WARNING: This chapter contains . . . [Language / Mild Suggestive Dialogue / Violence]


Edit Update: 1/1/2016

Did some majorly minor edits.


The location, Spain. The year, 1519. But of course, that's not important. What is important is the fact that the heroes of this story - if you can call them that - are right now, at this very moment, in a life or death duel that will surely be talked about for many centuries to come. Or at least until next Tuesday. The reason why this duel was taking place is unclear - you can blame the writing staff for that - but that is also not important. All that matters is the here and now, and right now Bakura is trying to come up with a strategy for his next move, which is proving to be difficult with his partner in crime chattering on behind him, making it impossible for him to concentrate.

"Did I ever tell you about the time I ate a huge pile of salt?" Marik asked, making Bakura clench his jaw as he tried to ignore him. "And then I drank a bottle of salt water before eating a salt cake. It really sucked. Speaking of things that suck-"

The duelist that Bakura was facing - a huge man with a small shaved head that revealed the fact that he had a brain the size of Bakura's conscience - groaned before covering his ears, dropping his cards in the process. "Can you please tell your girlfriend to shut up?!"

"He is not my girlfriend!" Bakura told him.

"You tell him, honey!" Marik said encouragingly, making the white haired boy roll his eyes.

The big man held up his beefy hands. "Look, I'm willing to forgive your noisy friend's insult to Maria."

"All I said was that I was surprised that it was the first bull I had seen since getting here." Marik explained before looking at Bakura. "I mean, aren't they supposed to be running around in the streets or something?"

"That was not a bull, that was my wife."

"You're married to a bull?"

"No, she just looks like one. I mean, she doesn't! I mean-!" The man groaned again. "If you just leave right now I'll give you this." He reached into the inside pocket of his vest and pulled out a large piece of yellowing paper with pictures of what looked like landmarks. "This map will lead you to El Dorado, the city of gold."

Bakura raised an eyebrow. "If you have got this map that supposedly leads to a city made of gold, why haven't you tried following it?"

"Um . . ." Don't you just love plot holes? "Look, will you please just take the map and go?"

"I believe that I have a better idea." Bakura grabbed his knife and held it up for the man to see, a murderous glint in his brown eyes. "How about I kill you instead?"

Marik waited patiently as the man's screams filled the streets and picked out a sombrero from a gift shop while his traveling companion performed his dirty deed. No one around seemed to mind the fact that a man was being brutally murdered in the middle of the busy road. Marik guessed that it happened a lot in this country. Or maybe it was just the writers being lazy again. Either way, it worked in their favor.

When Bakura was finished, he picked up the map and went through the dead man's pockets before walking back to Marik, licking off the blood that had ended up on his hands as if it were barbecue sauce from a chicken leg that he had just devoured, and grinned to himself. "It feels wonderful to finally be able to kill again." His smile faded when he saw the multicolored eyesore on Marik's head. "What are you bloody wearing?"

The tanned boy looked up at his hat. "We might as well get some souvenirs while we're here."

"How were you able to pay for that?"

"I didn't."

Right on queue, a large group of men wearing armor and brandishing swords came charging towards them. The two teenage boys exchanged a quick glance before running in the opposite direction. Apparently it was perfectly fine to kill people but not okay to steal a sombrero. And I thought the laws in Texas were messed up.

"I can't take you anywhere!" Bakura said.

"Of course you can, you brought me here."

Bakura watched the young Egyptian jump with flawless ease over a fence, like a graceful bird of prey that was gliding through the air to catch his next meal. Which, for some reason, made Bakura's feelings for the boy rise up like a bad case of heartburn; you try to get rid of it, but it always comes back. "Technically, you are the one who brought me here." He said as he climbed over the obstacle, feeling a tad bit jealous of Marik's gymnastic prowess.

"And coming here was a waste of my frigging time! I haven't seen a single Z anywhere!"

"I already told you, Marik. Zorro is not in Spain."

"But he speaks Spanish and everyone in the movie is wearing these." Marik pointed at his sombrero.

"This is 1519. We have never seen a movie." Bakura lowered his eyebrows in confusion. "Come to think of it, how do we even know about movies and Zorro when they haven't been invented yet?"

Screw you, continuity!

The two of them continued to run from the long arm of the law and climbed over yet another fence - Marik landing gracefully on his feet and Bakura landing not-so-gracefully on his bum - only to discover that they had dropped right into a bull pen.

The five menacing creatures turned their heads in unison to look at the intruders before they all lowered their heads and hoofed at the ground, pointing their sharp horns at the two teenagers like a firing squad, ready to shoot them down.

"Oh bullocks" Bakura muttered.

As the bulls began to charge, Bakura quickly opened the gate and they ran back into the streets. People scrabbled into their homes to avoid the stampede and Bakura began to laugh when he saw that the natives weren't the only ones who were screaming.

"It looks like you got your running bulls, Marik."

"I wanted to watch the bulls, not be chased by them!"

"Beggars can't be choosers, as the saying goes."

"I ain't no beggar! I take what I want 'cause I'm a villain and that's what villains do. Take things without asking."

"You can take me if you want."

"Did you say something, Bakura?"

"Nothing." He didn't know why he tried when the result was always the same. Maybe he was hoping that one of these days Marik would - by some miracle - step out of the closet and respond to his flirtations. It would probably never happen, but that didn't stop him from dreaming. Dreaming about them. Together. Doing it.

"What's with that look on your face?" Marik asked. He had apparently stopped screaming long enough to notice his companion's change of expression.

"Let us just concentrate on getting out of here." Bakura said, pushing the question - and his sexual desires - aside.

They turned a corner and saw that the guards who had been chasing them before were now in front of the two boys, pointing their gleaming weapons at them. Luckily there was a narrow alleyway to their left and they dodged into it. Before the armored men could give chase, the bulls came charging through, knocking the guards over like bowling pins.

Bakura and Marik kept moving and ran down a steep flight of stone steps, not bothering to look behind them to see if they were still being followed as they made their way to the docks. It wasn't until they stopped and checked out their surroundings that they noticed: the only exit was the way they had come in. They were trapped, and the sound of their pursuers shouting orders at each other up above them could be heard.

Bakura searched the area until he saw two large barrels that could fit them. "Get in." He ordered, lifting the wooden lid off of one of the barrels.

Marik nodded and complied. But when he ducked down into it, his sombrero refused to fit, making it look like the barrel was the one wearing the hat. Bakura didn't know if he should be annoyed or laugh at how ridiculous it looked.

Without hesitation, he grabbed the colorful monstrosity and threw it like a Frisbee, sending it flying into the ocean where it landed on the rough waters and floated off like a ship into the horizon.

Marik stood up and reached out his hand to it. "Noooo! My souvenir!"

"I'll steal you a new one." Bakura placed his hand on Marik's blond head, pushing him back into his hiding place.

After he put the lid back on, Bakura climbed into the second barrel, where the strong smell of pickles filled his nostrils. He would have much preferred to climb into the one that Marik was currently in, but the tanned boy would have probably protested and yelled at him, which would lead to the guards hearing Marik's shouting and they would surely be found. Right now staying alive was more important than trying to fulfill his fantasies.

"How long are we going to have to wait in here?" Marik asked.

"Marik, shut up."

Right after saying this, the two boys felt their hiding places move, as if they were in a rickety elevator that could also go horizontally. Bakura was tempted to lift the lid enough to peak outside and see what was going on, but he somehow managed to repress the urge. He didn't want to risk being seen by the lawmen that they were currently hiding from. So he waited patiently and was grateful that Marik did as he was told and kept quiet.

The barrels suddenly landed with a loud thud before they were knocked onto their sides and were rolled a few feet across what sounded like a wooden surface until finally they were put back into an upright position.

"These barrels sure are a lot heavier than usual." A gruff voice said.

Marik once again popped out of his barrel. "Are implying that I'm fat?! I'll have you know that I worked hard to get these gorgeous abs!"

Bakura groaned and slowly rose out of his barrel, reaching for his knife as he did. But unfortunately, they were on a ship that was full to the brim with an ugly crew who all had swords and pistols in their belts or in their hands. There was no getting out of this one. He was very handy with a blade but he wasn't that good.

It wasn't long before they were put in stocks that trapped their necks and wrists - Marik protesting all the while - and the two of them were pushed and shoved to the captain's quarters.

Right when I was about to write the next scene, Marik ripped the paper out of the typewriter and squinted at it before putting it right in front of my nose, allowing me to smell the freshly applied ink.

"What is this?" He asked me.

"A piece of paper that I was writing on until you grabbed it?"

"I am the main character!" Marik said. "And yet I'm barely in this!"

"One of the main characters." Bakura corrected.

"And what's with Bakura being all over me? That is totally out of character for him!"

"But he's the one who told me to-" I stopped when the tip of Bakura's knife poked me in the back, telling me to shut up if I wanted to keep my organs intact. I did, so I quickly shut my mouth.

"Why don't we just keep going?" Bakura suggested, putting his knife away. Thank goodness! "We don't want to waste anymore time, now do we?"

"But this sucks!" Marik said, pointing at what I had written.

"Hey!" I knew I wasn't a great writer, but that was going a bit too far.

"May I suggest that we-?"

"AH!" I jumped up, interrupting whatever the heck Bakura was going to say. "I know how to fix this!" Right when he was about to ask how, Bakura and Marik both disappeared from the room, leaving me in complete solitude.

I stretched my arms before leaning back in my chair, a huge smile on my dimpled face as I glanced at the typewriter, which was working on its own. Like how the Pharaoh had been sent to the world of memory in the final season of the show, I had cleverly put them directly into the story, meaning that I was free. Free from death threats and criticisms. Now there was only one problem . . .

"I'm still in the middle of freakin' Egypt. How the heck am I gonna get home?!"