Author's Note: Okay, just so you all know (though you probably don't want to), I have always seen good and evil as a matter of perspective. Therefore, there is nothing in the world that is 100% evil. But there are some things that are so close to it that the difference hardly matters.
Yami Marik is one such thing. And this piece certainly reflects that theory.
On a lighter note, I'd like to dedicate this to my friend Valerie (known on FF.Net as Asherah), and her Marik obsession ^^;;; So what if this is a Yami Marik fic? It's still close enough. And I hope you like it, sugar-muffin ~.^
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Darkness Rising
Darkness. In and through and encompassing everything, darkness. How long had he been here? Even he did not know. But it did not really matter to him. His was a waiting game, and he played it well.
What was he? It was easy to forget, as all the ages of the world passed him by. But it was equally easy to remember; the answer lurked with him in the darkness.
He was hate, he was rage. He was the madness that drove a man to cut down all before him. He was blood and fire. He was that which made the creatures of the earth turn on one another and tear each other apart.
He was the original evil. All the cruelty of the world had its roots in him.
But nothing can exist without its opposite. And so, to his darkness, there was a light.
Always, always they fought. Since the first dawn when the sun appeared, they fought. From life to life, form to form, they were locked together in a combat with no end. One may win in one life, and the other in the next, but the final victory was yet undecided.
The reason for this war of spirits had long been forgotten by them both, if indeed they ever knew it. They simply did what they did, the way a seed rises up and pushes itself into the sunlit world without knowing how or why.
...Pharoah. That had been only one of the other's names in one of his many lives, but still the spirit thought of him as such.
How he hated him. As death hates life, as dark hates light.
But there was nothing to be done for that now, save waiting. And so he did. He waited for his next life to take him, and for the battle to begin again.
Time passed - he knew not how long - a river flowing into eternity.
Then light came, flooding the darkness, pushing it back and away. Disgust grew in him. Life and sun and light was of the other, his enemy. This was the Pharoah's world.
But he could win it. He could take it and tear it apart. That thought had been with him a long time, even in his reckoning of things.
Ah, yes. How fine a victory that would be.
Life returned to him, the life he loathed and longed for.
So it would be a boy this time. An image passed before him, a boy little more than a child, with dusky skin and sandy-white hair, and pale, beautiful violet eyes. But there was terrible hurt in those eyes, and a muffled anger.
Anger made it all so much easier to take over. It was as if the boy was a stone, and his rage a fissure through it. A fissure the spirit could open wider and wider until it was a yawning abyss that drew all into its depths.
If the spirit could have, he would have grinned. Yes, this would be easy.
~*FINIS*~