Chapter 20

"Hmm...this, I think. Red suits you. And here."

"So Yuugi does own a pair of jeans."

"Ha ha. Probably his only pair. What're you giving me that look for, Pharaoh? You know it's true." Tristan dumped the clothes into Atem's arms along with the stack of towels, soap bottles, and hair products.

The Pharaoh looked down at the clothes he was borrowing from Yuugi and scowled slightly. Joey and Tristan appeared highly amused by his behaviour. "I still do not see why I must change. What is wrong with my current attire?" He adjusted his grip on all of the things in his arms as his two grinning friends led him into the bathroom, with Tristan leaning down over the tub to turn on the water. Atem stared in amazement at the steam that came from it. Hot water, he knew, was entirely common in this time, but with his memories returned to him Atem could not help but marvel at how easy it all seemed.

Joey was pulling all of the things from Atem's arms and setting them on the countertop. "Sorry, man. Modern Egyptians don't wear that stuff anymore. You'd look more, um...normal in Yuugi's clothes. I mean, you wouldn't look like you'd just stepped outta some ancient painting. Which is kinda important." He laughed at the disappointment in Atem's face.

"I wish to keep the—"

Tristan cut in. "The crown will have to go, man. Sorry. The bracelets you can keep wearing, I think. And the anklets and the earrings. But just not the crown." Atem nodded solemnly.

"Now, this and this and this are for your hair. This one first," Joey explained, pointing at each bottle in turn. Atem kept a straight face. It had been very important in his time to keep clean, but surely there was a point when it became ridiculous? "Don't give us those looks, buddy. Yuugi's right, you do smell like death. No offence. I mean, you were dead. Uh. I mean...your body was kind of rotting...and then it wasn't...but you were wrapped up in all of those..."

"So, we'll just leave you to it, then." Tristan interrupted with a sharp look at Joey, and pushed him out of the room. The Pharaoh was sulking. "Just turn the tap to the right to shut off the water, okay? It should be at the right temperature." And then the door clicked shut behind them.

It was nice to have some time to himself, to think over everything that had happened and sort out all of his feelings and thoughts on the matter. Atem's shoulders dropped and he let out a sigh. And then he sighed again. Air. Out of his mouth. He was still delighted with the feeling. Smiling softly now, he set about arranging all of the absurd products his friends had given him beside the tub. Perhaps a hot bath did not sound so bad after all.

He was still a little bothered after learning about the excavation that was still going on, despite the fact that the team had discovered two of the Items. Atem would have thought that the Ishtars would have shut down the explorations after such dangerous discoveries, but apparently not. They had a contract, Ishizu had explained. But she had assured him that they were keeping a close eye on the dig team. Atem very much hoped so. There was no telling what catastrophe would occur should all of the Items be removed from the Chamber. Out in the world once again, each had the potential to drive people mad with desire to possess their power. This inevitably led to destruction. With Ishizu, the Necklace was safe...but the Rod, now it was in much more tainted hands...

Dark Marik was an unpredictable enemy. He was no longer attached to his lighter half, and as such, his thought processes became much more undefined. Who was he without Marik? How did he usually think, act, and respond —in short, what was his personality like? He had always simply been the manifested anger and hate of Marik before all of this, but now he was an entirely separate being (he couldn't be so flat anymore, could he, he couldn't just be anger and hate, surely he had other emotions?). Nobody could be totally sure of the sort of person he was, now that he had left his former body and mind (and soul) behind. This meant that they had to be extra careful. There was no telling what he would do.

Atem was especially concerned about the fact that he had resided in the Rod for some time. He was not attached to the body that he had currently. Was it possible that he could simply switch hosts if he should tire of the one he was residing in at the moment? Hand the Rod off to someone else and take over their body from there? If that were true, then they had many more things to worry about than he had previously thought. Dark Marik might be anyone —anywhere— at any time he chose. Possibly.

If only he had the Puzzle, then he might at least feel somewhat more protected. But that was impossible. It had fallen deep into an endless hole in the Earth when the Chamber had begun to collapse, as the others had told him.

Still...two Items had been removed from the Chamber now...

It was possible...

xXx

Night was descending on Luxor far more swiftly than Bakura had thought it would, and it sent another wave of panic through him. He stuffed the rest of his granola bar into his mouth and threw away the wrapper, bustling through the hotel room and picking up all of his stray things. The clothes he folded hurriedly, the toothbrush and hairbrush he jammed into the suitcase with little care. His heart was beating quickly, and he tried to stop his hands from shaking so much (it was impeding the folding).

{...Ah...}

Don't wake up, don't wake up, Bakura prayed as he chewed and swallowed the rest of his snack. But it was no use: the spirit was regaining his health at a startling rate, and he flitted through his host's consciousness more often now, murmuring blurry images and leaving garbled thoughts behind him. Yet with each pass through Bakura's mind, the images and sounds grew more clear. It was only a matter of time before he worked up enough energy and strength to fight for the control of his body. There was no use deluding himself any further, anyway. No matter how much he wished to have some sort of agreement between them, the spirit of the Ring would no doubt ignore his feelings and then proceed on with his own plans (as he always had).

I'm such a fool. How could I ever think that I might be able to understand him? Bakura thought sadly. And now I must leave everyone behind. In order to protect them from my...mistakes...

He still wondered if he could have left the thief behind in that underground chamber, if he could have just turned and walked away after hearing about every horrible thing that he was going through. And despite knowing and feeling and hearing the blurry thoughts from the thief now (he was scheming something awful, he just knew it, though he could not work out what it was), Bakura did not think so.

Glancing about the hotel room once more to make sure that he had missed nothing, Bakura zipped up the suitcase and paced over to the bed. The Puzzle lay sparkling on the pillow (so silly looking, one would never believe that it held an ancient force so powerful that it could make the entire Earth quake). He ran his fingers through his hair, stressed. What was he to do with it? A pad of paper lay opened with a pen beside it on the side table, waiting for his words of goodbye and some brief explanation for his actions. Bakura had started to write something—

Please: forgive me.

—but he couldn't figure out what to put after that, and so the rest of the page remained blank. Instead, when he should have been deciding on what to say to them—

{...Dear host...}

—he had written out a letter to his sister, forcing himself to go slow and print his letters neatly, so that she wouldn't sense the anxiety he was having. Even after all the time that had passed, Bakura still found himself unable to give up writing to his sister. It was an obligation, somehow, a duty that he took more seriously than work. Perhaps it was because it was more important to him than work.

{...Where is this...}

The spirit was asking him a question. He realized with a shock that he had no more time to lose. His fingers found the pen and he scribbled down a few more words on the paper before grabbing his suitcase and his shoulder bag and bolting out the door. The hallway was quiet, and he was reminded of a similar hallway in a hotel in Domino: silent, housing a twisted maniac whose room was so dull it said nothing of its owner's actions. Bakura picked up his pace, trying to block out the swirling sand in the back of his head. If he could just wait a little longer, just a little while longer...

It was to his great relief that he came across none of his friends in the hotel as he sped out the door and found the taxi waiting for him, just as they had promised over the phone. It was a service specifically for tourists, and though they spoke no Japanese, they did understand English (which Bakura was rather fluent in, having lived in England for a short while). He allowed the driver to take his suitcase and place it in the back, and climbed in. The spirit had not spoken to him again, and Bakura was not quite sure if he was still recovering or if he was just taking in his surroundings and working out what his host was doing exactly. Neither thought thrilled him. He gave the driver directions and finally the taxi pulled away from the hotel.

The airport was thankfully relatively close to the hotel, and he made it there without any incidents. Paying the driver, Bakura made his way through the building, straining to remember where everything was. He had been so tired the day that he had arrived in Egypt, and so he hadn't picked up on many details of the airport. It was with only a few wrong turns that he found the check-in and finally turned his suitcase in. The woman behind the desk informed him curtly that he had over five hours to wait for his plane, and he laughed nervously and gave a half-hearted explanation that he didn't really mind sitting there for a while. There was only a small crowd of people in the airport that day, and he was grateful for the peace as he made his way to the area where he was to wait for his plane.

There was so much sand moving.

Bakura had barely settled into a seat in a remote corner of the room before he felt and saw the spirit abruptly snap into focus before him. He jumped slightly, eyes wide with shock. Crimson cloak flared out behind him, and arms crossed over his chest firmly, the Ring spirit glared down at Bakura and could not have pulled a more commanding look.

"You're..." Bakura whispered in surprise, "out of the Ring..."

He smiled a humourless smile. Bakura could not help his staring, for the spirit was —well— transparent. Like a ghost, Bakura thought with a shiver, eyeing the shimmering colour of the blue plastic seats behind the spirit. And he was a ghost, he supposed. A soul not in an afterlife. "I have always been able to do this. Now, quit your gawking. Someone will notice your odd behaviour." The spirit snapped.

Leaning back into the seat, Bakura tried to breathe more evenly and not stare so much at the spirit. The anger and derision he was used to, and it did not surprise him that this was the tone leaving the spirit's mouth. Rather, it made him think that perhaps the spirit was in far better health. He sounded much more confident. "We're going away, back to Domino," Bakura whispered meekly, "so just relax until then, okay?"

The thief's eyes narrowed. "Now, now. Don't think I'll just go along quietly with everything that you've decided, host of mine." A smirk played about his lips, and all at once he seemed to be in a better mood. His arms dropped from his chest. "I've quite missed this country, actually. And there is one small matter..." taking two steps forward, the thief leaned over Bakura and brought his face within inches of his. His violet eyes drilled into Bakura's. "As I recall, you did promise me something back in the Afterlife, did you not..." the smirk widened.

His fingers were gripping the edges of his seat tightly, and his breath had shortened. Bakura wet his lips and tried to keep his voice from stammering. He was so close. "A-ah. Right. The pastry...um..." That's not harmful, Bakura tried to reason out, I wouldn't be letting him do something harmful. It's just food. That's okay, isn't it.

"Well?" There was really too much mocking in that voice for Bakura to trust anything that came from his lips. It was likely that the thief would just take over his body whether or not he agreed with him. Maybe he was just taunting him with the idea that he really would try to work out some sort of agreement between them, making Bakura think that he could trust him. But Bakura knew better. This was the spirit who had done so many terrible things, and he didn't forget about them so easily. He took a breath in and slid further back into the seat, which only seemed to amuse the spirit.

"O-okay. But that's it. We have to wait here for the plane, okay?" Bakura hadn't meant for his voice to sound so timid, but he couldn't help it. The Ring spirit was just so intimidating. The thief snapped out of focus, disappearing back into his host's mind. His Cheshire grin was the last thing Bakura saw of him. "Thief...?" He whispered, a little alarmed that the spirit had not actively agreed with him before disappearing.

Sound was the first thing that left him. Bakura barely even noticed, as it was rather silent in the room anyway. Scent left him next, but like the first sense he hadn't really been using it at the time. The next sensation was much stronger than the last two, and it sent him into a mild panic. His sense of self retreated into his mind, and like a tidal wave Bakura found himself being pulled into the deep darkness that he recalled from so long ago. His vision snapped out like a light, and with a silent whoosh Bakura lost control.

...He was sitting in a cold hallway. There was an empty darkness on either end. On the wall he was leaning against there was a clean, walnut door with a brass doorknob. Across from his door, further down the hall, there was a second door, made completely of metal. Hieroglyphs were etched around the frame, and a large Eye stood out in the middle. Some dark stain the colour of rust covered some portions of the door. Bakura could only hope.

Picking himself up off of the floor, he turned the doorknob of his soul room and relaxed instantly. Everything was just as he had left it. Hardwood covered the floor, though thick rugs were piled up around a four-poster bed in the middle. The walls were an elaborate painting of a distant world: Monster World. Mountains curled around the oak desk in the corner, breaking out into rolling hills around the black fireplace surrounded by stones. It was the same fireplace that had been in the sitting room of his old home in England, and it brought him many warm memories. There was a shelf on one wall next to a large wardrobe containing all of his precious things: his duel cards, his Monster World character sheets, his photo albums. Letters to his sister lay spilled out all over his desk where he had left them. Figurines of every friend he had ever known sat in little delicate glass cases on another shelf. And there was his shadow box, containing the memory of the time that they had all defeated the Ring spirit when he had threatened them in the Monster World Shadow Game.

Dust had collected in every glass case. Bakura felt his throat tighten, and he glanced up at the ceiling, past the ceiling fan and the colours of the great castle that had once belonged to a character that the Ring spirit had named Zorc. What are you doing right now, Bakura wondered uneasily.

His shadow box memory had been collecting dust, too.

xXx

Following Bakura around seemed to be getting him nowhere. Mokuba could not imagine what he was doing wandering around Luxor when it was nearing nightfall, but he had been a bit suspicious at the mocking smirk that he had shot at the man who had brought him his pastry. Munching on it as he walked, Bakura seemed completely absorbed in all of the sights and sounds around him and so hadn't noticed Mokuba following him quietly several meters behind. He knew he should be returning to his big brother as soon as possible, as his brother was someone who did not tolerate lateness, but Mokuba could not resist trying to figure out what was so wrong with his friend. Maybe the others hadn't noticed, but throughout the whole trip to the Pharaoh's tomb and then back, and then through dinner, Bakura had been acting differently. A little more...tense. Distracted. Anxious about something, maybe. Mokuba wasn't sure what it was, but he felt like he should be doing something to make him feel better. And since Bakura would probably not be too keen on talking about his problems to a kid (he was sure that they all saw him as one, even though he was well into his teens), Mokuba was determined to find out what the problem was on his own and then confront him about it later.

It was only by chance that he had spotted Bakura in the café, as he had just been returning from getting his brother some coffee when he had noticed him ordering a pastry. And smirking nastily. The tin of coffee still weighed heavily in his bag (enough that he didn't forget about his original purpose of being out there), but he ignored it and focused on figuring out where exactly Bakura was headed. The white-haired man appeared to have made up his mind about something, and was striding off down a side street that Mokuba hadn't even noticed was there. He had to speed up in order to keep up with him.

After many twists and turns they came to a road leading out of the great city. Mokuba could not believe what his friend (okay, he supposed that he didn't know him well enough to call him a friend, but still) was doing. What was so important that he would go trekking out of the city for it? There wasn't anything out there. Mokuba picked up his pace even more as Bakura's long strides increased the distance between them. Glancing over his shoulder, Mokuba stared longingly back at the familiar roofs of some buildings and wished he could just turn around and call his big brother and tell him what was wrong. But it was no use: he had left his cell phone back in the hotel because he had thought he would only be gone five minutes, and now if he turned around, they might not ever find out which direction he had taken. Already his fast pace was creating even more distance between them, and Mokuba had to make an effort to keep up with him.

They left Luxor behind.

Egypt was dreadfully hot during the day, but by contrast incredibly cold at night. Already Mokuba could feel the temperature dropping, degree by degree, and he shivered in anticipation of the shivering he would be doing later. His shirt and vest were definitely not thick enough for this. It was lucky that Bakura was so intent on where he walking that he did not even notice the quiet teen stalking him some ways behind. The road that they travelled on was packed sand and dirt, thankfully, and so it did not require much effort to walk. Mokuba did not relish the idea of slipping and sliding through sand, filling his sneakers with it and tripping in it. So there was the comfort of the hard road, at least. And with a road, it would make it easier for him to find his way back. Whenever that happened.

Bakura seemed to know exactly where he was going, which eased Mokuba's concern a little. Sightseeing? Some strange need to see the stars out at some nostalgic location? He'd couldn't fathom what the reason was, but his strange behaviour was making him determined to keep following him. As far as he knew, Bakura was someone who did not generally do these sorts of things. Unless he had him all wrong, and he really did wander off all on his own at night regularly. Since they never really spent time together, and mostly when the met each other it was because they were there to see Yuugi, he decided he couldn't really make a firm decision on what Bakura was truly like. Still, he was curious. Everyone was so stressed recently, what with Dark Marik on the loose, and so it didn't really seem like the smartest thing for Bakura to be doing, leaving the city without telling anybody like he had. Mokuba winced slightly, realizing his mistake. Maybe he really should have told his brother and left Bakura for them to figure out...

It was too late now to turn back, and so Mokuba kept going. They walked for nearly two hours, according to his watch, and finally reached a great set of ruins that extended beyond his sight. The night had hit them by now, and Mokuba rubbed his arms to keep warm, cheeks glowing red from the cold. Bakura entered the ruins without pause, though his back straightened visibly, which had Mokuba even more confused. He wondered at the sort of expression Bakura must be wearing, for he seemed suddenly much more tense than before. Something was bothering him, for sure.

Mokuba followed as close as he dared as Bakura weaved about the ruins and headed deeper in. He turned another corner abruptly, disappearing behind a stone structure that might have resembled a house once. Hurrying along, Mokuba turned the corner as well but was startled to find that Bakura was not there. The moonlight and starlight did nothing to illuminate any tracks he might have left, and Mokuba found himself at a loss for what to do. He sprinted down the narrow alley between the two stone structures on either side and came to another turn, his breath sounding noisy in the quiet and creating a thin fog in front of his face. There, to his left: the edges of Bakura's sky-blue sweater vanishing behind a row of pillars. Mokuba breathed a sigh of relief and took off after him.

He had just hit the first pillar when his sneaker caught in some rubble and he tripped, landing on the ground with a small cry. Ahead of him, Bakura stilled so totally that he might have been a sculpture. Then, slowly, he turned around, his eyes landing on the sheepish Mokuba rubbing his knees and picking himself up off of the ground. "Uh...hi, Bakura." Mokuba brushed the sand off of his cheeks and offered an apologetic smile. He opened his mouth to explain his presence there, but suddenly caught sight of the expression on Bakura's face. It flashed out of existence within a second, but he was sure —just for a moment— that something so malicious and cold had just flitted across his face.

Shaking his head and laughing a little, Bakura strode up to him and bent over slightly to examine the rough scrape on his chin. "Mokuba! You're sneakier than I thought. Are you okay? It looks like you took quite a fall. That'll need to be washed or you'll get an infection." The concern on his face looked so genuine that Mokuba faltered for a moment.

The starlight lit up Bakura's eyes, and as close as he was Mokuba could see a distinctive red tint.

"You're not Bakura," he choked out in stunned terror. It was the worst thing that he could have said in that one moment, and Mokuba regretted it instantly.

Bakura paused. Then, moving so quickly that Mokuba could not have reacted even if he had tried, Bakura grabbed a fistful of his shirt and lifted him into the air. With a sharp jerk, he slammed Mokuba's head against the nearest pillar, knocking him unconscious. He let the teen slide from his fingers onto the ground, crumpled against the stone. The Ring spirit considered him. He'd been far too careless, and this was the result of it. Most likely the others would come searching for him, that is if they were not searching for him already. But he really couldn't have just let the child go, as then everyone would just find out about his presence sooner. This had been the only option, really.

He clenched his fingers into fists and felt the muscles move beneath his host's skin. A small chuckle escaped his lips. "You've gone a bit soft since we last shared a body, haven't you, dear host?" Of course he could not hear him, lost as he was in the recesses of his mind, probably moping away in his mind room. But really, there was barely any muscle anywhere on his body. Well, no matter. That would be amended eventually. It was certain that he was going to need a more fit body in the near future.

Turning on the spot, the Ring spirit looked over the degraded temple, with the crumbling pillars holding up nothing but the sky. Pieces of the ceiling lay scattered in the centre of the surrounding pillars. Now, this would make things more difficult. He was sure that he had buried what he needed in here, but if there was some stone covering the spot, then he would have a tough time removing it. He left the child where he was and started walking down the line of pillars, counting silently in his head.

Here. The Ring spirit examined the nearly invisible line of hieroglyphs near the base of the pillar, etched in the stone in the messy script of a child. Yes. Definitely here. No ceiling pieces lay nearby, luckily. Ra and his lot were far too negligent. Another wicked chuckle left his mouth. Then, seeing no other alternative, the Ring spirit got down on his hands and knees and began to dig.

The ground was tough, and sand filled up the hole whenever he paused to stretch his fingers, but after a while and about a foot down, he came across a metal box about half the length of his arm. Shadow magic gave the box a better seal than the tiny metal latch on the front ever could. Bakura longed to open it, but that would be disastrous to the fragile contents resting inside, so he reassured himself that the scrolls were still contained within the box by gently rattling it, and his ears were met with the sound of rustling papyrus. He starting kicking sand into the hole once more, filling it quickly before packing the sand and dirt with his feet. The box he dropped into his host's shoulder bag. It clanged a little with another metal object inside the bag, and Bakura looked down curiously to find a duel disk within the bag. So, his host still fancied himself a duelist. The thought was rather amusing, but Bakura quickly returned to thinking about what to do with his current situation. He could leave now, as there was nothing left to do here...

Mokuba lay right where he had left him, looking pitiful in his bruised and unconscious state. The Ring spirit kicked some sand at his face in irritation. There was really no reason for him to take him back to the city, but he didn't particularly like the idea of leaving the child near the place where he had hidden the metal box, and so he opted to move him. With a huff he slung the child over his shoulder and took off, looking for somewhere suitable to hide him. Hide? Thought the thief, pausing in his step. Would that make him look more or less suspicious? Those friends of his host's would probably all wonder regardless what he had been doing out here, but perhaps if he made an effort to hide the boy it would make them even more determined to find out why. On that thought, he decided that perhaps hiding the child would not be the best idea after all. After another turn he dropped the boy on the ground, right out in the open on a main street, where his friends would be sure to see him. Task completed, the Ring spirit made his way out of the ruins of the village and proceeded to start his trek back to the city.

He had been walking not more than a few minutes before he saw sand clouding the sky in the distance, and the faint blurry lines that resembled a car, speeding ever closer. The thief let out an annoyed huff. In the back of his mind, the link thrummed and a small meek voice asked whether he was quite finished, because he had been out an awfully long time. The Ring spirit ignored his host.

A challenger was approaching. He found his annoyance slipping away. This was not such a bad thing, after all, having them find out where Mokuba had gone (however they had managed it). It didn't really matter whether they knew that he was back or not...they would never be able to stop him anyway...

{Thief, please stop whatever you're doing...} Pleaded his host to the shadows in their shared mind.

His lips quirked up into a toothy smile, though his host could not see it. {There is so much you haven't told me yet, isn't there? Well, I will find out in due time. And rest assured, your body will be returned to you in an acceptable condition.} He added as an afterthought.

{That wasn't what I was concerned about!}

The Ring spirit laughed loudly. The car closed in on him. Under his shirt, the Millennium Ring glowed brightly and its pointers vibrated against his skin. His laughter died in his throat, and the thief pulled out the Item in wonder, holding it horizontally so that it might orient itself. The vibrations settled down, and then a single pointer raised itself towards the incoming car. He noted which pointer it was. "Well, well, well. So that is how they found out about the brat, was it..." the thief murmured softly, now wholly interested in all of the knowledge that his host was keeping from him. He let the Ring drop from his hand and rest against his chest. This battle will be far more exciting than I had thought it was going to be, the thief decided in increasing excitement.

The approaching vehicle wasn't a car, he could see that now. It was a green van. Sand kicked up behind it in a low cloud. He waited patiently for it to stop. Eventually, the van started to slow, having evidently spotted him. It rolled to a halt several meters away from him. Tristan, Joey, Kaiba, Marik, and Ishizu all piled out.

Ah, thought the Ring spirit. This is where the battle begins.

"Bakura!" They all shouted, completely aware of who he was, as was clear by their angry and shocked and fearful tones of voice. Not one of them missed the shining Ring hanging from his neck.

He laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

"Where's Mokuba?" Kaiba yelled furiously, taking several steps forward, his fists clenched firmly at his sides. The Ring spirit suddenly recalled a duel that they had had, long ago, when he had kidnapped Mokuba once before. They had never finished that duel...

His hand dropped into his host's bag, and his fingers found the cool metal of a duel disk, and the smooth plastic of a card box. He withdrew the duel disk first, sliding it onto his arm with a rush of delight that he remembered from so long ago, as well. The cards came next, and he loaded them with a snap into the deck zone of the disk.

"What's say you and I have a duel to find that out, Kaiba?" The thief drawled in a low tone, licking his teeth in anticipation of the upcoming challenge. He already knew the answer: this was about his little brother, after all. Kaiba would never refuse.

The night grew colder, and Seto Kaiba slid his arm into a duel disk of his own, icy ocean eyes glaring down his opponent.

"Duel!"