Never Rid of You

Spoilers: Some.
Pairings: Malik x Mariku
Lemon in this chapter: Just a wee bit.
Chapter: (7/10?)

By the preview title in the last chapter, I'm sure you can all guess what this one is going to hold. Still, much as I hate it, it's a chapter that has to be done. By the end of this chapter I hope to have the last titles out and enough reviews to help me decide how soon I should put up the second one.

I do apologize for disappointing you all thus far. This is an adult site, meant to exhibit the shameless attempt at having our favorite characters screw each other's brains out -- and I've failed thus far to have such a truly delicious moment. Still, Malik -is- only turning twelve at this point; I'll have to remind anyone of that. *Sigh* Innocent bastards.

...I'll just have to change that.

Despite this is an important chapter for the development of the story, it actually isn't going to be all M&M. For those of you that wanted Jou...? ....Heh.

*Can't believe this turned in to a songfic* Brought to you: 'Stare at the Sun' by Thrice.

WARNING : Child abuse and swearing will be introduced in this chapter. For those sensitive to the likes of parents abusing small children, please skip the first installment and go to the next rush of ~*_ . Thank you.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! nor the characters involved in this work of fiction. This has been written without motive for profit or violation of copyrighted material, and the writer has only created this work for personal amusement to be shared with others. Yay. That saves my ass. Again.

On with the fic!!


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Chapter Seven: GHOULS


I sit here clutching useless lists
and keys for doors that don't exist
I crack my teeth on pearls


"Shizuka!!!"

"Niisama!! Onegai!" Tiny hands pressed up against the back window of the car and tears fell from mahogany eyes in thick trails down her plump cheeks.

Even if chasing the car was pointless, he had to try. Some sick game their mother was making them play, and just maybe if he caught the vehicle it would stay. Young legs burned and he had to force himself to stop before he fell on his face and lose sight of where it was going.

"Don't worry Shizuka!! I'll see you soon!" Neither of them really believed that, but his desperate screaming must have been heard if he could barely make out the slightly comforted expression of her baby face as the car rolled further away.

It turned the corner and it was gone, leaving the straw haired boy to huff and wipe his nose on the extent of his forearm.

"Fer such a useless shit you sure do run fast," came the throated displeasure of a surly and spirited (the 60-proof kind) voice behind him. "This is all yer fault."

Small hands balled up at his sides as he glared to the sidewalk, waiting for the disjointed shuffle of the man's shoes to fully catch up with him.

"The bitch wanted a girl, and she got you." Furious amber hues only stared down the empty expanse of street ahead, vainly hoping the car would turn around and come back.

A hard series of pats visited his small back of the boy from the oversized and pungently doused hand of his father figure. Jou did his best not to let the man see his eyes water, but he couldn't help it as wet slid out of dark syrup eyes.

"...Hn. No son of mine's gonna cry over some bullshit like this."

There was a small shred of hope, blond strands stirring before he looked up. He only saw the turn of lips through the stubble, but it was hard to make out if it was a smile or frown from not being so tall. Still, he followed after the man when he began to head back down the street.

As soon as he was in the door he felt a meaty fist on the back of his neck, his knees buckling from the force that wanted him down on the cheap carpet.

"So then maybe you're not my son! No doubt that whore of a mother of yours was off with some other bastard!" The eleven year old could feel his face being scraped by the plastic fibers and he had to hold down the urge to scream about it.

"She left me because you went and pulled this shit!! She wouldn't have left if you'd been a girl! re sre such a fuck up!" He could swear at this rate the whole complex was going to hear the drunken bellows.

No wonder she left...

...She wasn't strong enough to take this.

I tear into the history
Just show me what it means to me in this world

"Again," the firm voice of his instructor sounded in the still room. Seto, once more, recited the word and its definition. His Japanese was strong, but his employer had told him to bestow no mercy.

That meant the brunet's Japanese was only strong because he had several welted ribbons sitting on his forearms and cheeks.

"Good. Now, in English." It took a great deal of the youth's restraint to not let his frustration slip in to his tone. Why they went through this when they both knew the potential Kaiba heir was capable was for the sake of impressing who was in control.

"Machiavelism is the study and application of the work of Niccolo Machiaveli, The Prince, which was a set of instructions on how to achieve and maintain power," he claimed in all his surface sangfroid glory.

Not only was he forced to memorize the dictionary, a thing he had done before ever coming in to Kaiba's hands, but he was forced to study it in multiple languages. This book in question was no different, but he would only be getting in to the last pages that evening. Fists tightened at his sides as he engrained the wall of peach paint and white border to his mind, waiting for the lanky figure to finish circling him.

...That buzzard.

"And... what became of the author?"

There was a blanch in his shorter frame, and that made footsteps halt. "...He was murdered shortly after its publication."

Seto grimaced against the ring in his ears and the residual burn of the riding crop leaving its sting on his back, even through the soft yellow polo and grey sweater vest.

"How so?" the weasle of a man inquired as he began to shuffle about the youth again.

Now, in a slightly quieter tone, "...By a group of unidentified men using the methods he had prescribed in his book."

There was only the slightest glimmer of satisfaction behind the lenses. "Good. Now, existentialism, in German."

'Cause I am due for a miracle
I'm waiting for a sign

The need to be tougher was as obvious to him as the roach skittering by on the carpet. His cheek and nose still hurt from the carpet and his father's weight all having born down on the back of his head. It may not have been a punch, but the force of a half-drunk man's palm attempting to cram one's skull into the flooring was never an offense he could simply walk away from.

Averagely, a child would run to anyone for help at this point. Or retire to their room to sob. He only wiped his nose when he was done sitting up, looking to the now fully-drunken heap of his bawling father. A man that was trying hard to believe if he gripped the bottle tight enough it would morph in to the figure of his wife.

His hands were around the bottle's neck.

Jou winced when he heard the unfamiliar crack of glass in its multi-faceted journey to the floor. Sending a howl of pain through the small apartment was only followed by more choked, wet breathing.

Other than the fact this place's rent was a little under eight hundred yen a month and thus some of the maintenance requirements could be overlooked, it was clean. Needed to be vacuumed and the smell of mildew out of the kitchen, but it wasn't the worst place to come home to.

That was four doors down with an old man that insisted the TV was never loud enough while he hacked out his lungs, right across from a teen that had already persisted - almost violently - the blond boy needed a fix.

And he could swear it always smelled like rotting bodies on that end of the building.

With a sigh Jou managed to his feet, ignoring the ache on his skull and shuffle away to the bathroom. The sink ran for a moment, and when he returned he didn't stop until he was at his father's side. Had they actually invested in having the carpet replaced, either of them might actually have been concerned about the crimson splotches trying to seep their way into the fake fibers.

"...Let me see," he commanded softly, reaching out for one of the hands that could easily get on his own head. His mother had reason to be afraid of hands like that.

I'll stare straight into the sun

"Niisama!!" a high voice shrieked with pain.

Tears welled up in deep stormy hues, looking at the red on his knee. If he wasn't so small he wouldn't be such a klutz. Out in the pebble walkways that were littered through the back yard he was lost, and now, sprained from his rough introduction to gravity and unfastened shoelaces.

...No response. Mokuba really began to cry now, attempts to clutch at the hissing read heap of torn skin on his knee falling short fthe the fear of inducing further pain. Hands sank into the pebbles as he began to tremble, a helpless heap of five-year-old wrapped in baby fat.

It wasn't till a few minutes later that he could hear his name. ...Well, he thought he heard his name.

"Mokuba!!" came again, and his eyes lit up at the sight of bouncing sable hair and ridiculous sunshine polo.

Right behind him was that gangly tutor that was squeaking on about how his carrion had gotten away. Two men in their black suits were also in the mad dash.

The youngest boy had to stop his crying just at the fact how fast his brother was running to get to him.

In a winded heap the sable haired boy dropped beside his baby brother, reaching out for his shoulders and rattling him. "Mokuba! Are you okay?!"

"My... I tripped..."

"Dammit, Mokuba! You always trip!" Even with the shocking viciousness in his words, azure hues couldn't bring himself to mean them.

"But..! I... I'm sorry!! Niisama I--"

"You are a drain on Master Kaiba's investments," the lemon-faced weasel proclaimed for him upon his arrival. Instantly Seto's arms were about his little brother, just before the hands of the guards were in his shirts and attempting to hoist him up.

That wasn't going to be easy considering the instinct Mokuba had for wrapping stubby legs about his older brother. With the weight as bulky as it was, Seto scowled up to each of them in turn for his grief of being ripped three ways.

"Put us down right now or so help me when I'm in charge I'll have you both killed!!!"

Usually the petulant, desperate threats of a screaming ten-year-old were a thing to be overlooked. ...When it was the potential heir of your boss...

And I won't close my eyes

"I didn't mean to lose the house," the old man mumbled to the amber pool glinting happily on the bargain table top.

Jou only worked to scrub away the blood from the torn flesh in forceful strokes. With his father so inebriated he doubted the man could feel it anyway. "...I know, dad."

"I swear, I had a winning hand..."

"...I know, dad."

"...I didn't mean to hit her."

"Other hand, dad," the boy stated as he set the other down on a dry spot of the table.

There was no other exchange between them as the boy worked. Amber eyes, not unlike the rather pricey liquor that had its remnants strewed upon the table, slowly watched the manila cloth turn rosy, and then red.

"Ya think... she would have stayed if she hadn't found out about the job?"

A serious moment of consideration drifted through him, before he smirked lightly. "...Nah. She wasn't man enough to handle it, like us."

It was hard to tell if his father was smiling or not, features obscured by their differences in height and the resignation of the man's head. But he had to be satisfied, if he brought a hand up to settle on the rough blond heap of hair, lightly rubbing his skull.

Jou just made a note to himself to wash the blood out later.

'Til I understand or go blind

"You shouldn't make such idle threats, Seto." The rotund man in his burgundy suit paced in a steady circle around his prospect.

Seto only kept his gaze firm and forward, tightening his small hands in to fists. "They weren't idle." Savage azure orbs drifted towards the man that had shuffled to a stop so he could puff again at his cigar.

He hoped he choked on it.

"You really think you have what it takes to kill a man? Over that sniveling little child?" Were it not for his low chuckling, he might have heard the grating of pre-teen teeth between their plump cheeks.

Talking back would lead to more lessons. Explaining himself would appear weak, that he somehow had to do so. No, he was justified, and that's what mattered. His chin tipped up, braving the plume of odor from the man's expulsion of smoke.

He swore to himself once the man was gone there would never be another cigar in this house again.

"Hn. Maybe you do. Your pathetic excuse of a brother I can't say the same for." Azure orbs flashed towards the wine red suit. Always, always the man tugged on that chord. And always, the train of his calm demeanor ground to a halt. Detecting this, Gozaburo continued with a smirk hidden in the bushel of his mustache.

Seto followed the man with his eyes until his form was out of sight, leaving him to turn. What once was a pair of content and warm cerulean eyes were turning ruthlessly frigid with the constant sadistic prodding of his adoptive father. Ignoring this, the man behind Kaiba Corporation only took a seat at the luxurious leather chair behind his monstrous desk. Were the boy still afraid of the dark, like his brother, he would have been inclined to think the mahogany heap could eat him.

"Even if you can't kill a man, do you think you can take up the slack of your brother's failures? He's not as bright as you are."

"I don't..." immediately fell off the boy's lips, half a step in advancing towards the desk. Fists tightened as he fought to keep himself there, to keep his gaze even. He wouldn't give this man any more power than he thought he had. "...think so."

He waited.

Waited until there was that undeniable mirth in the man's dark brown eyes through the tendrils of smoke leaving his nose. A dragon that Seto was determined to slay, and take all the treasure from his cave, as any knight defending their loved ones should.

"...I know so."

I see the parts but not the whole
I study saints and scholars both
No perfect plan unfurls

"It's a wonderful start, this army of ours..."

Malik looked up to his other half, the one keeping firm hold of him as they reclined in a corner of their internal sanctuary. All the lamps, save one, were snuffed out, and it was under that tired luminance they kept themselves. Me only looked on towards the archway that led to a black nowhere, noticing how violet sometimes lurked its misty way into the abyss.

He wanted to go there, to see what was hiding in those depths. At the same time he feared for the weaker half of him, the one he held now. The one that couldn't sleep even in Rishid's arms, anymore.

Entirely his, now. ...So trusting of him, and so easily he could toss him in to those questionable shadows. Be rid of his weaker half.

"But... what do we name it?" the smaller one asked, looking up to his wild haired other.

Outside that precious room, Malik's form lay sleeping in a bed so comfortable he had never thought a thing could exist. The top floor of the tallest hotel in all of Alexandria.

Rishid looked out the wall made entirely of window to the city coming to life, once the sun had set. Over the last weeks, Malik had become more... dare he say it, a brat?

No. This was his master. He was doing what he felt like, and of course, the older Arab man could only watch the decadence of his master as a servant. No longer his brother. For the better, as he thought it. Day by day, Malik felt less like himself, so much more like the creature that had overwhelmed him that day he took the Rod.

Upon the thought his hazel eyes flickered to the bed and the sprawled boy on it. To the glimmer of metal in his hand that had almost never left his grip since they had abandoned the home of their ancestors.

Since they had abandoned their sister. For days he had felt horrible about leaving her, but Malik had insisted it was for the better. She must have known it would happen, as far as the man could tell, if she had made no effort to tell them they couldn't leave. Often she was very orderly and thorough.

Then again, it was not often that they had a baby brother with the fate of their world in his hands and on his back. The Item had to be delivered to the Pharaoh, both of them knew that. Thick arms crossed over the wide expanse of his chest before he sent gold flecked hues out to the city again.

The question was: how long would Malik have to endure the lure of the Shadows until He was ready to reclaim it?

Do I trust my heart or just my mind

Delicate fingers stroked the Eye that sat on her collar bone, still reading over the note that was, now, over two months old. Deep blue spheres of vision still sat in pain on her features.

It wasn't like she didn't know what was going to happen. She knew where he would end up.

...Isis would just have to meet him there, when the time was right. The Tauk provided a small amount of comfort, in what it had exposed to her. In the mean time, she would have to remain in Egypt. There were deeds yet to be done, and soon...

Why is truth so hard to find in this world

Boots stumbled down the last few stairs, lantern light chaotic along the brick hallway. Expeditions he preferred to carry out alone, but with what he had found he would be lucky to be back at the camp before daybreak. Tilting his head, mournful chestnut eyes took in the high ceiling, and in his thorough distraction the next row of stairs took his feet by surprise.

With a yell the echoes of his body rolling down the steps were the only thing to fill the abandoned expanse of chambers. As he could swear it, getting his senses scraped back in to his skull, the lamp he had come with was done for. And so was that hat.

Oh poopie. He scowled to the crushed shell of mesh before collecting it to himself, making the attempt to inflate it back to its former prowess. Wait...

Under the heap of tangled silver strands he noticed there was torchlight, dancing along the walls in a lazy hole of luminance amidst the darkness. Grooves and etchings of glyphs along the walls could be seen. Half of them he recognized as praise to gods. But... This was titling for a pharaoh with no title. Not a blessing to the world beyond, but...

...What pharaoh would stay in this world? Murky blue eyes watched him, and he jumped when he realized they belonged to a real person, not a random statue - of which there was a lack of in the room.

"You are here, because you have been chosen...." Shaadi whispered ominously.

Yeah in this world...

"Still need to pick a name," he chided himself, skimming through the game store. Four men with empty eyes skulked about the store as well. "It would be good to pick one, before I'm twelve..."

"Yes, Master Malik," Rishid responded quietly, squeezing a fuzzy lump hanging on the rack. In such a tiny toy store he couldn't believe there were so many toys to choose from. When it squeaked at him he could only step back, and make decision that his large hands were better off in their pants.

The blond Egyptian boy, however, insisted on touching everything that was out of a box, and then some.

"May I ask, though..." Lavender eyes looked up immediately, laced with warning that silenced the man. His throat so dry in that instant, he wouldn't have found the power for speech anyway.

"You may not, Rishid."

And that was that. A while later they emerged from the toy store and continued down the mall's walkways. Everything still held such an exciting appeal to the boy, and he insisted on stopping at every single place.

For some reason, they were forcefully ushered out of a Shoppe of lacy things.

"Ice... cream?"

"In... deed," the older said, hiking an exotic brow in question. Blinks spurred from him when Malik pressed his cheek on to the freezing glass, drawing his eyes shut with a low noise.

"Ghouls."

"Hm?" Rishid stopped lapping at his chocolate swirl, staring across the smaableable to his young master.

Malik stared down to his strawberry swirl cone, wiggling the tiny button of his nose. "...Ghouls. I was in the book store," he began, lightly nudging the bag at his side with a foot, "and in this book of stories... They said ghouls were servants, controlled in the minds by the will of their masters."

"Appropriate," his brother gave, cringing when he felt cold dribbling down his knuckles. Quickly he went to the task of gorging himself on the sugar, Malik watching in fascination.

He'd never seen his brother 'scarf' after all. For the last days, he had used the Rod to seek out strength, and the knowledge in other's minds. Children the world wouldn't miss, and even one so stupid to think they were a pair that could be mugged.

With each passing second he held on to the Rod, Rishid feared, more of his mind fell away to the Shadows. It would only be a matter of time before they would have him.

...Staying with him kept his precious brother from slipping away to that fate of nothing. He knew that his presence kept away whatever had killed their father that night.

An event he still could not bring himself to share with his brother. They had been wronged, their father had been warped by his duty and subjected his son to a torment Rishid would have gladly bore. ...Perhaps the Pharaoh deserved what was coming.

There was a flaw, in all of it though. In all of the eldest Ishtar's thoughts,was was a factor he was not in complete knowledge to. Malik himself treated the form as a security blanket.

Each time he used the Rod, Me encouraged him. ...Each time he used the Rod, a little bit of him was stored away. At the rate the wild haired other encouraged, soon Malik would be safe, in his own room. A bystander to the actions of his own body, and Me could gladly take on his final role of killing the Pharaoh.

All for his precious, pathetic little light. He would gladly give his mind away to the chaos of Shadow, to spare this light from the touch of the Rod. He had to defend him, as easy as it would be to banish him.

Easy, was it not for the presence of the man, whom he watched through lilac orbs that slowly began to detach themselves from the past, and the simple home of their catacombs. If he could keep Malik in the past, he could continue with their quest. ...In the past, he adored Rishid.

His problems were going to have to wait for resolution until he was strong enough to take the silver dagger concealed in the Rod for himself.

I know that there's a point I've missed
Some shrine or stone I haven't kissed

The rich ding of gold on gold filled the otherwise silent room. Silent save the whine of the lamp beside him, or the crickets he could hear through the window looming over him. His homework was set aside, waiting for him with the low promise of passing his class at the end of the desk.

There was enough sense in him to get out of his uniform first, and get in to his yellow, goat-fluff print pajamas. Silly as those , it, it was nothing compared to the frazzled mound of his hair.

Raspberry ends faded towards his scalp, growing in black save the sunshine streaks of his bangs sitting in crumpled framing of his little face. Large amethyst eyes were hard at work putting together a map of this puzzle that he had surfaced from downstairs.

....Four years ago.

Honestlyw cow could something less than twenty pieces take more than two years to put together! He prided himself on being a whiz of enigmas, and here he was royally stumped. So stumped he couldn't help but hook the corner of his mouth with a little pink tongue in his mild frustration.

Then again, the best things to come never came easily. If it took this long, even longer, then the prize had to be worth it! Even his grandfather was rather intrigued that it took the boy so long just to get five of the pieces together. Even more so that Egyptians actually had made such a thing, found in sands that hadn't been uncovered in over four thousand years.

People were always underestimating the brilliance of Egyptian technology, as he figured. Maybe it was so hard because Set, god of mischief, made it so.

If that was the case, there had to be a prize for solving it.

A scar that never graced my wrist
A mirror that hasn't... met my fist...

This was new. Usually when his father had a surprise for him, he delivered it in person.

It was heavy, weighing the brown package in his hands as he walked away from the mailbox and back in to the house. It wasn't a new football, like he thought it would be.

Heavier.

"Hm?" Large chocolate eyes blinked when he ripped off the paper wrapping, lifting up the cardboard lid and revealing package puffs. He sent a white hand to investigate, feeling cool metal soon enough. More expensive, he realized, blinking at the gold ring.

"How... queer." Then again, when one had an archeologist for a father, new finds and artifacts made better birthday presents than birthday cakes.

Shaking it, the gold tassels hanging off the ends clattered amidst themselves, before he turned it over and untaped the rope coil that turned it in to a necklace.

For a necklace, it was rather cumbersome. But inttingting! He liked interesting things. Slipping the rope over his head he freed the bushel of ivory strands from its weight and rose to finish preparing his dinner, glomming the item all the way to the kitchen.

But... I can't help feeling like I'm....

There was something wrong with this picture. Ten minutes ago Gozaburo has been threate to to ship his brother off to some place he had never even heard of, much less could find. Now...

...Now, he was on the man's lap, watching him sign documents.

He c onl only tolerate being there because the cigar had long extinguished itself in the crystal tray sitting at the front of the desk. Seto let go of a light sigh, wondering when dinner would be ready.

It felt so peculiar, to be this close to a man that both admired and resented his determination to inherit the corporation.

"So... you're finally a Kaiba." Aside from the dispassionate tick of the grandfather clock at the end of the large home office, there was nothing.

"...And so is my brother." Every chance he could, he ground that fact in to the graying skull of his adoptive father.

"You have potential. ...Your brother doesn't," he reminded the blue-eyed boy. Such familiar blue eyes...

Had his wife stayed around, she might have hated him for his decision. A large set of fingers settled on the polo vested shoulder of the boy, leaving the brunet to stiffen.

"Do not think I will go easy on you. You're a Kaiba, now. No excuses, for weakness. You will be on top of every thing you do, or you shall know what regret is."

Seto humphed, hopping down from the man's lap and taking up the last papers he had signed, reading them for himself and making sure his brother was mentioned. As soon as he saw it was in order, he folded the heap hal half again, then shoved them in to the pocket of his khaki shorts, turning them on the man.

"Don't w. I'. I'll be on top of you, and your company, soon enough."

Brown eyes narrowed as the large man rose to his feet, pursuing the boy that didn't back up a step like he expected. "...Until then..."

Due for a miracle
I'm waiting for a sign

"The Pharaoh will die," Me assured him, nuzzling in to the expanse of slanted neck. Malik continued to coast along the state of being awake, much too content being in his arms.

"He will, for hurting you like he did... He deserves that." Sure, to Malik it was consoling the boy with his grief. For himself, Me was feasting on the emotions that surfaced from such provocations. For that, it left the boy in a haze, effortlessly contorted to his whims.

So long as they didn't endanger the opinions or well-being of Rishid, obviously.

"Our... GHOULs... got wind of a new game
"A
"And what's so special about that..? Are they having fun?" A faint mewl of pleasure surfaced when his neck was attacked by the coarse growling in the other's throat.

All the lamps were snuffed out, save that one they lounged under, farthest from the unknown depths lurking past the doorway.

Malik squealed and fussed when he saw the other's tongue come out of his face, sticking out as some snake and reminding him of all the licorice he'd eaten earlier that day.

"Don't do that! It was creepy when the other guy did it!"

"That's exactly why I'm doing it, Weak One," the other teased, snickering down at him before silvery hues fondly stared down at him.

Maybe he could terrorize the boy out of his own soul room with that disgusting gesture. ...Later. For now, he was content in nurturing himself on the grief that dwelled just below the surface of his other half.

...Even lower, in some pit that was locked away from even himself, was that little piece of him only Rishid had the key for. It was safer, this way. The toll of his destiny was one that could rip him apart.

The man would sooner see his other half in control until the end arrived, than lose that piece he called his brother.

I'll stare straight in to the sun
And I won't close my eyes