A/N: Holy I Uploaded Something! I Know, It may very well be a miracle ;) I just want to apologize that I have fallen off the face of the earth, especially to anyone who may be awaiting updates on Sparking Hate or Return with Vengeance. Updates on those will probably happen, but when...I can't say. Because I don't know.
In the mean time, I do hope you enjoy this fic. I've had it gathering cobwebs in a file on my computer for probably a year now, and I decided to re-edit, chop it up (I deleted about half of it because it was going nowhere...) and then give it another go. So, I do hope you enjoy this OneShot :)
Something you should know...
* Malik, as becomes very obvious when you read, has more knowledge of his own...um...condition (for lack of a better word ;) than he does in the series.
Keeping that in mind, I hope you enjoy the trip into my imagination. Read on, Dear Readers, Read on :)
Malik sighed, a sad whisper of breath escaping his lips, and he let his eyes roam the vast, empty desert. It was that rare time of the morning, when the sun had just risen above the dunes, a massive crimson disk slowly dragging itself into the sky; when the air was cool, and the sand cold, as though clinging to the night, to darkness and shadows, despite the harsh scrutiny of the relentless sun.
Stretching out behind him, his elongated shadow, dark navy blue upon the sand, contrasted with the sand itself, almost glowing beneath the sun's light. Scarlet red, like blood running over the sandy hills, like garnets, glittering and sparkling, sun shining over pale gold sand, painting them in ever brighter shades of ruby. And above him the sky was in flames. Long reaching fingers of red and orange and bronze curled around the fading stars, collecting them and hiding them away. He pursed his lips, noting the vibrant colors. After all, sunrises like these didn't last long before they faded into the plain, unwavering azure that dominated during the day.
He took his eyes from the sky and again scanned the desert. There were no buildings in sight; just the forgotten rubble that surrounded the doors leading into the dark underground. He kept his back to the doors, imagining that they would stay closed forever. Instead he breathed, watched the sun rise, and tried (he tried, so very hard) to appreciate what, once, would have been quite impossible.
A lot had changed since his father had died, had been killed. Murdered, he corrected silently.
But, despite the slight twinges of sorrow—or guilt—that he felt when thinking about his father, he could not deny that this, watching the sun rising over the dunes, was worth the loss.
Suddenly he snorted as he thought about his deceased father. Who was he kidding? His father had been a tyrant, an old, blind fool. Malik would've traded him for the sunrise time and again. He would've traded him for the trips to the market, for the chance to watch the stars, for every opportunity he had to walk along the sand and feel the warmth of it under his feet, feel the sun in his hair, on his skin.
"No use lying to yourself, is it, Light…" Growled a voice; the voice was cold, harsh, filled with suppressed anger and sadistic amusement. And it was his own voice. It had his same tone, the same easy sarcasm dripping from every word, but it was twisted out of shape. It was hardly recognizable. Malik suppressed a shiver, and momentarily closed his eyes.
You are not afraid of him.
You're stronger than him.
Without you, he wouldn't even exist.
He opened his eyes. The same desert met his violet gaze, glowing as brightly as before. Only something had changed. There was coldness, an unnatural dark, behind him. He didn't turn to see it; he could feel it well enough as it was.
He considered telling the thing to go away, telling it he wasn't interested in whatever it had to say, but finally he settled in to wait. It must want something or it wouldn't be emerging to taunt him. Eventually he would leave it unsatisfied and irritated, and it would disappear to wherever it had come from. Inside me, he thought with a grimace.
"You know, you never have thanked me for the favor I did you in ridding you of him." The voice growled pleasantly.
What you did deserves no gratitude, Malik wanted to say. But it was the old Malik who would've said that, the Malik that Ishizu, his sister, still believed in. Of course his father had not deserved such a gruesome end…but Malik couldn't say he missed the man.
So again, he said nothing.
And neither did the being behind him. He merely stepped nearer, closing slightly the distance between them. Malik could hear the soft movement of sand, the rustle of fabric. That doesn't makes sense…he isn't even real, the teen mused.
"Honestly, Light, I'm hurt." The voice chuckled, sounding anything but. The soft tinkle of gold told him that the thing was shaking its head in amusement, shifting the heavy earrings that were identical to the ones he had in his own ears at that moment. There was a long silence, and then the voice was all at once in his ear, in his head, all around him.
"My own creator refuses to even speak with me…"The words blossomed like black flowers behind Malik's eyes, compelling and heavy, stirring something in his chest.
"Get out of my head." Malik said between gritted teeth. He shuddered and swung his hand to his waist, to the golden scepter that hung heavily on his belt, gripping it until his knuckles turned white. The voice laughed outright; Malik could imagine the thing tossing its head back, shoulders shaking in hideous amusement.
Malik took a haggard breath, gripping the scepter even tighter. "What do you want?" He ground out.
"Ah, so you'll speak with me now, will you?" Chortled the dark voice. "Why is that? Did I frighten you, my Light?"
"As if a being that I created could possibly frighten me." Malik scoffed, though his voice was strained. He lifted the scepter in his hand and crossing his arms over his chest, still facing the sun. It's now-golden rays dripped over the golden Item in his hand, throwing beams of molten light onto the sand at his feet.
The voice was at his ear again, all at once serious, and Malik could feel its sandy-blonde hair brushing with his own. "I should frighten you."
Malik couldn't suppress another shudder that rolled down his spine. The thing chuckled, so quietly that it was practically a whisper, and Malik realized again how much he loathed it. He hated it so much, more than he'd ever hated anything. He couldn't stand the way it could make him feel so small and pathetic and helpless; the way it could cause him to second guess his own thoughts, his own actions. It made him feel too crowded, uncomfortable in his own skin…and desperately alone at the same time.
I hate you he silently screamed before finally turning to face the thing, spitting out two words, "You don't".
The thing—it bore a striking resemblance to Malik, from his hair, the color of the golden sand, framing his face, to his dark tan skin and sharp violet eyes, right down to the golden articles of jewelry that were clasped around his arms and neck—stood alarmingly close, only inches away, its unnerving gaze shredding into Malik with a force that almost felt tangible. He tilted his head to the side, his face emotionless, his eyes flickering analytically over his creator. Then a small smirk twisted his lips. "You're lying to me," it said knowingly.
"I don't need to lie to you." Malik retorted sharply, daring to lean forward, putting all his unspoken hatred into his own harsh glare.
The smirk grew into a full sneer. "You are lying through your teeth, my foolish Light."
Malik, who had started to turn away again, not wanting to have to look at that distorted thing, not knowing how long he could match that gaze, whirled around. "Why in Ra's name should I fear you? You are nothing but an idea, a combination of feeling and conscious thought. There is nothing you could threaten me with." Malik snapped angrily, his grip tightening on the scepter again. If only he could use his Item, his weapon, against the creature before him. If only that would not be the equivalent of using it against himself…
"Why should I threaten you?" The thing questioned, tossing a nonchalant hand in the air, his face all too entertained. When Malik didn't answer it looked down on him, and then, in one fluid movement, it had gripped his arm and dragged him forward so they were close again, too close for comfort. Malik's instincts screamed at him to fight, to escape, but instead he allowed the thing to touch him, to grab him—as impossible as it should've been—so as not to allow his panic to show in his face, in his posture. He would overcome this thing he'd created.
"We are working towards to same goal, are we not? We aim for the same target, our sights are set on the exact…same…thing…" He breathed, his voice sharp with something like anticipation, almost like excitement. His grip had tightened so that Malik was forcing back a wince of pain, staring up at the thing that had a hold on him.
"You make it sound like we're a team." Malik hissed, wrenching his arm free and taking a few steps back.
"Aren't we?" It asked, with a smirk, making Malik seethe with frustration. Why couldn't the thing just speak straight without answering every statement with another question? It continued, "My Creator, my Light, a fool you may be…but surely you can see that we are two parts of one whole. Two codependent beings bent towards one purpose. That would seem to me as good as any partnership."
"No. You don't know what you're talking about."
The thing laughed again, that infuriating laugh that made his skin crawl. "So you haven't considered it then? What it would be like...?" He trailed off, his voice suggestive.
Without a second thought, Malik knew what it was talking about. The Power of Pharaoh…the strongest and most potent power in this earthly realm…and it was practically up for grabs.
Malik had considered what it would be like to hold that power. He'd imagined the changes he could bring, the good he could do for his brother, his sister…
But he had never had the ghost of a thought of actually acting on it. Of going out into the world, leaving the tomb he'd grown up in (despite how he'd hated it), following the map that was scarred into the very skin of his back, and snatching what rightfully should have been his.
But then… He had fought for this hadn't he? He'd lived the cursed life of a Tomb-Keeper, awaiting the Pharaoh, doing a duty that should've ended thousands of years ago in the sands of Ancient Egypt. If that power depicted in the Ancient Scriptures still existed, then no one had more of a right to it than he did.
"That power is a myth. And…" He took a deep breath, "Even if it were real, what makes you think I could take it." Malik finally spat out. "It isn't mine." He finished angrily, more to himself than the thing behind him. The words tasted bitter on his tongue though, they tasted false. The power, if it even existed at all, should've been his. Oh, what his father would've said to that.
"That didn't stop you and I from taking this…" The doppelganger chuckled, stroking the gleaming scepter's rounded head, trailing down the golden rod to this Light's hand, brushing the tan fingers.
Malik eyed the Sennen Rod, unconsciously caressing its curving head, tracing the sharp wings. "That is different. It was to be handed down to me eventually." Malik said softly. "You just claimed it earlier."
The thing snorted, "The power of the Pharaoh is no different. If we found the Sennen Puzzle, and if we collected the Gods, we could claim that power just as we claimed this Item." It gazed at him with narrowed eyes, a leering grin splitting its face and bearing sharp teeth. "Think of that, my Light. You could be the most powerful being to walk this Earth. You could do whatever you like; go wherever you please, have whatever you want."
Steadily Malik let his gaze slide from their identical hands, so casually placed one over the other on the shining scepter, to the confident face staring at him with piercing dark eyes. He could feel his resolve wavering at the prospect of such a tantalizing future, and he could see that his Dark could feel his weakening determination as well. He smiled easily, a smirk brimming with confidence, with triumph. Malik hated that smirk; he ground his teeth, and then said softly, "Not in a thousand years would I ever be 'partners' with the likes of you. Not even for the power of the Pharaoh."
The thing lifted its hand to its chest as though protecting its black heart and said, "Such harsh words, my Light."
Malik shook his head in disgust and turned from the thing, stalking towards the double door inlaid in the sand. The sun had climbed high into the sky, turning it a pale blue and the sand a burnished bronze. The heat was becoming practically visible in the air, pale waves of warped warmth rising from the ground and distorting vision. Time to return underground, if for no other reason than to escape the unbearable heat.
"And yet," Said the thing from the edge of the ruins and piles of rubble where Malik had left him. He stopped, waiting—foolishly—to hear what it had to say. "And yet…I believe you have a debt to repay me, Malik."
Malik narrowed his eyes at the ground, listening carefully. "I owe you nothing." He said evenly.
"On the contrary, you owe me your sanity." Growled the voice, from directly behind him, his hot breath grazing over his skin. Malik jerked forward in shock, his heart pounding.
"Get away from me!" he snarled, lashing out with the Sennen Rod to hit the thing behind him. It just caught his arm, though, in one hand, and held it suspended there.
The thing explained, unperturbed by Malik's attempt to attack it. "For what purpose do you think I was formed, Creator?" It inquired pleasantly, a savage grin on his face. "Was it just to keep you company in the dark underground? Was it to provide you an outlet for blame?" He laughed. "Idiot. When your pitiful mind couldn't handle the strain put on it, I took the anxiety and tension, the stress that was pressing on your feeble psyche threatening daily to snap it like a twig. I am created out of your horrors, your hatreds and fears, your pains. And without me your mind would have collapsed time and again. Yes, I believe you owe me very much."
It paused suddenly, its grip tightening, and it leaned in, speaking directly into his ear again. "In any case, this is as much your desire as it is mine… You're holding back, though, aren't you. You are afraid of seeking out your destiny." He chuckled maliciously. "Coward."
With energy fueled by the disgust and loathing—and, he admitted, the temptation this power-stealing plan of action presented him with—he heaved his arm away, and the being immediately released him. They stared at each other for a moment, their identical violet eyes glaring one into the other, and then Malik turned without a word and began descending the steps into the tomb.
"Run away, my Light. You know that there is no escape from the other half of your soul." His voice faded, echoing slightly, and the next words were not out loud, but directly in his mind, "Consider my offer." And then it was silent except for the ghost of a laugh trailing after him.
A/N: I realize, I do, that this is practically a cliffhanger. So...this is Oneshot in disguise as a chapter of a very long and complex story. Unfortunately, at this point, I don't really plan on adding to it. Maybe, but probably not. My original intention was to continue, and write up until some type of event or epiphany prompted Malik to decide to go after the Pharaoh's power, and partner up with my 2nd Favorite Psycho, head to Domino, and yeah, you all know how that eventually goes down, but I decided that this was a decent ending, tantalizing enough to leave you wanting more, but satisfying enough to say, "Hey, that was pretty interesting."
I do hope you will favor me with a review :) My readers are some of my favorite people, and if you Review I can give you a proper thank you for taking the time to read this :)
Till Next Time,
Angel