Marik coughed himself awake, spluttering and thrashing as dry breaths were ripped from his lips. Dust and spittle hung in the air, dancing about in the sliver of weak sunlight that filtered in through the cracks in the old metal wall, spiralling and falling to the debris-strewn floor. He tried to pick himself up, groaning as every bone in his body creaked and shuddered under the effort, joints in his arms and back cracking audibly. His legs felt stiff and unresponsive, buried under something still and heavy. Looking down he saw a human body slumped over his legs, face down in the dust. He was clad in a black jacket and jeans, his clothing covered in tears, burns and dark stains.
With a trembling hand, Marik reached out to touch him.
{Two Hours Earlier}
"Time for you to meet your end, Pharaoh!" Marik's well-practiced victory gloat erupted and echoed through the warehouse. He stood atop a catwalk that overlooked the warehouse floor, high above his nemesis, the Pharaoh and his pathetic companions. On all sides, a veritable army of vacant-stared lackeys stood, all under Marik's control and ready to advance on the group and tear them to pieces at a moment's notice.
This warehouse complex had once been used to store all sorts of materials for Domino City's busy harbour, but since its owners had moved onto greener fields, the supplies had dwindled until only a token amount was left. The few remaining barrels were scattered through the buildings, mostly materials that were too… unpredictable to dispose of safely. This meant that there had been plenty of hiding places for Marik to secrete his swarm of slaves, ready to lead his enemy right into an ambush.
Marik relished the panicked look on his opponents' faces, knowing that right now they were looking about for any chance to escape, finding none, seeing that they were completely surrounded.
He hefted the Millennium Rod above his head, feeling the power coursing through the golden artefact and into his arm, pulsing. He opened his mouth to give the command, just as the supports holding the catwalk up began to groan and buckle, twisting dangerously as the rickety bolts that had held them together for decades began to come apart. Flakes of ancient paint rained down from the walls as the metal screeched and tore itself asunder, the catwalk splitting in half and buckling. Marik was only able to let out a strangled cry as he began to tumble down the warped steel, reaching out with one hand to grab at the quickly crumbling railing. As he skidded to a halt, his free arm smashed against the bending steel, connecting heavily and forcing him to drop his Millennium Rod to the ground far below.
As the golden device collided with the cement floor, Marik's mind-controlled minions each collapsed to their knees, clutching their heads as waves of disorienting energy burst into their brains. It spun the room around them, blinding them and burning out their minds in moments sadistically drawn out, leaving them wailing, writhing husks. The cornered teens didn't waste any time in making their escape, quickly stepping over or past their former captors in a mad dash for the nearest exit.
They were almost all out into the night air, fleeing for their lives when Yugi turned on his heel, shouting out in horror.
"We can't just leave him!" he cried, eyes focussed on Marik, whose grip was failing on what little purchase he could find. "He could die if he falls from there!"
The silence that followed was palpable, as each of the boy's companions looked at one another awkwardly. Each of them wanting to ask what exactly the problem was, but all of them knowing that there wasn't much they could do. Someone was going to have to go back and save their enemy. Tristan hung his head and sighed loud.
"Fine," he said through grit teeth. "You guys go on ahead, I'll catch you up."
He rushed back into the warehouse and vaulted over the still struggling minions. He sped into the centre of the room, opening his arms wide as he called up to Marik.
"It's ok! Let go! I'll catch you!"
"What!" the young Egyptian sounded beside himself with rage, "What the hell are you talking about!"
"I said I'll catch you!"
"I'm no idiot! You'll step out of the way!"
Tristan sighed again, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Well, you're not going to be able to climb back up, y'know." he pointed out, "So really, your only option is to trust me."
"Trust you!" Marik's voice had become shrill and delirious with anger. "I'd rather-"
The catwalks supports finally gave way with an ear-splitting screech, drowning out the last of Marik's outburst as he tumbled downwards. He landed heavily in Tristan's arms, silencing his shout. Even with the confusion and chaos around him, he was amazed at how effortlessly the young man had caught him, barely even bending his knee when they had made contact.
Tristan quickly dumped the blonde to the floor unceremoniously, dusting his hands off.
"Well, looks like my work here is done…" he said, turning around and making for the door once again, stopping dead in his tracks.
With all the sounds of creaking metal, crumbling plaster, raining debris and raised voices, neither Tristan nor Marik had noticed that the pained screams of mind-controlled slaves had stopped. Now they were no longer doubled over on the floor or writhing in agony. They had, as one, gotten to their feet, silently. A few swayed uneasily, but they all stood staring in one direction – Directly at Tristan and their former master. Roughly forty pairs of dim, glazed-over eyes gazed at the pair, forty mouths soundlessly opening and closing, like fish gasping for air.
"Uh… What are they doing?" Tristan asked, his voice faltering slightly as he took a step back from the horde. Marik had gotten back upright, patting at his clothes to clear the dust before he looked at the massed beings ahead of them.
"My control over them has been disrupted…" he said quietly, "It must have been when I dropped the Millennium Ro-…" he stopped suddenly, his eyes frantically scanning the floor. "Where is it!" he cried out, "I can't regain control of them unless I get it back!"
"Well, we might need to come back for it later in that case," Tristan pointed out as the horde began to slowly lurch forwards. Their steps were uneasy, their bodies shaking as they took each stride, their mouths still opening and closing. They had spread themselves out enough to completely block the route that Yugi and the others had taken earlier. "Why don't they say anything?" Tristan demanded, taking a few more steps back.
Marik was already heading for the emergency exit himself. "The trauma of the severed connection must have damaged their minds." he explained, "They've lost any higher functions they might have otherwise possessed…"
The figure at the head of the horde let out a low gasp, his eyes blinking rapidly. Every last one of the mass started to pick up their speed, their legs lifting and falling faster, breaking into a faster lurch. That was all the prompting that Tristan needed. He turned and hurriedly followed Marik to the small door at the rear of the room, beating him to it and kicking it open.
"Stick close!" he shouted, rushing into the corridor beyond.
The pair had been fleeing for what had seemed like hours, following winding corridors around the warehouse complex. Each hallway had taken them to another wide building with drums of noxious chemicals filling them, heavy machinery lying in rusted, dead heaps. Every conceivable exit to the outside world they could find was either locked up tight, blocked by debris or was simply concealing the horde that hunted them.
These… Creatures had been pretty clever in the way they tracked the pair. A main bulk always stayed hot at their heels to hurry them on, but occasionally small groups, but still too large for Tristan or Marik to fight against would split off and try to flank them, cutting off their escape routes. It was almost like they were shepherding Tristan and Marik towards… Somewhere…
Ahead of them, Tristan could see an open door, leading to a store cupboard of some kind. Even from this far away, he could see that the wall was made of corrugated iron, rusted and crumbling away. If they could get in there and lock the door behind them they might be able to barge their way clean through the wall. The only problem was how to stop the horde from getting them once they were outside. They had to be slowed down. Stopped. Permanently.
"Marik!" he shouted, "No matter what happens, keep running! Once you get to that store cupboard, lock the door behind you. Understand?"
Marik didn't answer; he just picked up his speed in running for the open door.
As the end of the line got closer and closer, Tristan began to lunge out at the barrels that were scattered through the corridor, knocking them to the ground and spilling their contents onto the cement floor. These obstacles proved momentary hindrances for the creatures that pursued them, but this wasn't Tristan's entire plan. With about twenty metres left to go before they reached the store room, he reached for the nearest barrel, smashing it against the wall so that its rusted lid came loose.
As the horde surrounded him, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a plastic lighter. He looked up to see Marik a few feet from the entrance to the store room. Hands grasped hold of Tristan's body, clutching his hair, his shoulders and his legs. With a shout of defiance, he struck the lighter, pushing the flame to the chemicals. A rich blue fire started to spread over the surface of the black liquid, igniting audibly as Tristan dropped it to the ground to combine with everything else he'd spilled during the mad dash.
As the last of the horde loomed in for the kill, the entire concoction caught fire. There was an intense flash before the sound of the explosion began, the force of the blast throwing every last member of the horde, as well as Tristan, sailing into the air. Fire danced in wild arcs as the oxygen ignited, oily smoke billowing from the source of the detonation.
As far away as Marik was, the explosion lifted him off his feet and attempted to dash him against the wall. The impact was fierce, knocking the air from his body and, from the feel of things, cracking a rib or two. Gritting his teeth and trying to bite back the pain, Marik dragged himself into the store room. He didn't look back as he kicked out blindly to shut the door, raising himself just enough to lock it behind him. The young man propped himself up against the wall, figuring he would just catch his breath before moving on.
Unconsciousness soon followed.
Tristan groaned as he began to claw his way free of the bodies piled high around him. The stench was unimaginable, and he felt almost glad that his brain was focussing on the pain of his burns rather than on the horrors that he could dimly see and smell.
He dragged himself out from under the mound of charred forms, slowly picking himself up to his feet. He coughed and spluttered, raising his hand to his mouth and quickly finding it soaked in thick blood. Probably not a good sign. He staggered ahead to the door of the store room, finding it locked.
Good. Marik had stuck to the plan.
With a show of effort that was probably not advisable given his current state, Tristan kicked the door in. His strength rapidly left him as he took a step inside, stumbling.
First he fell to his knees, and then collapsed forwards, slumping over Marik's legs, his face planting into the dust with a final spluttering cough…