Chapter 3: Sanjiyan

Malik snarled as he watched the Thing beat on the walls of its pyramid-shaped prison. There was nothing more he wanted to do than to grab this creature that was his slaver for so long, and wring his neck. He wanted to hurt it as badly as he had been hurting for so long. He wanted to take out all his anger and pain on it, see it writhing in agony. He wanted to break it thoroughly before he finally destroyed it entirely. But he couldn't touch it! The need for revenge consumed his entire being, but he couldn't take it out on the being that most deserved it. He could lock it away, he could scare it, he could listen to its whimpers as it watched him hurt all those humans who had enslaved him, but he couldn't make it bleed.

"This is all your fault!" It had taken away everything that was his. It had taken his body, his freedom, even his name. It was the one they called Malik! And now, even when his freedom was so close, he still was a prisoner. He was prisoner to the spells on his back that prevented him from using his power, the power that could have obliterated his treacherous 'family' in an instant, and destroyed the legacy of the 'Pharaoh Atem'.

The Thing, his so-called Light looked at him with hatred, and stood up within his clear cell. "How exactly is this my fault?" he yelled. "You're the one who corrupted me! You're the one who ruined my life!"

"Life?" Malik practically laughed. "What life? You don't exist! For thousands of years you were only there to keep me in check, and you blame me? If it wasn't for you, they would not have been able to keep me under control so long!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" the other Malik retorted. "You're a maniac! You're evil!"

"All you're spouting is the nonsense you've been fed. How dare you decide that you have a right to live in my body?"

"It's not your body!"

Malik stared in mild disgust at the one struggling to break free. Obviously, it was delusional; there was no other explanation. He turned away from it, leaving it alone in the dark.

. . . .

The Sanjiyan now was a far cry from the frightened child he had been. Then, he had been young and weak, and the torture and betrayal he suffered had left him helpless and nearly broken. But the Sanjiyan nature is not meek, nor is it forgiving. Being alone for so long gave him plenty of time to reflect, and soon a murderous rage started to boil in him, searching for a way out. When his mind was lucid, he knew that he would have his revenge someday, for the one thing his jailers would make sure of was his well being; in that sense, he would be kept safe.

When he broke free, he viewed the world around him with contempt. He hated these weak, fragile specimens of the human race, in his mind all accomplices to his captors, and relished the thought of making them pay for his pain. He had never met the 'Pharaoh Atem' the priests had always mentioned, but knew that he was one of the reasons for his capture. The Pharaoh himself was nothing more than a symbol to him, someone sanctifying his pain, which as such must be destroyed. Only after he saw the other actors in the elaborate play of Battle City, did he understand that this Pharaoh was nothing more than a memory resurrected, a puppet dancing to a tune written for him years ago, as were the Tombrobber, the Priest, and all the others. From then on, the feeling towards them paled to almost nothing; they were not worthy of his notice, not the masterminds of the operation, but pawns trundling their way towards inevitable death. All his feeling was focused on the damnable Tombkeepers, who watched the proceedings with the hidden knowledge of those who already knew the outcome, and the Thing whose role, puppet or puppeteer, he had yet to establish.

. . . . .

Malik the Sanjiyan tried to understand the Thing. He wanted to know how it had managed to keep him sealed away for so long. His mind was easily more powerful than it, so he broke into its memories, to see its thoughts and feelings, to understand what drove it. In the first layer, he found a loyalty to his 'brother' and 'sister'. Just their images were enough to make Malik want to kill someone. He would destroy his slavers. Naïve little Thing, did he really think they cared for him? Of course they did, as one might care for a pet, or some curiosity that must be humored and protected. But cherished? Loved?

He continued digging into Thing's mind, trying to understand what he was finding. The more he dug, the less there was. He sifted through memories, finding the point where they merged with his own, creating a strange jumble of truth and fiction, but past that…was blank. Malik continued digging, not caring about the effect this intrusion might have on Thing, but couldn't understand what he was finding. How could there be nothing there? What kind of creature had no mind, no sense of self-awareness, no memory?

Then- a flicker. He dug deeper, and slowly fuzzy memories began emerging again. They were vague, incoherent, muddled, but they were there. The memories grew slightly clearer for awhile, until they vanished again. Slowly he began to understand the cycle: there would be blankness, then intelligence and self awareness would emerge for a short while, only to vanish and have the cycle begin again.

. . . . .

Slowly, Malik was becoming obsessed with the Thing. His anger and frustration were now directed towards his jailer, who was stubbornly refusing to die. How could someone like that, a mere construct, have enough willpower to keep on? Where could he possibly be drawing it from? Thing was clinging to life with a tenacity that would have impressed him if he weren't so angry. So far, everything he had tried had failed, and he was starting to worry. Every time he saw Rishid or Isis he could practically see the smugness radiating off them, and it drove him wild. What did they know that he didn't?

He had also seen Shadi once, which had driven him into a deep depression over the continuing treachery of his Wu. He sat in his room, feeling hunted. Even now, when he was mostly in control of his body, he was still a prisoner on the ship, and later on the island. There was nowhere for him to go. He wished more than anything that he could have his Sanjiyan powers back, but that was futile dreaming.

There was no one to help him. He never considered, in his wildest dreams, that the other humans might have been willing to help him. He only knew the attitude humans held towards him all these years, which was one of revulsion and horror. To all the humans he'd met he was a monster, and was treated as such. Malik's anger at those individuals had no reason not to spread to the rest of the human race. Had he been in full possession of his Sanjiyan powers, all the participants in the Battle City finals would have come to an abrupt end, before he turned his anger outwards to the rest of humanity. First though, he would turn his attention to the finalists, especially the Pharaoh, and to getting rid of his pesky other.

. . . . . .

He knew he was beat. Even when the last duel had just begun, he knew that he had messed up the situation badly. Trying to duel the Game King on his own turf was an act of insanity. Truthfully, Malik knew that his sanity was nothing to write home about to begin with, but his lack of common sense was going to cost him the only chance at freedom presented to him in three thousand years. He had set up the system to destroy the Thing as a last-ditch attempt, though you wouldn't know that from his behavior. If he succeeded in destroying Thing, then it would be at least that much harder to keep him under control, and maybe he could break free again in a few years. He continued to play, all the what-ifs and might-have-beens running through his mind incessantly. As he looked at the Tombkeepers, he could see triumph in their eyes, though they kept their expressions worried. Like he had so long ago, he felt the terror of being trapped, as he battled on helplessly against a foe he knew he couldn't win against, but his pride wouldn't let him admit defeat. The Thing, who had been dormant until now, woke up. He, too, turned against the Sanjiyan and fought to free himself, to gain control of his body once again. Malik knew such control would be short lived, even if it did manage to survive. A small ray of compassion for Thing penetrated his aura of anger and self-pity. Did it truly know what awaited him at the hands of his so-called 'family'? Thing was nothing if not stubborn; was there any chance of him, at least, retaining his spirit, though the Sanjiyan was doomed to fail? And then, maybe he could someday help in freeing the Sanjiyan once and for all…