(So much editing done and I'm still not 100% okay with this chapter. However, I suppose I'm alright enough with the first part. =w=
Characters (c) Kazuki Takahashi)
Takeover
Chapter Four
He staggers back, smoke wafting from his body.
Marik's spirit, once standing beside him, has already been destroyed by Ra's blast; Bakura figures he only has a few seconds left before his own body slips into the Shadow Realm. It won't happen until the spirit in Marik's body says those words — "Prepare to enter the darkness at the hands of Ra" — but when his body vanishes, he'll wake up from this nightmare. It's how the dream goes.
So when Yami Marik strides across the field to approach Bakura — whose body is still solidly a part of this world — the white-haired thief can't help but stare, thoroughly confused.
"Ahahaha… you think this is still a dream?" he sneers, pressing the tip of the Millennium Rod under Bakura's chin and forcing his head up. "How… amusing."
"This wasn't in the terms of our Shadow Game," Bakura growls, standing his ground even as his insides squirm. "Just send me to the Shadow Realm already, why don't you?"
At this, Yami Marik throws his head back in laughter.
"You might be the first person that wanted to be sent to the Shadow Realm!" he cackles, a jeering grin on his face as he lets his head drop back down. "And yet you were so keen to win a moment ago. Why the change of heart?"
"I'm sure I'll find far more enjoyable company there," Bakura snaps.
Yami Marik's sneer shifts into a dark smirk; with a low chuckle, he leans close, resting an elbow on the white-haired spirit's shoulder and propping his own head up with his hand.
Bakura isn't sure what's more unsettling: that he can feel every breath that Yami Marik takes with disturbing reality, he can't honestly identify the other spirit's expression as "psychotic."
"You sound so… certain of that," Yami Marik murmurs, licking his lips briefly. "What makes you so sure you'll find better company in the Shadow Realm?"
Bakura wants to say that it's because Marik will be stuck there as well, but —
"Oh, is that so?"
Yami Marik reaches for the cord holding the Millennium Ring, pulling on it lightly.
"What makes you so sure I sent him to the Shadow Realm?"
Bakura feels the floor drop out from under him.
"What have you done to the real Marik?" he demands, baring his teeth.
"I am the real Marik now, Bakura," Yami Marik grins lecherously, raising the Millenium Ring to his face and flicking his tongue out.
"You are not Marik!" the white-haired thief snarls, snatching the Ring out of the other spirit's grasp as he finally stumbles back. "What have you done to him?!"
"Bakura…"
"Tell me where Marik is!"
"Bakura!"
Bakura shouts, his eyes flying open.
It takes him a few moments to realize that it's the real Marik hovering over him — not even just the dream version, but the flesh-and-blood Marik. With a low groan, Bakura covers his face with one hand, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Good morning, Marik," he grumbles.
"You kept tossing and turning," the Egyptian says, sitting on the edge of the couch. "And you were muttering in your sleep. Did you have that dream again?"
Bakura exhales slowly through his nose as he slowly sits up, wincing at the dull ache in his back. He presses his hands to his face, pausing before dragging them down from his eyes.
"You had the dream again, didn't you?"
When he doesn't get an answer, Marik reaches out to lay a hand on Bakura's shoulder.
"Bakura—"
"Don't."
Even Bakura is surprised by the venom in his voice, but it gets the effect he wants; Marik withdraws his hand, looking uncertainly at the white-haired thief.
"I'm going to make breakfast," the Egyptian finally says, hesitantly standing.
Bakura says nothing as Marik walks into the kitchen, his mind still buzzing.
In all the times he's relived that battle in his dreams, Yami Marik has never deviated from the "script" — if he could call it that. But this time…
"You think this is still a dream?"
Bakura scowls before rising to his feet, shuffling into the bathroom.
Just a dream. That's all it was, he assures himself. A false scene created by a false Marik.
"I am the real Marik now…"
With a low growl, Bakura leans on the sink for support as he stares hard into the medicine cabinet mirror. Between the faint cracks in the glassy surface, he searches his own reflection for some sign — any sign — of weakness.
He's not quite sure what he's looking for specifically, but knows it's there — whatever it is.
"What makes you so sure I sent him to the Shadow Realm?"
How else could he have fallen victim to his own mind games? Millennia of living in the Ring with his thirst for vengeance, and for what — for a dream to mess with his mind like that—
Bakura snarls, slamming his fist against the wall.
The mirror swings open, nearly whacking him in the face. He grabs it, ready to slam it back shut —
And freezes.
"Uh… Marik, you — you might want to come see this," Bakura finally manages to say.
"What is it?" Marik asks, sounding distracted.
"Well, I, uh… I found your phone."
"Oh, really? Well bring it here, then—"
"Marik, I said 'come here' for a reason. You need to see this."
Bakura hears Marik heave an exaggerated sigh before he storms over to the bathroom, bowl and whisk still in hand.
"What's so damn important that you couldn't bring my phone out to… me…"
Marik's voice trails off, and the bowl almost slips out of his grasp.
One of Bakura's knives sticks out of the wall, speared through Marik's phone.
(:O
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