A/N: Oneshot, drabble-y. Symbolism like whoa. Quote bonus +4.

Malik hated Mondays.

...actually, that statement should be revised to be more accurate.

Malik hated.

At the back of Malik's conscious mind, something was stirring.

There was no telling when it would, really; nearly anything awakened it these days. Waiting in line at the store, spending time around his Pharaoh's chosen avatar, listening to J-rock music, even just thinking too hard- just to name a few examples.

A tendril uncoiled, inching slowly forward.

Loneliness and despair, frustration, anger, and bitter, black hatred; of this was made the black sludge the that caked the inner recesses of Maliks' being.
Not that Malik had noticed, or would have recognized the ichor for what it was.

Sentience stirred the darkness, and it moved.

Battle City was over, and he had lost.

From Malik's point of view, this was not entirely a bad thing. Really, it was that Other creature that had lost, not him. He had won, been successful at casting out the darkness that used to reside in him.

Hadn't he?

On days like today, it was very hard to tell. On the whole, his life had been both better and easier since Battle City- both being relative terms. After all,
nearly anything would be better than having your soul ejected from your own body, and consequently banished to the Shadow Realm. Still, his new life was, on the whole, sedate and inoffensive. Utterly routine.

And then, there were days like today; when his motorcycle refused to start,
and he couldn't find his favorite pair of earrings, and it seemed like the entire world was conspiring to cause him aggravation. He felt feverish, and had a splitting headache. And there was something-

His mind...itched. "If I were Pharaoh..."

Malik tried to ignore the comment, though he knew it was pointless to do so.
As hard as he tried, he still could not silence his minds' innermost thoughts.
Harder, still, to resist giving in to his own true desires. Wasn't it supposed to be over?

Slow, even chuckle, like bubbling tar. "You are foolish. Look at what you have become."

Malik choked, eyes squeezed shut, his skin breaking out in a sweat. He knew
that voice. But how...?

He had beaten the darkness within his own soul. He had accepted his heritage and duty as a tomb keeper, he had (and still) atoned for his sins against Ra-on-Earth...

He had exchanged one type of slavery for another.

"No gods, no masters." The void roiled, thick and hungry. "Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law."

Malik shook his head furiously, desperately trying to force the rightness out of those words. "No... Yugi- my god-king- I have been forgiven-"

Harsh, terrible laughter ripped through his mind-space "-As we forgive those who trespass against us!"

"Stop it!" He threw his head back, screaming- "I beat you! YOU DON'T EXIST ANYMORE!"

"You are mistaken," the darkness whispered. "I will always be with you."

Despair crashed over Malik in a crushing wave, and he gave in to the sobs burning his throat.

"Did you forget, Malik?" Sneering, the voice drew his name out, mocking him with it. "You are nothing but a slave." Laughter again, thick and cruel. "You have been tattooed as such, marked for sacrifice to a god five-thousand years dead!"

Malik screamed, his back arching, as his scars flared with pain. His eyes stared blindly outwards as tears of agony and anger traced their way down his cheeks.

The howling void whipped forward as his mouth opened a second time, and then there was nothing but Darkness.

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