Exchange of the Spirit

An LLS Production

Prologue: Jar Robber

There was no light, save from burning torches placed in wall brackets, as the masked person descended into the tomb. He walked quickly, but silently; the tomb's guardians would find the intruder amongst them, and he intended to be far away in the next dimension by then. With what he came to take, it would be easy to ensure his comfort, especially considering his buyers.

Now, to take care of the supply.

He stealthily moved to the heavy stone door, the portal opening only with a quick signal he had seen only from the accursed Chief only this very day. The only bank for his frustration was that, despite all their precautions, the items they guard were still going to be stolen, and he was going to be rich and safe...

The door opened, and he entered, quickly swiping for three of the heavy stone boxes that stored what he came for.

He hissed as something crackled upon contact with the topmost box. He would be found out...

"Who goes there?" a voice hissed in the shadows.

No longer caring, the man grabbed the three boxes and ran out, never stopping, past the painstakingly dismantled traps and Kidou and barriers, past the illusionary guards and traps, all the way into the sweet sunlight streaming from the eternal sunset of the place. How time flowed here, he neither knew nor cared, only that he had to escape, as the alarm was raised and more pursuers came after him.

There was a shimmer of light, white as a magnesium flare, and the Shoji screens were never a more welcome sight as he dived through.

As the screens closed with a snap and vanished, the chief of the Gravekeepers growled in anger and frustration. Beside him, the black-cloaked Assailant landed on her haunches.

"What are we to do?" the female voice whispered from the cowled face.

"Call the Lords," the Chief decided. "Our Herald is fighting for his life now, and we must retrieve the deathstone somehow. They will pay once the Lord finds them."

"That we must," the Gravekeeper's Curse agreed. "I will prepare the rite."

In another world close to, yet so far, from the Realm, our assailant landed in a secluded spot in the middle of a forest of a kind, shivering despite the balmy summer weather. In his hand he still clutched the three stone containers, energies crackling along its length and breadth to prevent it opening without the correct combinations.

"You did well," his employer murmurs, walking up to him. The face was obscured by the shadows of night, but the thief was well acquainted with his boss to recognise him on sight. Not that he would ever admit it. "Congratulations on being alive."

"Thanks to your support," the thief bows deeply, handing over the crackling boxes. "Boss..."

"Lie low," the leader curtly replied. "We are in danger, and I do not want to lose men. Go to Sabitsura, a place has already been arranged for you."

The thief hesitated momentarily, an action not missed by the other.

"Traces of the place cling to you. Run, or they will track you here soon enough."

The thief did not need telling twice as he disappeared.

His employer holds up the boxes, noting the crackling energies. "And my work is cut out for me, then."

The shadows were always swirling about, they noted, as they merely lay there, content to the temporary silence that permeated the wasteland that consisted of the terrain around Dark World. This close to the Dark Sanctuary, she was surprised that Dark Necrofia had not picked up on her aura yet.

This was another harsh realisation that their life basically amounted to about nothing. Even if they couldn't take battle damage, the pain inflicted by Fiends was debilitating, and even being able to reflect pain back didn't deter battle-hardened fiends.

"Well now," a voice that was certainly not a Fiend's or even Dark Necrofia's chilly rasp sounded. "There's a stray around here. Can you talk?"

Slowly lifting their head, they nodded.

"Yubel, is it?" the asker was blond, with dark skin, and definitely not a Fiend; he smelled too pure for that. "I have Goblin's Secret Remedy; I'm going to patch you up for now before I take you back home, okay?"

"Why?" The Duel Monster rasped as the blond man – though really a youth barely of age, to her view– tend to their wounds. "Why would you help me with no cost to yourself?"

The blonde blinked. "I'm going to drag you home to a maniac and you're going to be stuck with me for a damn long time, so I don't think it's at no cost," he answered. "So, what do you say?"

They exhaled at this. "I am a free spirit. You cannot imprison me."

"Course not. The real answer is that you're what I need, Yubel."

All of their three eyes blinked at this. "How?"

"I am Marik Ishtar."

Ah. "And what could a Prince of Light wish with me?"

Marik laughed. "I'm building a deck. Different from Malik's deck of torture devices, uniquely mine. Malik gains more respect, and he's gaining more power. I want a monster who would revive back, better and stranger with every defeat posed, that can never be defeated in battle, that would strike terror in the hearts of all that face it."

"And you believe that I can be that monster?" they scoffed. "What's to stop me from escaping right now?"

"Nothing," Marik admitted. "Except that this close to Dark Sanctuary, the only reason Dark Necrofia's not here is because Bakura's home. So if you prefer to face Bakura than me, be my guest."

They scowled. There was a good reason why the signs around said that: 'Trespassers would be killed and eaten'."Faced between a Light and the Thief King, the choice is obvious."

"It's not that bad, really," Marik replied, hauling the light Yubel in a fireman's carry over his shoulder. "When the hell was the last time you ate, anyway? And do you have a name, or do I call you Yubel like every other Yubel? Because I can't have my monster having such a common name, you know."

"I have never been powerful enough to merit one," they replied morosely. "I am a common Yubel, not like Great Sister who has long escaped to the real world beyond the different dimensions."

"Okay," Marik absently replied. "Then … I will call you Traurigkeit. Sadness. If you accept that name, you will take my aegis. You will become part of my guard, my deck, you will become one of my summons in battle, you will fight by my side throughout, and in return I promise to respect you and never allow you to be forgotten. Do you accept?"

They couldn't help it, they laughed. "Why would you need the power of a dark creature like me, prince of Light? Any of the Light would be honoured to accept your aegis. Then why choose me?"

"Because you look interesting," the Egyptian flippantly replied. "I'm going to drag you back and introduce you to Malik anyway, so be prepared. I mean really prepared. Malik doesn't take rejection well."

They laughed again. "It looks like following you will be interesting, then... Marik Sama."

That was three years ago...

"Theft," Marik patiently nodded in the face of the distraught Gravekeeper. "I see. What was stolen?"

"Three needles of mordite, milord," the Gravekeeper's Curse replied. "The Assailant has pursued him, but he escaped through the different dimensions, and we cannot follow without express permission, milord…"

"No matter," Marik replied. "Malik and I will resolve this thief. If the Pharaoh were here, he would too, and the general Mausoleum area is technically under our jurisdiction. You have done well enough, Gravekeeper's Curse."

The Gravekeeper nodded before leaving on its daily duties. Marik sighed. "Now how to introduce Malik to that idea…"

"Just tell him," the Yubel named Traurigkeit snapped, floating beside him. "It's not like he can do anything."

"Besides throw a tantrum and possibly throw a world in darkness?" Marik replied flippantly. "Oh, yes, nothing to worry about."

"You worry too much," Traurigkeit dismissively answered. "If a Dark Game couldn't kill him, either the Pharaoh's going soft or he's tougher than he looks, and it's certainly not the former."

"Hikari-pretty!" Said psychopath sang, latching onto Marik from behind. The slightly shorter light was nearly overwhelmed by Malik's weight. "We're going on a trip? Yay, me and hikari-pretty together! So where to?"

"It's not this world I'm worried about," Marik sighed. "It's the location. We're going to visit a world that's supposedly the afterlife, Malik. Bring the most destructive stuff you have, we may have to mount a storming of the place."

"Okay, hikari-pretty," Malik sang.

"So what do you intend?" Traurigkeit asked as they followed Marik.

"Whoever stole the mordite was probably familiar with the mausoleum's layout," Marik recounted, Malik following him behind. "It stands to reason that this was not their first trip through. From the Gravekeeper's description, they also knew where and what they were supposed to take. Therefore, we have to hunt them down, find out how they passed through the shadows without alerting us, broke into the mausoleum and stole from us, as well as retrieve the mordite. The information leak is actually the most worrying, but we'll take it one step at a time."

"So we're going to pull an interrogation slash torture slash possible violent action slash a lot of things?" Malik asked as they exited the Necrovalley into a Mystic Plasma Zone proper.

Marik grinned. "Precisely."

Ukitake Juushiro lay on his back amidst the clean white sheets of the hospital cot, his complexion already much improved from his usual state, that is, not sickly and weak. However, there was still a very good reason why he was in the Fourth Division infirmary.

"Lie down," his old friend instructed. The smell of sake wafted off from the imposing Eighth Division Captain occasionally, but otherwise Kyouraku Shunsui seemed remarkably sober.

"But, Kyouraku, I don't want to–" the rest of what the Thirteenth Division Captain was about to continue saying was lost in a fit of severe coughing.

"See?" Kyouraku sighed, pushing the white-haired Captain back by the shoulder. "Kuchiki can handle the Division without you for now. Focus on recovering, and there will be sake and desserts by the truck once you get out, okay?"

"But, Shun–"

"No buts," Kyouraku sighed, before he realised that his hand was on a bared shoulder, the juban having loosened during Ukitake's struggle to escape the infirmary. The rise in tension in the room was such that words were insufficient to describe it.

Ukitake opened his mouth once more. "Shun–"

"Ah, right," Kyouraku let go of the shoulder, but still ensconcing the other Captain into the bedsheets. "Off to bed you are, and your discharge is the day after tomorrow, yes?"

The Eighth Division Captain left quickly, even before Ukitake could ask a question. Quietly, the invalid Captain settled back against the sheets, sighing softly. Long white locks splayed out against the pillow, evoked images of the real world literature that Ukitake had read before; the Lady of Shalott, he thinks.

I am half-sick of shadows, said, the Lady of Shalott.

It was like a game of chicken, the games they play, each teasingly reaching the edge but unwilling to fall over.

No, Kurosaki will not feature here, for I set it after the Fake Karakura arc, that is, Ichigo lost his powers.

To people who know my previous work, this has nothing to do with my pure Bleach fics, may have minor relations to the others, and is only tangentially related to my YuGiOh! fics.

Well, then, please read and review!