Chapter Three: Empiricism

Joey groaned. He felt as though he had been run over by a school bus; every joint and muscle ached. His head and chest were buzzing with soreness. He shifted and realized that he was lying down, stretched spread-eagle on a soft, slithery substance, something dry and grainy that was rubbed through his hair and into the folds of his clothing.

Wincing, he sat up, massaging his bruised forehead. Glancing down, he confirmed that he was positioned awkwardly on a dense mound of fine sand, gritty and almost pearl-white, soft enough to pour inside his jacket and shirt like water and catch there.

He stood unsteadily, clutched for a moment at his head, then straightened and surveyed the area. Sand was everywhere, and a great white sphere was suspended overhead in a ridiculously blue sky, hot and endless. It took him a brief examination to realize that the gargantuan, shining orb was the sun, of such brilliance as he had not yet seen in his life. He turned and absorbed further plains of sand, lying flat, continuous, exceeding his sight and stretching beyond the lip of the horizon; and to his left, a thin ribbon of cerulean, gleaming almost green in the sun. Beside it there were small, crudely carved structures, constructed of slabs of brown-tan stone, windows cut into the low walls.

He started toward the river and the buildings, sneakers sinking down into the sand, so deep that the soft granules mounted high as his ankles. Sweat trickled down his face, through the strands of hair plastered to his skin, and into his mouth, a single taste drowning his entire tongue with salt and thickening the throat with almost unbelievable thirst.

It took longer than he expected to reach the buildings, and by the time he finally stepped into the shade of the alleyways, he was exhausted. Joey let himself lean back against a large, smooth clay jar and slide down to the sandy ground.

The door to one of the buildings slammed open, and two children rushed out, giggling. Joey glanced uninterestedly at them, then swung around and shot a double-take. The dark-skinned, black-haired children were unclothed from the waist up, including the small girl. Whoa. Wasn't that, something or other, disturbing the peace? If his little sister had ever run around like that -

"Hey!" he called to them. They turned. The boy placed his fingers in his mouth and sucked noisily. "Why don't you have, y'know, shirts on?"

The two looked at each other. The strange, fair-skinned boy spoke with a bizarre accent, and sounded as though - well, almost as if he didn't know the language correctly. And the question about shirts -?

The boy removed his fingers. "Why should we?" he called back suspiciously.

Joey was taken aback. "Well, eh, 'cause… cause you gotta have shirts… doncha?" He ran his hand through thick, dark blonde hair, looking them over critically. Something about the boy's English hadn't sounded right, like this was a movie in a foreign language, and he was reading the subtitles.

The boy and girl were still studying him intently, with large, black eyes. Joey felt uncomfortable with them… staring at him.

"Joey!"

Joey shoved himself to his knees and turned halfway. "Tristan!" he yelled, relieved. "Where've you been?!"

The other boy raced up to him, sand spraying from his heels. The children melted back into the alleyways, mindful of the new arrival. "Hey," Tristan puffed, leaning onto his knees and sucking in scorching air. "Where in heck are we?"

Joey moaned with disappointment. "I hoped you'd know…."

"Nope. But there are tons of people here," the brown-haired boy said, straightening, but still fighting for breath, obviously spent from running. "They all - I mean - the girls, they've got no -"

"Shirts?"

"I was looking for 'decency'…."

"Wait - if you're here - we're both here, then where's Yugi and Tea?" Joey squinted and immediately began to scan the horizon, searching for signs of the girl or boy. Nothing. His face creased with concern. "We ain't here alone, are we?"

They began to wander down alleyways and through streets; grateful for the shade of the buildings and feeling their clothes cling to them, dampened, in the blazing heat of the sun. They peeled off their jackets, looking for Tea or Yugi… or anyone, really. But the doors they passed were locked, the windows shut and battened.

The sun began to sink, its fiery arms retreating toward the tops of the buildings, mocking the sweating inhabitants with last cruel bursts of heat. Light glared off of the pale sand into their eyes as they trudged, now silently, through deserted streets.

Without any warning, bells rang out, pealing urgently through the still dusk. A boy began shouting, "They're driving the soldiers back! We're losing ground! Get out! Get out!" Instantly, every door flew open. Women, girls appeared, dragging children, stuffing bread into baskets with one hand and securing a knife onto their belt with the other, scolding, instructing, comforting.

A little girl, probably no more than six, resisted her mothers tugging and asked, in a small, fearful voice, "But Mama, the pharaoh won't let anything bad happen to us, will he? You said he wouldn't."

The woman, impatient and laden with two other offspring, said in a preoccupied, frustrated tone, "Yes I did, but he can't do everything, can he, now come on," and yanked her daughter away into the crowds streaming from the village.

Tristan turned to Joey, with the intention of cautioning him and suggesting they leave as well, but Joey wasn't there. In a moment, he'd spotted him, fighting his way upstream of the masses and forcing his way toward a cloud of dust rising far off. Faint calls could be heard, and metal flashed in the dying sun.

"Joey!" Tristan bellowed, but not even the woman shoving past him could hear the shout over the tumult. Resigned, he began pushing toward his impulsive friend, cursing his blatant and inquiring attitude with every step.

Joey could hear roars, a battle cry, and see men fighting. And - there were - God, what were those things, they weren't human! He forced his way through the last straggling villagers and ran flat-out toward the battleground, peering at the dark shapes hurtling across the land and through the sky and dense smoke.

The area directly to his right suddenly exploded in a blaze of sand and singeing heat. Joey was thrown forward and sideways, landing facedown and skidding, scraping the line of his jaw against the now-rough terrain. He levered himself up and witnessed an enormous, brown, writhing mass thrusting itself from the ground, a gaping tooth-filled mouth crowning its slimy head. Spikes protruded in random, unorganized locations all along its long body, the sticky, fatty skin covered with a thin layer of dark sand.

"Joey!" Tristan skidded to a sudden halt. People pressed around him, mouths wide, eyes round, staring as the giant wormlike creature lifted its thick body high, preparing, and then plunged downward, its circular mouth opened fully, red gullet exposed.

Joey stared up in shock. He could see row upon row of razor-sharp fangs, lining a deep, wet mouth, a long tongue of a mottled purple color; all rushing down upon him; a scream was crawling up his throat and gagging him….

"JOEY!"

An arrow sliced cleanly through the air and buried itself deep into one of the wobbling, gelatinous eyes. The gigantic sandworm shrieked and flung itself backwards, thrashing at air. Dark green liquid spurted from the punctured eye and landed in hissing, acidic puddles on the ground.

Hard brown hands pulled Joey from the ground, someone was yelling, "By gods, run, you idiot!" and then shoving him; another arrow was pulled swiftly from the quiver, and in a flash, there was a second shaft protruding from the monster's flesh. A fresh howl proceeded to rock the earth.

Joey stumbled and, finally realizing that this was definitely not a good place to be, looked wildly for a place to run. But now there were fighters all about him: soldiers clad in metallic armor, bearing swords and daggers, arrows, spears, vile liquids that they threw upon men and skewered the enemy as he was blinded.

A third arrow, a fourth, fifth, and finally the giant worm squealed and crashed gasping to the ground, the last arrow having found its brain. Joey jumped away from the carcass, then grinned asininely and shook a fist at it. "Yeah, ya don't mess with Joey Wheeler!" he proclaimed.

"Wheeler, you stupid moron!" Tristan bellowed. "Come over here before you get yourself sliced in half!"

"Mother!" a boy cried, pointing. "It's the -"

One didn't need to ask what he was pointing at, for it was quite clear. Rising from the swirling smoke, elongated violet staff in hand, long lavender hair tangling in the swish of spears, purple armor gleaming with the sunset and blood - the Dark Magician swung its weapon and unleashed a torrent of energy upon the hapless soldiers, electricity crackling along the sand and turning sweat to steam.

Tea, balancing on top of one of the buildings, surveyed the battle. She could see animals - creatures was more the word for them - darting in and out of the smoke and dust, and men fighting, launching weapons at each other, and getting so close that they had to struggle hand-to-hand, so close they could have stuck out their tongues and licked the grime from their opponents' faces.

She stared, riveted and revolted, at the death and combat - and gasped as she witnessed the Dark Magician ascending through the dust, attacking countless men, and then… returning to his master. The thick haze of dirt cleared for a moment, and she could see what looked, almost, like an older version of Yugi - but prouder, straighter, and… more vicious. The person raised his arm once more, and with the gesture the Magician was off, directed to new targets. The smoke condensed again.

Tea slid over the wall, to the ground. She had seen a blonde figure run out toward the battle, then become caught up in it. No one here was light-haired; she knew that much. If she was here, then other people from the schoolyard were here too. The blonde might have been Joey. He could be hurt.

She ran, long legs pumping, over the hot sand, wriggling her way through the people packed tightly against each other, watching the fight. She stumbled once or twice, over feet and baskets, and finally reached the end of the crowd. As she scanned the fighters for Joey, a hand grabbed her shoulder.

"Tea!"

She turned. "Tristan! You're here too!"

He nodded, keeping his eyes on the mêlée. Tea twisted to watch as well. "Is Joey in there?" she asked him after a moment, voice quavering slightly.

Tristan nodded mutely. "If he's…." The brown-haired boy couldn't finish the sentence. His eyes were locked onto the gleaming swords, red-flecked, and the beasts tearing through lines of men like they were twigs.

Joey dove to the ground and hugged the sand; someone stepped on him and another rolled onto the sand less than a foot away, throwing a gritty veil into his face, but he shut his eyes and covered his head. Anyplace above the ground was thick with fighters, spears, and spells. The earth was the safest place to be.

A man suddenly fell directly on top of him. A heavy black cloak slid over Joey's face, and the man jammed his elbow right beneath Joey's shoulder blade to lever himself up. The blonde twisted and managed to roll over, throwing the bulk of the weight off and onto the ground.

Raising himself slightly, Joey glanced at the man. His mouth fell open, and dirt was scattered into it, lining his tongue and turning to mud between his teeth. Unmindful, Joey pushed himself higher and stared directly into the face of the warrior.

"Kaiba!" Joey sputtered.

The man took no notice. It couldn't be Seto Kaiba. This man was older, stronger, the face browned by sun. And last Joey had seen him, Kaiba had been reclining on the school steps, clicking away at his twenty-grand laptop. That was at home. And wherever this place was, it was definitely not Domino.

Joey would have leaned forward and peered at the man, if time allowed, but before he got more than a few seconds' eyeful, a hand had snatched the front of the man's black robe and a rapier was pressed severely against his throat, the owner heedless of the drops of blood that trickled from the resulting damage.

Joey looked up, and now swallowed the sand in his mouth. The person holding the sword looked exactly like Yugi - well, almost - but the violet eyes were dark and narrowed, and this new someone was older, stronger. Where the heck was he - a place where everybody Joey knew was an adult combatant?

"Call off your men, Kafit," the Yugi-entity commanded, voice low but piercing.

The man who looked like Kaiba, Kafit apparently, said nothing in reply, but discreetly edged his hand along the ground toward a nearby discarded dagger. Instantly, the Yugi look-alike's foot was on top of the knife, grinding it into the sand, and the sword was beginning to slice against the jugular vein. "Now, Kafit!" the mirror image ordered.

"Damn you, pharaoh -"

There was a violent cuff across the side of Kafit's skull with the flat of the blade; then a small crack as his head snapped to one side, straining the neck. Kafit glared upward, and the king raised the sword again, the pointed ended aiming directly for Kafit's upper body.

The man's body tensed, and, after a moment's hesitation, called out loudly, "Cult!"

There was an immediate halt to the brawling. As the dust settled, Joey could now clearly see the men: some clad in armor of light mesh, and the others, their enemies, clothed in long, coal-colored cloaks, hoods up and faces covered.

Kafit's face contorted, but he said, voice gravelly: "Weapons down. Abandon your spells."

There was a minute of irate muttering, but eventually, the men in black allowed swords, knives and bows to fall, glowing spheres to fade, monsters to slowly disintegrate into thin clouds of Shadow Magic. Joey stared about himself in amazement. This was incredible!

The Yugi-look-alike pharaoh, still grasping Kafit's robe and holding the sword against him, glanced around, measuring how many of his own men were lost, how many the Cult had, whether or not the villagers had been attacked… Neither side had lost very heavy casualties. The city was unharmed. If Kafit would just act intelligently and not come back….

Reluctantly, the king let go of Kafit, who stood immediately and offhandedly brushed off his cloak. The gesture was intended to look casual, but the insult was clear, as though Kafit had come into contact with something unclean.

Joey watched the pharaoh's jaw clench, then saw him draw a steadying breath. The contempt between he two men was so dense Joey could nearly taste it. Although, he now realized, Kafit was the only man in the pair. The king - he was even younger than Joey was!

"You will take your men up to the Red Lands, and then beyond them without injuring any," the pharaoh said evenly, trying to keep the hiss out of his voice. "You will proceed back to your own homeland, Kafit, and disperse your militia to their own residences. Under no circumstances, unless on peace negotiations between your land and mine, are you to return here. Do you understand?" The last sentence was not really a question, but a note of finality, and the king obviously didn't intend for Kafit to answer it. He turned and began to walk toward his own soldiers.

Kafit's voice became very soft. "And if I refuse?"

The pharaoh stopped. A deep shudder went through his body, fury building - the insolence of this man! He was sparing Kafit's life, letting him return home rather than the public execution he deserved, and now he was -!

The pharaoh took in another deep breath. His father had taught him never to show fear to an opponent - likewise, extreme emotion. It was even more important on the battlefield than in the dueling arena. With effort, he kept his voice from grating, and addressed the Cult-member: "Accept the terms, Kafit. They're more then you merit." The pharaoh didn't do Kafit the honor of turning to look at him as he spoke.

One black-gloved closed suddenly around the hilt a sword. Kafit's blade, drawn, flashed briefly in the sunlight before slashing the other man deep across the side, spinning him halfway and throwing him onto the ground. The razor edge turned crimson.

The Egyptian army, as one, it seemed, drew in a stunned breath, and then suddenly the battle rekindled, only this time each and every soldier attempted to reach Kafit, all determined to hack his head from his neck. Kafit's fellow cult-members resisted the charge toward their commander, pushing back at the soldiers, but regardless, he was overwhelmed before he had chance to raise his sword's tip from the earth.

Yugi was perched precariously on an overturned battlewagon, only a short way from the clashing men. Shading violet eyes, he peered, squinting, at the tangle of weaponry and struggling people. It seemed as though there had been a lull in the battle for a moment, but then a loud roar had gone up and suddenly the swords were swinging again. He flinched away from the killing.

Yugi noticed one boy, without armor, equipped only with a thin bow and a quiver of arrows, obviously not a soldier… He was having difficulty with two men, dressed in black, who were holding what appeared to be handfuls of fire. They were forcing him back, away from the main fighting, and were closing in too rapidly for him to be able to use his arrows.

Yugi watched with mounting concern, ignoring the other fighters, and then gasped as one flaming orb grazed the boy's shoulder, burning skin and distracting him long enough for the thrower's partner to leap at him, smashing the boy under the neck with his metal-clad shoulder, ramming him over and onto a sand dune. Two pairs of hands closed around the boy's arms instantly, pinning him to the ground.

Yugi jumped to his feet, poising himself unsteadily on top of the cracked wooden side of the wagon. "Hey!" he shouted as loudly as he could. The robed men, momentarily distracted, looked up at him in perplexity. In the pause the trapped boy managed to hit one of them directly in the face, knocking him to the side, and somehow achieved a maneuver that twisted his body into the air, bringing his leg down over the back of the remaining man's head, laying him out flat.

The boy scrambled up, looked over at Yugi, brushing the disheveled, long hair from his eyes, and raised one hand in appreciation. Then he wheeled and ran back toward the battle, drawing an arrow and inserting it into his bow. Yugi stared at the receding figure. He had looked like… but… but that was insane….

Tristan kept his grip on Tea's shoulder, unconsciously squeezing tighter and tighter as he watched the battle continue. The fighting was definitely thinning: the armored side, the one fighting the men in black cloaks, was no longer focused on their opponents, but on the young man who Tristan had seen be attacked from behind. He noticed the fighters repeatedly ran over to the youth's side, and then usually stayed there, swords ready, fending off anyone who tried to come near. Tristan was reminded of Joey, and how protective he was of his little sister, Serenity.

And if Joey got out of that mess alive, Tristan was gonna kill him!

Finally, the last of the black-garbed men retreated, pulling back in a straggly line of coal-colored bodies, over the hills of sand. Several hung back, but soon ran after their comrades, preferring temporary withdrawal to facing the Egyptian army alone.

Tristan expelled an enormous amount of air, seeming to flatten his lungs, and gripped Tea's shoulder so hard that she yelped and smacked him across the forearm. He began to apologize, then spotted a bobbing blonde head in the milling soldiers, and, forgetting Tea, tore across the turf. He tackled Joey, yanking him to the ground, and then proceeded to hold him stomach-to-the-sand and whacked his head repeatedly, shouting in that if he ever so much as watched an old war movie Tristan would chain him to the wall.

"My lord, are you all right?"

Tea, jogging in the direction that Tristan had sprinted in, half-turned at the sound of the voice. There was an enormous group of soldiers, packed tightly into a ring shape, surrounding someone. Tea blinked at the assemblage, wondering to whom the man was talking to. She could see the speaker, leaning forward with long, dark gray hair spilling over his shoulders, but not the person he was addressing.

Then a new voice came. "I'm fine, Siimon," the person said. There was a strange undertone in the voice, something strained, and Tea realized that it was pain - a person speaking over pain.

Forgetting Tristan for the moment, Tea turned and began to worm her way through the wedged soldiers. She caught snatches of the conversation while men squawked as she pushed past.

"My lord, should I send for the healer, or the priest -?"

"No, I'm all right, I shouldn't have turned my back on him in the first place… I'm fine, Siimon!"

"Your Majesty!" Someone shoved against Tea, knocking her to the side and losing her the ground she had gained through the men packed together. "My apologies," the man said to her heedlessly. Then, "Your Majesty!" again. The man, with a length of white cloth wrapped around his dark head and donned in a long beaded robe, pressed into the center.

Tea heard a groan. A very irritated, but secretly grateful groan. "Gods, Shadi, I told everyone, I'm all right -" The voice was then muffled by something.

"Drink this -"

"That hurts…."

"Tea!" She turned and saw Tristan, keeping an unyielding grip on Joey's arm, and next to them was a boy of very small stature - Yugi - he was waving. He cupped his hands around his mouth to magnify his voice. "You're gonna think I'm crazy, you'll never believe what I think I just saw!"

The threesome reached Tea, puffing. Yugi, catching his breath, offered her a colossal grin. "Hi," he panted. He had run all the way across the battlefield when he recognized Joey's golden head.

Straightening to look at Joey and Tristan, Yugi fingered the Millennium Puzzle around his neck. He knew just where they were - Malaise had promised he could go to Egypt, and she had made good on it. He had seen a huge, towering pyramid from his position on the wagon, fashioned from immense reddish-brown stone blocks.

"Yug's got a secret," Joey said jokingly. "An' he won't tell." He pried his arm away from Tristan, who glowered at him. Joey was a reckless idiot, he'd get himself beaten to a pulp before he'd shut up….

Tea cocked her head. "What, Yugi?" She heard argument break out behind her, the man who had shoved her asserting that the injured man be carried to the healer's dwelling, the latter wanly insisting he was perfectly well, and needed to go and see to the injured men.

Yugi drew himself up, and his eyes darted from left to right playfully. "You guys," he proclaimed, "we are in ancient Egypt, and I just saw Bakura as a soldier!"