Reprisalshipping (Marik Ishtar x Akhenaden)

. . .

Marik sometimes felt like something was looming over him. A sort of...presence. Something that choked, or at least wanted to. It was heavy, dark, thick, like a scarf wrapped just a little too tightly around him. He had felt it irregularly as a child in the tombs. Mostly only when he was in the deeper part of the catacombs, nearer to the chambers were the actual bodies were buried. He had asked his father if there was any spirit that might be residing there, but his father had scoffed at the idea. The pharaoh's soul was still locked away in the shattered Puzzle, he said, and any other spirits have long since passed, or been removed by the Tombkeepers themselves. There was absolutely nothing down there.

Marik had to disagree.

He felt as though it came more frequently, now that he was above the surface. Every time he picked up the Rod he could feel it. Thick and choking, as though someone held a smoky hand over his mouth. Heavy on his shoulders as though someone leaned over him, grabbing at him without the physical capacity of actually holding him down. As if the cold metal, which never warmed beneath his fingers no matter how long he held it, wasn't bad enough.

Sometimes, when he set the Rod down beside the sink to wash his face, and picked it up again as he straightened, he thought he could see a hooded shadow in the mirror behind him.

Go away, he thought at it, feeling as though he could sense the dark presence clinging to his back. Go away. Go back to the catacombs. Why have you followed me?

It was a darkness. An evil that he could not shake. Only when he put the Rod away did he feel like he could breathe, that the smoke had fallen away from him. But he could not leave the Item alone for long. He needed it. And as the years drew on he had to call on its power more and more. But yet the more he used it, the thicker the presence seemed to become, the more real the tingle down his back and the crackle at the back of his neck, the feeling of eyes boring into him.

"Go away," he would whisper in the night, nearly imagining he could see it standing in the corner. "I've left the catacombs. You don't belong here. I'm not holding the Rod right now. Go away."

But it would not leave him. Would he carry this specter forever?

It was only at the edge of sleep that he thought he could hear it whisper.

"Give it back. It's not yours. It's my son's. Give it back."

But it must have only been a dream.

Right?

. . .

A/N: I hope you weren't planning on sleeping tonight. Next is Replayshipping (Yugi x Rebecca).