Notes: This is not yaoi ^_~ And no, the jewelry is not a Millennium Item ^_~ Marik wears quite a bit of Egyptian jewelry. It's part of his culture ^^
"Marik," the boy repeated, trying out the name.
"Does it ring any bells?" Anita asked.
The boy thought hard. "No," he said, looking sad, "but it's as good a name as any."
"Then Marik it is," Anita smiled, patting him on the shoulder.
****
Outside a group of men threw off their dark robes and sneered.
"I can't believe we're really free of his mind control," one of them remarked.
"Well, we are," said a second, "and now we're going to have our revenge."
"Are you sure we should do this?" a third one said doubtfully. "I mean, it just doesn't seem right, since he's been sick and all."
"So what?" the second one said flippantly. "If anything bad happens to him, I figure he sure as heck deserves it! After all the agony he put us through, he should die in cold blood!"
The others in the group echoed the sentiment. "Tonight is the night," the first one declared, "that Marik Ishtar will perish!"
****
Bakura returned to his house that night, feeling uneasy and worried. What Joey had said earlier had made him afraid that he was being followed. But who would be coming after him? It didn't make sense.
[What is the matter with you?!] Yami Bakura demanded from inside the Ring as Bakura glanced all around furtively.
{I'm sorry, Yami,} Bakura replied with a sigh. {I keep feeling as though someone has been following us!}
[That's absurd,] Yami Bakura snapped. [There's no one around, you dolt.]
Bakura knew that that was likely true, but it didn't stop him from calling out bravely, "Who's there?" Not receiving an answer, he unlocked the front door and went inside.
The Ring glowed and then Bakura's naughty Yami appeared in the living room, looking put out. "You pathetic mortal," he growled. "You are becoming paranoid!"
"No, I'm not!" Bakura cried defensively. He glanced around the empty room, feeling a certain sadness. He wished his father wasn't always traveling. When Bakura was younger, he used to do lots of fun things with his dad, but now his father was always too busy for him. Bakura was usually alone in the house these days with only his Yami, who generally wasn't very good company.
Now Yami Bakura wandered out into the kitchen to get some chocolate milk. Bakura sighed and followed him, closing the blinds as he went.
Suddenly the ancient thief let out a howl of pain and Bakura heard a dull crash. "Yami?" the boy cried, panic-stricken. "Yami?!"
"Don't . . . come in," the tomb raider gasped, and Bakura could hear the sounds of a struggle.
"Yami, what's happening?!" Bakura demanded, running to the doorway.
A knife flew overhead and stuck in the wall about an inch away from the silver-haired boy.
"Oh my!" he exclaimed, his brown eyes wide.
"You dolt!!!" Yami Bakura yelled. "I told you not to come in!!!" The thief was scrapping on the floor with a tough-looking opponent, and blood was splattering everywhere. Bakura couldn't tell whose it was, but the sight made him feel faint and dizzy. He turned away before he could pass out.
Suddenly all was silent. Bakura stood still, listening, his heart pounding. If he tried to go in the kitchen he might get knifed, but he was worried about the tomb robber. "Yami?" he called quaveringly. Not getting an answer, he found himself becoming more frantic. "Yami!!" he called louder. "Are you alright?" Still there was silence. Bakura knew he had to go see what had happened.
When he entered the kitchen, the innocent boy stopped short in horror. The backdoor was blowing in the breeze and his Yami was laying on the floor in a pool of blood, clutching a knife. No one else was in sight, but Bakura could see a trail of blood leading outside. Yami Bakura must have stabbed his attacker, Bakura decided, but it looked like the tomb robber was in much worse shape from what the assailant had done to him.
Quickly Bakura dropped to his knees next to the ancient thief, his hands shaking as he pulled the knife away. "Yami! Oh Yami, what happened?!" Now he saw that his Yami had been stabbed in the back and he gasped in horror. He realized that the pool of blood was his Yami's . . . not the attacker's, as he originally had thought.
He grabbed for the nearest thing he could find—which turned out to be a dishtowel—and pressed it against the thief's wound to stop the bleeding.
Yami Bakura stirred slightly, moaning in pain.
"It's alright, Yami," Bakura whispered shakily, feeling dizzy again. "You'll be alright." Naturally he still wondered what on earth had happened, but he knew this was no time to try finding out.
The tomb raider struggled to speak. "Lock . . . lock the door . . . you fool," he gasped.
Bakura blinked. He hadn't even remembered that the door was open. "But Yami . . ." he protested.
"Lock it," Yami Bakura hissed. "Or . . . or . . . they'll . . . they'll be . . . back." He groaned as he went under again.
Slowly Bakura removed the dishtowel and found that the bleeding had slowed. Hopefully it would soon stop completely, he thought to himself as he reached over with one hand to lock the door and slip the deadbolt into place.
He decided he'd better call Yugi. He hated to trouble him so late, but he didn't know what else to do. His Yami was hurt and needed help, and since Yugi had a Yami as well, maybe he would know what to do.
****
Seto had been working far into the night hours, and he was starting to get tired. When he glanced back to check on Mokuba, he discovered that the younger boy had already fallen asleep curled up on the couch.
With a tender smile, Seto got up and walked over to his brother. Gently he tousled the younger boy's hair and then took his trenchcoat off, covering Mokuba's little body with it.
When he turned to go back to his work, his blood ran cold. He sensed a dark presence in the room. "Who's here?" he demanded.
A chilling laugh was the answer. "You don't know my name, but I know yours—Seto Kaiba!"
Seto growled angrily and positioned himself protectively in front of Mokuba. "What is you want?"
"I am looking for what once was mine," the voice hissed.
"I don't have it," Seto said firmly.
"I know you don't," the voice replied. "But you do know the person who now possesses it."
"You're not making sense!" Seto fumed.
"You know what I'm referring to!" the voice said accusingly.
"No, I don't." Seto's eyes narrowed in vexation.
"If you didn't, you wouldn't be so quick to say you didn't have it."
With that the voice ceased to speak and the dark feeling left. Seto knew that whatever it was had departed, and he had to admit he was quite relieved. But who had it been? And what had they been after? The voice sounded vaguely familiar, and yet Seto couldn't place where he'd heard it before. It sounded so dark, so evil. . . . A chill ran up Seto's spine and he sat down on the couch to try to figure things out.
Mokuba stirred vaguely and Seto moved over closer to him, letting the younger boy use his leg as a pillow. Before he knew it, Seto had slipped into an unwilling sleep himself.
His dreams were confused and nebulous. He was floating in the air . . . was he dead? Or . . . wait! Who was that standing on the ground below, laughing like a maniac? It looked like himself, but . . . he was above him! Or was he?
The boy on the ground looked up suddenly and regarded Seto with a look of immense loathing and revulsion. "You could never be me," he hissed, and suddenly Seto was falling. Down, down . . . until he crashed on the ground below and lay dying.
Then Mokuba was at his side, crying. "Big brother!! Big brother!!" he wailed, shaking the older boy frantically. "Wake up, Seto!! Wake up!!"
Suddenly Seto was startled back to reality. Mokuba really *was* shaking him, and they were both on the floor, all tangled up in Seto's trenchcoat. "Mokuba! Hey, kid, I'm awake!" Seto cried, not especially enjoying being shaken.
Mokuba let go of his brother and stared worriedly into his blue eyes. "Seto, are you okay?" he asked. "You were crying out in your sleep and then you fell on the floor!" He didn't mention that he had been thrown to the floor as well.
Seto blinked and sat up. "I'm . . . I'm fine, Mokuba," he said at last. He shook his head. "I was just having a bad dream." But now as he tried to remember what it had been about, his mind was a blank.
****
Marik was having trouble sleeping. He couldn't shake the feeling that something ominous was about to happen.
He glanced at the wall clock. 2am. What would possibly happen at two o'clock in the morning? Perhaps it was all in his head. No one was around except the night nurse.
Suddenly he heard the door to his room being opened. Quickly he lay back down and pretended to be asleep, his heart racing wildly.
"He's in here," one cold voice announced.
"Is he asleep?" another one asked in hushed tones.
"Yeah, but he can stay asleep until we get him out of here," the first replied. "That's when we really want to torture him!"
"We should just kill him now," a third voice hissed.
Marik was horrified. These men were after him! Why? What had he done to stir them up in such rage and hatred?
Instantly he sprang up, standing on the bed and facing his would-be murderers. "What do you want?" he demanded. "Why are you attempting to end my life?"
"Oh, it's so good to see you again," one of the strange men sneered. "Master!" He spat the word out as if it tasted bad, and Marik was again appalled.
"'Master'?" he repeated. "I . . . I don't know what you mean . . ."
"Don't play dumb with us," another one growled. "You don't have the Millennium Rod any more, and without it, you can't control us. And that leaves us free to destroy you!"
Marik jumped out of the way just as the man moved in for the attack, brandishing a knife. The weapon ripped through the mattress, leaving a gaping hole.
Marik had to get out of here—now. Thinking fast, he shoved one of the lockers at them, grabbed his shoes, and ran out.
The night nurse gasped. "You there! You're not supposed to be running through the hospital at this time of night!!"
"I'm sorry!" Marik yelled back. "But if I don't, some very strange, angry men will kill me!!" He tore down the hall and spotted a cart full of freshly washed towels. Perhaps he could hide in there! It was worth a try. Those men would round the corner any minute.
Removing a huge stack of towels, Marik leaped into the cart and then replaced the towels over his head. He lay in the darkness, his breath coming in short, brief gasps. Would he be safe in there?
He wondered what kind of person he was. He must be despicable if he could drive men to actually try killing him.
His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the men in the hall.
"He can't have gone far," one of them said.
"You check down there, and I'll check over here," another one directed.
Marik could hear the person coming closer to his hideout. Would he be discovered?
"Marik," the boy repeated, trying out the name.
"Does it ring any bells?" Anita asked.
The boy thought hard. "No," he said, looking sad, "but it's as good a name as any."
"Then Marik it is," Anita smiled, patting him on the shoulder.
****
Outside a group of men threw off their dark robes and sneered.
"I can't believe we're really free of his mind control," one of them remarked.
"Well, we are," said a second, "and now we're going to have our revenge."
"Are you sure we should do this?" a third one said doubtfully. "I mean, it just doesn't seem right, since he's been sick and all."
"So what?" the second one said flippantly. "If anything bad happens to him, I figure he sure as heck deserves it! After all the agony he put us through, he should die in cold blood!"
The others in the group echoed the sentiment. "Tonight is the night," the first one declared, "that Marik Ishtar will perish!"
****
Bakura returned to his house that night, feeling uneasy and worried. What Joey had said earlier had made him afraid that he was being followed. But who would be coming after him? It didn't make sense.
[What is the matter with you?!] Yami Bakura demanded from inside the Ring as Bakura glanced all around furtively.
{I'm sorry, Yami,} Bakura replied with a sigh. {I keep feeling as though someone has been following us!}
[That's absurd,] Yami Bakura snapped. [There's no one around, you dolt.]
Bakura knew that that was likely true, but it didn't stop him from calling out bravely, "Who's there?" Not receiving an answer, he unlocked the front door and went inside.
The Ring glowed and then Bakura's naughty Yami appeared in the living room, looking put out. "You pathetic mortal," he growled. "You are becoming paranoid!"
"No, I'm not!" Bakura cried defensively. He glanced around the empty room, feeling a certain sadness. He wished his father wasn't always traveling. When Bakura was younger, he used to do lots of fun things with his dad, but now his father was always too busy for him. Bakura was usually alone in the house these days with only his Yami, who generally wasn't very good company.
Now Yami Bakura wandered out into the kitchen to get some chocolate milk. Bakura sighed and followed him, closing the blinds as he went.
Suddenly the ancient thief let out a howl of pain and Bakura heard a dull crash. "Yami?" the boy cried, panic-stricken. "Yami?!"
"Don't . . . come in," the tomb raider gasped, and Bakura could hear the sounds of a struggle.
"Yami, what's happening?!" Bakura demanded, running to the doorway.
A knife flew overhead and stuck in the wall about an inch away from the silver-haired boy.
"Oh my!" he exclaimed, his brown eyes wide.
"You dolt!!!" Yami Bakura yelled. "I told you not to come in!!!" The thief was scrapping on the floor with a tough-looking opponent, and blood was splattering everywhere. Bakura couldn't tell whose it was, but the sight made him feel faint and dizzy. He turned away before he could pass out.
Suddenly all was silent. Bakura stood still, listening, his heart pounding. If he tried to go in the kitchen he might get knifed, but he was worried about the tomb robber. "Yami?" he called quaveringly. Not getting an answer, he found himself becoming more frantic. "Yami!!" he called louder. "Are you alright?" Still there was silence. Bakura knew he had to go see what had happened.
When he entered the kitchen, the innocent boy stopped short in horror. The backdoor was blowing in the breeze and his Yami was laying on the floor in a pool of blood, clutching a knife. No one else was in sight, but Bakura could see a trail of blood leading outside. Yami Bakura must have stabbed his attacker, Bakura decided, but it looked like the tomb robber was in much worse shape from what the assailant had done to him.
Quickly Bakura dropped to his knees next to the ancient thief, his hands shaking as he pulled the knife away. "Yami! Oh Yami, what happened?!" Now he saw that his Yami had been stabbed in the back and he gasped in horror. He realized that the pool of blood was his Yami's . . . not the attacker's, as he originally had thought.
He grabbed for the nearest thing he could find—which turned out to be a dishtowel—and pressed it against the thief's wound to stop the bleeding.
Yami Bakura stirred slightly, moaning in pain.
"It's alright, Yami," Bakura whispered shakily, feeling dizzy again. "You'll be alright." Naturally he still wondered what on earth had happened, but he knew this was no time to try finding out.
The tomb raider struggled to speak. "Lock . . . lock the door . . . you fool," he gasped.
Bakura blinked. He hadn't even remembered that the door was open. "But Yami . . ." he protested.
"Lock it," Yami Bakura hissed. "Or . . . or . . . they'll . . . they'll be . . . back." He groaned as he went under again.
Slowly Bakura removed the dishtowel and found that the bleeding had slowed. Hopefully it would soon stop completely, he thought to himself as he reached over with one hand to lock the door and slip the deadbolt into place.
He decided he'd better call Yugi. He hated to trouble him so late, but he didn't know what else to do. His Yami was hurt and needed help, and since Yugi had a Yami as well, maybe he would know what to do.
****
Seto had been working far into the night hours, and he was starting to get tired. When he glanced back to check on Mokuba, he discovered that the younger boy had already fallen asleep curled up on the couch.
With a tender smile, Seto got up and walked over to his brother. Gently he tousled the younger boy's hair and then took his trenchcoat off, covering Mokuba's little body with it.
When he turned to go back to his work, his blood ran cold. He sensed a dark presence in the room. "Who's here?" he demanded.
A chilling laugh was the answer. "You don't know my name, but I know yours—Seto Kaiba!"
Seto growled angrily and positioned himself protectively in front of Mokuba. "What is you want?"
"I am looking for what once was mine," the voice hissed.
"I don't have it," Seto said firmly.
"I know you don't," the voice replied. "But you do know the person who now possesses it."
"You're not making sense!" Seto fumed.
"You know what I'm referring to!" the voice said accusingly.
"No, I don't." Seto's eyes narrowed in vexation.
"If you didn't, you wouldn't be so quick to say you didn't have it."
With that the voice ceased to speak and the dark feeling left. Seto knew that whatever it was had departed, and he had to admit he was quite relieved. But who had it been? And what had they been after? The voice sounded vaguely familiar, and yet Seto couldn't place where he'd heard it before. It sounded so dark, so evil. . . . A chill ran up Seto's spine and he sat down on the couch to try to figure things out.
Mokuba stirred vaguely and Seto moved over closer to him, letting the younger boy use his leg as a pillow. Before he knew it, Seto had slipped into an unwilling sleep himself.
His dreams were confused and nebulous. He was floating in the air . . . was he dead? Or . . . wait! Who was that standing on the ground below, laughing like a maniac? It looked like himself, but . . . he was above him! Or was he?
The boy on the ground looked up suddenly and regarded Seto with a look of immense loathing and revulsion. "You could never be me," he hissed, and suddenly Seto was falling. Down, down . . . until he crashed on the ground below and lay dying.
Then Mokuba was at his side, crying. "Big brother!! Big brother!!" he wailed, shaking the older boy frantically. "Wake up, Seto!! Wake up!!"
Suddenly Seto was startled back to reality. Mokuba really *was* shaking him, and they were both on the floor, all tangled up in Seto's trenchcoat. "Mokuba! Hey, kid, I'm awake!" Seto cried, not especially enjoying being shaken.
Mokuba let go of his brother and stared worriedly into his blue eyes. "Seto, are you okay?" he asked. "You were crying out in your sleep and then you fell on the floor!" He didn't mention that he had been thrown to the floor as well.
Seto blinked and sat up. "I'm . . . I'm fine, Mokuba," he said at last. He shook his head. "I was just having a bad dream." But now as he tried to remember what it had been about, his mind was a blank.
****
Marik was having trouble sleeping. He couldn't shake the feeling that something ominous was about to happen.
He glanced at the wall clock. 2am. What would possibly happen at two o'clock in the morning? Perhaps it was all in his head. No one was around except the night nurse.
Suddenly he heard the door to his room being opened. Quickly he lay back down and pretended to be asleep, his heart racing wildly.
"He's in here," one cold voice announced.
"Is he asleep?" another one asked in hushed tones.
"Yeah, but he can stay asleep until we get him out of here," the first replied. "That's when we really want to torture him!"
"We should just kill him now," a third voice hissed.
Marik was horrified. These men were after him! Why? What had he done to stir them up in such rage and hatred?
Instantly he sprang up, standing on the bed and facing his would-be murderers. "What do you want?" he demanded. "Why are you attempting to end my life?"
"Oh, it's so good to see you again," one of the strange men sneered. "Master!" He spat the word out as if it tasted bad, and Marik was again appalled.
"'Master'?" he repeated. "I . . . I don't know what you mean . . ."
"Don't play dumb with us," another one growled. "You don't have the Millennium Rod any more, and without it, you can't control us. And that leaves us free to destroy you!"
Marik jumped out of the way just as the man moved in for the attack, brandishing a knife. The weapon ripped through the mattress, leaving a gaping hole.
Marik had to get out of here—now. Thinking fast, he shoved one of the lockers at them, grabbed his shoes, and ran out.
The night nurse gasped. "You there! You're not supposed to be running through the hospital at this time of night!!"
"I'm sorry!" Marik yelled back. "But if I don't, some very strange, angry men will kill me!!" He tore down the hall and spotted a cart full of freshly washed towels. Perhaps he could hide in there! It was worth a try. Those men would round the corner any minute.
Removing a huge stack of towels, Marik leaped into the cart and then replaced the towels over his head. He lay in the darkness, his breath coming in short, brief gasps. Would he be safe in there?
He wondered what kind of person he was. He must be despicable if he could drive men to actually try killing him.
His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the men in the hall.
"He can't have gone far," one of them said.
"You check down there, and I'll check over here," another one directed.
Marik could hear the person coming closer to his hideout. Would he be discovered?