This is my first YuGiOh fanfiction work, so please be gentle, and I apologize in advance for spelling (a few of my keys are jammed) and if characters are out of character. I've only seen Marik and Bakura once. And, of course, I don't have the rights to YuGiOh.
Egypt had been bright, he remembered. Luminous and glorified and so truly fitting of the homeland of the great and mighty gods. With enormous dunes of golden beige sands that rolled in hills, churning like a serpent's tail. Far and few between many miles would be a oasis, most of them mirages. Unless you knew where to look, that is. Marik likes to that even tough he grew up in a tomb, rarely seeing the outside, well. He still likes to think that he can navigate the desert well. With it uncovering her secrets, oasis included.
Thunder cracks, like the uneven beat produced by a scared drummer boy's mallets as he leads an army to battle. Lightning races across skies miles wide to reach the echoing clap, and the two wage war. Rain cascades to the sopping pavement below, and Marik reasons that those are the small bodies of the fallen. England is nothing like Egypt, he thinks. Though both may begin with the same vowel, there could never be two more different that the countries. England is slate skies, hardly ever punctured by the Sun's rays, and tall building that make up the giant bodies of skyscrapers. Stone and concrete giants that reign over the slowly drowning city of London. Marik feels like he's drowning, too. Because he knows his mind, well he thinks he does, and he knows he isn't insane.
His sister may say differently, but she was blinded. Ishizu had been shielded more so than he himself had been, and their father was not the caring man she had been brought up to think. He had been cruel, evil, and abusive. Marik had taken it and taken it, until his spine wouldn't allow him to bend any further for fear of breaking. Ironic, really, because he snapped anyway. No matter what she said, Marik stood by his actions, however extreme or wrong they may appear in others eyes. He remembered clearly grasping the metal torch holder in the tomb, remembers baring down over the man who for so many years tore him down. He remembered the feel as the metal smashed the skull and the feel of warm, sticky blood as the crimson color painted his face. Most of all, Marik remembers his sister's screams.
There had been a funeral. Everyone dressed in black and eyes holding tears for a non-deserving tyrant. He hadn't attended, no matter the amount of pleading from his sister, and she had left him with heavy eyes. Marik imagines that there were flowers, and wreaths and although yes, funerals are sad (though maybe not this one), it's suppose to be a celebration for the person ascending to the next life. The eternal one. Yeah, right, his father is going one way but it sure wasn't up.
After Ishizu had returned to the tomb that to him was so much lighter now and pulled him aside.
"You will be leaving Egypt," she had told him. "I will not speak of you against father, and I will tell the authorities that we do not know who it wasw; we were asleep."
Marik had starred at her, mind swirling and trying desperately to grasp what she was saying.
"What?," he has whispered.
Ishizu had squeezed his shoulder, her eyes much older than her years, and tinged with a faint emotion Marik dared not call love, because you didn't ship away a person you loved. No matter the saying or motto. "You will be okay, brother. You are just confused, and though that does not clear your actions, it does bring you sympathy from me. A change of scenery will help you and in time, you may be able to return home."
Marik burned with so many emotions, he felt like a humanoid dust storm. Finally he narrowed his unique violet eyes, piercing his sister with them.
"This is not my home, Ishizu, and I will not return freely. If you so wish it, you will have to drag me back in chains, I swear it by Ra," he snatched the plane ticket she held limply in her hand, storming out of the tunnels and towards the surface, taking nothing with him. After all, he saw this as a start of a new life, and the first step towards it would be dropping everything from the past one. Starting with the deepest connections.
He discovered that he hated planes. The skies were meant to house Nueth, and a meta contraption weighing tons should not enter her domain. Turbulence threw the plane often, and it did nothing to help his already turning stomach calm down. Marik also thinks that people should not be on planes. Passengers were annoying and agitated, stuck up and rambunctious. Many eyes drifted in his direction, no doubt eyeing his dark skin and god jewelry. His eye color not helping his cause to blend in, he had his mother's eyes he had been told. If it wasn't the passengers bothering him, it would be the fake flight attendants. They reminded him of mannequins, he had never seen one, but he knew enough to know that they were fake people.
It took five hours and ten minute to arrive in England, he finds out. He knows because he counted every agonizing minute. With no other form of entertainment it had been a quick launch of the idea, and he didn't shake it until he stepped foot onto the landing pad of England concrete. It's the first step of his new time. Rain licks his warm skin, the chill seeping in deep and nestling into his bones, deep into the marrow. It's fitting, he thinks, that it would rain. Washing away his old life and each droplet making room for a small piece of his new one.
As he had no luggage he walks right out the landing strip, not bothering to go through the air port building, and into the city of London, if he remembers correctly. He's sixteen, in a foreign country after murdering his father (he knows he's not insane, he still swears it). What is the first thing he could do with his new found freedom, life? Get a place to live and enroll in 'high school' as he's come to understand it's called.
He sets out. Ra help him.