Chapter 36: The Wager
Obelisk's attack blasted Drillago apart like plaster under a sledgehammer, but since the monster had been in defense mode, Marik took no battle damage. The Egyptian only rolled his shoulders and smirked. And his lifepoints remained at a stubborn 3600.
Meanwhile, Seto's had dropped to 2800 due to the effect of Marik's Black Pendant when it was destroyed.
It was like attacking a beehive; Seto knew he would crush the nest in the end, but until that happened, each sting was an annoyance.
Seto ended his turn. "Your field is empty. You can't avoid me forever."
"Who's avoiding?" Marik took his draw phase. As he studied his cards, his smirk grew.
Seto tensed, darting a glance at his opponent's graveyard. In the duel against Yori, he'd only seen the god for a split second, breaking through the black dome like a phoenix from the ashes. But according to the card text he'd analyzed, Ra had an actual phoenix form. Unlike the two other god cards, who couldn't be summoned from the graveyard by any card effect, if Ra rose from the grave, it could wipe out the opponent's entire field in one turn. Tribute summoned, Ra was only as strong as the sacrifices used to call him to the field; special summoned from the graveyard, his strength was infinite. Not a single monster could survive the phoenix's flames.
"You're worried, priest." Marik's tongue danced across his lips. "You should be."
He played Revival Jam [1500/500] in defense mode. A monster that couldn't be destroyed in battle.
Seto ground his teeth. Another sting. Another annoyance. "I thought you said you weren't avoiding."
"I changed my mind. It's a fickle thing—my mind. Lots of voices clamoring for dominance. But we all agree we should draw it out." He pointed at Seto and drew a circle as if tracing his face. "Because that delightful irritation is too sweet not to savor."
He was certifiably insane. Seto would have rather pushed him off the tower than continue a tedious, drawn-out duel. But his patience had been honed long ago; irritated though he might be, Marik wouldn't gain any advantages in it.
Something invisible warmed his palm. Marik's rod glowed.
Not again— It was a futile thought. He was back in his library.
Seto curled his fists. Pressed them to his forehead. Blew out a long, controlled breath.
He expected the courtyard again, but it didn't come. Instead, he saw the orphanage. All the kids were abuzz with excitement; a famous businessman was visiting. Maybe someone would get lucky, land a new home in a mansion with butlers and banquets. The man stooped through the orphanage doorway. He was stern in every feature, dressed in his signature red suit.
The first time Seto saw Gozaburo Kaiba in person.
Seto turned forcefully away. The images shifted as he did, ending the scene in a blur of dizzying black, like he'd yanked a report from a printer with only half the page printed.
Now he stood at a shattered window, fragments of glass littered at his feet, the wind howling in his ears. Far, far below, barely an ant on the sidewalk, that same man in that same red suit.
Seto screwed his eyes shut, hissing, "Stop it."
"Stop what?" Marik cackled.
The duel was back. Seto drew in a labored breath.
"Sorry to interrupt your daydream"—Marik gestured innocently—"but it's your turn."
In addition to Revival Jam, Marik had Helpoemer [2000/1400] on the field. It was a five-star monster, yet Marik had somehow summoned it without a tribute.
And Seto had no idea how it had happened.
For all he knew, the move could have been illegal. Thankfully, Fuguta's presence as referee made that impossible. Marik must have used a spell card, which meant there was a spell card in his graveyard Seto didn't know about. One unknown variable could make all the difference in a match.
"Time warning," Fuguta called out, almost apologetically. "Conduct draw phase or forfeit."
Seto yanked a card from his deck, tried to ground himself in the game once more.
"I wonder what kind of daydream it was." Marik eyes bulged under the force of his grin. "I do hope there was a dead body; those are my personal favorites."
At the back of Seto's mind, he heard shattering glass. The wind raised goosebumps along his neck.
"Kaiba, what's happening?" Yuugi shouted.
Seto didn't have an answer.
And ignorance was his least favorite state.
Regardless of how Marik had summoned his second monster, he'd put it in attack mode. Never had there been more obvious bait. If Seto destroyed Helpoemer, its special effect would shave one card from his hand at the end of each of his turns. He would also risk triggering Marik's facedown card—when had he played a facedown card?—which was likely a trap. With Revival Jam on the field, the best trap for Marik to lay would be Jam Defender, which would redirect all attacks to Revival Jam.
If Seto attacked, the price was one card per turn to the end of the duel. Steep, not to mention the trap.
But if he attacked, Marik would also lose 2000 lifepoints.
"Obelisk, destroy Helpoemer."
"You always were fearless," Marik said.
Obelisk's fist came crashing down. From this angle, it looked like it pummeled Marik as well as his monster. That was a daydream worth having.
The dust cleared. Marik clutched his chest, breath heaving as his lifepoints scrolled down to 1600. It was a satisfying sight.
Helpoemer's effect activated, as did Marik's trap.
But it wasn't Jam Defender.
"Metal Reflect Slime," Marik announced, grinning even as sweat dotted his forehead.
It was rare for Seto to ever encounter a card he hadn't seen before. There were thousands in existence, true, but his personal collection was also in the thousands. It included at least one copy of every card he ever caught a rumor of. Before their business relationship had soured, Seto had even purchased sets directly from Pegasus Crawford weeks before they were released to the public. But since Marik literally ran the business of underground card hunting, it made sense he'd have at least one unknown up his sleeve.
A blob of silver slime took shape on the field, like mercury without a vial.
"I can only activate this trap when I lose at least half my lifepoints," Marik explained. "But in a moment, I think you'll agree the sacrifice is well worth it."
The slime shivered and expanded, growing until it dwarfed the players, then the field. The reflective surface roiled like a bubbling cauldron. As the slime continued to grow, it split, forming first one arm, then the other. By the time it was shaping a face, it had nearly reached Obelisk's height.
And it was the god's spitting silver image.
"I gotta get me one of them cards!" Wheeler crowed.
Seto would have liked to give him an estimated price tag on a card even Seto Kaiba didn't have a copy of, but he felt a familiar heat in his palms. The world wavered.
NO. He dug his fingernails into his palm, bit sharply on his tongue to draw blood.
And the world stabilized.
Marik's metal Obelisk was a cheap copy in every way. It had zero attack points and only 3000 defense.
"You almost had me," Seto admitted. "But your copycat god is as pathetic as you."
"Quite formidable, then."
Seto played one card facedown and ended his turn.
On Marik's turn, he used Polymerization to fuse his Metal Reflect Slime with his Revival Jam.
"An impenetrable defense." Marik gestured at the field, where his silver Obelisk loomed like a reflective castle wall. "I should very much like to see you break yourself against it. But first, you'll need a more suitable monster."
He pressed a card to his Duel Disk. Seto's Obelisk let out a rumbling growl. He shimmered—the familiar signal of a monster about to be tributed.
Seto's heart plummeted.
Obelisk vanished along with Seto's remaining Thunder Dragon. A puddle of lava formed on the ground where the god had stood, bubbling and rising into the form of a slack-jawed, dripping monster. A metal cage snapped shut around Seto, the chain at its top trailing up to loop around the monster's neck.
Lava Golem [3000/2500]. A monster summoned to an opponent's field by sacrificing the opponent's monsters.
Of all the strategies Seto had considered—
Of all the ways he'd thought Marik might try to defeat his god—
It was painfully, brutally simple.
Marik clapped his hands in glee. "Yes, I like this replacement very much! Don't look so gloomy; I've just given you a monster with 3000 attack points, the same as your favorite dragon. Who ever said I can't be charitable? Your move, priest."
With the start of Seto's turn, the golem above him let out a gurgling moan. Lava dripped from its chin through the bars of Seto's cage, sizzling as it splashed across his boot. Although there was no heat, he felt the sting in the subtraction of 700 lifepoints. He was down to 2100, and each turn Lava Golem remained on the field, he would lose another 700, which meant three turns before he lost. Marik intended to bleed him dry while hiding behind his sparkly castle wall. He could play the part of the gleeful torturer or the predator playing with its dinner, but Seto knew the truth: Clever or not, Marik Ishtar was a coward, and he used a coward's strategies.
Just as Seto moved to play a card, he felt the heat in his forehead, and there was no fighting it this time.
There was also no library. It was straight to the Domino Pier, dock five. The air off the ocean was heavy with brine, and the water smacked its lips against the wooden dueling platform, eager to swallow whoever lost.
Only this time, it wasn't Mokuba standing on the other side of the anchor.
It was Marik.
Seto looked down, realizing there was no chain on his side of the field. Marik was the only one attached to the anchor. There was no clock and no key box, just that solitary chain leashed to Marik's ankle, and somehow Seto knew the anchor would drop if he only gave the command.
He didn't move.
Marik hadn't looked up. He was hunched in on himself like a child waiting to be struck, and even from across the field, Seto could see the sheen of sweat on his ashen skin. He waited for a cackle, a taunt, but Marik was silent. When the Egyptian finally looked up, it was like gazing into the face of a ghost—someone already dead and well aware.
"Seto Kaiba," Marik rasped. He noticed the chain, followed it slowly with his eyes until he was staring at the anchor. "So this is what it's like . . . on the other side of revenge."
Seto swallowed. "What are you trying to pull?"
"You know what this is. You know it isn't me. Or the . . . other me." He heaved a sigh that shuddered through his entire frame. "Go on, then. Sorry it won't hurt me. This is all in your mind. But it should be a satisfying sight nonetheless."
Seto looked up at the anchor. Even without being underwater, he couldn't breathe.
"I'm sorry."
He stiffened, eyes snapping to Marik's.
"Meaningless, I know." For a ghost, he looked awfully close to tears. "But I'm sorry."
"Nice act," Seto snarled.
Marik nodded. He looked down at the rippling water, took a step closer to the edge.
"I killed my father." His pale eyes pierced Seto to the core. "Did you?"
Seto froze. Above him came the soft click that would forever haunt his memories.
And the anchor dropped.
"Second warning!" Fuguta shouted.
Seto jolted back to himself, cards half crushed in his hand, the world tilting on its axis. He shook his head fiercely, stamped a foot. The ground settled. But his stomach didn't.
"Mr. Kaiba, if you are unable to continue, the match must be—"
"I'm fine!" Seto bellowed. It wasn't much of an outlet for the storm inside, but it was something.
Fuguta nodded, though his frown persisted. "The duel will continue."
"Temper, temper." Marik beamed. "It's like seeing an old friend."
Back to his insane self. Good. It was preferable to the false contrition.
"Kaiba!" Ishizu called out. "You must accept the truth of your identity or be torn in two!"
Out of the corner of his eye, Seto saw Mokuba shifting uneasily at the edge of the field. At the orphanage, Seto had always been the protector. If Mokuba had a toy stolen, if one of the other boys said something to make him cry, if they tried to pick a fight, Seto was always there, and he accepted every black eye and bruise required until the entire orphanage got the message: Don't touch Mokuba Akiyama. Gozaburo's mansion, Pegasus's island, Marik's dock—there was no difference. Even if he was late to the fight, Seto would protect his brother.
If anyone wanted to talk identity, that was the core of his.
Breathing heavily, Seto played one card facedown and ended his turn.
"The items are taxing on the soul," Marik said as he drew a card. "Of course, I have plenty of soul to spare, but you must be feeling the marathon. It can't be easy tracking a championship duel and torturing yourself at the same time. I do hope you don't misstep on either field."
His eyes glinted—he'd drawn a good card.
"Activate spell," Seto declared. "Virus Cannon!"
His card rose on the field, and a spider-legged machine skittered out, training a blue laser on Marik. The blast caught the Egyptian in the hand and made him hiss.
"My cannon blasts ten of your spell cards straight to the graveyard. That's every spell card in your hand"—Seto smirked—"and the top spells of your deck to make up the difference."
Veins pulsed in Marik's forehead and neck. His lips curled in a snarl.
"Your earlier concern is noted," Seto said coolly, "but I never misstep on any field."
Mokuba's worry melted into a grin, and he cheered. Seto stood a little straighter.
With halting, jagged movements, Marik plucked two cards from his hand, one of them being the card he'd just drawn. It was Monster Reborn; it had to be. Without it, even if he got Ra into his graveyard, he couldn't raise it.
"I underestimated you, priest." The Egyptian thumbed through the top cards of his deck until he'd counted out eight more cards to send to the graveyard. "But tread carefully; I live by the code of eye for an eye."
"Put out an eye if you want; I'll cut off your head. That's the Kaiba code."
"It's a date."
Marik played one card facedown and ended his turn.
At the start of Seto's, his lava monster gurgled and dripped once more, singeing his lifepoints down to 1400. Seto could have tributed him, but the only monster in his hand he could tribute for was Diamond Dragon, and he wasn't about to sacrifice 3000 attack points for 2100. Not to mention Marik would know he wanted to be rid of the golem, and he'd laid a trap. So Seto would do the unexpected; he would keep the golem, and he would take the burns in exchange for the power.
"Come on, attack." Marik chuckled, gesturing at the looming silver god behind him. "I dare you."
The feverish heat began to creep in.
Seto had to end this. Now.
He played a facedown trap card of his own just as the world shifted. Back to Egypt, land of sand and suffering. Seto ground his teeth impatiently as the gaudy imposter used magic to summon monsters out of rock or whatever. He thought of the stone tablets in Ishizu's exhibit, and he banished the recollection just as quickly. Priest Seth, you're amazing! said all the adoring fans, other gaudy enthusiasts.
Priest Seth, you're a hallucination, responded Seto.
He did one double-take: when all the priests bowed to a passing entourage. The central figure of the escort detached himself long enough to speak to the imposter.
It was Yuugi.
Correction: It was a Yuugi imposter. One just as gold-decked and cape-wearing as Seto's own.
"My pharaoh!" Seto's imposter cried, prostrating himself like a fool.
Yuugi's imposter smirked. "Impressive progress, Seth. When you can maintain three kas simultaneously, inform me. We'll have a duel."
Seto snorted. He tried to turn away, to rip the scene as he'd done before, but this one remained rooted.
"Why not now?"
A collective gasp rose from the other priests. Seto took the opportunity to study the man wearing Yori's bracelet until he realized the man seemed vaguely familiar; then he dedicated himself to studying a potted fern instead.
"Priest Seth, you dishonor the pharaoh when he has so graciously—"
"It's alright, Siamun. I'm intrigued. I'll grant his request."
Seto ground his teeth, dug his fingernails into his scalp, and willed himself back to the duel.
Just in time to hear his final warning from Fuguta.
"You don't look well at all, priest." Marik grinned.
Seto had dropped a card. He scooped it up with a scowl. "I'd say the same of you, psychopath. But you'll look worse when you lose."
"I do admire your unbreakable spirit, even if I don't believe it. Everything has a breaking point."
Seto ended his turn before the hallucinations could resume. If he lapsed one more time, Fuguta would declare an automatic forfeit. Marik would win. The freak who'd chained Mokuba to an anchor and dropped it in the ocean would advance in the finals, maybe even win, and Seto would have to shake his hand and smile for a press photo and hand over a check.
And he'd rather eat his own liver.
One chance, that was all he had. He'd hoped for so much more from this duel, but he would take the win any way he could get it. So he would bet it all on his facedown card.
In the Qualifier, he'd made a strategy and executed it without flaw. Even if he was losing his mind, he would do the same now.
"Your mistake was hurting Mokuba," he snarled.
Marik raised an eyebrow, looked up from surveying his new card. He tilted his head, and his eyes locked on Mokuba in the audience. The boy shrank from his gaze.
Then Marik smiled. It wasn't his wide, leering smile; it was subdued, hardly there. And there was something far too calculating, far too intelligent in his eyes.
It was an expression Seto sometimes saw in the mirror.
Marik plucked one card from his hand, held it aloft without showing its face.
"A wager, priest." His voice had gone soft. "Tell me what card this is, and I'll surrender the duel."
Seto blinked. Then he scowled. "What?"
"Ah yes, you want revenge. Revenge requires cake and ice cream, I suppose. So an amendment—tell me what card this is, and I'll first surrender the duel, then surrender myself to the authorities for your attempted murder. My father's actual murder, too, why not."
A buzz of whispers spread through the audience. Fuguta looked like he wanted to issue a warning about something but wasn't sure what.
Goosebumps pricked Seto's neck at hearing reality-Marik confirm something hallucination-Marik had confessed. "You killed your father?"
He glanced at the audience, but Marik's siblings didn't seem shocked to hear the news. If anything, they looked appropriately mournful for it to be true.
"You would get hung up on that detail, wouldn't you?" Marik shrugged. "Perhaps I did. The world will never know unless you identify this card."
Seto narrowed his eyes. "What is this?"
"I told you. A wager." Marik tapped the card to his chin. "There's one certain way for you to see this card, to know its identity without a doubt." He tilted forward, a conspirator confiding a secret. "Use the rod to look through my eyes."
When he'd laid out the offer, Seto's heartrate had increased. He'd already mentally catalogued every card he knew Marik possessed, and he was prepared to make an educated guess if Marik was fool enough to extend a gamble with all reward and no risk. But at that final piece, he snarled.
"Utter nonsense. Make your move."
"You know it isn't." Marik spread his hands. "All talk, are you? I chained everything you care about to an anchor. Supposedly, you were going to make me pay. You can end it right here with certainty, sentence me to justice for all my nasty crimes. Or you can keep dueling, and we'll keep things card-tournament friendly, and win or lose, I'll walk free to chain again. So tell me—how much do you actually care about his safety?"
"V—Violation!" Fuguta stuttered. "No threats may be made against other players."
"Oh, my apologies if it sounded that way." Marik licked his lips. "I mean no harm to Seto Kaiba."
The unspoken threat was clear enough. Seto glanced at Mokuba. His brother's eyes were wide, his face pale.
"It's the deal of a lifetime, priest, and all it takes is for you to admit what you already know. Embrace your past, employ a bit of magic, and you'll not only win your precious Battle City, but you'll see me in handcuffs before the week is out."
"This is ridiculous," Seto snapped. "Even if I guessed that card correctly, there's no guarantee—"
"Give me a contract, a shadow game, whatever sets you at ease. I'll sign in blood if you like. I just can't live without knowing."
"Without knowing if I'm gullible? I'm not."
Marik gave an open-mouthed grin, laughing to himself. "I amyou, Seth. The echo that remains. I know the cracks in your soul. Nothing is more important to you than your pride. I can't live without knowing"—his eyes flicked toward Mokuba—"if 3,000 years changes a man."
The field descended into silence, broken only by the low hiss of steam from Seto's golem. Marik's slime god stood as still as a real mirror. Seto stared at the white streak of his own reflection.
Was it possible . . . ?
He swallowed, unable to even complete the thought. He was Seto Kaiba, adopted at age ten by Gozaburo Kaiba. Before that, he'd been Seto Akiyama, adopted by Kota and Saori Akiyama at birth. Whoever he'd been for the whopping ten or twelve hours of life before that, it certainly hadn't been an Ancient Egyptian priest.
"What will it be?" Marik wagged the card in a taunt. "Your pride or his safety?"
It wasn't a matter of pride. It was a matter of fact, of impossibility.
All he could do was make an educated guess. Either way, Marik couldn't be trusted to honor his agreement, signed in blood or not. Seto would defeat him the reliable way.
"Makyura," Seto said, "the Destructor."
Marik peered at his card as if he'd forgotten its identity, his expression unreadable. He beckoned Fuguta closer and turned the card for the referee to see.
"Well, ref, is he right?"
Seto couldn't help the hitch in his breathing. But Fuguta shook his head. Marik shrugged, returning the unknown card to his hand.
"Too. Bad." His grin was all too pleased. "I suppose you gave it your best effort, really: a few seconds of thought and a stab in the dark. No one could expect more for the sake of a brother. You understand, right, Mokuba?"
Mokuba would understand that Seto couldn't do the impossible. But when Seto glanced at his brother, the boy was almost hidden behind Roland, face buried in the bodyguard's suit jacket. Roland had one arm around Mokuba's shoulders, his own expression unreadable behind his sunglasses.
Marik pressed a hand to the side of his mouth, calling out in a stage whisper, "I don't think he understands. But give him three millennia; he might come around."
"Time warning," Fuguta called, flagging Marik's side of the field. "Conduct your turn or forfeit."
"Can't forfeit now." Marik smirked. "We made a bargain."
He lifted a card from his hand, officially in his first main phase.
Without a word, Seto activated his trap card, Final Attack Orders. It was the riskiest card in his deck, and he'd never used it in anything but practice duels against KaibaCorp computers. But it was the fastest way past Marik's metal defender, the fastest way to a resolution.
And Seto needed a resolution before he was pulled apart.
"A gamble of your own!" Marik's jaw hung slack, his eyes wide. "Well, well."
Final Attack Orders was a continuous trap. It would remain on the field until destroyed, and as long as it was active, all monsters on the field were forced into attack mode. Marik's silver photocopy of Obelisk may have had 3000 defense points, but it had zero attack.
That was the benefit. The risk came in the second effect: As soon as Final Attack Orders was activated, both players were required to choose three cards from their decks to make a new deck. Every unchosen card went to the graveyard.
Three turns. Either Seto would end it in that timeframe, or it would be ended for him.
Either way, he would have a resolution.
Note: Things have been a bit stressful lately, but I always love coming back to Yugioh. These characters have inspired me as far back as I can remember. I'm glad I get to play in their world. I hope you're all doing well!