Chapter 10: Backslide
Before the first turn completed in the third semi-finals duel, Seto wrote the contest off as a foregone conclusion. Yuugi would win; there was no reason for him not to. Even if the Ghoul had the god card he pretended to, he was too cowardly to summon it. While the geeks squawked like headless chickens at each slight breeze within the match, Seto was unmoved, waiting silently for the inevitable conclusion.
The summoning of Osiris was unexpected, the coward-Ghoul's lack of control less so.
But when the god decimated both players, Seto found himself at a complete loss. Although he prided himself on always expecting and accounting for his best plans to go awry, two unconscious participants wasn't something he'd made provisions for in the tournament rulebook. With both players down, nothing on the field was even rendering anymore, which was something of a disappointment, since Seto would have enjoyed more than a glance at Osiris.
"Do you think they're okay?" Mokuba asked, voice trembling.
"It's just a hologram," Seto said curtly. He'd seen the damage his own god card could do, and he wasn't worried about either participant recovering—he was worried about how to proceed with both duelists unconscious and the duel unfinished, and for the first time, he was also worried that Yuugi wouldn't last long enough in the finals for Seto to have his rematch.
The headless chickens on the opposite viewing platform squawked louder than ever, and Yori went as far as to climb up the side of the dueling field.
"Get down from there," Fuguta shouted, "or you'll be disqualified!"
Yori flipped him off and growled something Seto couldn't quite hear but assumed matched the gesture.
"Yori," Seto called out gruffly, "obey the field rules."
"Do you hear yourself?" she snapped in response, hauling herself to her feet on the field. "He just got struck by lightning."
"It's a hologram," Seto repeated.
Even as he spoke, the Ghoul let out a low moan and stirred. Yori paused, glancing between him and Yuugi.
"Mr. Kaiba?" Fuguta glanced down with a frown. "How should the match proceed?"
"You make the official decision." Seto inclined his head. "I'm a finalist, too."
"First, you must get down," Fuguta insisted, pointing at Yori.
Yori ignored him and stared straight at Seto. "Is the game all that matters to you?"
"I'm tournament organizer," Seto shot back. "What do you want from me?"
They stared each other down. Mokuba shifted uncomfortably, but Seto didn't budge an inch.
With a final glance at Yuugi's unconscious form, Yori lowered herself back down to the viewing platform.
"Beginning now, the duelists have five minutes to resume play," Fuguta declared. "If only one player is able to resume, he will advance in the finals. If both are unable, advancement will be decided at random since lifepoints are tied."
A little messy, but not a terrible solution. And most importantly, Fuguta said it with confidence and without glancing at Seto for further confirmation, making the ruling truly impartial. As with all KaibaCorp employees, Fuguta was equipped with the necessary requirements of a working brain and backbone.
The minutes ticked by. Marik looked particularly agitated, standing at the back of the platform, gripping the railing like a lifeline with both hands. He seemed to be muttering to himself.
Seto shifted a step closer to Mokuba.
And they waited.
Yori stood in tense silence, arms folded tightly, gripping Yami's jacket around herself.
The Ghoul had barely stirred after the lightning strike. Yami hadn't moved at all. Neither of them seemed like they would be resuming the duel anytime soon, and although Seto insisted the lightning was nothing more than a good hologram . . . Yori couldn't be so sure. The colossal red dragon had disappeared after both players hit the ground, but Yori could still feel the crackle of power in the hair along her arms. Much as she was in awe of Seto's dueling system, Osiris and Obelisk were different from any other summoned monsters. And she'd felt the jolts of pain caused by dueling, but nothing strong enough to knock her unconscious.
Shadi was adamant the Egyptian gods existed, and Yori had no reason to doubt him; she wasn't in the practice of doubting her gut feelings. She didn't know the background of the god cards, didn't know if they were real gods trapped in a game, creations blessed by gods, or just monsters out of Pegasus's mind given impressive names to inspire fear—but she wasn't putting money on the last one. Not after everything she'd seen.
"Come on, Yami," Joey muttered, punching a fist repeatedly into his opposite palm. "Get up already."
Tristan checked his watch.
How many minutes had passed? Were they halfway through the allotted time?
/Yuugi?/ Yori tried. Then she turned away, hissing in pain as her skull seemed to collapse behind her eyes.
Something was definitely wrong.
She took a deep breath. Gripped the cold metal railing with both hands. Curled and uncurled her fingers.
"Ma chère, are you—"
"I'm alright," Yori said, cutting Mai off mid-sentence. "Thanks."
She turned back to face the field, closing her eyes. The Millennium Bracelet warmed against her wrist.
/Yami,/ she said. The same kick-back pain flared in her mind, but she tightened her shoulders and breathed through it. /Come back./
It was instinct that made her say "come back" rather than "wake up." It wasn't like he'd gently dozed off in a class or taken an afternoon nap in the sun; he'd been struck by Osiris-lightning. For all she knew, maybe the god had blasted his soul right out of the Millennium Puzzle. Maybe he would never come back. Maybe he was—
/Please./ She clenched her jaw against the pain, pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead as hard as she could and gripped her elbow. /Come back to me. Please, Yami./
But when she opened her eyes, he was as still as ever.
Yami was in a maze. No matter how many staircases he climbed, he could never get any higher, and a right turn led him to the same point a left turn did. When he tried to go back, the path was bricked up.
"Hello?" he called, but it was useless. He was alone; he was always alone.
He tried another staircase. He tried another turn. But with every step, he realized he had no idea where the paths forward led, no idea what the destination was or how long it would take to get there. His only hope was to go back. Back was familiar; he'd been there before. He knew what it was like, knew how far the steps were.
But back was just bricks.
A right turn led him to a ledge and a new staircase. He sighed, rubbed his temples. After two steps up the staircase, he stopped and turned back.
Behind him was the same brick wall. He touched the stone, ran his fingertips down the caulking. He pressed his shoulder into it, pushed with the balls of his feet. It was as solid as it looked.
He couldn't stay still; he knew that. It was either forward or back.
No, it was only forward. Back wasn't an option. It was a wall.
But the more he looked at it, the more it grew like an itch in his mind.
"It isn't easy to let go of."
Yami whirled. Just as the wall always appeared behind him, a figure had appeared before him. But he was more light than person. Even squinting from beneath a hand, Yami could only make out lines of gold and red around the man's headdress.
"The past," the man clarified.
Something clicked. Somehow, he just knew, like he'd breathed the information in with the light.
"Osiris," Yami said.
"Not all of us wanted things to go this way," Osiris said. "Go ahead."
When Yami turned back to the wall, it wasn't a wall.
It was a door.
To say Yuugi was freaking out was an understatement. The duel had been going just fine; Yami had been in complete control, and Yuugi had been silently supportive while daydreaming about asking his friends to a day at the beach after the tournament ended. Anzu had a shell collection, and she was missing a strawberry conch. The last time they'd all gone together, Yuugi had helped her look until Joey distracted him with a beach ball to the head that turned into a game of keep away in the waves. Anzu hadn't complained—had even joined in and conquered in the game—but Yuugi still felt bad. This time, he wouldn't let anything distract him until he found her a strawberry conch.
Then the duel collapsed in an instant. Yuugi felt the pain of the lightning as a crack in every bone. His childhood became his future as his mind turned itself inside out trying to vomit. It felt like eternity before that rawness faded into a manageable level of dizzy, and at that point, he dragged himself to Yami's soul room only to discover the door was gone. When he reached out with his mind, he couldn't contact his best friend at all. He told himself it was the dizziness that made it so he couldn't feel their connection. It couldn't possibly be that Yami was gone or . . . worse. It was just the dizziness.
He tried to manifest in the real world with no better results. So to say he was freaking out was an understatement.
And a sudden appearance from Shadi did nothing to calm his nerves.
"What's happening?" Yuugi demanded. The first time he'd met Shadi, the tombkeeper had weighed Yuugi's heart with his Millennium Scales in order to determine if he'd stolen Pegasus's Millennium Eye. Apparently if the scales would have found him guilty, he would have lost both hands.
It wasn't a pleasant memory.
"Relax, child," Shadi said.
It wasn't relaxing.
"The pharaoh is safe. He is in the hands of the gods."
It didn't sound safe.
Yuugi pressed his hands to his cheeks while resisting the urge to scream. He sat down in the narrow hallway, back against his soul room door.
"How do you know?" he choked out.
Shadi didn't bother to answer. "I must issue a warning."
"Why can't you just show up for ice cream sometime? Okay?" Yuugi's voice took on a hysterical note; he didn't care. "Why can't anybody just show up for ice cream? Why does it always have to be warnings and death threats and lightning?"
Shadi adjusted his robe. He bundled the bottom edge and seated himself beside Yuugi.
After a moment of silence, he said, "I apologize."
"Oh." Yuugi fiddled with his hair. "Thanks. Sorry, I'm just . . ."
"The pharaoh is safe."
Yuugi took a deep breath. "What's the warning?"
"The war has begun."
Shadi was never one to waste words. Yuugi pulled his knees up and tried to pretend he'd found a hidden oasis of calm.
"The war that—right, the war that Yami's supposed to . . . finish." He actually wasn't sure of the details. He usually got messages about Yami secondhand, and they were vague to begin with.
"Among the sacred records that my clan guards, there is a prophecy about—"
Yuugi expected him to say "the pharaoh," expected it so much that he jolted when he heard something different.
"—you."
"I'm sorry, what?" He shook his head. "There can't be a prophecy about me; I'm nobody."
Shadi seemed on the verge of a smile. "There are very few pharaohs in the world. Most of us are nobody."
"Please don't compare me to you. You're thousands of years old, and you literally walk through walls. I'll be lucky to graduate high school without repeating a year."
"'The throne that goes to war shall be emptied,'" Shadi said. "'And the child shall take it.'"
The dizziness came back with a vengeance.
"That's not about me."
"It is."
"It doesn't say my name."
"Names are not a common feature of prophecy. In the revelations of the Millennium Puzzle, you are also referred to as 'the child.'"
Perfect. Yuugi shifted, suddenly paranoid that the door to his soul room would open behind him and bury them both in an avalanche of robot action figures.
"What does it mean?" he asked.
Shadi rose to his feet. He shook the hem of his robe even though it was impossible for it to have collected any dirt.
Yuugi stood as well. "Is Yami 'the throne'?"
He felt sick at the thought. What did it mean by "emptied"? Yami wouldn't . . . die. He couldn't. And Yuugi wouldn't take his place, not as pharaoh and not in any other way. He couldn't.
"Sometimes I may interpret prophecy," Shadi said. "But in this case, I am simply messenger. The war has begun in Domino, and yours is not the only prophecy now in motion."
"I really wish"—Yuugi's stomach pinched—"you'd just come for ice cream. Or even to weigh my heart."
But Shadi was gone before he'd even finished.
The pain in Yori's head had reached migraine levels by the time the referee began a final ten-second countdown. She never should have left the platform after she'd—
"Pharaoh!" Joey blurted suddenly.
Fuguta halted in his count as Yami slowly pushed himself to his elbows, then his knees. He stood, and he kept standing. The referee glanced across the field at the prone Ghoul, then raised a hand.
"Yuugi Mutou wins the duel!" he shouted.
Despite the pounding in her head, Yori ran forward. She jumped and caught the edge of the dueling platform steps, hauling herself up once more before rushing at Yami. He was blinking, as if unsure where he was, and his confusion probably only grew when Yori threw herself around his neck.
But he hugged her back.
The platform hissed and began lowering. Yori pulled away to meet Yami's eyes, equal parts scared and relieved.
"Are you okay?" she demanded.
All he did was smile at her in a way that sprouted butterflies in her stomach. He reached up and gently brushed her hair out of her eyes, which made the butterflies all flock upward at once in an attempt to lift Yori off the ground.
She heard others clambering onto the dueling platform as it finished lowering, and she took a step back, ears hot.
"You won it, pal!" Joey said, slapping Yami on the shoulder. "I knew you would."
"What happened?" Yami glanced around the field.
"You got hit by lightning," Tristan said slowly. "Like, crazy realistic lightning. I thought for sure it wasn't part of the game."
"How many fingers am I holdin' up?" Joey shoved a peace sign in Yami's face.
"Two," Yami said, without squinting and without pause. "I don't . . ."
His eyes landed on Odion. Concern on his face, he strode forward to his fallen opponent and knelt at the man's side. Yori and the others followed. Odion was barely conscious. His fingers twitched, and his eyelids fluttered, just enough to show internal struggle.
With some effort, Yami turned the man onto his back, one arm around his shoulders to half-lift him. Odion's eyes slowly blinked open.
"Master Marik?" he rasped.
Yori cast a glance at the viewing platform. Marik stood alone at the far end with his back to everyone else, hunched against the railing. Obviously the loyalty only went one direction in that relationship.
"Are you alright?" Yami asked.
"I'm sorry," Odion huffed, struggling for breath. "I'm sorry. I never meant . . ." He fumbled with his Duel Disk until he managed to scrape the god card free. His hand trembled as he pressed it to Yami's chest. "Please—"
As soon as Yami took the card, Odion's hand dropped, but the panic in his face remained.
"It's my fault. I'm—I'm sorry." A tear leaked from the corner of his eye. "It isn't Marik's. It's . . . my . . ."
"Just rest," Yami said gently.
Odion closed his eyes. He mumbled something else, and then his head rolled limply to the side.
"Hey, Fuguta!" Joey shouted, turning. "This guy needs a doctor or somethin'."
"Yes, of course." The referee hurried to them. "There's a medical room downstairs. I'll arrange a stretcher, but it will take a few minutes."
"Well, screw that." Tristan stepped forward and pulled Yami away, hooking Odion's arm over his own shoulders. Joey got his other arm, and together, they hauled the Ghoul up. Tristan shifted to take Odion's full weight on his back.
"You sure he ain't too—"
Joey stopped abruptly as someone screamed—a terrible, throat-wrenching sound that raised goosebumps on Yori's arms.
It was Marik.
Note: Fall is in the air, my favorite season. I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. See you next Thursday, Inktober 10th.