Nilah POV

"Ow!" she winced, snatching back her arm.

He didn't let go. "I'm sorry," he whispered, slowly taking her arm back and treating it more gently. He was still upset.

"I still can't believe this," he murmured, speaking in just below a whisper. They were in his bedroom, cleaning things up in the bathroom. Her frail body sat on the sink while Anthony stood beside her finishing up with her bandages.

"It's all right," She forced herself to say. Her conscious told her she knew it wasn't true, but there was no way to accept it. The only person who knew what was going on was her brother and that was it. No one else could know.

"No, it's not," he protested angrily. "The other times were terrible. But this," he lifted her bandaged arm up. He couldn't even finish, preferring to rather shake his head instead.

"He said it was for the best of me," she said weakly. She didn't know why she was defending him, but his words had stuck with her.

Anthony glared at her. "I don't believe him, Nilah. He's a liar and you sure as heck should know that by now."

She looked down. She couldn't stand the sight of him when he was like this; at times it even reminded her back to their father who had caused this on her. "I'm sorry," she wound up saying. So pathetic.

He lightened up. "Don't worry. We'll get out of this soon." That's right. She could remember him explaining that once he turned eighteen he would instantly run away and bring her along with him. That had been the plan for several months now. Anthony was already seventeen and he needed just five more months to go. She couldn't wait until fall.

The thought of this made her smile. No more beatings, no more rituals that involved ruthless drawings and marks on her skin. She had already endured a large portion of it on her legs and arms. And, there was more to come from what her father often mentioned indicating once she herself turned eighteen that the most important ones were supposed to be drawn.

Anthony, though, was lucky. Because he was the boy, he didn't have to endure this kind of torture. It was all at the expense of the girl, their father always said to her. And because she was no boy she was the one who had to carry these incredibly painful marks. The worst thing about it, though, was the fact that their father wouldn't even tell her why? All these mysterious marks and drawings were on her for no apparant reason whatsoever. Either their father had a sick sense of humor or he was waiting to tell her about it after she turned eighteen. After so much talk about it, it seemed to be the most important year. Thankfully, for her, she had a good five years before that.

"Hold still," Anthony cautioned, taking her other injured arm. He ran it under cold water.

"Ahh!"

The night danced in darkness as he drove through the city. Many people were still out, as late as it was, with streetlights as clear as day turned on. It was as if the city didn't sleep, he noticed, hearing and seeing all kinds of noise that was getting in the way of his inner-thinking. Marik's only concern was that he needed to get back to the warehouse and fast.

It started out as any other day, in the life of Marik Ishtar. Of course, that only meant total anarchy, and whatever it took for this young Egyptian to get what he wanted - no matter the cost or danger it challenged.

And to his dismay, things had not gone his way that day. Anger singed through his veins at the gruesome thought of failure. And again! He had lost once again against the Pharaoh thanks to his weak-minded servants. They had yet again proven how not to obey their master, and create another path for themselves straight to the shadow realm. It still wondered the young teen how pathetic so many people could be.

Thinking again to himself of the impatience and exasperation his mind slaves were causing him, he was non-too-careful nor alert when a sudden figure burst out in front of him. It caught him off guard, and if it wasn't for his cat-like reflexives, they would've surely collided.

Grasping onto the handle of his brakes as quickly as possible, and jamming the steering-wheel to an instant 90 degree angle, Marik slammed into the friction at an uncontrollable rate, and found himself instantly out of control and plummeting to the ground.

He hurt all over at the fall, his head hurting most of all. Rubbing the side of his head, he found his motorcycle landed on its side several yards away from him. Thank Ra they were on an abandoned street or his vehicle surely would've been dust.

The girl was standing in the middle of the street acting as if frozen into place. She wore a hooded cloak trying to conceal her identity, but Marik could tell from her figure she was a female. (And also because he had a good idea how most hooded people appeared) For a moment while Marik struggled back onto his feet, she stood like dumbstruck statue.

Eventually, the anguished teen found his voice. "You fool!" he shouted, in a mix of both pain and hate combined. "How dare you get in my way!"

She didn't appear to hear him as he shouted furiously at her. Instead, just before he was fully up, she automatically switched back into motion and strolled past him toward his motorcycle.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, eyeing her threateningly. She had reached his motorcycle, and lifted it up on its wheels. "Don't you dare," he hissed, clutching his arm that was now burning elaborately. He would've already run toward her and knocked her out of the way of his vehicle had it not been for, despite his arm, his left ankle too. It hurt like hell. His only hope now was that his voice would conquer her.

And what a failure it was when he watched her settle on top of his bike and turn the motor on. The loud roar erupted and he only knew now his verbal expressions were render useless.

Seconds before she took off, however, she glanced back at him, her hood fully concealing her face, and said, "I'm sorry." Her voice sounded frightened and guilty of her actions; on the other hand, her movements were swift and fully conscious. Looking back ahead, she went on her way down the street, the burst of his engine crying out even louder.

He gritted his teeth. Narrowing his eyes, Marik snatched the Rod out from out of its sheath and let his anger awake its power. Almost instantly, the bright light from which the Rod gave off glowed illuminously in the dark. And pointing his one and only weapon at the departing thief, he waited with a sneer to hear and see the girl have her own 'little' accident. (hey, he just wanted to return the favor.)

Unfortunately, his yearning anticipation was all for nothing. For some reason the power of the Millennium Rod wasn't working, as it bounced off into another direction diminishing into nothing. The figure of both his motorcycle and thief were quickly fading in to his view and he had instantly lost hope of any last chance of making a come back at the girl. The only thing that gave him the slightest bit of explanation for why his Rod didn't work was the second glowing shroud of sunlight that faded before he even got a chance to study it.

Then, in just seconds both his bike and the girl were gone.

Well, what do you think? I'm usually terrible at making first chapters, but I think this one was pretty acceptional. I hope you all think so too! btw, the girl is Nilah so no confusions...And there's more to come about her soon. Don't worry, more is on the way. Holla! :D