Disclaimer: ha, nope, don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! Not even any DVD's of the seasons. I just watch 'em online—that's how sad the fact it that I don't own them.

A/N: Sorry, folks! You guys know how I have my, ah, obsessions? Yu-Gi-Oh! is one of them, sure, and you should know that another one is X-files (AWEsome), and my latest obsession? The Mentalist. Love it! Gotta have it… anyway… Ally?

Ally: So I'll explain her reasons for not updating in the last while. She's been busy with family and friend stuff. Hey, it's summer! She does what she wants. So here's the next chapter. I'm pretty sure it explains itself.

Warning: rating may go up because of inferred violence.


The War

All his training had finally paid off.

He saluted his General, "Thank you, sir."

The General returned the salute: "At ease, Captain." He smiled, dropping the salute and nodding in acknowledgement of his new title. "You know who is in your squad, correct?"

"Yes, sir, I do," Atem said briskly.

"Good," the General said, "I suggest you have them ready."

Atem gave another brisk salute, "Sir, yes, sir." Then he turned on his heel and marched away, but he couldn't help the smile that grew on his face. Captain. He was moving up in the ranks. As he returned to their encampment, Mahad stood and gave him a questioning look. Atem smirked and gave a thumbs-up, "I am now your Captain, Sergeant Mahad."

Mahad grinned, chuckling slightly and moving to shake his hand. "I never had any doubt."

From there, he moved up in the ranks. Eventually, he too became a General. No one was exactly surprised—he was the obvious and best choice for a leader. Cool, collected, head-strong, stubborn, confident and more. Everyone under and above him respected him. When others were in a panicked frenzy, he remained calm and dealt with said problems as they came.

Despite his high ranking and the constant need for his aid, he still found the time to write Mana—even out on the field. Even if he just wrote snippets now and then to add to it, he managed to come up with entire letters describing his encounters with the enemy, during training, duties and such and, of course, he deep love and longing for her.

One long, lonely day there was a mutual feeling of loss all over the camp as they mourned the deaths of many of their troops and friends in a recent heated and long battle, coupled with the fact that it was the anniversary of their leaving home three years before. A melancholy and an odd, rather decadently depressing feeling hung in the air. Many of the soldiers avoided to one another, drinking and smoking, writing to loved ones or gambling, or in other cases, simply lazing around trying to find purpose again. It seemed as though the war would never end.

Atem himself was having a particularly difficult time putting a positive spin on things. It was nearly impossible. Even Mahad, usually so resilient and strong, sat in the corner, writing and thinking to himself. He kept lighting a pipe with his staff, as if tempted to smoke it, but knowing that he shouldn't and probably wouldn't have the guts to—after all, he kept reminding himself, it wouldn't solve anything. But lighting it was something to do and so, he kept lighting and relighting it.

Mahad even seemed mesmerized by the idle little flame, flicking in to existence before shuttering out at the Magician's will. Atem eventually found himself staring at it too and comparing it to the war. One moment, there would seem to be hope; a light at the end of the tunnel—and the next… darkness; nothing but despair, loss, violence, and loneliness. The loss of light and of warmth, like that of the flame. And, he thought with a deep regret, the loss of love.

He closed his eyes, tearing them away from the pipe. Just like Mahad relighting it over and over, the war kept on going and events seemed to recur: over, and over, and over, and over. And over. An endless, tireless, cycle.

Victory. Loss. Victory. Loss. Victory. Loss. Victory. Loss.

Downing a glass of wine, his hand quivered over the parchment, pen poised. Mana, he wrote, and then stopped. He snapped his fingers for more of the drink, and as it was refilled, he tried again. To his surprise, it became one of the longest letters he had ever written to Mana.

Mana,

My feelings are… hard to describe, at the moment. We have just suffered a huge loss; millions, dead. Friends, troops—good men. Good soldiers. All gone. It's not as if it's the first enormous loss we've suffered, but it has hit us hard, especially on a day like this. Why did it have to happen today? Of all days, couldn't it have avoided this day? The day we all needed a break from the violence of war?

It has been exactly three years since we have seen our friends and our families—our homes. Three years since we've had the creature comforts of a plushy life, good food, and love. Three years since we have seen day after day of joy and happiness, of the good omens of life. Three years since I have seen you.

There is no good life here. War is not good: not good for the mind, the soul, or the body. All it holds is torture for all aspects of human nature.

I do not mean to be so melancholy, but today, it is hard to find anything good in the world. All I can think is that I must be grateful that I am alive, and that Mahad is alive. Also, that you are away from all this. You, Mana, are the spark in my heart that drives me onward when there is no other light to see. The light at the end of the tunnel—one which I must reach at all costs, or I may never see the light of day again. Nor, no, the light of humanity. It's hard to believe that humans can be so… dark and cold-hearted. Even our own men have become hard-hearted to light. They believe that brutality can only be fought in kind: with brutality. Fighting fire with fire. That never truly wins wars, or anything, for that matter. It may, in the end, but all it causes is loss and pain…but I won't dwell on such a subject any longer.

I must admit that I'm in a somewhat nostalgic mood. Today, my longing for you, for your touch and your smile and for the easy days, are almost too much for me to bear. But I know that one day, all of this will go away, and you and I can be together again. In my heart I know it isn't far away, and that you are not far away. You're in my dreams, and my heart. And one day, hopefully soon, I shall hold you in my arms again.

Mana… I hope you are well, and that your love for me has not faded. If so, my experiences and my desires are for naught. I must confess my feelings. I've been away for two years, and for all I know, you could be off with some other man while I am away. I wouldn't blame you. It's a lonely life for a woman, waiting for men of war. Though it would break my heart, and does just thinking about you in the arms of another, I would not hold it against you. My love for you still holds strong as it always will. But if there is another, perhaps it would be better that I knew—that way, I could do something overly drastic to end this war and die for the cause. It would not be a terrible way to go. Better than most. Forgive me for my mood, my dear. It is… hard to remain positive in such circumstances.

Perhaps I should close this letter, now. I feel the tide is turning with this loss. Whether for the better or for the worse, I fear for us all. The enemy will not go down easily. I also feel that the war will soon end, but you know me and my hunches. I may be right most of the time, but it would be foolish to place much hold on the simple feelings of a general. It may be a year, it may be two, but from this day forward, things will be different. And I'm going to make sure of it. Feelings in the camps, the depressions and recent suicides… they must end, and they must end today, or we have already lost.

Unequivocally yours,

Atem

He sat back, observing the long and rather uneven writing. It would normally have been neat, once, but today was not one of those days.

"There you are, General," said the soldier, eyes sad. Atem realized with surprise that he had filled the glass of wine for the third time since he had begun the letter. He hadn't even realized he had been drinking it. He wasn't generally a heavy drinking—he always drank it sparingly, if hardly ever to not at all. He wasn't the drinking type, and yet, here he sat, on his fourth glass of wine.

That previous feeling of hopelessness that had hung over him was slowly replaced by the feeling of the words he had written in his letter: resolute, yet confident. He couldn't afford to be a drunk general like the others. He had higher standards than that.

Yet that lost, lonely feeling wavered, and he brought the muggy glass up. He hesitated, tip pressed to his chapped, red lips. It trembled there for a moment, his hand shaking. Atem closed his lips and brought the glass to rest on his thigh. He eyed the liquid. The prospect of loosing all sense was alluring, just as the pipe was to Mahad, who, coincidentally, had the pipe dithering between his own lips, reluctant, yet tempted. Seduced.

Atem poured the wine on the ground, where it made a soft splashing sound.

"Take it away," he said in finality, nudging the wine. The soldier, a gleam of respect in his eyes, saluted and hurried to do as he was asked. Atem glanced at Mahad; he looked him in the eye, and finally, Mahad distinguished the pipe for the final time, dropping it to the ground.

The General stood.

Straight backed, regal in posture, and the picture of cool, he eyed the men of his squad. "Men!" he called, gathering the attention of his troops. "Soldiers. Comrades. We mustn't be so glum. We may have lost today, but we cannot let that get the better of us, nor the fact that we have been away from our loved ones for three years now." He held up a hand at the indignant looks. "I know you do not need to be reminded, and I apologize, truly I do, but we all needed to hear it. It is a fact. We are, as men, here for a reason: the protection of our families, of our friends. Of the innocent and of that which is right! Do you believe in our cause?"

He paused at that, looking around into the eyes of the soldiers. Some avoided his gaze; others held steady, with a bold expression that showed their true beliefs, and their belief in him as a leader. Still, no one spoke.

"I will ask you again," he said softly, gaze bold. "Do you believe in our cause? In that which we fight for? Our wives, our children, our families, our friends—our lovers and our homes. I myself have a fiancée waiting for me," he whispered, and couldn't help the salt-water that wetted his eyes. "I believe in this cause. I believe that we are doing that which is right. I believe. Do you?"

Many nodded, and the longer he sat there, giving them the death glare, the more piped up, giving brief cheers and cries of hope; the more held their heads high and their shoulders back. As he stared around at them and they realized the truth of his words, they sat up straight and looked him square in the face, without doubt and with a conviction of justice. Someone clapped, slowly and rhymically.

Atem looked around, and was unsurprised to find that it was Mahad, smiling at him and nodding. He stood and stomped on his discarded pipe. He held his fist high in the air as a show of respect.

The other men joined him, taking up cheers and applause. They had new hope, now. The feeling of melancholy in the air had lifted, somewhat, although not completely.

They began to chant: "General, General, General, General!" and cheers followed. Wine bottles were smashed, beer was poured on the ground and kegs of ale were tossed in to the air, where they shot them with their weapons. It was an unconventional and merry show of enthusiasm.

Atem smiled around at his men, holding his own fist in the air. He respected them, too.

General Atem looked to the first man who had begun to clap, knowing he had really gotten it started and that he would always remain the most loyal. Thank you, Mahad, he smiled. Mahad returned the grin.

From then on, the air and feeling of the camps grew to be more hopeful than downtrodden. There was a bare minimum of drinking and gambling, and the suicides all but stopped for weeks at a time. Things were happier—not joyful or triumphant, no, nothing like that; but they were more hopeful. There was light now.


Later, Atem got his reply from Mana. Several letters came at once, but he didn't mind. The others let him sit back and read them.

He read the most recent letter, the reply to his most recent send.

Atem,

I've never read such a letter from you! You almost seem… hopeless. Please, Atem, don't loose your hope. That's one thing you've got to have! Don't talk like that, you hear me?

Atem, how could you talk like that? How could you even have a single thought about me with someone else? I don't want, desire, long for, or need anyone else but you! I love you! Don't ever intentionally harm yourself, Atem, alright? If you do I'll hang you by your ears! My love and care for you will never change. You're the only man I want to be with. Why else would I wait for you? You and I have been friends for years on end. I could never picture myself with anyone but you: my best friend. You're perfect and right for me! I would rather dye my hair black than be with another man, and you know how I feel about dying my hair anything. Especially black. Don't be insane. Have you been drinking again?

I can only assure with all my heart that I would never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever—EVER, EVER (times infinity), be with anyone else but you. I would never break your heart. I want you to come home more than anything. Every time I go to sleep, I have dreams… dreams that you'll come home and hold me again, and that we'll play more games and have more days like the day you proposed. I do love you, Atem, more than anything. You believe me, don't you? I know that you love me, so you must believe me. You have no choice, right? Of course you don't.

On your other news, if you feel like the war may be close to ending, that's the best news I've heard, well, ever! Your hunches are usually right, but I'll try not to get my hopes up. I know how you feel about that, and it'll only hurt us both if you're wrong.

Don't worry, things are fine over here. I've always got a few guys trying to get me to go out with them, but if they get anywhere near me, I slap them silly and tell them that my fiance is out to war, and when he gets back—and he will—you'll be in a world of trouble. It usually gets them off my tail; well, that and your dad. He's sweet.

Hang tough, darling, I know how strong you are. You'll make it through, and I'm sure you're one heck of a General, as always! Love you always.

The-bestest-and-most-amazing-lover-of-your-life,

Mana

Atem had to smile at her heated response. He felt an old feeling grown in his chest. For a moment, he looked up, that happy smile plastered on his face, until he realized that it was joy. And laughter. He chuckled at what Mana had used to sign off. She had that right. He tucked her letter away on his person, still grinning. I love you too, Mana, he thought. She knew it, too, so he knew that there was no need to write it down—but he still would.


The sirens blared. Red alert.

Atem looked up, bolting outside to rally his troops. To his surprise, they were already getting in to ranks, but he wasted no time helping them along. "Move it, move it!" he demanded in his loud baritone. "We're on high alert, men! We don't have time to gander and wander about! Get a move on, that's it!"

They marched, with him at the head. The commanders on either side called the count: "Left, right, left! March!"

This, Atem knew, was going to be a high stakes battle. Perhaps the highest, and possibly even the turning point in the war. They could end this today.

Today, he mused, there's always something significant when one says 'today.'

But he couldn't be thinking like that yet. They had to get to the battlefield first.

When they did arrive, luckily it wasn't bloodshed yet. They were still on opposite sides of the field, strategizing as war-camps and war-leaders liked to do, even if just to pass the time and deny the inevitable fighting. Atem entered the generals tent, meeting up with the others to do such strategizing. He already had a plan formulating in his head, but it would be risky.

The War-leader looked to him. "What do you think, General Atem?"

Atem pursed his lips, debating how to put it. "I think we should create a distraction," he began. "Pool our resources and hit them when they bite."

The others nodded thoughtfully. "Go on," the War-leaders said.

So he did.

When he had explained the gist of his plan, there was silence as they thought it over, then one of them spoke up. "Who will lead the distraction?"

Atem smiled, "I was thinking I would."

For a moment, no one said anything. Was he just trying to get all the glory to himself if this worked? They shrugged philosophically. Either way, it was his plan, and it was a good one, so he would probably get a lot, if not all, of the glory anyway. If they won. That was debatable, but it was a good plan.

"I've got a good squad," Atem convinced them, "Three Magicians, too. They're all well-trained, as are my troops."

"It's a dangerous gamble," muttered the War Lord. "But it just might work."

So they agreed. The plan was set.

Atem and his squad of thousands, against their millions, marched out across the grounds with Atem in the lead—under a white flag of temporary truce, to parlay. Atem knew how they would take it, and he knew he was taking a big risk with this, but they needed something to draw a large force away from the main party. That would reduce the numbers being fought.

While he distracted them, the larger army behind had faded away to surround them in case the other army decided to attack instead of parlay—which they would, in the end.

"This is suicide," Mahad murmured beside him.

Atem shook his head. "Not if we play this right."

He hoped.

A man in armor greeted them half way across, a large group of men around him for protection. "What is this?" he demanded in a thick accent.

Atem raised an eyebrow. "A white flag. Temporary truce to parlay."

The man gave an impatient gesture, "I know that, you fool, but why?"

"I thought we might be able to end this peacefully," Atem said calmly, "Without bloodshed. The loss of life is not worth it if we can communicate peacefully and reasonably."

The man spat on the ground. "That bridge should have been crossed long ago."

As they spoke, Atem's men spanned out behind him. "So I take it you don't want to parlay?" he asked.

"No!" the man laughed, "Of course not."

Atem bowed. "Well, I thank you for playing along then. I never expected you to take the white flag. Mahad?" All the while, the soldiers on either side were crouching, preparing to fight. Mahad stepped up beside him with the white flag. At a snap of Atem's fingers, he ripped it in half. Atem smiled: "Prepare to die."

All hell broke loose.

Both sides collided, and the small party that had come to confront them fell in moments; they had been outnumbered, but now Atem's men were outnumbered.

That was when the rest of his plan kicked in.

The rest of the army, having surrounded the enemy while they conversed, broke through the surrounded trees and hills and attacked with war cries and, in some cases, screams of terror. Though the surrounding armies were outnumbered against their foes, Atem's plan of surrounding them was working. Chaos had broken out within the enemy armies, and thanks to General Atem, they were sure to win this battle and perhaps the war as long as they held the advantage.

However, Atem's forces were growing dangerously low. They were being separated. He had to rally them.

As he turned to call to his remaining men, he spotted another general and his army riding to his aid. He began to speak: "Don't give up! We could win today! Just keep fighting! A—" whatever he had been about to say was cut short.

Time seemed to slow as the first arrow hit him in the shoulder. It nearly stopped when the second took him in the gut. As if that hadn't been bad enough, when the third took him in the lower chest, the world all but stopped spinning. That was when the trio of darts hit him in the arm, and an enemy trooper smashed a makeshift weapon, a board, into his legs. He didn't even need that incentive to collapse—he was all but dead.

General Atem, crashed to the ground, amethyst eyes shocked and distant. No, he thought, it's not supposed to end this way.

Mahad stared, mouth agape. His breath came shallow and quick. His legs almost wouldn't support him as he watched his long time friend fall to the ground, the man with the board standing over him. "NO!" Mahad screamed, "NO! ATEM!"

Rage, horror, anguish, sorrow—a mix of emotions boiled inside him, and his staff came forward. There was a blast from his staff, taking out all enemy soldiers within fifty feet of him. The next spell hit the man with the board, and he disintegrated on the spot. The next foes to feel his wrath were the archers and dart throwers. The enemy scattered, but Mahad wasn't finished yet.

If it were retold, it would have been said that Mahad took out half of the enemies' soldiers. That, of course, was an exaggeration, although not by much.

When all was said and done, what was left of the enemy scattered. The battle, and the war, had been won.

There were cheers, but Mahad didn't share in their jubilee, and the cries of triumph were half-hearted. They had lost a lot of good men that day—the worst loss, was Atem. Everything seemed to be hazy to Mahad. Stumbling, the Magician searched for his friend's body. To his confusion, he couldn't find it. Desperately casting a spell, he was puzzled to find that Atem's trail followed the retreating enemy—what was left of them.

He came over a horrible realization. They had taken his friend's body.

No, he thought, NO.

Driven by his sorrow and anger, he somehow managed to find the strength to fly, and followed the General's trail. He would get him back, dead or alive, and he would return to Mana to tell her himself…

Dread, anguish, grief—they all fought for a place in his heart and mind, but at the moment, he had to be focused solely on finding Atem's body. He owed it to Mana, and especially to Atem.


Anevay: There ya go. What do you think? My grammar and sense kind of abandon me at three in the morning, so…

Ally: I'm just really depressed DX whyyyyyyy? You are truly evil.

Anevay: …

T&R!

Reviewers: ThePursuit, me(x3), SerenePanic, fan person, Chistarpax, RedRosePetal(x2),& jj!

ThePursuit: Thank you! I'm glad you think so! ^o^

Me: Thanks! ;) sorry, no Bakura this story. Too rhetorical.

SerenePanic: Seriously :P there are so many torture-Yugi stories, si? Hah really—poor Mana. Anyway, thanks much!

Fan person: sorry Mana—just remember that you're my favorite! Oh, the fun of other characters/people that don't belong coming in through open doors. Hey, you don't have to read this story if you don't want to. It's not like I'm forcing you! Don't feel obligated or anything. If you're uncomfortable, don't hurt yourself! I would rather you're comfortable. I don't mind if you don't want to read it.

Chistarpax: :( then you really can relate to this, in a way! Hope all goes well. Thank you much for all your wonderful reviews!

RedRosePetal: Welcome back! XD glad you're liking ;)

jj: Well, I was considering doing just a regular Lion King plot based one, but I dunno, it would seem kind of obvious/rhetorical. But Lion King 2? Eh. Possibly. If I do the first one, then I might. I'm just not much of a fan of Lion King 2, but I'll think about it!

Ally: Hey, Anevay, it's your turn!

Anevay: Oh, okay! You're right, I usually don't do this… but, review!

-Anevay and Ally

(Ally: you already knew I was going to do this)

-Ally and Anevay