I should be Pharaoh.
The thought surged through his mind like a virus, corrupting every step he took along his dark path - tainting every word he spoke with a voice he didn't recognize anymore. Was he even speaking? He wasn't sure. It didn't sound like him, but, then again, he barely knew who he was anymore.
I am Marik.
He could fool himself long enough.
The true Marik.
He only needed a little while, then he could fix everything.
The dark Marik.
Then he would be Pharaoh.
Just a shadow...
Negative energy, they called him. A manifestation of the hate, rage, and jealousy of his weak self... and he was more than happy to prove them right. Fear. Suffering. Agony. Torment. Despair. Destruction. He would let the Others taste them all, for that was all that he could feel. It was only fair, wasn't it? That everyone was equal? That they knew how it felt to be a stranger in your own mind, your own existence? Surely the Pharaoh would understand that much, but he didn't seem to get it. They were all fools - each and every one of them. Ignorant fools with a false king.
I should be Pharaoh.
The Tormentor had fallen years ago. The fool had been splattered in blood, but he hadn't see it. No one had except the Dark. He could see it covering his face, dripping onto his tattered robes to leave a blood path in his wake. It stained his soul and would never wash away. The Tormentor had a taste for it. He thrived in it. Control. Must keep control. Control at all costs. Control of the Tomb. Control of the Items. Control of the Wife. Control of the Young Ones. The Young Ones were often frightened, the Tormentor loved it when they were... so did the Dark, but for differing reasons. Control. The Tormentor knew how to turn anything into a tool, but he had always liked the whip best. He had used it many times to keep his control. He feared losing it, losing his control. He needed control, it was all he had... and so it was through his obsession with control that he came to bring forth the being of his destruction. He carved the Scarred's flesh.
Chaos.
The Dark thrived in chaos, unlike the Tormentor. The Dark had used it against the fool to kill him, taking his son away to then be killed by a creature that the Tormentor didn't understand... a creature that took away his precious control. The Guardian had sealed him away after that, protecting the Scarred. Always protecting the Scarred. The Guardian took the Tormentor's place. He wanted control, needed control. Control the darkness. Control the chaos. The Guardian fell too. He fell to Ra. The Gods don't like having their will controlled. Why were the Others so blind to this? They, too, try to control. Control their world. Control their lives.
Fools.
There was no control, only illusion. Fools to fool themselves a bit longer. The Dark proved that, but no one listened. They didn't want to admit he was right. Chaos ruled all realms, always had. Chaos was the constant, chaos was the power... and chaos wouldn't be ignored.
I should be Pharaoh.
He could feel his being stretch with the words - flashing images strained his mind, bombarding him with twisted emotions that made no sense to him. He felt weak, powerless... defenseless. He could feel the sharp agony of knives and whips and spikes and poisons on his skin... in his flesh. Cruel hands, cruel words... the Masters had liked fusing him. Fusing him with his pain. Numbing him. Chilling him. Killing him. The Masters enjoyed watching his weakness break away under their torturous routines. Always routine. Routine. Routine. Routine. The small knife with the hook at the end was always first. Always. Always. Always routine. His routine changed though, even if the Masters' did not. He changed. Screams to laughter, despair to delight. He changed, then the pain was good. Pain felt good - reminded him of life. The Dark took chaos from routine. Chaos welcomed him. Chaos became his routine. Chaos was his world.
Always.
No, not always.
Always chaos.
No, not before the Masters. He knew that. He remembered it, from time to time. Another him, another life. He was a Young One, like the Young Ones in this time, but it was long ago. Time was different then. He was different. He could remember himself, a bit. He remembered Senet. He had liked Senet when he was different, when he was a Young One. Father taught him to play, he thought. Maybe. He couldn't remember. Father said he would be Pharaoh, Father said it. Father didn't lie. Father was a God - a flesh God. Gods don't lie. Gods don't trick. Gods bring truth. Gods force truth. But Father didn't know. He didn't know the Masters, didn't know that the Masters came at night and took his oldest Young One. The Masters took the Young One, killed him, and the Dark was born from his death. Father told the second Young One he could be Pharaoh. Father lied.
I should be Pharaoh.
The Second was not Pharaoh. He was second. Second's are not Pharaohs. Second's are not flesh Gods.
I should be Pharaoh.
The Masters knew everything. The Masters said this would happen. The Masters let the Dark go after that. They said he was ready - ready to be Pharaoh. The Masters said that Father was not a flesh God anymore because he had lied. Gods don't lie. Gods can't lie. The Masters said that Father had been killed by the Fallen and that he had been the one to lie. The Fallen was not a God, the Fallen was an impostor and traitor. The Masters said to kill the Fallen and the Second and to be the Pharaoh. The Masters said they would help the Dark be Pharaoh now, now that he wasn't weak... now that he was under their control. The Masters had said that... but the Dark hadn't wanted help. The Dark had laughed at their screams, he could still remember them. He couldn't understand it. Why weren't they laughing? He didn't understand why they didn't think it was funny anymore. They didn't fuse like he had. They were weak. They didn't understand and each of them fell, one by one... and the Fallen and the Second would be next.
I should be Pharaoh.
He was first. First born. First living. First being. He was first.
I should be Pharaoh.
The Fallen had killed Father, because Father couldn't lie and this man had promised the Second he could be Pharaoh. He could remember the tears of Fallen when he had corner him, but he couldn't understand why. Fallen wasn't afraid, the Dark could sense it, but he didn't care. The Fallen had murdered Father.
I should be Pharaoh.
Then the Tormentor was hacking the Scarred's flesh. The Scarred cried, like the Fallen did... like the Dark used to. He told the Scarred to laugh, but he didn't - only cried. The Scarred didn't understand yet, but he would. It would come with time. Chaos always did. The Guardian and the Seer would try to stop it, but they couldn't. Chaos was a constant, unlike control.
They will all be crushed, all be warped.
The sand fell on the Beautiful now, stripping away her mind, bringing her fears to life. She should laugh most of all. The Others barely saw her in the real world, barely knew her... and, yet, here, she cried for their loss. She would learn, he knew she would. The Dark knew her more than the Others by just their Shadow Duel alone. She would laugh one day. Laugh like him, like the Dark... and the Thief. The Thief was like him most of all. The Thief met pain with laughter, but the Dark could tell he didn't enjoy it as much as he claimed he did. The Thief was a liar, like the Fallen, like the Scarred, like the Pharaoh. They all lied, but he didn't. He couldn't. He was a flesh God. He spoke truth. He would always speak truth.
I should be Pharaoh.
The Stubborn fell next. The Dark crushed him, but the Stubborn didn't understand. He wouldn't understand it, couldn't understand it. He clung to the Others too much and the Others were naive. He followed their lead, the Pharaoh most of all. The Stubborn was just a waste of time, waste of space, of life.
I should be Pharaoh.
He could feel his lips moving as he spoke to the Pharaoh who shouldn't have been Pharaoh, but he heard none of the words. Their Shadow Duel had long-since begun. He could feel himself gesturing, moving, stepping, falling, and rising... but he was still. Everything was still. He watched as chaos raged the field before his eyes, watched the world around him twist and churn. Watched everything. The world was chaos, as was he. He was a Pharaoh, he knew he was. He was a God of Chaos. The Chaos Pharaoh. Why didn't anyone see him for what he was?
I am Marik.
Yes, that was truth. He was the Scarred, a portion of him… an ancient portion of him.
The true Marik.
Yes. He was strong, unlike the Scarred. The Scarred didn't laugh – only cried.
Just a shadow…
Yes, a shadow amongst shadows. He could feel his arms held out on either side of him as he hung suspended in this abyss. He felt better here – those confusing emotions didn't bother him. The Second wasn't here, nor was the Scarred or the Guardian or the Seer. He was alone. Alone in the dark. This realm was so still, yet it drove a pain into him like he had forgotten had existed. He smiled at it – he was still alive. He knew that now.
Home.
He could feel at home here. Away from the fools, away from their pathetic attempts at control. It was all so useless – how they rushed around like imbeciles just to keep their heads on their shoulders. It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense there. He was glad to be rid of it, even if they were the ones thinking they were rid of him.
Fools.
Here, chaos embraced him in a world that didn't bend to the laws of that other world.
I am Pharaoh.
Here, he could understand.
Pharaoh of Chaos.
Here, he could be understood.
The First.
End
Thanks for reading! In case you're confused (understandable), here's who is who:
The Dark - himself; Mariku; Yami Marik.
The Scarred - Marik.
The Guardian - Odion.
The Seer - Ishizu.
The Young Ones - Marik, Ishizu, and Odion when they were just kids; children.
The Tormentor - Marik's father.
The Wife - Marik's mother.
The Others - everyone else; Yugi's gang.
The Pharaoh - the modern version of Atem; Yami; Yami Yugi; Spirit of the Millennium Puzzle.
The Thief - Bakura; Yami Bakura; Spirit of the Millennium Ring.
The Beautiful - Mai Valentine.
The Stubborn - Joey Wheeler.
The Masters - In Mariku's past that he barely remembers anymore, they are those that kidnapped him and tortured him.
Father - Mariku's actual father from ancient Egypt.
The Fallen - Another name for Mariku's father. Mariku calls him this because his father lied and God's can't lie, so Father fell from grace and became (or was killed by) the Fallen.
The Second - Atem; the ancient version of Yami.
And, yes, in this, Mariku is Atem's older brother. I love the concept and want to do more one-shots on it. :) Hope you liked it!