Young Blood by Mooguri Klaine
Author's Notes: Adobe Photoshop first came to me as a blessing. Now I only see it as a curse. Blame it for the freaking late update. I can't help it; the program was strangely addicting! Once I started digitally coloring some of my works, I CAN'T STOP! Someone restrain me! Occasionally I've been opening MS Word to update, but I only get to enter a maximum of two sentences, then my mind just goes BLANK, and my fingers started itching for Photoshop! WAAAA!! ::wails and subjects myself to a straitjacket::
Okay, I think I'll stop giving cliffhangers, because I have a feeling that you'll kill me in more ways than one… ::sweatdrops:: I apologize for the REALLY LATE UPDATE! It's been MORE than a month, dammit! X( Against Protocol was the fist one I finished, but this one got lagged behind, because I started getting confused with some parts of the plot, therefore discouraging me from continuing. But I'm back!! That's what matters, right? ::looks around for supporters::
So who's that mystery person hanging around Seto's balcony? Read on and find out! XD
To Sylvia Viridian – NEW REVIEWER! ::huggles Sylvia:: Thanks for reading! So you used to not like yaoi? Hehe, don't worry, I was a yaoi-hater back then. Now look at me now! XD Yes, Prideshipping is just the best of all pairings! Makes a damn lot of sense for me, hehe.
To Misoka – Hmmm… is Marik dead? You'll see about that! :D I'll stop dishing cliffhangers for the time being… :D
To Nachzes-Black Rider – ::Mooguri Klaine's face falls:: Oh…you guys are not so fond of Pegsy? And yeah, you do have a point about him being a lousy duelist… had it not for his Eye, he'd be minced meat a long time ago! XD
To Cross Hunt-s – Who's in the shadows? Hehe, you'll see it here! Thanks for reading! :D
To Ahja Reyn – You're right; I should've put some detail on Seto's so-called unwanted emotions… tsk… I was really screwing up on that previous chapter, gomen for that!
To silver dragongurl – If you loved Bakura in the previous installment, you're definitely going to love him this time around! Well, at least that's what I think; I actually liked writing Bakura – so sinister and evil!! XD
To Elusia – Hey, thanks for that assessment! I really needed that! Not too many comment about Seto's sentiments towards the kiss, but hell yeah, I'm glad you did! ::laughs:: And that part where Seto stuffs his mouth with tissues was one of the best mental pictures I have of him! XD And of course, Bakura's just plain DISTURBING! He's definitely one of the best characters in this fic that I enjoy writing!
To shadowsofchaos61 – YES, shame on Seto for wiping that kiss off! I'd GOBBLE Atem if I were him! ::evil grin::
To Lady Zephyros – So sorry if I took long delivering this chapter! Don't worry; your questions might be answered in this chappie!!
To Farao – Whoa, you've been around for quite a while! I, on the other hand, joined around March of this year… XD ::blushes:: Thanks for finding this fic as one of the best you've read; you certainly made me feel elated!! I must write extra harder! The meat of the plot will eventually be revealed! Stick with me! XD
Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh belongs to Kazuki Takahashi. I, on the other hand, am only wistfully wishing Seto, Yami, and other yummy characters were mine.
Warning: Shonen-ai first, then Seto/Yami yaoi. Citrus, lemons, oranges, lime, and other stuff will be eventually thrown in the bunch. Watch out.
Rating: R, for violent scenes and sexual innuendos – this would be Bakura's fault.
Summary: Bakura steadily gains power from the Sacred Scepter, and looks out to the other Items from the priests, while Atem goes into retrospect, reminiscing of Sekheth. And Seto's found himself an unlikely visitor. Who could it be? Perhaps Ishizu, who wishes to confirm the existence of Sekheth? Or could it be someone else? READ, REVIEW AND RECEIVE A PRIZE! XD
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Chapter Nine: Cups
Someone was standing silently with the shadows, watching him. He stood up and brushed the curtains aside.
"What are you doing here?" Seto demanded. He never imagined that he would be followed to his place, nor the visitor would have the audacity to see him after what he'd done.
"I apologize for the intrusion," came a soft, moderately low voice.
Seto backed away considerably just in case; he didn't want to get a mouthful of kiss again, but at the same time, readying himself for any attack the young man might think of doing.
"What do you want? How did you find this place?" More questions flooded his thoughts, but for the meantime, he settled with the two inquiries.
The stranger was standing atop the balcony's marble banisters, and seemed not one bit unnerved of the precarious height between the railing and the ground below him. He tiptoed out of it with surprising ease and grace, almost as if he rode the evening wind, light as a whisper.
Not one of Seto's questions was answered. Instead, the man drew closer, and then instantly threw himself down in a respectful kneeling position before the brunet CEO; his head dipped low, golden blond bangs hanging from his forehead.
Seto never thought he'd be surprised more than twice in one night. "What –"
"Forgive me for the abruptness of my actions; I was too rash," the stranger murmured, regret evident in his voice.
"I was too unmindful of the situation you are in, Sekheth. I wouldn't expect that you'd remember me, especially after three thousand years…"
Seto stood, dumbfounded and puzzled. Sekheth? Three thousand years? "Look, I don't know what the hell are you playing at, but I must tell you to get out of my balcony, or I'll call the cops."
The young man looked up, his pale face politely puzzled. "Cups?" he asked, his red eyes twinkled with nostalgic mirth. "I wouldn't say no to tea, though."
At this, the blue-eyed corporate dropped his threat to silently wonder at the visitor, discerning over if the man was slightly deaf insane, or both. Surely he meant the cops – police officers – to arrest him for trespassing. Apparently, the stranger misunderstood his warning, taking 'cops' for 'cups'.
He stared at the young man before him, and in that close proximity, he saw how vivid the colors of his hair shone in the evening, despite the lack of light – how the violet tips gave way to carmine edges and then slowly dipping to black. Even the chrome bangs seemed to complement the odd mixture of hues.
And then there was the boy's pale youthful face. What puzzled him was how the intruder looked so innocent and honest. Seto couldn't sense nor detect any hint of animosity, ill will nor malice in the person.
He was still looking at the guest's eyes when Seto awoke at the sound of his digital alarm clock ringing continually in his ears. Fluttering his eyes open, he grunted and reached for it on his bedside table, promptly clicking it to stop. Silence flooded in the spacious room, along with the golden rays of sunlight seeping through the curtains. Chirruping birds tinkled like little bells somewhere in his garden.
He lifted himself promptly out of bed, shrugging off what's left of his sleepy state. He scanned his room for the first time that day, as was his habit, his eyes keenly perusing anything that would have gone missing, finally stopping when he found none misplaced or taken.
There was an intruder last night.
Was there? Seto silently struggled to collect pieces of scattered memories from the previous evening, events of what transpired. Yet the more he tried to remember, more details deftly slipped away, like water expertly escaping cupped hands; no matter how you tried to hold onto it, it just flows away.
He had the most unusual dream. Sure, at one point he dreamt of many things – from peaceful lakes to dragons flying in the sky, from being chased by paper clips to eating ice cream – everything his subconscious staged for him, but last night was the most curious, despite its disconcerting simplicity.
Seto shrugged wearily; he didn't have much sleep, as if he had the dream for the entire night – more like he was awake the whole time. He looked to where the balcony is placed, and saw the French doors slightly open, the curtains caught wind from the morning's slight draft. He strode towards it and locked it close. Then his eyes wandered beyond the doors briefly, long enough to make out something outside.
There was an empty cup on top of the table.
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The cold marble floors echoed his footsteps as he entered the threshold where spirits are laid to rest, where last night's cold breath still lingered among rows of stones engraved with letters of names, places, dates, and messages for the departed. The sovereign smiled, for the old customs still remained with the humans, just like in the old days.
He proceeded to descend on the stone steps, admitting himself into a humble crypt before the first rays of Ra would make itself known to the horizon.
The mausoleum was dark and damp, but he would have to make do of it for the time being. Atem held up his hand, and from it came a flicker of flame, slowly glowing brightly, illuminating the underground place. Just then, a mewling cry greeted him.
"Bastet…" He bent down to meet with the feline, purring indulgently as its master stroked the jet-black fur.
"You knew I would come here?" he asked.
"Meow," it replied, as its yellow eyes peered at him, expressing assent.
Atem sat down, and beckoned the cat to sit close to him, in which the latter obediently complied. Despite the cold temperature in his undead body, the young Pharaoh felt warmth in his hands, the same ones he used to hold the warm cup of tea Sekheth offered him.
He remembered the sweet smell of tea that met his senses, very much like the same drink he had once from long ago, where the merchants from the East traded with his country, bringing with them shipments of herbs grounded to flavor, served in steaming cups of delicate and exquisite pottery. (1) The taste was still the same as before, soothing to his cold body. He stayed with a pleasant memory: where he used to sit outside – in the Palace's balcony – gazing at the stars, Sekheth beside him, where they talked endlessly of numerous things, a warm cup in their hands…
Bastet curled up on his lap. The visit at Sekheth's house was like a very comforting reverie. True, Sekheth may not remember him; that was certain. But as he thought of that warm cup of tea, he saw a small spark of hope. It was a start.
Atem managed a smile before he closed his eyes to a peaceful sleep, the first one he had in a long while.
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There was a soft dripping sound of water from a distance, slowly rousing him to consciousness. His eyes strained to look in the darkness of his surroundings. His nose cringed in disgust; the place reeked of something inhuman. He struggled to ease himself out of his tiring position, but quickly realized that he couldn't. He grunted heavily as he vainly tried to move his arms and legs.
He was bounded tightly by ropes.
"Where am I?" he found his voice, cracked and rusty, as if he hadn't used it for a long time.
A searing laugh pierced through the still air.
"Where are you? I assure you, you're not in Hell. At least not yet."
Then suddenly, big lights flickered to life, glaring his vision, momentarily blinding him. He hissed unknowingly as he felt pain building up in his body, stinging, like a thousand knives began penetrating his pale skin. The lights were so close to him that its emitting heat was too much to bear.
But as quickly as the light came, it disappeared. The maniacal laughter returned to full measure.
"Painful, isn't it? It had to. Those lights resemble the fucking sun. Further exposure will cook you alive. Wonderful, is it?"
"Bakura…"
"My voice is not so hard to guess, you think so?"
The lights opened up once more, along with a long painful shriek ringing throughout the warehouse. He fought hard to stay conscious despite the agonizing pain. Then it was extinguished again.
"Oh, I just love it when you scream, Marik. It sounds so different from others. Yours have this lovely ring to it. I can't wait to hear more, you know…"
Lights streamed unfiltered for the third time. Marik, however, kept his mouth shut, silently consenting himself to remain impervious to the escalating pain. He averted his lavender eyes below him, and saw a horrible sight.
Bodies scattered everywhere in chaos, all coated in blood, their lifeless positions jerky and awkward, as if they died trying to run away. Sliced throats and dismembered body parts filled the gaps of the twisted puzzle of the ocean of carcass and carnage. Marik, almost forgetting the pain, choked back before finally vomiting unceremoniously, unable to withstand the morbid and appalling vision.
Darkness followed suit. He was heaving with strenuous effort.
"Liked what you saw? I made it myself. Be proud, because you're the first one to see it," came Bakura's joyous voice.
Marik coughed, and brought himself to speak again. "It was no wonder he left you for Sekheth, you sick son-of-a-bitch," he hissed.
Instantly, he felt a sturdy hand grip his neck, vice-like and exceptionally strong, squeezing the air out of him. Marik rasped as the hand increased its unearthly pressure.
"You still have the balls to throw me an insult, half-breed. Be thankful I have to spare your sorry life, for I still have use of you," Bakura breathed threateningly at the blond vampire, his lips slightly brushing Marik's ear. He held on to the slim neck even tighter, further blocking the passage of air from the latter. "However, do not tempt me, and believe me, I am itching to gut your throat and watch your blood spill." With an impatient grunt, Bakura relieved the tension, and threw him back, the half-blood vampire breathing air in quick gaps.
"What do you want from me?" Marik croaked weakly as he spat on the ground.
"Funny you should mention that idiotic Pharaoh, because I'm looking for him. But for the meantime, I will have to enjoy myself with my new toy…"
Marik felt the cold metal of the Scepter against his cheek.
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The day passed without incident, much to Seto's relief. He was already done for the day, having immersed himself totally in his job, so that he could forget and push his thoughts to the back of his mind. It had worked well; pretty soon he had to move around a lot constantly from one place to another: overseeing the construction of the corporation's new branch in another city, attend a company luncheon, sign contract deals back in the main building, and even personally attend to Mokuba by sending an extra packed lunch to the surprised younger sibling. By the end of the day, he was convinced that everything that transpired last night was just one lousy dream.
Almost.
If it weren't for that teacup.
Evening came to Domino like a drifting blanket spreading over the city. Soon, lights sprung to life, sparkling like multi-colored jewels in the bustling metropolis. The CEO was busy checking sales reports and cash flow ledgers, while a cellular phone was almost glued to his other hand, talking to someone.
"It's either you close the deal or you start looking for a job. It's as simple as that. I want it straighten up by tomorrow or I'll have your desk cleared by then. Understood?"
"Yes, sir, Mister Kaiba," an employee stammered from the other end of the line. "And about Mister. Pegasus –"
"I am still considering. Apparently, I have yet to hold a board meeting to discuss with other stockholders regarding this matter. Right now, we just have to tell him to wait. There's –" Seto's words left at an abrupt stop when a metallic click greeted his ears near him.
"Sir Kaiba, you have a visitor." His secretary's voice sounded nervous. She should be; roughly interrupting Seto was just as safe as losing your job.
Putting down his mobile phone (the employee was still on), he pressed a button irritably, and replied, "Didn't I make it clear that no one should disturb me after five? And didn't I tell you not to allow and schedule appointments not later than four?" Seto now felt in the mood to fire someone.
"But Mr. Kaiba, the visitor said it's an emergency –"
"I'm busy. Tell whoever he is to get the hell out of my office."
"Actually, sir –" The secretary was cut short. Seto then heard a new voice at the other end.
"Isis Ishtar wishes to see you, Mister Seto Kaiba."
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Marik let out a sigh; the seemingly effortless exercise proved to be very physically demanding. His body ached in virtually a lot of places; his flesh felt so raw that the unbearable throb of pain was hardly identifiable with the occasional spasms of the Shadow surging inside his system. Bakura had taken great delight in subjecting the young half-blood in a myriad of inhumane torture, but the latter was not about to give in. He couldn't afford to.
"Dammit, half-breed, answer the goddamn question!" Electricity poured freely in Bakura's outstretched hand, his brown eyes reflecting no mercy towards the shuddering form of the lesser vampire. The Sacred Rod clung close to the pale neck, Marik's blood staining the gold edges. The ancient Root seized a clump of sandy blond hair and pulled down, and lowered his head to meet with weak lavender eyes, his nose so close to smelling the aromatic scent of blood from the other. He repeated the question, "Where is Atem, half-breed, where is he?"
"I've told you already, I don't know!" Marik hissed in reply. "How many times do I have to drill that in your thick skull?"
"Your batty old sister sent you to find him, yes? This Rod would help you locate the runaway Pharaoh. Apparently, it seems that the Item didn't have that ability…" He pulled on Marik's hair further. "Which brings me to the idea about the other Sacred Weapons."
"You know the existence of those Items, thief. The Pharaoh's High Priests watch over them –"
"I know that, you idiot –"
"Then you already know that seeking those weapons will only qualify as your death wish!" Marik said, relief momentarily in his eyes when he saw the other pair flicker uncertainly for a second. "The other Items hold power beyond what you know of –"
Bakura's sly grin turned into a malicious sneer. "Which is exactly why I want them," he cut in as he expertly twirled the Scepter in his free hand, and gave a meaningful glance at Marik before planting a fast kiss on the bloodstained cheek. Marik cringed in disgust.
The Sacred Scepter glowed in the dark. "And whoever said I was going to get them on my own?"
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Ishizu waited patiently as the secretary opened the door to the CEO's office. The employee appeared very flustered, as the author silently watched her bow down profusely at the businessman before finally letting her inside. A quick glimpse at the secretary told Ishizu just as much; the woman was close to tears. Without waiting for further ado, she stepped inside the threshold.
She looked around. The room was furnished with minimal decorations: a few expensive paintings from a prominent artist in the 1800's hung on the ecru wall; a wooden cabinet sat quietly in a corner, perched atop on it are bronze figurines from the East; a simple black leather couch on the other side, coupled with some smaller seats, and some more little details scattered the place – unobtrusive yet was nothing short of extravagant. The office was simple-looking, yet exuded an air of unmistakable affluence. Of course there had to be; Seto Kaiba was a man who knew his money's worth very well.
And there was Seto Kaiba, the Chief Executive Officer of the Kaiba Corporation, sitting on an expensive custom-made leather chair, with the sky behind his back, along with the illustrious city – with its lights and all – as if basking the businessman in its glory.
"Isis Ishtar, correct?"
Ishizu nodded and gave a curt bow to acknowledge the man before him. The other stood up to meet the lady, bringing up his hand for a handshake. The handshake, she noticed, was listless and brief, as if he did not care to touch him for longer than necessary.
"I am sorry to have disturbed you, Mister Kaiba. Please direct your wrath at me, and not your secretary, for it is entirely my fault. I insisted on seeing you, after all. There is no need to fire her." With this, the priestess bowed low in apology.
Seto did not say anything, but only raised an eyebrow at the words of the woman. "It seems you have been expertly advised about me, Miss Isis; perhaps my ill-temper is legendary, even among the writer's circle?"
"Expertly advised? I think not. I know no one in your line of business to tell me of you," came her reply. Ishizu is good judge of character, a trait she has acquired over the span of more than a thousand years, and such comes to her as second nature. One look at the office and the subordinates told her just as much about the young president.
"Very well, what business brings you here, authoress?" Seto asked. "I would never thought that you'd come here yourself willingly, of all places, when there are others who are keen to pay millions just to see you."
Ishizu let out a short laugh, apparently amused at the passing comment. "I say it is quite flattering, coming from you, but I came not for business," she said, turning serious almost at once. "I have a simple request to ask of you." She watched as a brown eyebrow rose in the businessman's face.
"A request?" Seto echoed. His eyes followed the woman's hand, which was now bringing out a heavy black book out of a bag woven out of cloth. The book looked strangely familiar.
"What's this?" The young man's gaze focused on the thick hardbound. The authoress stood simply, her hand outstretched, offering him the object.
"Please read it, Mister Kaiba."
A few moments' silence hung around the both of them like a heavy mantle until Seto broke it with a mirthless guffaw. "Miss Isis, is this the only reason you came here, to have me read a book?"
"Yes."
Seto turned to the clear Plexiglas glass behind him before replying. "You have undoubtedly wasted your time in coming here," he said. "I think I am capable of reading unaided, but frankly, asking me to read your novel so directly and abruptly is pretty unprecedented for a woman of your caliber.
"Besides, I am a busy man. Reading for leisure hardly constitutes as a productive job," he finished, just as he averted his eyes back to the novelist, and found that she was still holding the book up to him, thick resolve reflected in her otherwise-calm eyes.
"Leisure? Hardly. I am afraid this is more than what you might call as unproductive," Ishizu replied. "I am insisting that you read it."
"What for? Miss Ishtar, you already have a huge following in all your novels. Adding me to your already-long list of fans is not worth all the trouble, believe me. So save your breath, for I am not reading it."
"I am asking you to take a little of your time and reconsider, Mister Kaiba." Ishizu did not need to convert the man into an avid fan of hers; there was a much heavier reason. The book was meant not for the millions of mortal readers in the first place. She became a writer to search and call for the lost mortal who might've been asleep in the realm of the living. Those books were written solely for that purpose – for the awakening of Sekheth. Perhaps there is a glimmer of chance that the old soul might recognize and remember an event from a past memory. It is possible.
Yet to Ishizu, the present form has grown to reject anything from it. If this person were indeed Sekheth, he had now changed to become a man of the current age – of disbelief, of banality and the mundane – deeply burying the last of its previous existence. Reincarnation entailed a constant growth of the soul, and is continually subjected in a myriad of forms and changes throughout the span of time, until it has finally attained perfection.
Seto, however, was now growing impatient. The woman proved to be too driven with her goals. An idea struck him. "Oh I get it, Isis. Do you need financial backing, by any chance? I'd say it is quite a scheme – allowing me to read your works first – to get my attention. I guess there's no honor left in this materialistic world, don't you think so?"
Ishizu shook her head sadly; the last thing she wanted to happen was to be accused of being a manipulative person. "Mister Kaiba, please do not get me wrong, for I do not wish for personal gain –"
"Oh, but that's where you are truly mistaken, because everything revolves around personal benefit," Seto interrupted, deciding to stop acting civil towards the visitor. "Trust, kindness, and high-and-mighty selflessness won't feed your starving family. That's the way people work now, Isis. So whatever you're selling, I'm not buying. There's –"
"Then I am extremely disappointed in this world you perceive now, Sekheth," muttered Ishizu, cutting the businessman to a surprised stop. She placed the book down on the table. "My request still stands. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Search your soul, Mister Kaiba; this book will help you." And with a slow bow, she turned around and left the young capitalist in the confines of the office that brought no comfort to the wise priestess.
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Atem opened his eyes, and still found the magical flame glowing brightly, and Bastet still curled up on his lap. He ran a finger through the fur to rouse the feline. Ears twitching, Bastet rose and stretched while letting out a silent yawn before greeting the sovereign with a weak meow.
"Good evening," Atem greeted as he stood to get out of the crypt. It was now evening; the sounds of the night permeated the air: the soft rustle of the wind, slightly disturbing the still blades of grass; the occasional hoots from a passing owl, or the quick flutter of bat wings surrounding the quiet cemetery.
"Sekheth is coming home," he said as he lifted his head to scan the skies, as if he had seen the answer in their twinkling light. With a hopeful heart, he trudged out of the cemetery, disappearing as he rounded on a corner of a street, going through a path that would lead him to the mortal's house.
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Seto slid inside the limousine. The driver watched, confused and puzzled, before finally asking his master.
"Any stopovers, Sir Kaiba?" came his usual line.
It took a full minute before Seto answered him, looking very much distracted, as if snapping out of a dream. "No, drive straight home," came the usual reply.
The driver shrugged as he closed the door. Seto never heard nor registered any outside sound around him, preferring to mull over his thoughts.
Isis had turned up in his office to encourage him to read her book. "Search your soul, Mister Kaiba; this book will help you," the writer's voice repeated in his head. The nerve of that woman to tell him what to do! He looked out to his window, yet he saw none of the passing scenery. He left the book in the building; he didn't even dare touch it.
"Then I am extremely disappointed in this world you perceive now, Sekheth."
Sekheth.
Sekheth.
"Sir?"
Seto started. He saw the car door now open, his driver bent low, looking perplexed. "We're already here at the mansion, sir," he heard him say. Shaking his head before managing a stern look, Seto emerged out of the car and headed for the door, where a few servants waited for him.
"Good evening, Sir Kaiba," the butler addressed him; a few maids bowed briefly before resuming their silent stance.
"'Evening," blurted Seto as he went past the mansion's employees and into the main staircase. The butler followed suit.
"Will you be having dinner now, sir? The chef prepared a seafood platter as the main course."
"No. I'm not hungry."
"Then how about something to drink, sir?"
"No thank you."
"Is there anything else I might get you, sir?"
'Get out of my sight.' "No, I'm fine," Seto answered instead. "I'll call when I need anything, Barton."
The head servant bowed low before exiting. The businessman breathed wearily as he opened the door to his bedroom. Shadows lengthened, as if engulfing him before he flicked the lights open, bathing the room with fluorescent light. He set his briefcase down on his bed as he loosened his tie.
The curtains were swaying with the wind again. Seto's eyes followed its movement as he stepped out of the balcony once more. For some strange reason, he felt relief wash over him. Amidst the confusing events that led through the night, there was a peculiar thought that lingered deep in him that gave him a different brand of comfort.
He plunged into a dream.
"Good evening, Sekheth."
---- To Be Continued ----
Footnotes: (1) I don't know a thing about trade and industry in the presumable time of Atem, which would be Ancient Egypt. I haven't a clue whether Chinese merchants had a thriving commerce in Egypt, so I apologize for this big historical error – I made it for the sake of the story; history aficionados please don't kill me! XD
Author's Notes: Well, this chapter sucks, partly because nothing really extravagant happened, except for that weird misunderstanding on "cups" and "cops". Grrr… blame Atem for sleeping so long to not know of the recent developments in human civilization. XD
Nevertheless, I am prepared to take punishment from your wrathful hands for the slow progress of the story, and its crappy quality… eep! Tell me what you think, guys!! Accompany your review with a big punch to my face, so I could deliver the rest of the chapters faster and better next time!! Arrggghhh!!
Chapter Ten promises to deliver more meat into the plot, as I am slowly inching to that. Consider this chapter as an in-between for the future installments to come! Stick with me, onegaishimasu!!
What's in Chapter Ten? It seems like Seto begins to welcome the visitor in his humble abode, yet he continues to wonder about the man's identity and uncanny inquisitiveness. Why is it that he is constantly being called "Sekheth"? Meanwhile, Bakura hatches a plan to claim the rest of the Sacred Weapons. What's Marik got to do with this? And lastly, will Seto ultimately "find his soul" in that book Ishizu has left for him?
That's it for now! STICK WITH ME! XD
Thanks a lot and Rock On!