I've received a lot of feedback from several people (thanks so much!) and it seems there's a major problem in the lack of clarity in my writing style. I've attempted rectifying things this chapter, hope it's better now. Don't be afraid to leave crit; I'm always willing to listen~


Chapter Twelve:

"Good morning ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls," called Mr. Heartland, voice amplified to reach all districts. "You have waited, now it is here—the start of the thirty-fourth National Duel Championships! The digital countdown atop Heartland Tower ticks down! All together; three!"

A lone firework whistled when shot into the sky, sound nearly imperceptible amidst the crowds shouting along the countdown.

"Two!"

Two fireworks spiralled, and shouts rose in intensity.

"One!"

Cheers, screaming, the rest of the firework arsenal discharged into the air; then a string of huge, ringing explosions as they exploded into brightly coloured smoke and augmented confetti fell from the sky. The enlarged hologram of Mr. Heartland flung out its arms, his garish yellow-pink suit brought into full view.

"The parade shall begin! To all residents, enjoy the festivities; to all visitors, enjoy your stay. Together now: Heart Burning!"

Yuma idly flicked the channel to the next when scenes of the parade filled the screen. The next channel had a live feed of the litterbots playing their instruments, the very same tune seeping through the window behind him, and Yuma flicked the channel again to stop the irritating duplex echoing within the room. The next channel was also on the opening ceremony, and the one after, then Yuma simply held down the arrow and waited for the channels to change on their own.

When he found one that looked like it reported something other than the parade, he stopped. Then he realised; it was yet another repeat of Mr. Heartland's informatory speeches.

"...eight contestants, chosen from all walks of life, six finalists from fierce competition all over the country and – as custom – two wild cards picked randomly from within the host city. They come fighting for the title of Champion, they come fighting for our exclusive prize; two of the rarest cards in existence, No. 07: Lucky Stripe and No. 11: Big Eye!"

Yuma turned off the television then fell back lazily against the floor, and his D-Gazer slipped off his head.

Numbers.

That was why he was there. That's why Kaito had given him the letter, containing the wild card invitation and information on the prizes up for grabs. An unspoken message, an unspoken last chance for him to help them.

To win the Numbers from the tournament, to get Kaito and Astral and Haruto back to the world they belonged.

Yuma reached into his pocket for no reason but to check if the envelope was still there. It was, tucked behind the letter. But when he pulled it out, something metallic drifted past his hand and fell to the floor.

The Key.

It gleamed a golden light when he reached for it, as if reading his intentions; he froze, but for only a second, bringing his other arm around to place the object into his other pocket gingerly.

He turned to the envelope, and the words on its surface. The Numbers Hunter, Astral. Nobody should have known about Astral, and knowledge of the Numbers Hunter was not commonplace. Kaito never wrote in katakana, refused to write anything but the Astral Tongue, and there was no doubt Kaito had given it to him as a notice. A warning.

Do not screw up again.

"I won't," muttered Yuma, to himself, in the empty room, remembering sullen stares and whispers of his insanity. "I won't fall again."


The doors slid open, then slid closed, and Mr. Heartland entered the Tower, his shoes clicking echoes against a linoleum floor and tightly-enclosed walls. It was one of the many side entrances to the building, unmarked on any blueprint, lit sparsely with small lights set into the ceiling. He turned a corner and stepped onto the elevator podium brought to meet him.

As the elevator began to descend, the boy waiting for him began to speak, reading off an augmented display projected above gloved fingers.

"Goods distribution in the public sector is running smoothly. There have been a few problems accommodating the sudden spike in tourism despite preparations but transport has been re-routed so they're no longer an issue. You will need to attend the CED conference in one hour, and construction—"

"Where is your brother?" said Mr. Heartland, without looking his way.

III licked dry lips. "IV is taking a break for a few days. I have his notes, I'll be replacing him."

Briefly, Mr. Heartland's eyes flicked down. "You are aware that the last time he left an innocent woman was killed?"

"Yes, sir. That won't happen again."

"I would hope not. Damage control required far too many resources for us to contain it as a freak accident. Continue."

"Construction of the offshore damper is underway."

"You are supervising?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you will carry out IV's duties simultaneously."

"I—can cope."

"You are expected to."

"I understand."

"The letter?"

"Has been verified and registered under wild card two. Yuma Tsukumo of Heartland City, E District. No. 39: King of Hopes – Hope confirmed in his possession."

"That is the invitation," said Mr. Heartland. "Has the Numbers Hunter contacted us through the letter?"

"I... don't know. It—" III scrolled through the screen frantically, looking for any trace of information. "It's not in the notes brother left behind."

"Then you are useless. Next time ensure they are more complete, else no more breaks can be allowed."

III grit his teeth, unseen. "I understand."

Their descent began to slow. When it came to a stop, the doors before them opened and the two personnel waiting outside broke their conversation and bowed. Gauche was first to rise and step forward, and Droite followed.

"Tournament details have been finalised," said Droite. "Recording and analysis software have been modified to specification."

Mr. Heartland nodded. "Good. Gauche?"

"The situation's dealt with. The Laevatein won't be interfering for a while with the boss finished off, they felt what they deserved."

"Excellent," said Mr. Heartland. "The two of you have duties to attend?"

"Yes, sir." A simultaneous reply.

"Carry on."

They bowed once more, then left through the doors. Mr. Heartland began to walk again, and III followed without request, even as the path began to steep lower and lower and the line of lights above their heads seemed to grow dimmer and dimmer. Soon they passed through another door, entering a round dome far larger than any other room in the building. There were no shortage of lights, no blind spots; every corner was lit with giant floodlights, all for the circular device in the centre of the floor and the ball of energy suspended within two points.

Mr. Heartland took a place beside the other man at the base of the device. III did not follow, recognising the stature for who it was. Instead he took a place beside the doorway at the console stationed there. V looked up from the computer but turned away before III could greet him.

"Mr. Heartland," the man said, and Mr. Heartland bowed.

"Dr. Faker."

Dr. Faker smiled. "You arrived just in time. The experiment is ready." He ran his hands along the cords affixed from the two figures restrained at the base and into the heart of the machine. Then, calling to V, he said, "Astral connection, OK."

V nodded. "Field specifications, OK." He pressed a button on the console beside him. "Sphere initialising."

There was a loud snap, the lights dimmed to darkness. The glowing ball of energy grew from a walnut to an apple, a watermelon, far larger than a watermelon, crackling, more and more energy entering the system with every passing second. When the ball touched the two points in diameter, yellow light became white, red, blue, green, flashing through all hues of the spectrum.

"Yes," whispered Dr. Faker, the lights mirrored in his irises as wide, excited eyes took in the sight. "Yes!"

"Shall we proceed to stage two?" asked V.

"Bionic readings?"

"Sixty percent."

"Then do it. All the way."

A string of text inputted into the computer, and a call: "Affirmative. Particle acceleration initialised."

The crackling shifted in pitch, the motion of the energy changed. Vibrational became translational; movement rather than vibration. Two points on either side of the sphere began pinching together incredibly slowly, forming a shape much like a peanut – and then the middle diminished further in thinness so its proportions were more akin to that of a gourd though both globes remained the same size.

And without warning there was another snap, a loud crack, a fading hum, and the energy disappeared. The room was plunged into darkness. There was the sound of footsteps that could only have belonged to thick-soled boots, and then Dr. Faker's voice resonated all around.

"What happened?" he said. "Answers, Varian. Now."

V had already knelt over the console, typing frantically, the reflection of the screen casting his face into ghostly life. The floodlights returned, though the spherical energy did not, and they showed Dr. Faker on the other side of the room as wiry fingers checked the connections between interfaces and cables to ensure there were no mechanical reasons at fault.

"There was not enough power to complete the link," replied V.

"Tch... So close. Reset, but redirect energy from every generator this city has."

Mr. Heartland's eyes widened. "Then Heartland will be plunged into darkness!"

"That doesn't matter," said Dr. Faker. "The system will be completed. You understand what that means, correct?"

"We'll... be able to go back...!"

"And we," V interrupted, "will be given access so that we may return to our home world. As agreed."

"Of course," said Dr. Faker. "Now, reset the system."

V returned to the computer, the only indication of his emotions in tightened lips, and began to type. Mr. Heartland and Dr. Faker began to converse, their words too soft and they too far for any to reach other ears, and III took the opportunity to step closer to his brother. One glance at the screens showed an amalgamation of lines and instructions written in pastel shades atop black, written in a language III had no hope of understanding.

"How can you take it, brother?" murmured III, softly, amidst the sound of typing keys. The superiority, he wanted to add. The exploitation of power, the words, the tone, IV's constant exposure...

"Do you hate it?" came V's reply.

"No, but... I don't like it."

"And what is it's opinion?"

"...It has none."

V returned to his feet. "That is all that matters." He turned around, and when he spoke it was no longer a whisper. "Reset unsuccessful."

Dr. Faker frowned. "Why not?"

"Too much Astral energy has been used, thus bionic readings are too low."

Dr. Faker's eyes narrowed. "So the Prince is not enough after all. Have we been contacted by the Numbers Hunter?"

"No," said Mr. Heartland, sending a frown III's way. "But the invitation has been responded to."

"Then it is only a matter of time before he comes for the Prince," said Dr. Faker. "Until then, I will conduct more scans."

"Do you require my presence?" asked V.

"No. You do... whatever else Mr. Heartland requires you to do."

V inclined his head. "Very well."

"Then, I will take my leave," said Mr. Heartland. "III, I will not require your assistance until lunchtime. By then I expect full understanding of the notes left behind."

III bowed. "Understood."

"V," said Mr. Heartland, "shut down the system, then continue working on the network as you see fit."

"Understood."

Dr. Faker left the room, Mr. Heartland following behind. V spun to face the screens again and began to type. One by one the giant floodlights turned off, extinguished into the dark, and the hum of the machines died down.

As they made to leave, III spoke.

"What about those two?"

"The Astrals?" III nodded. "We leave them. They won't escape; the Prince can barely stand."

"Okay."

When they left the room and locked the doors behind them, there was a beep. V extracted his PDA from within a pocket and flipped it open.

"One new message," said an electronic female voice. "Your first round opponent has been decided."

V barely gave it a glance and snapped it closed, before putting it away.

"Aren't you going to see who it is?" said III.

"No," came the reply. "I already know."


"Yuma Tsukumo," murmured Dr. Faker.

The two of them were travelling down one of Heartland Tower's many corridors, aside one another, letting the moving floor do what it was designed to do. Mr. Heartland glanced in the other man's direction, where Dr. Faker stood with Yuma Tsukumo's file open before him.

"What about him?" he asked.

"He possessed the invitation, but only possesses one Numbers. You noticed this too, didn't you?"

"Yes," Mr. Heartland admitted. "But it's only one Numbers in the Extra Deck he registered. He might have more on him."

"I wonder..."

There was a pause. Mr. Heartland prompted him further. "What is it?"

"We assumed our bait was sufficient enough to draw out those who desire the Numbers, especially the Numbers Hunter."

"It is. Signup statistics jumped this year compared to the NDCs of other prefectures."

"But why is he the only finalist with a Numbers card in his possession, and only one?"

"The trap was too obvious," concluded Mr. Heartland. "Yuma Tsukumo is only bait for the real Numbers Hunter behind him."

"A distinct possibility."

A wave of a hand, the file slid shut and disappeared into nothingness, and Dr. Faker looked forward once more.

"Well, no matter," he said. "So long as we have the Prince and the letter hasn't been compromised, the Numbers Hunter will show himself eventually. Then, we will restore things to how they were."

"The Varians believe—"

"They can only believe what we've told them, and we can only believe what they say. Nothing. Our trust works the same way."

"Heartland wouldn't be the way it is without them."

"No. For that purpose, they are useful. But we can't do anything until the project is complete."

"They will return to their world?"

Dr. Faker nodded. "And we will return to our time."


The Bridge was once a small network of warehouses and docks positioned below one of the tertiary roads of New Daedalus, an old private shipping area on the fringe of Neo Domino. Now it sat unused, abandoned; oil spills tainted the water, spreading stopped by barricades and the direction of the current, caught up in assorted garbage and debris. In the economical chaos following the earthquake, no funds were spared on cleanup or reconstruction.

Ryoga did not linger amidst the faint toxic fumes or the acrid sting forming in his throat, nor the sun shooting sharp rays through to his cells. He didn't need to look past spraypaint and graffiti to find the letters labelled on each of the warehouses, merely pushing open the door to the one on his right.

Ginji and Tokunosuke looked up when he entered and threw his backpack to the ground, disregarding the dust that rose in return.

"The news," said Ryoga, simply. "Is it true?"

"Well," replied Tokunosuke, "that depends. What news?"

"That father's dead."

Ginji sighed. "Yeah. He was trying to increase our territory so he took the Emperor head-on. There must have been a snitch 'cause they had a trap ready and everything."

"The Sword was at the head of the ambush," added Tokunosuke. "Excalibur. He's only reported to work within Heartland. It's not certain whether or not he chose to appear just because the heirs are all outside the city."

"Rikuo and Kaio are still in Neo Domino?" asked Ryoga.

"Presumably. There's been no word from Heartland, at least. Invicil," said Tokunosuke, and turned to face the fourth person in the warehouse, a young man with light hair and one of his personal contacts, "got anything?"

Invicil looked up from his laptop for the first time for hooded black eyes to hover over Ryoga's person. "No. Only false."

"What are you doing?" said Ryoga.

"Binary. Debugging fails," said Invicil, engrossed with the screen, in a tone as if the words explained everything. "Compiling."

Before any more questions could be asked, there was a knocking against the door. Ryoga stiffened, reaching for his new switchblade. Behind him, Ginji rose warily to his feet, and Tokunosuke shifted. The knocking paused, then continued. Ryoga glanced around; there was another exit, but the door was closed. To open it would draw unwanted noise and attention.

They were careless.

The knocking stopped, as if the person realised they could try opening the door. Ryoga watched the knob turn, the hinges give way, the shadowed foot amidst the shaft of bright light begin entering the warehouse—

—and then froze at the sight of lean features under red-gold hair. It was familiar. Something in his memory he couldn't quite recall, a startling sensation that threw him completely off-guard.

"Is T.K. here?" drawled the stranger, maroon eyes scanning the interior in bored precision.

"Depends," said Tokunosuke. "What're you here for?"

The stranger glared at the sunlight behind him, allowing the scar down his right cheek to shine in the light for the briefest second, before entering and closing the door shut behind him as if he were invited. He reached inside his jacket. Ryoga tensed. When the hand withdrew it held a packet of cigarettes and the other hand began to search inside the pocket of faded jeans.

The lighter was found, an unlit cigarette put into his mouth, and the stranger answered whilst trying to strike a flame. "A delivery from V."

"V?" said Tokunosuke suddenly, stepping forward. "You must be IV. Our meeting was in an hour."

IV shrugged around a cigarette now lit. He took a drag with eyes closed and mouth curled into a scowl, then removed it with two fingers. His tongue snaked out as if trying to get rid of the taste. "Then you can fucking get it an hour early. Damn," he added softly, glaring at the smoke, "fucking hate these."

IV reached into his pocket again, to bring out a laser disk, and he held it in his hand. "This is for you. You get initial access of the code to verify its contents, I'll unlock it after you pay."

"As usual, then," said Tokunosuke. "Ginji."

"W-What?"

"Get the disk."

Ginji frowned. "Hey, why me?"

"You're closest."

A grumble, but the redhead approached IV without complaint. The disk was handed across lazily, then Ginji walked back and gave it to Tokunosuke, who tipped his head in Invicil's direction. Invicil took the disk without a word of thanks before loading it into his computer.

Ginji sat back down on a crate, Ryoga leant against the wall. He turned back to look at IV, and saw the man chewing on the end of his cigarette with a scowl. IV was young; he couldn't have been any older than eighteen. How could they have met? In Heartland?

Ryoga stopped searching his memories for any recollection. If he didn't find anything, it wasn't worth finding.

"Password," prompted Invicil.

"Payment," said IV, equally as succinctly.

Tokunosuke turned to Invicil. "Is it right?"

"Yes."

Tokunosuke reached into one of his many pockets. Ryoga blinked at what he removed.

"A cheque card?" asked Ryoga. "That's traceable."

The cigarette fell out of IV's mouth. IV snorted, stamping it out. "If we could be traced we'd be long found," he said. Then he held out a hand. "Pass it over."

Tokunosuke walked across. IV took the cheque card and a scanner from his pocket before plugging the chip into the machine. There was a beep: IV glanced at the screen, then tossed the cheque card back to Tokunosuke.

"Password's phantasm," said IV, pocketing the scanner, then turned to leave. "Later."

He left. When the door closed behind him, the four of them were alone again amidst the sound of Invicil's typing.

"This location isn't secure," said Ryoga, immediately. "We have to move."

"No need," said Tokunosuke. "Nobody comes here."

"That IV guy did," added Ginji.

Tokunosuke shrugged. "V's services come with delivery. He tracked us down."

"Then others can track us down also," said Ryoga.

"So long as you have a D-Gazer, or anything connected to a network, you can be tracked anywhere," came the reply. "V has the network codes. He's always been reliable. You don't have to worry."

"We should move," insisted Ryoga.

"Oh, we'll move. To Heartland, if the software's all working. Invicil?"

"Downloading. Last fifty messages from Rikuo's D-Gazer and location information," said Invicil.

Ginji started. "Shit—what the...?"

Ryoga's eyes widened. "Network access." He paused. "Logs are saved in individual D-Gazers and don't go through the network."

"They can go through the network if they're requested—"

"No," said Invicil, interrupting. "NEBULA finished compiling."

"NEBULA?" asked Ryoga.

"A trojan. It pretends to be a firmware update, works with any D-Gazer connected to the internet. Any data in the system can be sent to my computer," said Invicil. "My program."

"Then why pay V?" asked Ginji.

"Invicil might not have finished," said Tokunosuke. "It's also much more likely they'll detect something's wrong if their uploads start to jump. Access to Heartland's network gives us live conversation and location data with our own connection."

"So we have access to Heartland's network," said Ryoga.

"Location and conversation data. That's all I paid for."

A carnivorous smirk grew across Ryoga's expression. As if sensing the change in mood, Ginji stood up.

"So," he asked. "We're ready?"

Ryoga rose from his position leant against the wall, and hands that were tucked in pockets fell empty to either side. He nodded.

"Everything's set. It's time for us to return."


BEEP.

One new message. Your first round opponent has been decided.

Yuma cracked open an eye. He reached for his D-Gazer, wincing at the cricks in his back from lying for so long against an unforgiving tiled floor. He stood up. The message itself was all policy and code of conduct which he skipped over, until he scrolled to the end and saw the name.

He stumbled; the D-Gazer slipped through his fingers and clattered on the ground.

VICTOR ROMANI


When in doubt, name everything after ygo cards /shot (Invicil/Sky Scourge Invicil) I hope the speed of this story isn't dragging or anything. :/

Please review :)