand over your Millennium Rod."

There was a hint of amusement on the teenager's face, but the blond didn't speak. He waited. He could be patient for as long as necessary.

"My name is Marik," the teenager said a few moments later.

"I don't care," he replied.

Marik looked more amused at that. "What if I told you I have exclusive knowledge of certain secrets?"

He began to wonder if he had been wrong and the high priest had survived along with himself and Seth-Peribsen, and had taken his brother's reincarnation instead of his own for some reason. That would explain all this doublespeak.

But, no, it wasn't possible. The priest would have run him over.

"You can have my Millennium Rod, if you want," Marik said, turning his back on him, "but before I hand it over to you, you'll do something for me in exchange."

His eyes narrowed. His fingers tensed again, but this time the motion was decently hidden by his arms.

"For I am somewhat of a collector myself," Marik commented idly, "and once I possess what I desire the Millennium Rod will mean absolutely nothing to me." He held the Item up to eye level, and the gold caught the sunlight and gleamed.

He let his arms drop in annoyance. The teenager was attempting to play him, and he was doing it very badly. At least his boy had had the sense not to speak when he'd tried it. "Why should I help?" he asked in a bored tone. "I could take your Item by force, as I've done to others in the past."

Marik just snorted, before turning enough to look at him sideways. The teenager shared Ishtar's penchant for smirking, and that was not helping quell his desire to kill him and be done with it.

He was a half-second away from calling forth the Shadow Realm when Marik said smugly: "Because I know the whereabouts of several of the Millennium Items, including the Millennium Necklace worn by my sister."

He paused. Two Item-bearers, both in the same family? That....

...that was interesting.

Something else rattled at his memory, but he didn't have the time to be distracted right now. Very well, for an anomaly such as this, he could put up with this overarrogant look-alike. For a brief amount of time.

He forced his glare to shift faintly towards a smirk. "Perhaps there is a way we can work together--and help each other get what we want."

The condescending expression on Marik's face grew, if that was possible. "You've made a wise choice," the teen said, turning to face him. "With our combined power, no one in the entire world will be able to stop us!"

If the teenager was trying to distract him with words, it didn't work. He had felt the energy the first instant that Marik activated his Item and began focusing it.

He retaliated immediately, calling the Shadow Realm to him. If the blond wanted a fight, there would be one. Interng dng detail or no, he could find the Necklace on his own.

Marik laughed as the Realm began to thread its way into the alley, turning the light dim and smoggy. 'So,' he said, using the Rod to speak mentally, 'you aren't all talk.'

That pissed him off. "You have the arrogance to test me?" he snarled.

Marik only flashed him a grin. 'You were stupid enough to throw yourself in front of my bike. I wanted to make sure you weren't a decoy for someone with real power.'

As soon as he'd gotten what he'd wanted from this asshole, he was going to strangle him with his own intestines right before taking his soul and feeding it to the shadows. The mental image was the only thing that enabled him to grit his teeth and say, "Then hopefully you've learned I am not to be trifled with. Now. What do I need to do for you, in order to receive your Millennium Item, Marik?"

'It's quite simple, really,' Marik replied, brandishing the Millennium Rod tauntingly.

Fine, he would play this game. 'All right, I'm listening.'

'Well, first answer me this,' Marik smirked. He snarled again--this was growing tiresome. 'How strong are your dueling skills?'

He was almtemptempted to pull out a Man-Eater Bug and sic it on the bastard. First-hand proof was the best proof, right?

Pushing aside that thought, he straightened with a snort and let go of the Realm. Marik didn't seem interested in actually fighting him, after all.

Sunlight returned to the alley. "They're extremely strong," he answered, turning to the side and continuing the game of confidant-enough-in-my-strength-to-turn-my-back-on-you that Marik had started.

"Excellent," Marik replied, withdrawing his Item's power as well.

"You should know, I've dueled in several Shadow Games throughout history," he added, turning just enough to see the teen's reaction out of the corner of his eye. "Surprised?"

Marik kept his face the same, but he closed his eyes, making it harder to read him. "I'm not. It all makes sense now."

Now what the hell was this guy babbling about? He didn't trust that comment; Marik had remained silent a few seconds too long before suddenly introducing himself. "'Sense.' Really. And what do you think you know so well about me, Marik?"

"I know the power that you are seek" M" Marik replied. "Though you never did tell me why...."

And I don't think I ever will. "Hn." He walked over to a box that was laying against the alley wall. "I dueled in the past," he said flatly, seeing no need to explain his statement further. Considering that comment about the 'ancient scriptures,' Marik hopefully had some idea of the history behind the Items. He folded his arms and leaned against the wall, bracing a foot on the box. "I've returned for the sole purpose of obtaining the seven Millennium Items and the power they possess." He glanced at Marik without moving his head. "Now I'll ask you once again, what do you want from me?"

"I'm going to need you to duel on my behalf." Marik tilted the Rod towards him. "Then I'll deliver the Items to you."

He raise int internal eyebrow at the use of the plural. Then he closed his eyes, still playing the power game, and said "I'll duel whomever you want me to." He waited a beat, then added: "Provided I receive my payment once I'm done. But tell me, just what do you expect to gain from this battle I duel for you, Marik?"

"I told you," the teenager snapped, but he hesitated before saying, "I'm a collector like you."

Fine. Don't tell me what you believe to be more important than the Items and their power. A child like you can't know what he's forces he's toying with, anyway.

Marik narrowed his eyes. "Just win me the cards I want, and the Items are yours."

Marik wanted him to duel in order to win cards? Did no one in this time understand the merits of slittsomesomeone's throat and taking what you wanted from their corpse?

"Fine," he said flatly. "Are we done, then?"

Marik paused, and then the edge of his lip curled up. "Actually, while you're working for me, I could have a use for your body as well."

He would strangle him with the small intestines. The larger ones wouldn't wrap as many times. He folded his arms again and gave Marik a blank-faced l " "Explain yourself."

Marik folded his arms as well, leaning back slightly with a smug expression. "I need a pretext to infiltrate the Pharaoh's group of friends. His host is--"

"Yugi Mutou," he interrupted. "I know. He and the rest of his friends are here in Battle City--and they're acquaintances of mine."

Marik's grin widened. "Even better. I need you to give me a way to introduce myself."

....

Well now, this was perfect. The gods couldn't have given him a better chance to show this bastard who he was dealing with.

He stayed silent for a moment longer. Then he gave Marik a very wide, very unstable grin. "In that case, I know exactly what will work."

He shrugged off his over-shirt, letting it fall to the ground and leaving most of his arms bare. Then he reached into his pocket and withdrew the knife, pressing the button on the side that made the blade snap out. Marik tensed up at that and began to twist the handle of the Rod, but before the blond could open it to reveal the Item's blade, he had gashed open his arm.

Marik blinked at him. He blinked at his arm. Then he gouged the knife downward a little, leaving a decently-sized wound that still wouldn't hamper his movements too much. He didn't sway on his feet--he had better control than that.

Marik folded his arms again, and did a remarkable job of returning the smug look to his face. "Heh. That will do."

Still not impressed? Very well. He licked the side of the knife before cleaning it off on the tail end of his shirt and returnin to to his jeans. "No," he said, his tone calculatedly idle despite the fact that moving was causing his arm to throb horribly and ooze yet more blood. "I have no interest in bleeding all over the city. One moment." He reached into his back pocket, the one that didn't contain his deck but did hold the few cards that he occasionally found useful. He pulled several free and fanned thet.
t.

Ah. He removed the Sparks card pud put the rest back in his pocket, before drawing out just enough of the Shadow Realm to cause a small ball of fire to appear. He made sure that it was floating above his hand--he didn't need burned fingers--and then pressed it against his arm. He began counting down the five seconds it would take to cauterize the wound.

1....2....3

It took nearly all his control to keep his hand steady and his face from betraying any sign of pain--especially after the third second, when all the sweat and moisture on his arm wurneurned off and there was nothing between the fire and his skin.

....4....5.

It took all his control to stop a sigh of relief when he let the Realm go and the card subsequently became a mere piece of paper again. He tucked the card back into his pocket with his good hand and glanced over at Marik.

The blond's arms were still folded, but they had loosened slightly; and though he still wore that blasé mask, he could see a hint of trepidation in the back of his eyes.

After all, take away the Millennium Item, and this was just another sixteen-year-old.

Yes, boy. I am far beyond your control--so watch yourself. He gave Marik another wild half-grin. "My host knows nothing of this conversation, so make up your own explanation when you meet him," he said off-handly.

He briefly saw Marik straighten before he threw himself completely into Bakura's mind and grabbed the boy's consciousness.

[Uh?] Bakura muttered, wrenched out of his sleep.

It's time for you to wake up, he said, before chucking the boy into control.

He slammed the door shut on Bakura's anguished cry.


~