Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh or any of its characters, no matter how much I like to believe I own the ass of Marik Ishtar cough That would be thegreat Kazuki Takahashi...the lucky bastard. I'm not worth suing over either; my most valuable possesion is my Yaoi Paddle.
This is a MaRik Ishtar story. I know that's officially the name of the yami, but in this story it is not. Why? Because I say so, and that sweet hikari ass is way hotter anyways ;)
AN: This storyis set inAncient Egypt, please keep that in mind while you're reading this. It'snot thesame storyline and timeline either. Marik is not 16 years of age in thisfanfic, but he's twenty. Yes kids, when you set sanity aside you can break all the rules!
The main character is an OC, but that doesn't mean she's your typical super-hero, jackie chan like mary-sue. I hate those pesky Miss America's that pop up everywhere. Now that's out of the way: please enjoy reading the first chapter of Armed Peace :)
"Hold that piece of scum!" The sound of boisterous screams echoed through the tiny Egyptian alleys at that early Saturday morning, drawing the attention of the people that roamed the streets, the reactions to this tumult all but positive, for it was only second hour since Ra was risen. It wasn't an unusual happening, just another incautious fool who got his valuable possessions stolen. People should know better with all the trash crawling around town these days.
"Come and get me darling!" A second female voice was heard above the outrage, sounding strangely playful and cheery despite the situation, as if the thief wasn't being chased down by someone, who was on a murderous rampage. In fact, the owner of the voice was quite amused with the whole situation, laughing and yelling as she sprinted through the slums she knew so well, replying the offensive remarks of her latest victim by blowing a few kisses at him every once in a while.
Offering the furious man one last mocking wink the criminal jumped onto a ramshackle scaffold that was currently occupied by a few men that were renovating a small building, disappearing from sight as she climbed on the roof, leaving the man screaming and fuming by himself as he wished her 'demonic' soul a painful one-way trip to the cursed Realms of Seth.
"I'm a genius!" the young woman praised herself as she took the leather wallet out of her pocket, checking its content, snorting at the disappointing loot. "Pah, guy got all worked up for a few coins." She stuffed the silver into her ragged cloak, throwing the now worthless wallet over the ledge, hoping it would find its way back to its owner, preferably by hitting him in the head.
Though the day had started with quite a commotion the youth felt relaxed, humming some old Arabian lullaby as she allowed the sunlight to touch her features, taking off the hood of the cloak that had hid her face from any suspicious eyes, or interested eyes for that matter. The fact that this streetwise female was a mere street rat didn't decrease her beauty. She couldn't be older than eighteen winters, though the life experience and intelligence that shone in her emerald orbs would mispresent this. With a delicate and lithe build such as hers, it would be easy to think of her as a weak creature, but bore muscles proved wrong, for this Arabian was a skilled swordfighter, gaining a large amount of experience throughout the years by just taking care of herself, having developed a sixth sense for danger and threats as she struggled to keep herself alive living in the dangerous slums.
Tucking some of her ebony black locks behind her ears she sighed, exhausted due to the lack of food and sleep that had finally started to take its toll, the pain in her sore muscles getting harder to ignore with each day that passed. Her fair sun-kissed bronze skin covered in a thin layer of dirt, the common result of a hard day of work, just as her clothes that were shredded and worn, the material not as flawless as it had once been. Her sense of style made her look quite outlandish. The simple black cloth that was wrapped around her upper body emphasized her chest, but left the toned muscles of her midriff bare for wandering eyes to see -- eyes that would most likely be stabbed out if caught. The thick skintight material that hugged her curved hips was of the darkest shade of maroon, the ends stuffed in comfortable black boots that sheeted her feet, providing ample of space to keep daggers. A thin belt overlapped her hip, bearing a scabbard that enclosed her jagged sword, the cloak that finished the eye-catching ensemble hiding this rather frightening item from sight.
Jumping off the building without the slightest trace of fear -- and even managing to land gracefully -- the youth made her way to the center of the city, where she knew the daily market was already well underway despite the early hour.
'Time for breakfast!'
Two hours and a few not so friendly encounters later both her wallet and stomach were finally satisfied, the thief now strolling through the somewhat quieter streets, having left the market behind her a few blocks ago. The narrow streets were filled with garbage and the stench of human fluids and excrements, the sewerage being in an extremely poor condition. This were the notorious slums, where only the vile amongst the vile dared to set foot, the place where only the most misfortunate souls would dwell. It seemed everything that could make this part of town the least safe and desirable was present.
The female's face contorted with disgust, the horrible smell assaulting her nose, having never really grown accustomed to the stench that lingered here. The moist soil sopped beneath her boots, the dirty water flowing on the roads as usual, nobody bothering to remove it. Mosquitoes and insects swarmed around, spreading all kinds of frightful diseases, but not nearly as frightful as the high death rate they caused. The conditions in the whole area were so repulsive the woman often wondered how she managed to spend so much time here, but the sight of the familiar bedraggled house silently answered the question.
The curtain lifted before she'd even got the chance to call out to the house's inhabitant, the owner probably having seen her coming minutes ago, for she was always waiting and watching in front of her window.
"Adeena, honey!" the old woman that had appeared behind the curtain happily exclaimed, pulling the said girl into a tight, affectionate embrace. "Dear Ra, girl you look terrible! Don't tell me you've been after that scoundrel again. Look at yourself dear, you're practically falling apart! I've been worry-"
"Hi to you too, Mel." the female called Adeena interrupted her, smiling at the small woman in front of her, who was currently muttering something about teenagers having no idea how to take care of themselves. Despite her lively appearance the grey-haired widow was already sixty years of age, the thin lines that wrought her face betraying the large life experience she had. She stood only 5 feet tall, but the confident way she carried herself made up for this disadvantage, as did her stormy grey eyes that always shimmered with kindness and friendly warmth.
"Sorry, sweetie, it's just that I've been so worried about you lately. I haven't seen your face in weeks! I even prepared your favorite meal last week, you know, the stew you're so fond of, but you didn't even show up for your usual visit. Oh well, Aki knew what to do with your share, the boy shoved the whole bowl inside at once! Poor kid was sick for days." Mel laughed at the memory as she invited Adeena inside the house, offering her a seat. The woman quickly sat down on one of the few cushions present in the room, that was, although obviously quite old and poorly decorated, still neat and dustless.
"I'm glad to see you're still alive." Mel finally said, this time softer, sincere concern evident in her tone of voice.
Adeena answered this with a weak smile, obviously sharing this opinion. "I guess I like living life on the edge, Mel."
"You should stop pushing yourself so hard. I might be joking around a lot, but I haven't been more serious in my life then when it comes to the apple of my eye." The aged woman paused to chuckle at her choice of words. "Let it go, child. He probably left the city weeks ago. And no matter how much it hurts me to say this, but--" Another pause. "You won't be getting Mishka back."
The only response Mel got was the sound of shattering pottery, the beer she'd just offered her guest spilling onto the floor, followed by the flapping and swaying of the curtain.
"Why won't you let it go?" the widow spoke to the emptiness, shaking her head disapprovingly as she stood up to clean up the mess.
Fuming, the enraged teen stomped through the streets, kicking up piles of trash in her anger, unshed tears shining in her eyes as she tried to regain her composure that had just horribly shattered. 'Idiot!' she mentally scolded herself for acting so childish in front of Mel, especially when she perfectly knew the woman was right. Mishka was gone. The distressed thief suddenly felt a deep injection of regret, feeling extremely guilty towards the only person she had left in this cruel world. The woman had treated her and her brother like her own children, giving the vagrants food, water and most of all mental support and comfort when their parents had been killed by the notorious King of Thieves.
Dark dreams had haunted her, leaving her in cold sweat and with insanely fast heartbeat, the fear even following her during the day. She'd never been good at letting things go, this was just one of the many examples. The orphan shuddered at the thoughts of her beloved parents and the horrible images that came with them. These memories always were so vivid that the smell of blood seemed to accompany her as she remembered the way she'd found her parent's mangled corpses. The once so pretty and flawless face of her mother barely recognizable as a result of the lugubrious slaughter, the body skinned from nearly all it's flesh, a process that probably had been done while the woman was still breathing. Her brave father that had dared to stand up against this wicked villain had been discarded of his head and limbs, the entire floor beneath him slippery with his blood. The way her little brother had screamed at the sickening sight still ran through her head, a dreadful symphony that made her want to heave up her meal even now. Though the damage that had been brought upon her parents was extremely high, nothing had been stolen by the Thief King.
Nothing, except for the necklace around the neck of Adeena's mother.
It was a miracle this woman was still standing, for it took a remarkable amount of mental strength to cope with these visions every night, especially when they had already been disturbing her slumber for two years.
Then, after two years of cheating, stealing and numerous of other crimes the two orphans had to commit in order to survive, the only family member the girl had got left was taken away from her right in front of her eyes. Though she saw the knife being slammed into her brother's chest, though she heard the screams of agony, the sound of her brother pleading and begging for his attacker to spare his life, though she saw the light in Mishka's eyes fade with every stab that was delivered, she did nothing. Nothing. She'd just been standing there as if paralyzed, only to catch Mishka's gaze for one last time when it was already too late, his eyes growing wide in recognition. His last breath escaped from his mouth along with the name of his sister, making his assassin aware of her presence.
Then she'd looked into the most intense eyes she'd ever seen. Two bottomless pools that didn't betray the slightest sign of emotion. Vicious violet. Though she'd escaped from his gaze and a horrible death, the image of those eyes still haunted her, adding to the agony she already had to bear with through the night.
Whoever this man was who'd killed her brother... his life would end soon.
IE: Review for the love of homicidal crazy-ass psycho's, or else I'll come and stab your eyes out with Marik's rod...and I'm NOT talking about the Millenium Item.