Chapter Fourteen

Notes: I've mushed the 'whole school spring' from the springs episode in the first season with the Osiris dorm spring, because it seems silly to me that the school would essentially have 4 springs (one for each dorm AND a general school one).

Juudai's PDA buzzed at him from inside his pocket, startling him out of his light, pre-dinner doze. He fumbled with it for a moment before pulling it out to check the message he had just received.

'Meet me at the old Osiris Baths in ten minutes,' the message read, but what really surprised him was not that he was being called out to the bath house in the middle of the evening. It was that Manjoume, of all people, was the one calling him out there. Juudai shrugged off the sudden weirdness of the message and reached for his Yellow jacket all the same. Whatever. Manjoume probably had some super secret reason for wanting to hang out. Or maybe Asuka had called.

He caught himself as he reached for the door, mouth suddenly dry at the thought of what Asuka might be up to now. What would he do if she tried to recruit or convert or use her crazy girl magic on Manjoume to bring him back to the Light? Juudai knew that he had to stop Asuka, and Saiou, and the Light, and that it did not matter what it took to accomplish that. He had to stop them at any cost, but until that moment he had not bothered to consider the possibility that Manjoume might be included in that price.

Juudai reached up a hand to rub at the amulet beneath his shirt. It was cold as ice where it lay against his chest, even though he had been wearing it all day. He did not want to fight Manjoume again, not when they were finally getting the hang of just being friends.

"Kuku kuri?" Winged Kuriboh asked from where it had been resting on his desk. Juudai gave his partner a thumbs-up and a grin, the hand at his chest falling back to his side. The furry spirit made a small sound of acknowledgment and settled back down on the skin-bound tome that had been left out as Juudai exited the room.

The walk to the Osiris Red Baths was uneventful. It was a cool, clear night, and still bright enough that Juudai had to take the long way around through the jungle to avoid the roaming Morality Committee guards. Technically, there was still another hour and a half before curfew, but the green berets had been stopping and questioning students all day about their 'suspicious behavior' and destinations. Juudai came out on the far side of the island just north of the bridge that led to the old baths.

His PDA buzzed again as he was crossing the bridge, this time from Johan asking if he wanted to hang out later and duel. He sent a quick message back, letting the Obelisk student know where he had gone so that the boy could join them later on. Juudai was in the middle of composing a message to Shou asking him to come out, too - the whole gang could come out and it would be like a party and that would be so cool because they hadn't all hung out at the bath house since freshman year with Hayato - when he heard his name being called.

"Juudai! Hurry up!" it was Manjoume, of course, barking at him from where he was leaning against the side of the building next to the door. Juudai slipped his PDA into his back pocket, the message still half-written and unsent. The bath house looked very much as Juudai had remembered it: the red and off-white paint was still chipped and peeling off the weathered wooden structure that had been put over the old outdoor baths. The grass was still unkempt and patchy from last year, though a little longer now, a sign that the school caretakers never did find the time to make it out this way. It was stubbornly trying to overtake the dirt path from the end of the bridge to the door in some parts. Juudai grinned at the paler boy, who scowled back at him.

Osiris Red always felt like coming home.

"Door's locked."

"So you need my help to get it open?" Juudai teased, but bent to look at the lock. It was the same one that had been on it all last year, and the pick he kept in the inner pocket of his school jacket made quick work of it. He opened the door with an elaborate flourish and gestured for Manjoume to enter first. "Ta-da!"

"You know you're going to get caught one of these days, don't you?" Manjoume asked as he pushed off from the wall and headed past Juudai through the door. Juudai just shrugged and followed him inside toward the locker rooms.

"Hasn't happened yet. I have magic fingers," he said, wiggling the aforementioned digits in his companion's face. Manjoume swatted Juudai's hands away from where they brushed against his cheek.

"Yeah, right. You're about as magical as a pickpocket." Juudai didn't pay much attention to the muttered dig; while it wasn't the normal standard fare as far as insults went, the fact that Manjoume was grumpy while hanging out was to be expected. Manjoume had been grumpy for days, all scowls and dark glares and moody little jabs at everyone. Shou had speculated that it had something to do with the Morality Committee, but Manjoume's Sunday foray into their barracks was ages ago and he should have been over whatever had happened by now. It was Wednesday, for crying out loud!

The inside of the Osiris Red bath house was even more worn from time and use than its exterior. The colored tiles in the entrance hallway had been smoothed away by the stamping of feet until they were all the same uniform grey color, and the doors to the men's locker room were heavily dented and missing chunks of wood near the bottom edges. Inside, the faded red locker doors all sat a little bit crooked on their hinges and they creaked when Juudai opened them. There was rust on the ledge where his shoes would go, and cobwebs in all the corners. The whole room smelled faintly of mold.

Manjoume turned away from the other boy to undress and Juudai busied himself doing the same. He pulled his jacket and shirt off and tucked them into one of the empty lockers. His shoes, socks, and jeans quickly joined them, and he grabbed an old, threadbare towel from the nearby stack before heading to the baths.

When they stepped out of the locker room, Juudai took in the sight of the covered spring that made up the old Osiris Red baths. There was only one pool, set down into the bare ground in the style of a natural spring. From the center of the pool, a large rock towered up out of the water; it was perfect for playing King of the Hill, though that was a game that Manjoume strictly refused to play with Juudai and the rest of his friends. The pool was generally shallow and only reached waist-high in most places, but there were various rocks beneath the surface and a stone ledge beneath the water that went halfway along the edge of the pool on one side for people to sit on. Near the rock, the pool became deeper, perhaps because the designers had known that students would push one another or jump from the top.

The room they put over the spring was more or less circular and had only several frosted windows set into the ceiling to allow natural light in. Artificial lights also hung above them, obscured by the rising steam off the water. It had been built sometime over the summer after their freshman year to solve the problem of wild animals getting into the baths and harassing students. Apparently, not everyone handled bears wandering into the middle of their relaxing bath as well as Juudai and Shou had. Someone had thrown quite a fuss after being bitten by a seal, too, if the rumors were true.

Everything was quiet now, but Juudai knew that any sounds they made would echo off the walls and stones so persistently that whenever there were more than six people in the baths at one time it was deafening noise. The stones set into the dirt floor leading up to the edge of the pool were warm, and the air was wet and thick. Juudai breathed it in deep, smiling at the knowledge that the water would have that soothing, mineral feel of a natural spring. And really, what more could he ask for? His mother used to tell him that hot water could heal, and he had only once ever wondered if she used to say that because it was cheaper to pay the water bill than to see a doctor.

It was not until they had both slid into the warm water and taken seats next to one another on the ledge to relax that Manjoume seemed to notice. For a moment, Juudai was worried that the Fourth Dorm student had given himself whiplash with the speed and forcefulness with which he did that double-take.

"What. Is. That. Doing here?" Manjoume asked through clenched teeth, pointing to where the uppermost arch of the golden amulet could still be seen above the line of water at Juudai's chest. Juudai looked down at it, and then just shrugged.

"What?" The last time Juudai had heard himself sound this defensive in a single word, he had been coughing through the black smoke of an accidentally exploded smoke bomb in his living room while his mother threatened to ground him until he was eighty-five. Manjoume's mouth worked silently for a moment, and then his expression set itself into an angry snarl. He sent a hard splash of water into Juudai's face.

"You went back down there and got it out? After all the trouble we went through to hide the items and the book? I can't believe you. . ." Manjoume shook his head, his voice thick and heavy with disgust and disappointment. "You waited until I left to go back down through the elevator shaft."

It was the accusatory, vaguely hurt way that Manjoume said the last part that struck Juudai hardest. He sputtered through the water and splashed Manjoume back.

"Hey! You can see just fine on your own, and I needed it. But if you're just going to be a jerk about it, I'll go back to my dorm."

They glared at one another for a long moment before Manjoume caved. He sat back against the stone rim of the baths with a sigh, his shoulders sagging, and looked away out over the water. Juudai scooted closer, eying his friend with a concerned frown.

"You've been weird for days, Thunder-san; what's going on?"

"I needed to talk to you about the Morality Committee and Johan, and I wanted to be somewhere no one could overhear us."

Juudai's frown only deepened. "Johan? What does Johan have to do with the Morality Committee?"

"That's just it, Juudai!" Manjoume seemed to have gotten some of his normal, spastic spirit back now that they had reached the reason for their meeting. Juudai had to squint and bring an arm up to keep the water from getting him in the eyes again as Manjoume flailed his limbs in frustration. "I don't know yet, but don't you think it's suspicious? That he's suspicious?"

Juudai shot him a dour look. "You sound like Shou right now. What gives? Johan's a great guy."

Manjoume scowled darkly, perhaps at the knowledge that he and Shou shared any similarities, though Juudai was sure their dislike for the foreigner was for vastly different reasons. "I don't trust him."

"You don't trust anybody."

"Not the point," Manjoume replied stiffly. Juudai leveled him with a thoughtful look. Manjoume looked away with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest. "What did we learn at Duel Academy these last two years, Juudai?"

"Is this about the basement thing again?"

"No."

"Cultists are bad?"

"Try again."

"Uhm. . . Oh," Juudai said when he realized what Manjoume was driving at. "The foreigner thing."

"Yes?"

"And how they're bad, too."

"Exactly. I just don't think you should trust him the way you do until we know more about him."

"We?" Juudai latched onto the word like it was the last piece of fried shrimp. "Who's we?"

Manjoume grimaced at his slip. "You know, you and me and. . . and everyone else."

"You mean, you and. . . Shou?"

"And Kenzan and Rei and Misawa, too!" Manjoume was quick to add. Juudai just laughed.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he brushed off the other names as an afterthought. They lapsed into silence. Juudai propped his arms up on the stone rim and leaned his head back. "Y'know. . . speaking of 'everyone else,' have you heard from Asuka lately?"

He had asked it like he was trying to sound bored, disinterested. Non-committal. He failed miserably. Juudai thought he sounded strained and slightly frightened of the answer. And maybe he was, a little. His fingers itched to be fidgeting with something or touching the amulet, but he couldn't move his hands without bringing attention to his nervousness. Manjoume just shook his head, apparently oblivious.

"No, not since. . ." he trailed off, and they both seemed to think back to that last talk and the way Manjoume and Asuka had screamed at one another over the phone outside the Fourth Dorm. Manjoume's eyes narrowed as he regarded Juudai, who did his best to adopt an innocent expression. Suspicion tainted the younger boy's tone when he next spoke. "How did you know that she and I talked? You mentioned it before."

"Oh. I. . . I overheard you, is all."

"She isn't really bringing Saiou back, you know."

They watched each other's reaction carefully, distrustfully. But that was stupid, Juudai thought; why shouldn't he trust Manjoume to be honest about things concerning Asuka and Saiou? And why shouldn't Manjoume trust him? Juudai looked away first this time.

"I know. That's not what I'm worried about, anymore," Juudai paused, taking a deep breath and releasing it as a resigned sigh. "You said it yourself: he's dead. But the Light isn't, and I don't even know if it can die. I mean, who's to say that she can't find some way to bring the Light back?"

"What do you mean?" Manjoume asked.

"You know what I mean," he gave the younger boy a small, humorless quirk of the lips. "And you know that I'm right. The hero always knows who the real villain is."

"That's not even true for comic books, and if you haven't noticed, moron, this isn't one of your stupid flashy stories." It was snapped, angry like Manjoume wanted to smack him instead. "What are you going to do, Juudai?"

"Whatever I have to," Juudai retorted sharply, eyes narrowing. "Somebody has to stop it, and that somebody is me. It's always me. I'm the guy who saves the day. And just because you don't believe in heroes, Manjoume, doesn't mean that I haven't been one. I've always come through for you in the end, so why don't you trust me now? What changed this year?"

Manjoume swallowed hard. There was an uncertain pause, a tension in the air between them before the sudden flurry of movement. Before arms were wrapped around Juudai, and he was pressed wetly against Manjoume as the younger boy hugged him close. Juudai had been expecting something else entirely, another snide quip or another splash of water to the face, maybe, but not this.

They had hugged, a few times, over the last two years, usually after some near-death experience. Manjoume had never initiated it, though. As far as Juudai knew, Manjoume hated hugs. Juudai sat frozen, unsure what to do with his own hands. Manjoume's cheek was against his shoulder, face turned away. His hands were slick where they clutched at Juudai's shoulder blades. The amulet bit into him where it was pressed between their chests.

There was no gentle hissing of snakes like when he stood too close to his friends now. His skin didn't tingle and feel strange like it did when Johan touched him. He didn't feel like the amulet was too cold against him, like it was sucking out his warmth. Juudai put his arms around Manjoume, felt the twitch of muscle beneath his arms and the flinch as the action was unexpectedly reciprocated. He felt. . . comfortable. Like this was how it was supposed to be, just him and Manjoume against all the bad guys in the world.

"Hey. . ." he said softly, and Manjoume tightened his grip. "Hey, it's okay."

"It's not okay. Quit telling me it's okay, or that it'll be okay."

Juudai couldn't remember having told him that recently. Manjoume's shoulders trembled like he was trying not to cry. It was alarming to see the surly boy so vulnerable. Juudai moved one of his hands up and down along Manjoume's spine, slowly, trying to reassure him without words. If he wasn't allowed to tell him that things would be all right, what could he say? "I've got you."

"If you 'gotcha' me after this, I will break your face."

Juudai laughed.

"That's the Thunder-san I know! C'mon."

Manjoume relaxed his grip, and Juudai quit rubbing at his back. The black-haired boy pulled back slightly, breathing deeply through his nose and trying hard not to make it sound like he was sniffling. He wiped at his eyes with the back of one hand, and Juudai pretended that he couldn't see the tears. Manjoume's pale face was red and splotchy, and his hair, which always fell into his face anyway, was starting to hang limply due to the steam. Juudai chuckled, and brushed at some of it, teasing.

"You look awful."

"You're a jerk. I've had a rough week."

"Well, you could have told me sooner," Juudai said. His arms had slipped from around Manjoume's sides, and he clasped his hands loosely behind the small of the other's back, just above the towel. It occurred to him, vaguely, that it was a mildly suggestive move, and that there was very little between them right now. He could feel himself flushing, a little, but wasn't entirely sure why. The heat from the baths? It wasn't like Manjoume was Sara, which was the only other time he could remember feeling this way. "You could have, you know. Did you think I would laugh, or something?"

Manjoume scoffed at that. "You did laugh at me. You're still laughing at me."

He had a point. It made Juudai smile. Manjoume shook his head, exasperated, but with the. . .whatever it was, out of his system or almost out, he seemed to be reverting to normalcy between them. Juudai leaned back in, thumping their foreheads together lightly with another soft, 'hey.' Their noses touched. He was shocked Manjoume hadn't punched him yet.

". . .I don't want you to get shot."

"I don't wanna get shot, either. Promise," Juudai said. "It doesn't sound fun."

"And I don't want you to do something stupid and get hurt." Manjoume closed his eyes, sighing. When he inhaled, Juudai could feel the expansion of the other boy's chest against his own. He felt Manjoume's breath against his mouth and cheek. His heart had started beating faster at some point, and he wondered if Manjoume could feel it, too. "But I've never known how to stop you. I just. . . I don't want-"

"Don't want what?" Juudai asked, breathless.

"I don't-"

They were interrupted by the sound of the door from the locker room landing heavily against the frame as it swung closed. Manjoume pushed Juudai away from him so hard and so quickly that Juudai lost his footing and fell back into the water with an undignified squawk and splash. He came up gasping and coughing, blinking water from his eyes. They both turned to the source of the sound, to the wild hair and bright green eyes and the smiling mouth of the boy who was walking towards them, white towel around his waist.

"Wow," Johan said, looking around and taking it all in. "It's a little smaller than the Obelisk one, but it does have a certain charm, doesn't it?"

Manjoume's face tightened, his jaw tense. The look he gave to Juudai was murderous. "Of course. You invited him." It was not a question.

Had he? Juudai tried to think back to the walk over. Right. The text he sent to Johan. The one he hadn't sent to Shou, or Kenzan, or Misawa. He was breathing hard from the brief near-drowning experience, but Manjoume didn't seem to need him to verbally respond. When the remembrance dawned, the dark haired boy just shook his head and pulled himself up out of the water, headed for the locker rooms.

Johan looked vaguely hurt that Manjoume was going to storm out just because he had been invited. Juudai called out to him. "H-hey, Manjoume!"

"-San da!" he snapped back over his shoulder. "Just think about what I said, okay?"

What he'd said about what? Juudai stared after him incredulously, mouth opened and hands up in a gesture of supreme confusion. About not wanting him to get hurt or shot? About breaking his face if he tried to 'gotcha' him after they were done hugging? About not telling him it would be okay? A lot of things had been said, and Juudai was still left guessing what it was Manjoume had been going to say he didn't want when Johan entered.

The door to the locker rooms slammed shut behind Manjoume as he left the baths. Johan slid into the water, sitting on the ledge, and offered Juudai an apologetic look. "Did I interrupt something?"

Yes. "No," he lied and shook his head. "Manjoume's just. . ."

He didn't know what he had been trying to say. Johan smiled again, and reached out a hand to touch Juudai's arm just above the elbow. It make his skin hum with that strange sense of familiarity, with that secret something that they shared.

"Don't worry. He'll come around."

"Huh?"

"It's hard, sometimes, to see your friends make new friends," Johan clarified, shrugging. "But he'll get over it."

Don't you think it's suspicious? I don't think you should trust him. . . Manjoume's words came back to him then. But was there any reason not to trust Johan? He was a foreigner, yeah, but not every non-Japanese person on the island could be in cahoots with the Morality Committee. That seemed stupid, even by comic book standards.

Johan's fingers were still on his arm, that alien emotion still washing over him and through him. There was nothing to worry about. Manjoume had it all wrong. Juudai knew Johan, even if he couldn't explain how. There was something about Johan that he remembered from somewhere or some time in his past. Johan wasn't new, not really. He was part of Juudai's history, somehow; a person that he had known in ways that he had never known anyone else before or since.

"Juudai? What's on your mind?"

Juudai put his hand over Johan's fingers, pressing down the other boy's palm so that it lay flat against his tricep. The feeling intensified with the amount of contact they had with one another, Juudai had noticed. The thing that passed between them was like a spark, but not like static, not like electricity. It was something. . . something not quite tangible. Something real that he could count on but not quite grasp.

"What is that?" Juudai asked, ignoring Johan's question.

"It's just what happens." When we touch, seemed to be the unspoken ending. Juudai furrowed his brows, eyes narrowed as he considered the answer. He didn't get this feeling when he touched other people, he knew that with certainty. This evening had proved that, at least.

"Does it happen when you touch other people?" Maybe the something was specific to Johan, was caused by something inside him or something that had happened to him. A radioactive spider bite, perhaps, or a side effect of some secret cybernetic enhancement. Johan's smile only grew.

"No. It's just with you," he paused, his smile faltering, and then he started to pull his hand back. "Sorry."

Juudai caught his hand, feeling the pads of Johan's fingers very distinctly against the calluses on the ridge of his palm. It felt like he was noticing everything tonight in a weird way; first with Manjoume, and now with Johan.

"No, it's. . .it's okay."

"Is it?" Johan asked, the corner of his mouth quirking back up. He sounded cautious, Juudai thought, but looked playful, almost teasing. Johan had a peculiar way of being able to do both, to mix and match his tones and expressions so that Juudai wasn't quite sure what the other boy was getting at or really meant. And he had this different way of looking at him so that Juudai felt like they were keeping secrets, but he had gone and forgotten what the secret was. He had forgotten because he was a Fool.

"How do I know you?"

"We come from the same mold, I think."

Juudai scrunched up his nose at the crypticness of the answer. "What does that mean?"

"Like. . ." Johan struggled for the words. "Like, we're two sides of the same coin. Or maybe like we're brothers."

"Yeah? You think so?" Juudai laughed, the seriousness of the moment lost. He released Johan's hand at last, and splashed water at the other boy. "Brothers, huh? I like it. I've always got room for another little brother."

"That's not what I meant," Johan replied, chuckling and splashing Juudai back.

"I know."

"I know you know."

Juudai stood, gesturing to the rock in the center of the pool. "Have you ever played King of the Hill? C'mon, it'll be fun."

"Do you know how darkness gets inside an organization, Napoleon?" Raphael asked, his hands clasped loosely behind his back as he surveyed the island through the glass of the window that made up the right wall of Vice Principal Napoleon's office. The fat little Frenchman glowered, hunkering down in his seat behind the fanciful desk he had brought in last year. A part of him had known that this meeting was inevitable. Raphael had brought forth the motion to have Napoleon as Duel Academy's Vice Principal, and had argued in his favor with the other members of the Board of Directors. Few had liked the idea of having a 'Morality Committee dog' in the second most powerful position in the school; it had all been moot when the President of the Board started backing Napoleon as well.

There had been requirements, of course, and promises and bargains and deals still. School boards had their own politics, and every vote could be bought if one was willing to pay the price. Raphael could be bought, Napoleon thought, though he was careful to keep his face impassive and his expression flat. A frown tugged down at the corners of his mouth anyway. He wondered what it had cost the President of the Board to buy Raphael's loyalty and his Morality Committee from the Swiss mountain training camps.

A lifetime ago, Napoleon had been in one of those camps, not as a recruit but as an administrative official, as a logistical and financial expert when Raphael was trying to grow it from a core group of fanatics into something meaningful and lasting. He had known Raphael's parents before they had been killed in the tragic sinking of their cruise ship while on vacation with their two children. Neither they nor their daughter's bodies were ever found in the years that followed. Raphael had survived for almost ten years on a deserted island with nothing but his Duel Monsters deck and some ship debris for company. Napoleon sometimes wondered if it was this experience which shaped the man Raphael had become, or if some later horror he witnessed had pushed him towards the brutal righteousness of his cult.

There was silence in the room. Perhaps that question was not meant to be rhetorical. Outside, he could see dark clouds gathering. Napoleon shifted uncomfortably in his seat before looking away from the broad blond at the window to fidget with the buttons of his waistcoat.

"It sneaks in through the chinks in our armor," he answered. "That's why we must always remain vigilant and keep our standards high."

Raphael shook his head. "We let it in."

"Pardon?"

"I said, 'we let it in,'" he repeated, turning around slowly to face the desk. "We think that we are stronger than the darkness and that we won't be tempted by it. But we are not strong. Mankind has always been weak and easily corrupted. Our enemy is blunt and lacks elegance. It is not insidious, and it is not sneaking in behind our defenses. In our arrogance and our ignorance, we open the door and invite the darkness inside. It is coming into our ranks as an honored guest and leaving as our master. The nature of man and the nature of evil are one and the same, Napoleon."

In that moment, Napoleon wished that he were a strong or righteous man. But he was not. His frown deepened because he could not say that he disagreed, or that he thought that Raphael was being moody and childish. He should wear a black beret and talk into microphones at overpriced Parisian coffee shops to the snapping applause of other trust fund failures. What would Raphael know of mankind and its weakness? He was still a boy to Napoleon; he had barely even begun to live. He was, what? In his thirties now? And most of that had been spent alone. Thirty years ago, Napoleon had been getting out of the French military and getting married. He had gone into card tournaments and helped build the French circuit that would allow duelists to qualify for the world tournament. He had been the best duelist in western Europe for a time. He had buried two children before they had ever been born. Fifteen years ago, Napoleon's wife, Josèphine, had given birth to the child they had been longing for as their marriage crumbled around them. He spent the second year of Martin's life in rehab after trying to drink himself to death when he stopped entering Duel Monster tournaments. Ten years ago, Josèphine divorced him, saying that enough was enough.

Napoleon had not seen his son in three years. He kept winning the same 'six months of sobriety' chip over and over again, because it had always been too damn easy to fall off the wagon. Napoleon knew that he had more faults than graces. He was quick to anger and quicker to judgment. He flaked under pressure. He ate too much and exercised too little. Even his dueling skill had suffered over the years. But Napoleon had never been back to that dark, empty place in his life where it had seemed like hope was lost and there was nothing worth living for anymore. He had never reconsidered suicide, not even while drunk.

Napoleon would never argue that he was a strong man, but he knew with certainty that he was neither a weak nor an evil man, and for Raphael to suggest otherwise was patronizing at best.

"Is that so?" he replied instead. Napoleon did not trust himself not to spit at the young man by the window if he said anything more.

"Why did you assist the Society of Light last year?"

He did not have to answer that question. Legally, Raphael could not ask him about his religious affiliations, past or present, and they could not be held against him. He thought it was why he still had a job. Or rather, had had a job. Raphael cared little for what was and what was not legal. Napoleon knew this had to happen. He would be removed as Vice Principal, and told to leave the island. Perhaps they would even give him until Friday. "You not only opened the door for them, Napoleon, you helped them settle in and establish themselves on the island. You might as well have joined them in their folly."

The older man could not help but laugh at this. The sound was sharp and bitingly high, cutting through the office like a knife. Of course. What need did he have for an organization which promised to right past wrongs and cleanse souls? Raphael could not understand the weight of a life's worth of regret. How could any young man understand what that would drive someone to do? Besides, it had seemed like an easy fix to the Osiris infestation he had been grappling with last year. "Spare me the sermon. Are you here for my resignation, or to fire me?"

Raphael crossed the room and stood directly in front of the desk. He regarded Napoleon with an oddly disappointed expression for a moment. Napoleon wanted to stand up on the desk and slap that look off the younger man's face. When Raphael first returned to France, he had stayed with Napoleon and his wife while trying to piece his life back together. It seemed impossible now to reconcile the memory of the broken man crying over empty graves with the overbearing general that Raphael had become. Raphael pulled the pistol out of its side holster in a single smooth, swift motion, and before Napoleon could react, the gun was set on the surface of the desk between them.

It was as if the air had been removed from the room. Napoleon could not breathe. He could not gasp because the silence was so heavy that he was choking on it.

"Your resignation," Raphael's voice was flat, monotone. There was nothing in the eyes that met Napoleon's horrified gaze. "If you die in sin with something that resembles honor, as a friend, I'll take care of your family. I'll make sure they're provided for, and I'll write your wife and son a nice letter where I lie about the kind of man you've become. I'll make sure your body makes it home for the funeral."

He was shocked to think that he was one of Raphael's friends, and that asking a man to shoot himself was something Raphael thought a friend would do. Napoleon had always assumed that his nomination to Vice Principal had been related to the prior acquaintance between them; that seemed like something a friend would do. This seemed insane.

"You are a man who does not deserve the redemption of paradise. If you do not resign, you will be incarcerated in a six-by-six cell for the rest of your miserable, pathetic little life, and since you won't be able to pay that child support that you're behind on, your family will be destitute. Martin's back in the hospital. How do you think Josèphine will be able to pay for that without your support?" It was not a question Raphael expected Napoleon to answer. "You have one hour to decide."

And with that, Raphael swept from the office, the door slamming heavily behind him. Napoleon stared down the gun in front of him. He picked it up with shaking hands but could not turn it on himself. He did not want to die. Napoleon set the gun back down on the desk. Outside, it had started to rain. A storm was coming.

Juudai had decided that the volcano was much too far to be hiking out to on a school night when – apparently – the repercussions for being late to first period the next morning would have been to be shot. Absently, he wondered if they would aim differently depending on how much time the student missed. Arrive five minutes past the bell and get shot in the foot, for example. Show up twenty minutes late, and take a bullet to the knee cap. It seemed more reasonable than a headshot no matter what.

But, despite all that sense-making, he still thought the volcano would have been a better place to use for this. It would have been a lot cooler and more mystic-y at this hour. He had only gone out as far as Duel Academy's utility sheds and power generators, crammed into that clearing two miles from the back of the school. There were quite a few memories out here on these electricity-laced fields; he still remembered the first monster he had seen materialize here, the extra energy making it crackle and seem real instead of just another hologram. Jinzo had been a real badass in that duel.

There was blood on the ground now, smearing in wide streaks on the boy's fingers and up his exposed forearms. It was scrawled out in ancient symbols surrounding them both, the warrior and his sacrifice, in an uneven circle. There was a book lying open on the ground beside his gore-stained boots. He looked down, double-checking that the pictures on the pages looked about the same as the markings on the sacrifice, on the ground, and on his arms. His pictographs were a little crooked here, slanted a little too far to the right over there. One of them he thought was supposed to be a. . . a monkey, he decided, but it could have been bear. Or a boat. Or a bear-monkey on a boat. In any case, his version on the ground looked nothing like any of those things.

It was probably close enough, though. How precise were these things really supposed to be? He figured this was close enough to get the job done. Points for effort, and all that. Besides, these strange seals and this weirdo alchemy with its mumbly jumbly stuff had to have some margin for error and creative license. It was nice that the book had tried to use language that he could understand, but really, the whole thing was a little over his head. Blah blah blah, blood sacrifice, blah blah blah, spell to control demonic power, blah blah blah. Whatever.

He absently wiped the blood on his hands on his school uniform jacket and stonewashed jeans. The thing at his feet made a soft cry that fell into a moan of pain that he chose to ignore. The animal would be dead soon. It had to bleed outeventually. He took a half step back, shaking a piece of its intestinal tract off one of his boots. The whole field seemed to be rippling with power and not just the electricity and fear that had permeated the air in the last hour. His arms tingled; the amulet burned his chest where it lay against his skin, colder than ever. There were dark, dark forces at work here now, teeming just below the visible surface of reality, clawing at the fabric of the world in an attempt to cross over into it.

Glancing down at his hands and jacket, Juudai frowned. Maybe he should not have done that. He was not sure how he was going to get all this blood out of his white and yellow uniform before class in the morning.

Above him, the sky continued to darken, heavy clouds rolling in with anger and fervor. There was a flash of lightning, and a half-beat later came the booming thunder. It was starting to rain, further distorting his already misshapen attempts at ritual. He looked back to the school building. Something flashed in one of the rooms on the top floor, lighting up the window for a second before it fell back into darkness.

The amulet started to burn him.

Juudai clutched at his chest, and the cold metal burned his fingers, his skin blistering where it touched him. The hero cursed, yanking at the leather cord it hung on in an attempt to remove it. The cord snapped, but the amulet stayed in place. Juudai gagged on the heavy stench of singed flesh in the thick, ozone-laden air. He stripped off his jacket and shirt, clawing at the place between his pectorals where the amulet had sunken into his chest until the metal was flush with his skin. The snakes hissed at him as his short nails scratched at their etched scales, their eyes glowing briefly, intensely, red. Like blood, came the wild thought through the pain.

And then they were silent. Their eyes emptied back to the gleam of gold. The rain came down hard, pelting his head and shoulders, but Juudai stayed in the center of the washed out circle of blood. His sacrifice was dead, and the amulet from the Seven Stars had warmed with the heat of his body. Juudai tried to pick at the flat seam where his skin stopped and the metal began. He succeeded only in scratching a small raw spot just to the right of his sternum.

"Well, fuck."