Chapter 2

Feeding the Dark

Bakura sat in his Soul Room, because there was nothing else for him to do.

These humans, they were ridiculous and strange creatures, and mostly Bakura wanted them to disappear, but other times they were not so bad.

Marik was not so bad.

Bakura could listen to Marik for a long time, and he wouldn't get impatient or tired of it. Sometimes he'd even ask Marik a question, and he'd be surprised to find himself actually interested in the answers he got.

Marik had interesting thoughts and words, an aura of the tragic around him. Bakura felt he could latch onto that for some reason. He could do more than tolerate it, he could enjoy it.

Right now he could not sense Marik at all. Bakura supposed the human had chosen not to wear the Ring. Bakura didn't wonder about it, he knew that Marik didn't really know what to think of him yet.

He could feel his strength returning. Soon he'd be strong enough to mend his link with Ryou, and return to his host without Marik's help. He'd tapped into Ryou a couple of times, and the boy was unresponsive for the most part. Maybe he was still unconscious, maybe he just didn't want to hear Bakura.

Bakura did not care about Ryou, though he wanted to know that his host was alright. It wasn't the same thing.

He walked about more impatiently. He was taking Marik's advice to heart, maybe he should be a bit more pro active about all of this.

He sensed the presence in his Soul Room at once, and straightened, looking at the dark rectangle of his Soul Room's door, anticipating his guest.

Marik's presence was familiar and yet felt a little different too.

"You're back rather early,"

"Time doesn't really exist here, does it?" Marik said, an unhappy look on his face.

"Yes it does," Bakura corrected. He watched with a mild interest as Marik walked in the room, agitated about something. Bakura felt the darkness radiating off him; it was warm and fascinating at the same time.

He had felt it around the other before, and now Bakura was drawn to it.

Marik scowled at him; "well it's been a couple of days, if you must know,"

"Any luck?"

"Unfortunately neither myself or Odion have been chosen to participate yet," Marik stood near to Bakura, arms folded.

"Maybe you should try a little patience?" Bakura said, enjoying the strange heat that radiated off the other.

Marik sneered; "I'm not dead, as I mentioned before. I don't have all the time in the world like you apparently do," his words were full of disdain. Clearly Marik wasn't in the mood for taunts, not that it would ever phase Bakura.

Bakura grinned and turned on his heel. "Look, I decorated for you," he announced. "I would have thought you'd greet me with at least a smile for my efforts,"

Marik shook his head; "I'm not in the mood for this, Bakura." then he peered round rather doubtfully; "it looks all the same to me,"

"Well, it's a work in progress." Bakura walked away, and was pleased that Marik chose to follow him, even at a reluctant pace. "So tell me, who has been duelling? And what has been the outcome?"

"If you must know, it was Yami and Mai,"

Bakura turned round, prickled with irritation, a natural reaction whenever the Pharaoh was brought up.

"Who won?"

Marik rolled his eyes; "who do you think?"

Bakura growled, he could not help his anger.

He shook his head and took time to compose himself. It was a strange feeling; on the one hand he needed the Pharaoh safe, for reasons he was still not sure of himself, but another part of him, a deeper part, wanted to hurt him so much.

"The Pharaoh is a thorn in both our sides," he muttered, looking at Marik. Their common ground brought him some strange comfort.

He felt the heated agreement coming from Marik, the silent rage of the aura that now accompanied him was growing. Bakura was curious more than anything.

"Yami can get as far as he wants," Marik said. "But it won't change the fact that I will get those cards by the end of all this,"

Bakura felt himself nod, Marik knew what to say to keep his interest, to strengthen his own darkness. He would have to return the favour.

Then something odd happened; Marik turned away and made a strange noise. Bakura half recognised it as frustration, but it wasn't really that, and besides Marik was rubbing his eyes with an arm.

Bakura vaguely recalled such a look in his host Ryou, but he'd never thought on it very much.

He wasn't sure what he should do, although he could feel the darkness of Marik's aura getting harsher now. Little pins of the sensation ran along Bakura as he absorbed it into his soul and tried to make sense of it.

It was an angry emotion, and sad too. It was not unlike the feeling that coursed through Bakura much of the time. But it was very strong, and still it was growing.

Marik was still making the strange quiet sound, and his head was turned away and bowed.

Bakura didn't know what he was supposed to do. Holy Ra, these humans were hard to work with.

He cleared his throat; "Marik?"

Marik turned round very quickly, an uneven smirk on his face. Bakura noticed his glassy eyes.

"Bakura," Marik said, voice unsteady, "I...what are you? Can you describe it?"

"I told you, I'm a thief," Bakura said, relieved that Marik wasn't making that sound anymore, and his face resembled an expression he was used to. "What else do you need to know?"

Marik laughed; and then he grabbed Bakura's arm without warning. He tugged him to the ground, so they were both sitting in front of each other.

"You're cold," Marik remarked.

"Yes," Bakura said, offering him a venomous glare. The warmth of Marik's hand lingered on his arm.

Marik spoke in a rush; "I need to know more about you, I want to be able to trust you,"

Bakura sneered, disliking the desperation that seeped into the other's voice. Human weakness reminded him why he was glad he wasn't one.

"Everything I've told you has been the truth," Bakura said slowly. "I am a thief, the three thousand year old Spirit of a thief, and my goal is to obtain all seven Millennium Items," he gave Marik a cagey look; "of which one of them you still owe me,"

"Yes, yes, I know that," Marik nodded quickly. "But what...how did you become what you are now?"

Bakura glared, but not at Marik. He glared through him and focussed on the darkness of his Soul Room. He had searched it before, but it had always been mixed up and had never provided him with a clear answer. Now was no different.

He blinked back at Marik, noticing the human was watching him hopefully.

"I have told you everything, Marik,"

"I see," Marik looked disappointed. He shifted a bit and seemed thoughtful. "Well. Perhaps I will take your word, for now,"

"My word?" Bakura frowned.

"I'll trust you, for the moment,"

Bakura laughed, feeling spiteful. "Haven't we already come too far for you to be casting doubts about me now?"

"I'm not doubting you, I'm saying I trust you," Marik paused, and he looked at his hands. "At least I will for the moment,"

Bakura raised a brow. He couldn't say he was shocked, because humans never failed to perplex him, and he'd come to expect it. But he was...intrigued. Wasn't trust a valuable human thing? He looked up at the nonexistent ceiling of his Soul Room, trying to recall a memory that might tell him so.

There was nothing but the darkness of course, not that Bakura had expected anything else.

"Bakura?" Marik was waving a hand in his face.

Bakura blinked and scowled at the human.

"You trust me?" he asked.

Marik's eyes were narrowed, and he seemed to be debating the idea in his mind. Humans were complicated.

"Yes," Marik nodded finally. "Until you do something to show otherwise,"

Bakura was right, humans were very ignorant things. He wondered why they could be so blind. And yet Bakura was compelled to warn this human anyway;

"I don't want to disappoint you, Marik," he half sighed, and leaned forwards a bit. "I'm sure you don't need me to remind you of what I am,"

"You already told me. A three thousand year old Spirit, and a thief. That's all I need to know, right?" Marik leaned forward too, inviting elaboration from the Spirit.

Bakura held his gaze for a moment; feeling the human presence bouncing all about him, and mingling with his darkness. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling. He realised he was letting Marik past his barriers, and with it he was gaining access to Marik's own.

He had felt human presence before, mostly through Ryou, but this one was different. There was something else, and it gripped Bakura's essence and was almost painful as it danced about inside of him.

Such a great unknown power, and not yet realised...

"Bakura! Are you okay?"

"Hmm?" Bakura came to himself, and realised his elbows were on the ground, and he was leaning back, panting a bit. He hauled himself upright and caught the confusion on Marik's face.

"What was that?" the human said. His arms were raised, as though he might have grabbed Bakura but then had thought better of it. Bakura was charmed that Marik might know him that well.

He shook his head as the darkness fell away. Marik's strange aura was ebbing off, although Bakura knew it wouldn't be a permanent retreat. The remnants of it seemed to hover about Bakura, making him feel light headed.

"You're shaking," Marik said, still with that confused face. He moved closer, and Bakura moved back instinctively.

"I feel fine," Bakura told him, and it wasn't a lie.

Something was within Marik, and whatever it was made Bakura feel stronger, if only for a few seconds. It was another darkness.

"Well if you're sure," Marik sounded uncertain. He was watching Bakura with those annoying wide eyes, all human and full of an emotion Bakura did not want to associate with. It was that which had driven away the darkness, Bakura knew.

He studied the human. "Are you alright, Marik?"

"Huh?" the human sagged back, vulnerable and useless. Bakura hated that. "I'm okay." he paused, and then; "Huh. No, I'm not."

Bakura curled his knees up to his chin, sparing the human a sideways look. He wanted him to continue. Marik seemed to understand.

"When I told you I wanted the power of the Pharaoh, I didn't tell you why, did I?"

"I don't think so,"

"It's because I'm entitled to it," Marik looked determined. "The Pharaoh's existence has only caused my own misery, and I didn't choose the role I was given,"

"What was your role?" Bakura was curious.

"I am descended from a line of tomb keepers, and it was to be my duty to guard the Pharaoh's tomb," Marik smiled wryly at Bakura. "Imagine what my sister would think! To see me working with a tomb robber!"

"It's ironic, isn't it?" Bakura smiled..

"Yes, just a bit," Marik looked grim, and pulled out a heavy sigh. "Only my adopted brother was on my side, but that's okay, since now I have another to help me,"

It took Bakura a moment to realise that Marik was talking about him. He cleared his throat, giving the ex-tomb keeper a quizzical look. Humans had trust inbuilt, it must be an instinctual thing, a need to latch onto someone, anyone, and place reckless faith in them.

Bakura had no problem with humans doing that, so long as it wouldn't affect his own plans.

He didn't say a word as Marik faded away from his Soul Room again, although he tried to cling onto the darkness that had been there for a short while. But it was all gone, not a trace of it left. If anything, Marik had left the Soul Room in a happier, lighter mood.

Bakura grimaced, curled sharp nails into his palms. It wouldn't have been so bad, if only he knew if this was a good thing or not.

He glared about his Soul Room. "Are you going to torment me like this forever?" his voice echoed back at him, and Bakura laughed shortly. "As I thought,"

88

Marik had not meant to show weakness in front of the Spirit. Right now he was hating himself for it, but hating himself even more for sitting between Yugi and Tea and pretending to be 'Namu'.

The strain of the facade was getting to him, despite how close he was to the God cards. He'd even held Slifer in his hand! And Yugi had been so pleased and happy to show it to him. If only he knew...

He excused himself quickly following the announcement of the next two contestants; Odion and Joey, and confronted Odion in the corridor just outside his bedroom.

"Are you ready for the duel tomorrow?" he asked quickly.

"Yes," Odion nodded.

"You'll win," Marik told him, leaving no room for argument.

He slipped into his room and hurried to the Ring. He held it tight in his hands; he didn't know when Bakura had become his confidant, but now he had and Marik didn't care about caution anymore. He placed it round his neck and entered the Soul Room without fear.

Bakura was waiting for him, and was not very good with his promises.

"The decor is still lousy,"

"I'm working on it," Bakura said.

Marik couldn't hold the Spirit's gaze today. He still felt rather embarrassed for breaking down a little before, and now he was wondering if he had been very wise to tell the thief as much as he had.

But he wanted to trust him.

"How is my host?" Bakura said with nonchalance.

Marik gave him a funny look, he wasn't used to Bakura being concerned.

"I'm not concerned," Bakura said, as though reading his mind. "But our link has been dormant for a while now, and you can understand I need the body,"

"It's been a week," Marik informed. He flopped down on the Soul Room floor, inviting the coolness against his stomach. "Ryou is fine. I guess he just isn't that chatty with psychotic ex-tomb robbers, hmm?"

Bakura slouched against the stony wall of his Soul Room, face unreadable; "I'm not psychotic," he said, like a child.

Marik rolled onto his back, looking up at the Spirit.

"You know, I still think you should have left Ryou to Yami. You know he wouldn't have attacked him,"

"You think so?" Bakura pushed away from the wall, and stalked about like a restless cat. "It wasn't a safe bet. At least my plan ensured my host's safety,"

"Do you care about him?" Marik had asked before he could stop himself.

Bakura stopped walking but didn't turn round; "we've been through this, Marik-"

"Yeah, I know, I know. You just did it to save your body-"

"You don't know the Pharaoh," Bakura said impatiently.

Marik sat up with interest. "Do you really think he would have hit Ryou?"

"Maybe," Bakura glared at the ground. "But with his host it's a different story. Yugi might have influenced him, made him think about what he was doing,"

Marik hesitated in his next question, he might be pushing it. "Has...has Ryou ever tried to influence you?"

Bakura laughed harshly; "do you think I'm so weak? My host has no power over me at all. Unlike the Pharaoh and Yugi, who like to think they're some sort of team, I have no use for my host,"

"But you and Yam-, the Pharaoh I mean, you're both Spirits? Doesn't that make you similar?"

"Hardly, and don't compare me to him, Marik,"

"Sorry," Marik pulled a face. "But you're saying Yami is influenced by Yugi, sometimes for the better?"

"It wouldn't take much," Bakura snorted. "The Pharaoh always was a pompous, arrogant man. I wonder how he feels now, trapped in that diminutive little body of Yugi's, trapped in that puzzle..."

"You're not doing much better," Marik pointed out, only because he was fairly sure he could get away with it.

He was right, Bakura just scowled and started walking like a demented cat again.

Marik sat in the welcomed silence for a while, occasionally looking at Bakura, who seemed to be quietly fuming. Marik knew that sulk rather well now, he could even feel it in the Soul Room. A dark blackness edging all around him, telling him that the Spirit was crankier than usual.

Marik was getting familiar with the feeling without being in the Ring at all, though. It had been creeping around him the past few days, and he thought he could recall it from a memory long blocked out if he concentrated hard enough. He'd not had the time to concentrate though, and he didn't want to dwell on it.

Whatever it was, it was like a sick feeling, like something was toying with his head, trying to decide where to plant a permanent headache. A couple of times he had to lie down and sleep the feeling away. He'd told Yugi he was just nervous about the upcoming duels.

He'd not told Bakura anything about it. There was no need to, really. He didn't expect Bakura would care...

Realising that, Marik suddenly felt rather cold. He blinked up at the Spirit.

Bakura was watching him again, that old smirk in place.

Maybe Bakura already knew. For some reason the thought did not surprise Marik. He suddenly felt tired. Tomorrow was a big day, and Bakura's Soul Room was dangerously addictive.

"The next duel is between Odion and Joey Wheeler," he told Bakura as he stood, posed to leave.

"Ah, your fake self," Bakura looked amused. "Send him my good luck wishes, won't you,"

"He won't need them, but I'll tell him anyway,"

Marik glanced up at the pin prick of light, the gateway to consciousness in the real world. For an odd moment he wanted to stay in the Soul Room; his body constricting inside, and stinging with the sensations of the darkness he felt with recent headaches and too much time in Bakura's presence.

For a startling second it was suffocating, and he blinked, catching Bakura's curved smile in front of him.

He opened his eyes to find himself lying back on the bed and breathing heavily. He sat up with a groan and pulled the Ring off his neck. It was burning! He dropped it on the bed and glared pointlessly at it.

"Who's in a mood?" he muttered, remembering Bakura's nasty smile.

Perhaps he should stop visiting for a while.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in,"

Yugi entered with a grin; "hey Namu, it's time for the duel, are you coming to watch?" the boys expression fell into concern; "did you get any sleep last night?"

"What?" Marik looked at the clock at his bedside. Tomorrow was today? He rubbed his eyes, "er, just give me a minute, Yugi,"

"Okay. Er, maybe bring some coffee,"

"Thanks for the tip," Marik forced a smile. He waited until Yugi's foot steps had faded down the corridor before digging the Ring from under the bed covers.

"You made me sleep over and miss a day," he sighed; "worse, you made me look like a zombie. Stupid thief,"

He hesitated, then put the Ring round his neck. He may as well let Bakura watch this duel too, and see how superfluous his good luck wishes really were.

888