Chapter 15: Uncontrollable
As Ishizu's opponent triumphantly left the field, Shadi appeared in his wake. His expression was of the usual unreadable variety.
"I failed," Ishizu said. Her voice cracked.
"You did." Shadi's blue eyes were cold. "But it didn't happen here. It happened long ago, when you cast perfection in a mold it was ill-suited for."
"No, I . . ." Ishizu groaned, the most unrestrained sound she'd ever made in her life. She looked away. It was a mistake; she saw Marik.
Or more accurately, she saw the monster.
It smirked. Licked its lips.
Shadi moved in front of her, blocking her view. "You and your brother were both raised on false traditions and even falser ideas. He rebelled; you embraced. But neither of you broke free."
"Finalist number seven," the referee called out, "you must clear the field for the next duel!"
Ishizu lifted a hand in acknowledgement, but she didn't move. Her heart pounded in her throat, caged behind the Millennium Necklace.
"If you truly wish to help your brother, do so now."
Ishizu touched her necklace, felt its anchor weight, familiar and comforting in its burden. Shadi raised an eyebrow. He disappeared.
"Ms. Ishtar, clear the field at once!"
She swallowed. Nodded. She slid her deck into the pocket of her gown, smoothed the rough white fabric. Then she squared her shoulders and descended the stairs, stopping only when she came face-to-face with the pharaoh.
He said nothing, apparently waiting for her to speak. Yori shifted closer to him, narrowing her eyes. Ishizu did her best to ignore the redhead.
Slowly, haltingly, Ishizu untied her necklace. The gold slipped from her throat, left her skin cold in newfound emptiness. She forced herself to hold it out rather than pull it back.
The pharaoh's eyes widened.
"Take it," Ishizu said.
He blinked. After a moment, he lifted a hand, and she dropped the necklace into his palm.
Something inside her breathed. Tears pricked her eyes.
"When I first used the necklace to view your awakening"—she swallowed—"what I saw frightened me."
"I don't blame you." His eyes said he blamed himself.
"Though I thought it was the shadows, it wasn't. It was the mortality." She took a deep breath, let it fill her lungs, let it lift her spirit. "If you'd been perfect, I could have trusted without effort. Without choice. The way I was meant to. If you'd been perfect, it would have meant I could be, too, as long as I obeyed duty to the letter."
"But I'm not." He smiled faintly, brushed his thumb over the Eye of Horus on the necklace.
"And it cast everything else in shadow."
She'd spent four years believing she wasn't a traitor, believing she'd had no other choice with Marik, so therefore, she'd made the correct one.
She'd spent four years lying to herself, trying to cover the guilt that her brother's fate—her father's fate—could have been different had she only sacrificed duty for family and let Marik run.
Her eyes shifted, focused on Yori. The girl raised an eyebrow.
"Gonna predict the outcome of my duel with your brother?"
"No." Ishizu glanced across the field, saw the monster mounting the stairs. Her heart ached. "I'm asking for mercy."
Yori scowled. "You want me to let him win?"
"I ask only that you try to free my brother's spirit from the monster now in control of his body."
Anzu stepped forward, voice quiet. "What do you mean by that?"
"There is darkness within each Millennium Item that the user must have strength to command; it is why so few are fated to wield the items. Marik was overcome by the rod, and what he once used to control others now controls him."
"He's being controlled by his item?" Ryou's eyes widened as he spoke, and he touched the front of his shirt. "It's not a spirit?"
"You know," Yori said softly, "he's used that rod to control and nearly kill people I care about. If he's feeling a taste of his own medicine, maybe that's a good thing."
Ishizu swallowed heavily, forced herself not to bite back.
"Marik has made many mistakes of his own," she said instead. Her voice broke. "As have I. But mercy isn't always given because it is deserved. Wouldn't you know something of that?"
Yori tensed. She glanced up at the field as the monster came to a stop in the center, leering down at them.
"I'll see what I can do," she murmured.
Ishizu would have to content herself with that for the moment. She could no longer view the future, no longer pretend she knew perfectly what would happen and could therefore perfectly solve the problems ahead. Such sight hadn't saved her father, hadn't saved Odion, and wouldn't save Marik. She would have to try the blind approach of the mortal, to do her best minute by minute stumbling in the dark and, in the end, hope it was enough to lead her to light.
She moved to the back of the viewing platform and took deep, steadying breaths to keep herself from the edge of panic. Where she had before stood to the side of the tracks and watched the train pass, looking for gaps between cars, now she stood directly on the tracks, waiting for an oncoming train to hit her with the full force of the unknown.
"Finalist number nine, please take your place on the field," Fuguta called out.
Yori set her jaw, steeled herself. But as she stepped forward, Yami caught her hand.
"I want you to take Osiris," he said quietly.
"And have it strike me with lightning?" Yori shook her head.
"You can control it." Yami glanced at the field. "Marik has the final god card, and he would have kept the strongest for himself. You'll need something to combat it."
"I have my deck," Yori said firmly. "I have Dante."
He grimaced, then released a small sigh. "You're right."
"I am." She smiled. "But thanks for worrying."
She wanted to kiss him again, almost leaned forward, but the thought of everyone watching stopped her. She'd seen the way Joey defended his sister from a less-than-ideal relationship; she could only imagine he'd defend his best friend the same way.
"Besides," she said, trying for a light tone, "you'll need that god card to face Seto in the finals. Or, who knows, me."
She winked, and his answering smile made her heart flip. Then she pulled her hand free and climbed the stairs to the dueling platform.
The referee announced the fifth and final match of the semi-finals. Yori stood directly in front of Marik, met his inflamed eyes with her own steely ones, and shuffled her deck before extending it to him.
"Don't get blood on my cards," she said, eyeing his arm where he'd left a long gash unbandaged and exposed to the night air. Blood had smeared down his skin and onto the gold bands around his wrist.
"I wonder . . ." He took her deck, handed her his own. His eyebrows lifted. "What would happen to a body blasted off the edge?"
His eyes moved pointedly to the waist-high railing at the end of the field, then beyond it, to the dark.
"I would have gone with 'lovely weather' for a meaningless icebreaker," Yori said. She cut his cards, snapped them back together. "But to each their own."
He smirked, and the expression tilted like one side of his jaw had come unhinged. "Perhaps we should test it with the loser of this match."
A white-robed figure materialized next to Yori. It wasn't much of a surprise since she'd seen him on the field earlier with Ishizu. She glanced around quickly, but the referee and Marik gave no reaction.
"Do not fight this battle," Shadi said.
Yori blinked. She looked at Marik, taking his time to shuffle her cards, looked at the referee, ready to announce the start of the duel.
"How am I supposed to respond to that?" she demanded quietly.
"I imagine with blustering and threats that you'll win," Marik said, oblivious to the fact that she'd spoken to someone else. "I do enjoy when they bluster; the panic smells like the dark."
"I warned you earlier," Shadi said, "that your combat with Marik will only cause everything already bad to grow worse."
Sure he had, but she'd assumed that meant charging after Marik with a switchblade, not facing him in the tournament like normal.
She gritted her teeth. "You could have been more specific."
"My apologies!" Marik grinned, eyes bulging. "Things like 'I'm not afraid of you' and 'You'll pay for what you did.' You could start there, with the clichés. Then we could narrow to the fears that lurk in only your personal closet, like your connection to the pharaoh and how you won't let me cut the limbs from his body. I'd love to hear it all."
Yori narrowed her eyes. If she withdrew, Marik would advance in the finals. Maybe he would duel Yami. Maybe Seto. Both could beat him; she didn't doubt that. But first, he would stand across the field, taunting. He would take digs at Yami's past, at Mokuba.
Yori shoved his deck back at him, snatching her own. Marik snickered.
"We're ending things now," she said.
"I can tell already . . ." Marik raised the rod, licked the point of one wing, tilted it at her. "I'm going to enjoy this."
"Don't do this," Shadi said. "Withdraw."
"I won't," Yori said.
"No," Marik agreed, chuckling to himself, "I'm afraid you won't. In a contest of power, there must always be a loser—console yourself with that."
He turned, strode to the far end of the platform, and placed his back to the wind. Yori took the end closest to the elevator, stared resolutely into the cold.
"Duel start!" Fuguta bellowed.
"Duel start," Yori murmured.
Marik cackled.
"I had hoped you would trust me," Shadi said. He'd followed Yori to her side of the field, though she'd avoided looking at him.
Her heart twisted in her chest. She kept her voice low, nearly inaudible, since he stood right at her elbow. "It's been a busy day, but I've still had some time to think. You said my stolen memories—Yuugi's, Grandpa's—were part of my punishment from Ra. But Ra expected me to die with Yuugi's parents."
Marik swept a hand out, tilted his head in a bow.
"Victims first," he said. His tongue darted across the edge of his teeth.
"I don't think gods waste effort." Yori met Shadi's blue eyes coldly. "Only humans."
Then she took her draw phase, arranged her hand, and turned back to Marik.
"I play the spell card Graceful Charity," she said, raising her voice. Her card glowed on the field, an angel with extended hands. Draw Three blinked on her lifepoint counter. She drew the top three cards from her deck, examined her new hand, and then slid two cards into the graveyard, followed by the expended Graceful Charity.
She had expected Shadi to disappear.
He didn't.
"I lied," he admitted. "Only about that. I thought placing you close to the puzzle initially was wise because it would make things easier for you. I was wrong; it was your proximity to the prophesied vessel that provoked Ra's wrath so thoroughly. He commanded I take their memories to wipe you from existence, but I took yours on my own. With them, you would have searched for your family, even if they didn't know you. It was safer for you to only seek the puzzle when all items did the same."
Yori normal-summoned Thief of Souls [1100/800] in attack mode. She activated his ability and special-summoned Thief of Lives [1300/500] from her graveyard, automatically raising both monsters' attack points by 500.
"I do trust you," she said quietly. "But I have to do what I think is right. Just like you."
His expression softened. "Sometimes I forget defiance is your specialty. Be careful."
She nodded; he vanished.
"I'll place two cards facedown and end my turn," Yori said. She narrowed her eyes at Marik. "Now show me you're not all talk."
It took all of Yami's self-control to stand as a useless audience member on the platform while Yori faced the most dangerous man he'd ever met. It took all his control to keep his arms folded tightly across his chest instead of snatching her out of harm's way. It took all his control not to listen to the dark whispers in his ears begging him to banish Marik forever to a land of shadows. It took all his control not to use the newly obtained Millennium Necklace to see what dangers lurked ahead.
Yori had entered the duel with eagerness in her eyes and confidence in her steps. She was more than capable of defeating Marik, and it would be wrong of Yami to stop her for his own selfish reasons.
So even though his heart twinged with every beat, he remained a bystander.
Yori hit the ground running. In one turn, she had two monsters on the field, one with 1600 attack points, the other with 1800, and another two cards facedown in preparation of whatever might come.
But Marik charged in just as strongly. He played Jam Breeding Machine, a magic card which generated one Slime Token [500/0] per turn after the turn it was activated.
"He's savin' up sacrifices for some big beastie," Joey said, face dark.
"His god card," Yami agreed. His fingers tightened on his arms.
Marik played Pot of Greed, drew two new cards, and added two cards to the field—Makyura the Destructor [1600/1200] and an equip card that raised Makyura's attack by 500.
"I was hoping Marik wouldn't actually know how to duel," Tristan admitted. "You know, like he cheated his way into the tournament."
"Who is this guy anyway?" Duke asked, eyebrows furrowed. "It seems personal."
"He's after me," Yami said.
"It's a long story." Joey widened his eyes like a child telling ghost stories by flashlight. "Like, 3,000-year long."
Duke shook his head. "Forget I asked."
Marik declared an attack, and Yami clenched his jaw. Makyura charged across the field, slicing Thief of Souls in half. But Yori's lifepoints remained untouched.
"You activated my trap card—Reflection," she declared, just as the mirrored card rose on the field. "Any battle damage I take transfers to you instead."
"'Atta girl!" Joey pumped a fist in the air.
Yami wished he could show the same enthusiasm. As Marik's lifepoints scrolled down to 3500, the Egyptian smiled and reached for the rod in his belt.
"I believe it's time to increase the stakes," he said.
It took all of Yami's control not to start a shadow game himself.
Yori's gaze remained firm. "You'll only have more to lose."
Marik smirked. The rod flashed gold.
An orb of starless black overtook the field—
—and both duelists disappeared from view.
It was like being underwater again. Yori could feel the darkness dragging at her skin like liquid, clogging her breath. She swiped a hand out, but the darkness didn't lessen. The only person she could see was Marik, smirking at her from across the field.
"So begins our shadow game," he growled, licking his lips. "Let me taste your fear."
"I'm not afraid of the dark." Yori drew a card.
"Oh, but there are so very many things you are afraid of," he said, "and the darkness will reveal them all."
Yori surveyed her cards. She still couldn't believe Seto had replaced and improved her entire deck with no effort at all.
Well, almost her entire deck. Dante had pulled through on his own. And that thought made it easier to breathe in the dark.
She switched Thief of Lives to defense and set another trap card facedown. Marik was obviously saving up sacrifices to bring out his god, but Yori had never been afraid to see a player's trump card. Overcoming a trump was the fastest way to win a duel—no one ever made a backup plan for losing their best card. Marik was likely no exception.
"Your move," she said.
Marik giggled to himself. "Makyura, destroy her precious thief."
Yori smirked. As her thief let out a shriek and disappeared, Marik's lifepoints scrolled down to 3000.
"Oh, I wouldn't celebrate just yet," Marik said, unfazed by the dent in his lifepoints. He circled a finger at the shadows encasing them. The darkness seemed to flicker. Faint colors took shape in the form of people, blurred at first, then crystal clear—
Yori saw herself as a child, standing at the orphanage.
She took a step back. "What is this?"
"I warned"—Marik grinned—"that the shadows would reveal your deepest fears. Every time you lose a monster in this shadow game, part of your soul will be exposed."
Playing like a movie across the shadows, Yori watched herself standing next to the orphanage headmistress while a little brunette girl skipped out the front door with two loving adults.
"Will that ever happen to me?" Yori asked.
"No." The headmistress flipped through papers on a clipboard, never glancing at her. "You're too old, and you're a troublemaker. But we'll get you into the foster system after your next birthday, and then you'll see how great an orphanage really is."
The orphanage door swung closed with finality.
"Ooh," Marik purred, crossing the Millennium Rod over his heart. His eyes widened. "What is the fear—is it abandonment? Lack of love? Lack of belonging? What a delightful mystery."
"Finish your turn," Yori ground out. The shadows around her felt colder than ever, and even as the images faded, she could see that door swinging closed like an afterimage burned permanently onto her mind after a hundred viewings. That was about how many times she'd seen it in real life as child after child found a new home and she was left alone.
"I am finished." Marik winked. "For now."
Seto Kaiba did not enjoy holding two conversations at once. In fact, he had a special glare he used only on a person who tried to force him into a conversation when he was already holding one.
But Yuugi Mutou refused to be cowed by the signature glare.
"She's in danger, Kaiba!" the tri-colored Chihuahua barked again, like he was Yori's personal guard dog.
"For the last time," Seto snapped, "if you interfere in this duel, I will have you ejected from the tournament. And if you keep talking, I'll have you ejected from the blimp, too."
"Don't listen to him," Mokuba said, still staring at the dark cloud that had spread across the dueling field. "Seto won't kick out anyone he wants to duel no matter what rules he made."
"Not helpful, Mokuba," Seto said.
"Still waiting on your orders, Mr. Kaiba," one of Seto's employees said, voice crackling through the radio in his collar.
"Well you didn't kick Marik out," Mokuba shot back. "And if you would have, this never would have happened."
Yuugi's bark grew twice as loud and annoying. "You had reason to disqualify Marik and you ignored it?!"
"Mr. Kaiba—"
"I'm thinking!" Seto roared into his collar. He gripped the fabric tightly enough it threatened to crush the broadcasting device. Ahead of him stood a solid wall of fog darker than the ocean below. It was unbroken by wind, impenetrable by light, and when Fuguta had attempted to enter it, he'd run into some kind of physical barrier.
It wasn't a hologram.
Why couldn't it have just been a hologram? Why did everything have to be a magic-and-light show with these Egyptian freaks?
And Yuugi was hopping right on the Egyptian-freak train. The stupid puzzle around his neck hadn't stopped glowing ever since the cloud of black appeared. It was matched by a faint glowing eye on his forehead that Seto was trying desperately to ignore.
"Stop the broadcast," Seto growled over the radio.
"Mr. Kaiba, are you certain—"
"Kaiba, you have no idea what Marik is capable—"
"I know exactly what Marik is capable of!" Seto took a deep breath, then continued in a more reasoned tone. "Yori can take care of herself. If you involve yourself in this duel in any way, I'll disqualify you, and they'll still have a rematch. If you actually want to help, you can give me a scientific reason for what's happening. A scientific solution would go a long way, too."
When Marik had come after Seto, he'd made it clear he was after the god card. Yori had nothing Marik wanted. At most, this would be a bunch of his taunts and mumbo jumbo. But if Yuugi made it clear how far he was willing to go for Yori before the stakes advanced past smoke screens, then she was in real danger—because Yuugi did have a god card. If Seto didn't keep him from throwing himself onto the field, there was a good chance Yori might get thrown off the blimp. Or worse.
"I'm pulling her out," Yuugi said, face set in lines almost as stubborn as Seto's.
Before Seto could respond, a new voice spoke up.
"Yami, if you pull her out of a shadow game, won't she still get the consequences of losing?"
Seto hadn't noticed exactly when Anzu had decided to invade his viewing platform along with Yuugi, but at least now the Chihuahua had someone to converse with, and Seto could get back to focusing on what was important. He turned away and moved to the opposite side of the platform.
Perhaps he should have disqualified Marik. It would have ruined Seto publicly—regardless of any of Marik's tactics, the press would have spun it into some story about how Seto disqualified any real threats in order to rig his win in the tournament. And if he would have told the truth about their encounter, the story would have then been twisted in a way that portrayed his tournament and any future KaibaCorp activities as unsafe.
Or worse, he would have been deemed an unfit guardian, one whose lifestyle put Mokuba in danger. He was on thin ice for his guardianship anyway since he was still legally a minor himself. His enemies would jump on any excuse to strike at him in the personal sphere. The only reason everything with Pegasus hadn't sent Mokuba back into the system was because Seto never let any of it get public.
So he couldn't let this get public either.
"Stop the broadcast," he repeated, hand on his collar. "Put up a screen that says we're experiencing technical difficulties."
"But KaibaCorp never experiences technical—"
"While I appreciate your faith in this company, if that screen isn't up in two seconds, you'll no longer have a place in it."
"Yes, Mr. Kaiba."
"Add the last known score for anyone who wasn't . . ." Seto trailed off, squinting at the black fog.
A bit of red flickered across the black. Then a spot of blue. The flickering colors twisted themselves into a projected image—a vaguely familiar, black-haired child standing next to an adult with a clipboard.
"Sir?" crackled his collar. "We've stopped the video feed."
Seto blinked, then said, "Add the last known score. Don't continue broadcasting until I say."
Another girl flickered across the black, walking hand in hand with her parents. They exited the room, leaving the first girl and the adult woman.
"Will that ever happen to me?" the girl asked, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her bright eyes watched the door.
Seto knew those eyes.
"No," the woman said, leafing carelessly through her papers. "You're too old, and you're a troublemaker."
And Seto understood exactly what he was seeing.
He turned back to Yuugi, pointing an accusatory finger at the projected images. "Where did Marik get footage of Yori's childhood?"
Meanwhile, the woman had continued to speak: "But we'll get you into the foster system after your next birthday, and then you'll see how great an orphanage really is."
"That's Yori?" Anzu gasped.
For his part, Yuugi merely narrowed his eyes.
"Yori's an orphan?" barked the normal mutt. In just a few seconds of diverted attention, Seto's viewing platform had been overtaken by the entire geek squad.
"Got a problem, Wheeler?" Seto snapped.
As adept at social cues as ever, Wheeler said, "You're the one's got a problem, Rich-boy. What're you gonna do about this freaky duel?"
"There's nothing Kaiba can do about it," Yuugi said, and something about his tone started a tick in Seto's neck. His first instinct was to declare how he was about to bring down this Egyptian light show, but he stopped himself short.
Instead, he folded his arms across his chest and stared Yuugi down.
"I don't have to do a thing," he said. "I've seen Yori duel. In two rounds, she'll have Marik on the ropes. One more and she'll win."
And he couldn't explain why he said it. But he saw the orphanage door swing closed across the black screen, and he felt the echo of it in his heart. Along with something else.
Something else he couldn't explain.
Note: Hey everyone. I'm at least eighty emails and several chapters behind on life, and I apologize. It's been a busy, stressful, painful time for me. But I am not one to surrender. I'll see you here next Thursday, December 12th. God bless.