Disclaimer: Row, row, row your boat, gently down the ravine, merrily, merrily — oh, I just wanted you to know I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh — merrily, merrily, life has been redeemed.

Chapter 3:

Blackout Before Dawn

The night was cold, very cold. Yami was running; he didn't have the heart to go home and tell Grampa Mutoh what had happened, especially since there was no decent reason why any of it should have taken place at all.

There was no reason why Yugi should have died, and there was no explanation as to why his body had vanished from the hospital seemingly into thin air.

Duke was no longer with the Ancient King; Yami had left him back at the hospital without a word as to where he was going or what he intended to do once he got there. But the Pharaoh didn't care.

He just ran; the muscles in his legs were shrieking for him to stop, and his lungs ached each time he tried to take a breath. But he didn't cease in his headlong flight, he just ran on – and on.

He slammed himself through a partial opening between two bushes, ignoring the sudden, sharp pain in his hands and face caused by doing such a thing.

He went on and on, stumbling several times, nearly crashing himself full upon the moist, leaf-strewn ground. His heart was racing, his eyes were blinking back tears.

Again, he tried to breath, and this time a terrible pain struck through the whole of his chest. He gasped, and staggered; his booted toe caught against an out-lying tree root, and he was felled.

He gave a grunt melded with a cry.

Yet despite all the pain he felt thus, he raised his fist and rammed it into the ground. He did this, again and again, almost insanely until his hand was bloodied and twitching with fatigue.

Then he collapsed, face down, and trembled . . .

The cold of the night surrounded him, moving in on all sides, yet kept at bay only, it seemed, by the thin sheen of sweat covering his exposed skin.

He could heard no other sound but his own labored, rasping breath; he grimaced. The ground smelled strange, not at all like fresh wet earth but like something long kept; all at once, the scent of decay pressed into Yami's nosed and he jerked his face away.

With an effort, he pushed himself up to his hands and knees. He hissed suddenly through his teeth, and hugged the arm of his injured hand.

Slowly he began to shake his head, and tears slid freely from his eyes. Thus he sat, a solitary figure in the half moonlight, surrounded by shadows, and frost.

"Drat you," he muttered, his lip quivering in the frigid air, "Drat you whatever you are that took my—" Yami's voice was choked by a sob.

Minutes passed like hours as he remained seated upon the cold, hard ground.

Then, at last, he started forward, crawling slowly at first, until his hand fell across something on the ground made of cloth. He stopped.

He moved and gripped the fabric; once more, he sat back upon his folded legs, and held the item between his hands in front of his eyes. He studied it, despite the glaring darkness – and gasped.

It was Yugi's jacket.

The Pharaoh couldn't breath. 'Yugi, Yugi—' Yami hugged the article against his chest. 'My friend, my partner, my brother!'

Yami looked upward at the star-specked sky. "Let me go to him! Let me be beside him! He's my brother!! PLEASE!"

Yami thought he saw a spark of white light; his mind flashed, and he reeled backward, slamming against the ground — he was still. He stared blankly skyward for a moment.

Then, taking a deep gasp of air into his lungs, his eyes rolled back in his head . . . and everything went black.