Title: Breaking the Circuit
Fandom: Yuugiou
Characters: Mahaado
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Again, mostly spelling from Shonen Jump's translation. Speculations and pain abound.
Disclaimer: Yuugiou is copyright Kazuki Takahashi and all related affiliates.
Challenge: Written for 24hourthemes at LiveJournal.
It was just beyond him.
He could tell. He fell silent and exhaled, lungs quivering with weariness and frustration. Dying sunlight throbbed against his shoulders as a gust of wind stirred the dry desert air around him. He opened his eyes.
The Ring was the same, lying silent and vehement on the earth, its dark aura undaunted by the spell Mahaado had finished chanting only a moment before. The magician shifted, sending granules of sand tumbling from his lap. Its evil is not only strong but elusive, he thought, tongue flicking across his dry lips. Absently, he gazed off toward the horizon, a hazy black smear of land silhouetted against a bleeding gold sunset. It will not be bound by force alone.
Memory, previously emptied from his mind, came to him in flashes. He saw Akunadin's face, wrinkled and grave as he presented Mahaado with the Millennium Ring, which had been ceremoniously placed atop an azure cushion. Around him, candles flickered golden on the other Priests' faces, but the young magician's flesh pricked with goose bumps in spite of the dots of fire.
"If you can seal its evil by sunrise tomorrow, the Pharaoh will accept you as the sixth high priest." Siamun had said, face darkened in a half-glower befitting the seriousness of the situation. "There is no question that Lord Pharaoh cares for you like a brother, but only one who can bind the aura of this ring is worthy of the priesthood. You, Mahaado, are one of the most powerful magicians we possess here at the palace, and thus our faith is with you. But know that you must not simply bear the Ring's evil; you must conquer it."
Now, repositioning his hands over the center of the Millennium Ring, Mahaado knew such a task was far easier identified than completed. But it is something I must do, he reflected, narrowing his eyes. To protect this kingdom, all Millennium Items must be present. Lord Pharaoh trusts me to restore balance, and I'll do whatever it takes to fulfill His will.
With that resolution swirling in his head, Mahaado closed his eyes and called again on his heka. He felt it course through every fiber in his body and soul, raw, unshaped magic lifting and building up his spirit. Throat rasping with overuse, he chanted yet another spell of binding, restraint, and latency, focusing mentally on the golden circlet in front of his knees. Light flickered from the tips of the magician's fingers, shifting from ethereal green to a melancholy lilac hue. Evil force, wicked thing. Leave this Item, or, by my power, I shall shatter you as the desert wind does stone…
But at the last moment, just when Mahaado believed himself successful, a dark surge of power rose up and broke his chant. It was a shock unlike any other; the energy seemed to ripple at supersonic speed beneath his flesh, searing the nerves in his hands and wrists. Mahaado grunted with pain and was forced flat onto his back, concentration and spell destroyed.
Staring up at the sky, which was now blanketed in the gray-blue of desert twilight, the young man felt the cold weight of failure press upon him. His calm, intricate binding spells, which could normally halt a demon in its tracks, were being shaken off as though they were nothing more than dust. And yet throwing his magic at the Ring in a single jab had even less effect. It did not help that he was quickly losing time. Slowly, wincing at the pain in his hands, Mahaado sat up.
He could think of only one other option; one other possible way the power could be conquered. But he wasn't even sure if he could survive it. In the best case scenario, he would seal the Ring's aura, but from what Mahaado had seen, it would take over half his power to do so. A loss, to be sure, but nothing compared to other scenarios that could occur. The Ring's magic could overwhelm him, turn his magic towards darkness and destruction—or his soul would be set afire before he could so much as blink.
Mahaado's eyes took on a glimmer of weary panic as he raised them upward yet again. "Gods of Egypt," he murmured to the heavens. "Though I am but a humble magician, I beseech Thee now. Should this Ring's evil attempt to overtake me, I ask that You snuff out my spirit before it comes to pass. I would sooner die than betray my Pharaoh, who is like You in soul and mind."
He inhaled. The air was growing colder, yet remained as dry as bone. Reaching to the leather bag at his hip, Mahaado drained it of water, allowing a few drops to dot the sands below in an offering to gods more ancient and mysterious than any others. Then he set his eyes in a half-glare towards the Ring. Grabbing it roughly by the rope that bound it, Mahaado stood.
"Let us see the extent of your might," he hissed, and put it over his neck.
A few moments later, a scream pierced the skies.
The pain came like fire, like lightning, like poison. Mahaado shuddered, convulsing on the earth as the darkness coiled around him, piercing his muscles and burning his skin. In a final flash of sanity and insight, he grasped the empty water pouch and shoved it between his teeth, gnashing upon the soft yet foul-tasting material. God—my godking Pharaoh oh Ra above—
A voice hissed snake-whispers in his ears. "Puny human. You know nothing of what I am, what we could be. Forged by blood, am I? Well, let us stain the world with it!" And there was another jolt of agony. Mahaado abandoned the leather in order to cry aloud again, the word never becoming a blend of agonized syllables that might have been curses in another man's mouth. He attempted to rise, yet was tugged down again, the metallic tang of blood filling his nostrils.
"Conquer me? Resist me? Whatever happened to shattering like the desert wind, Mage?" A fire like substance welled in Mahaado's veins, searching for a hint of rage or hate. "Join me and it could all end."
"NO!" The word ripped itself from Mahaado's throat alongside hackings and gasps. It was all he knew now, all he could hold fast to. His fingers twitched, digging into the sand. He would not give in. He would die before he gave in. He would not he would not he would…
not…
"Pharaoh…" he whispered, and sent forth his heka.
The sky was yet pale as he opened his eyes, yet Mahaado could tell that time had passed. The stars had changed, proclaiming the hour to be the fifth of the morning. Around his neck, the Millennium Ring was silent.
It was not yet sunrise. He was victorious.
"Lord Mahaado! Lord Mahaado is over here!" A scout's voice rang out, rife with worry and energy, but Mahaado paid it little mind. Shakily, ignoring his bruises and cuts and other injuries, the new High Priest stood, facing the horizon on unsteady feet.
"I do this for you, my Pharaoh," he said, watching the first strands of purple dawn flicker in the sky.
Only for you.