A/N: Hello, and thank you for reading this far:) In this chapter, Yugi has a talk with Yami, Marik appears, and the Blue Eyes White Dragon looms over the horizon. ::gasp:: So, this chapter will not be as uneventful as the last one; sorry about that...

Ah, and thanks to the reviewers! Specifically, thank you to Arion Girl and dragonlady222. ::glomp:: Thanks to you two, I now have more reviews than chapters! Huzzah!

In response to Arion Girl's question (I think I put a note about this at the end of an earlier chapter, but I'll say it more clearly here): I started planning this fic several years ago, before I even knew this site existed. Since I had only watched the dubbed anime at that point, I knew Hikari Bakura as "Bakura", not Ryou. I also needed a name for Yami Bakura... so, I hunted around for "Bakura's" surname and found 'Ryou'; hence, that's what I named Yami Bakura. I eventually found this site and discovered their actual names; however, by this point I had about 80 pages' worth of material and was very emotionally invested in the characters, Yami Bakura ("Ryou") in particular. I considered changing the names, but in the end, decided not to. I didn't expect many people to read "Consequence" (the plot gets rather weird later on), but mostly wrote it to practice my own skills as a writer. So, the names remain switched...

However, if it's too confusing, I will of course change it. :)

Now, on to the chapter!

Disclaimer: If I owned it, Kaiba would bake cookies for everyone every other Sunday.

Chapter Five: Negligence

Yugi stretched but didn't open his eyes. It was Thursday. A school day. Grandpa would be up in a few minutes, if he wasn't already, and then he would come in to wake Yugi up. He curled up tightly and felt around for his pillow, eyes closed to keep the dream he had been having. His bed was hard, and the blanket felt strange, too scratchy to be his regular bedspread… where the heck was the stupid pillow?

He yawned, making his jaw pop, and opened his eyes. Instantly, as he gaped, he remembered what had happened. Malaise - Yami - Egypt - Bakura - He sat up, sending his school jacket sliding to the dirt floor. He stared around the small stone room: the melted-out candle in the window, the reeds dangling from the ceiling, Tea lying with her face to the wall, Joey draped languidly over the stool, Tristan sprawled on the floor, snoring. Bakura was in the corner opposite him, with kohl lining his eyes and wearing a length of cloth around his waist. Bakura was an ancient Egyptian. It surprised him all over again when he thought about it.

Someone was missing. Yugi glanced around, rubbing the sore spot on his chest where he had been lying on the Millennium Puzzle. Ryou! Where was Bakura's brother?

Yugi looked around at the five sleeping people, counting heads again. Yes, Ryou was gone - he could have just been outside to get water or something, but still, Yugi should check, shouldn't he? He stood, stretching his shoulders again until they popped too, and then pushed his way under the hide door.

The air wasn't cold, it was actually warm, but it had a quality of coldness: a sharpness to it that made him have to breathe slowly and gingerly. He rubbed the Puzzle, like he always did, for comfort. It still felt like metal, but at least it wasn't icy to the touch anymore.

The sun was turning the sky pink to the east; Yugi could see the light shimmering off of the Nile. He smiled. If someone had ever told him he would be seeing the ancient Nile….

He started off in no particular direction, or so he thought, but mostly faced the not-quite-rising sun and walked that way. He could see something else glittering - only not water this time, but gold - gold and marble - something that stretched gracefully into the dark sky and caught the sunlight.

He now walked in that direction, and as he did he became aware of the people: moving near the river, dropping ropes - no, nets, fishing nets - into it, gathering reeds from the dark mud by the banks - papyrus, that was it! He had learned that in school - some children playing, other people just talking, several women and men tracing dark colors around their eyes or trimming the hair off of their faces. So many people!

Yugi walked steadily, goosebumps rising on his bare arms, even though the air was heating up. Even though it was amazing to be here, and wonderful, he couldn't help but feel wary. Malaise had put him here, he was sure of it… but could she bring him back home? On the same note, would Yami be going home with him?

That was what was bothering him - had Yami been hurt, poisoned enough not to recognize him? Or was it that - Yugi felt his throat tighten - that Yami didn't remember him?

"I have restored him to ancient Egypt," was what Malaise had said. Did that mean that he didn't remember Duelist Kingdom, the Rare Hunters, the Millennium Puzzle, any of it? That he didn't remember - Yugi swallowed at the lump, but it didn't shrink - Yugi?

"My aibou," Yami had affectionately called him several times. Yugi had found it annoying not to be called by name, but… if Yami didn't remember him, then he definitely wasn't the pharaoh's aibou any more.

Yugi continued in a meandering way, until he finally figured out where he was steering himself. "Oh," he said softly. "Of course." And, now with the destination in both mind and body, he turned fully toward the palace, and walked resolutely to it.

There was no gate, simply a mosaic pathway flanked by columns. These were supporting statues of graceful people dressed in long robes, many of them bearing animal heads upon their shoulders, all gazing down, stone eyes set with jewels and seeming to really see. Yugi walked nervously down this avenue, glancing with apprehension up at the gods of Egypt.

Footsteps rang on stone suddenly, and Yugi slid behind one of the columns, remembering with anxiety the soldier yesterday, who had jabbed a sword at him. But instead of a soldier, from a low archway there emerged a boy.

Yugi glanced out at him, felt his eyes become round, and then realized how many times he had gaped at people in the past twenty-four hours. But - the boy, young man really, was of medium height, with light hair that came to his shoulders and lavender eyes, darting about to check that no one was there.

Marik Ishtar? Not another person he knew, how many people were really ancient Egyptians?! This was getting to be beyond crazy, now it was almost stupid….

Marik glanced about himself, then, satisfied that no one was nearby, turned sharply to his right and strode swiftly up a staircase, swinging the door shut behind him, silently. The door nearly closed on his darkly-colored cloak.

Yugi slipped out from behind the pillar, blinking after him. Marik, to his knowledge, was all right - rather insane, but all right underneath - but what was he doing here? Malaise wouldn't have altered that many lives, would she?

He continued down the pathway, but once again he heard someone coming. Irritated, he hid in back of the column again.

Yami stretched quietly as he walked. Shadi had kept him up half the night, insisting that if Yami went to sleep the gods would steal his soul during the night. It was ridiculous, it was exhausting, and it was simply annoying when the priest started singing hymns to ward off evil spirits. The conversations had gone something like this:

"Sekhmet, lady of healing and love.

Watch over our land.

For you the people sing."

"Shadi."

"The cooling touch of your hand cures all

The mightiest of mortals bow to your restoring power."

"Shadi, I'm not going to die. Siimon drained out the poison -"

"The greatest of warriors,

The vilest of sinners

Fall victims to your love, your healing, your gentle spirit.

Heal, Lady Sekhmet! Bring relief to the wounded!

I praise -"

"SHADI! STOP SINGING, FOR RA'S SAKE!"

And that was how the night had gone. Yami was hoping he could hide in a corner somewhere, nurse his still-stinging side and even more severely damaged ego, maybe sleep a little, avoid Shadi, and in fact anyone, and just forget that he was the king of Egypt for a while.

"Yami!"

Just keep walking and pretend he didn't hear that.

"Yami!"

Resigned, Yami turned in the direction of the voice and said, "Yes?" There was a clatter of feet on stone, and he looked downward. He blinked in surprise at the face peering up at him. Yami was ridiculously small for his age, and he usually looked up at people, not down. It was rather a new experience. "…Yes?"

Yugi looked up at Yami. There was no recognition on his face, no sign of confusion or - or anything. He felt his heart sink somewhere down near his knees. "Um… hi? I just… I mean…." he started, fumbling and feeling somewhat like he was going to cry. What had Malaise done? "I saw you yesterday… and… I just wanted to ask if you were okay…."

Yami gazed down in some bewilderment. The boy speaking to him looked uncannily like his own reflection, or at least what it had looked like when he was a few years younger. And the way he spoke Khemetian was strange, as were the clothes and the light skin. Hadn't Yami seen him the other day? Cautiously, and in a voice so careful and formal he sounded horribly like his own father, he replied, "I'm unhurt, or at least not badly. Thank you for your concern."

Yami never talked to him like that. Yugi winced. "So… you're okay, Yami?"

The pharaoh was pretty confused now. He was very used to being treated like a god, because, after all, that's exactly what he was. All pharaohs were gods, although they became old and died as mortals did. He was used to people addressing him reverently, if not almost cringingly, and having them kiss the ground he walked on (very unsettling) or occasionally reaching out to nearly touch him, but not quite, as though frightened by their own daring to reach out to a deity (disturbing). And now, there was some child, not only failing to address him properly (which was a good thing) but also calling him by his nickname. And with no title before it. Even Bakura and Marik had taken ages to get out of the habit of doing that. Was the boy mocking him? …He wasn't the first.

"I - er -" he stammered.

"Your Highness!"

Oh Gods, didn't Shadi have something better to do? "What?" Yami wheeled away from the boy for the moment and scowled. But the expression changed when he saw Shadi's face. "Shadi? What is it?"

Shadi clamped onto Yami's sleeve and pulled forcefully, nearly knocking Yami off of his feet. "It - he -" the priest gasped, then saved energy for running. He had already sprinted over half the castle to find the king.

Yugi, forgotten for the moment, ran after them. Shadi might not remember him, but he remembered Shadi. And Yami. And they both looked extremely freaked out. So, logically, he should follow them. Right? Right.

Shadi yanked Yami, almost roughly, up to one of the towers. He pointed wordlessly out at the rising sun. Yami squinted. What was Shadi so upset about, there was nothing th- wait.

Something was silhouetted against the sun, dark and flashing in the light. It moved swiftly, high above the ground, almost in the exact center of the half-sphere. It twisted briefly, plummeting down, and at the last moment, rising again. A long line stood out also, thick, going on for almost half a mile across the sun's width.

"What is that?" he asked, but felt a very uneasy feeling begin to rise deep in his stomach.

"They have come back," Shadi said, still breathing hard from the run. He didn't notice Yugi peeking out from behind him, but his hand was gripping Yami's shoulder painfully tight. "Look at how many of them there are. This isn't just some skirmish. They have every man. They have their monsters. They -" he gestured to the large, lithe shape darting in looping circles above the army, " - have the Alabaster Dragon." He swallowed noisily. "They're going to try to take the city all at once."

Yami turned briefly, and said, "Call the men." Then he was no longer in the room, and footsteps were slamming on the staircase, echoing flatly against the marble walls.

Malaise stood, poised in one of the buildings - it was abandoned, of course, so she was safely hidden, and still could see everything. She peered out the window, unwavering, and watched the advancing wall of men. "The Disciples of Yashamaat," she softly said to herself, her voice ringing with irony.

The sight was almost comforting, the familiarity of it - the swooping dragon, Kafit's obviously, for she could see the layer upon layer of shining alabaster-white scales - the Cult-members robed in black, marching effortlessly, made calm and bold by the power of the beast Kafit controlled - the sunrise behind them, a bloody vermilion. In the palace, she knew, Yami would be scrambling around, giving hasty instructions to soldiers, probably banging into a few tables, cursing Kafit and the Cult and everything he could think of.

Those children? The ones she had sent? …They all were fine, although the little one was upset, running back toward the others. Nothing was wrong. Everything was going well; perhaps this time she would succeed.

Malaise stretched her long neck, a small but luxurious moment. She rarely had time for luxuries.

A flash. The vision was there for but a moment, and it was faint and difficult to comprehend, but when she did… A person lying half in, half out of the water, the reflection of flames flickering, a sharp, high note cracking the air… yes, of course, she understood.

Malaise ran through her options in a trice, and chose one carefully. As she raced down the steps, the robe clinging to her ankles, she sought counsel. Yes, this was the best choice, yes, it was all right. Malaise flung open the riddled, half-rotten door and felt the hot rush of air roll over her; for just a few moments she thought she was - no.

Her duty, she must perform her duty. Malaise glanced to one side, at the advancing Cult, and then to the other, at the city, sleeping. She blinked, as close to laughing as she ever came. This city was always sleeping when it was attacked, how comical.

She turned her face toward Nout, the sky-goddess, filled her lungs, and screamed loudly, feeling the rush of air in her mouth. Doors creaked open; armor gleamed far on the other side of the settlement, in the garden of the palace.

"What is it, milady? What's wrong?" several voices rang out.

Feigning terror, Malaise pointed a trembling hand at the army. "They - they've come back - the Dragon - they -"

"Oh!" And suddenly pandemonium, people running to and fro, seizing children, seizing weapons, some foolish ones seizing wineskins and squeezing the drink into their mouths, saying, "That's it, we're going to die, I'll just have a spot, then." It was all so familiar. Malaise looked on briefly, satisfied, then silently melted away into the shadows… she was going to have to find those children… she sensed that they were as confused as the mob milling before her….

Bakura stretched from his position on the floor; he must have fallen asleep in the corner again. No wonder Ryou was always teasing him about being a cat, sleeping anywhere small and smooth; he had a sleeping mat and he didn't use it.

He blinked sleepily around the room. Right, those kids he had talked to yesterday, the ones with strange names and clothing… "Hoaumm." He yawned. They were lolled out all over the room.

Some people were missing. Ryou - that wasn't unusual - and the smallest kid, the one whose name he had trouble with - Yugi, right. Him. He wasn't here. Outside, probably. Bakura stretched again, mussed his hair, and slipped the quiver over his shoulder. He should just get it stuck on there, he mused, because he wore it from the moment he got up to the instant he lay down, sometimes sleeping with it on… but whatever, he picked up the small bow as well.

There was a commotion outside. He pushed through the skin. It wasn't a lot of hubbub, but people were outside, whispering together in bunches, glancing over to one side. He tapped someone on the shoulder. "What's going on?"

The old man turned. "There are rumors spreading - some people are saying that the Cult is back."

"Again? So soon? That's not their pattern, they always wait for at least a week -"

The man shrugged. "I didn't start the gossip, I heard it. Hey, kid!" he called to a small boy running around. "Where's your mammy? You get back to her right away, y'hear?"

The boy stuck out his tongue. "You can't make me do nothing," he whined.

"Move it," Bakura ordered the kid, shifting his bow and spinning about, slipping back inside. "Hey, you guys, wake up. Joey? Tea? Everybody, get up! There's a problem!"

Joey raised his head and blinked sleepily. "Wha? Whassa matter, Bakura?"

"Where is your friend?"

"Yug? I dunno." Joey yawned.

"Well, then find out!" Bakura insisted. They all looked at him, surprised. "The Cult is back and of they find him alone -" Bakura thought back to one of his own friends - wandered off at night - gotten lost - Cult found him - discovered two days later, stripped of everything he owned, burnt, sliced deeply, and strung up as a warning. Nearly dead…. "Find him, now!"

Joey wrestled into his shirt, Tristan bolted, and Tea jumped to her feet. "Okay, let's do this logically," she called. "Where would he most likely be?"

His chest hurt, from running and from the Item smacking against it when he bounced up and down. Seemed like the only two things he had done here was run and stare at people.

Yugi swiped at the pale gold hair falling into his eyes and squinted up at the sun. He needed to get back to Bakura's home, and find out if everybody was okay, and they knew about the upcoming fight. And - he didn't want to be near the palace any more. Yami was his protector, his dark side with a light heart - and he didn't recognize him. No, it wasn't that he didn't remember Yugi - it was that Yugi did not exist to him. Not yet. Maybe not ever. If Malaise could change Bakura's life and Marik's life and all these other people, then why would she fix it so that Yami would become a spirit later on?

"Yugi Mutou."

Instant halt, sand spraying. He whipped from one side to the other, then around. Malaise stood in the shadows of an alley, her robe pulled tightly around her and a length of cloth drawn over her face. Yugi glared at her. He'd never wanted to hit anyone in his life - well, very few of them. He wanted to hit Malaise now.

"Yes?" Malaise seemed very slightly amused.

"It's not funny!" he practically shouted. "What did you do; nobody knows who I am anymore!"

Malaise shook her head at his stupidity. "Little boy, your time is 3,000 years yet to come, at least in this layer of time. Who can know who you are? You are not anywhere yet. Your ancestors walk this land."

"Then take me back. Take everything back," he stated. "You said if I didn't like how it was you'd take it all back." Malaise tilted her head and said nothing, only stared. Yugi backed up slightly. "You did say that," he said, quieter. He was feeling more normal now. "You promised."

Malaise now shifted her head back to its regular position. "I said," here she paused for effect, "that if you and the pharaoh were not pleased, I would return you."

Yugi blinked. "But - but he doesn't remember -"

Malaise allowed herself a very, very small smile. "I know that, little one."

Yugi stood extremely still for a moment… then panicked. "I can't go home?!"

Malaise shrugged. "Of course you can. But the king will most likely not want to leave his land, his people, his battle, to follow an insane little boy into some wild fantasy time." She bowed deeply and said, "Ah, and there will be soldiers running through this street in a few moments. You will want to be long gone by the time they arrive." Then she turned, took several steps into the dark shade, was gone.

Yugi took a few deep breaths. Malaise had tricked him. This was very bad. He was stuck in ancient Egypt, where no one remembered him, his defender was busy and didn't recognize him anyway, and the closest thing he had to someone knowing him was a former classmate with a heck of a lot of arrows and a possibly psychotic brother. He much preferred school.

He had to get back to the others.

Kafit leaned forward, letting adrenaline course through him. The scales underneath his hands were slippery, but the metal bands at his knees and wrists practically hooked into the slick shapes, so he was not afraid of falling. He could feel the thrust, the ripple of muscle in back of him every time the dragon pumped its wings; hear the beast's heavy inhalations and exhalations. The sun, even behind him, blinded his eyes, glaring off the shining scales on the great lizard's pate, made his back uncomfortably hot; the wind, from the fantastic speed, was cold and filled with sand, gritting his eyes and nose.

Yet he was deliriously happy. He was going to fight, he was going to finish what he had started, he was going to be rewarded. He glanced down. The Cult-members - even the tallest of them - seemed like the tiniest of creatures, swathed in black, scurrying like little insects. He laughed. He loved this sensation of power and freedom. Of flying above everything else. He called proudly, "Prone, ket nekkoio! Ano!"

Kafit's eyes sought the tall, proud man at the front. He gave a slight, reverent bow of his head. That man was the father of them all. The leader of the Cult. The reason Kafit had this dragon, this command, this chance at war.

That man was God.

Yami muttered to himself under his breath, about his father not instructing him properly on the art of war; also trying to go through which men were injured and which were all right for battle; if the soldiers had had enough time to replenish their personal stores of magic; and sincerely hoping that the Alabaster Dragon wasn't as strong as he thought it was. At the same time wrestling into a mesh suit, unwinding the bandage from his waist, and trying to recall where his stupid sword was. Why was this so hectic? He wanted an adult to run this place, not him.

Oh goody, another messenger. "My lord!" the man panted, deriving air noisily. "They've reached the outer gates; the guards and archers can't hold them off for very long! We have lost eight men already, from the north side alone!"

"Ow!" Yami jerked his hand back. Yes, the sword was indeed very sharp. He tied the scabbard onto his belt, sucking blood off his fingers. "Thanks. Are the troops ready?" he asked, trying to figure out how to correctly put on a dumb helmet. He shouldn't have let the soldiers go back to their homes last night, stupid, stupid….

"Yes, they're outside -"

He was too young to run a country, dammit! Yami gave up on the helmet and sprinted down the four flights of stairs to the outer doorway. The men were outside - sleepy-eyed, shivering in the cold, and looking scared half out of their wits. Some had horses; most did not. Siimon had brought out Yami's horse already; he mounted quickly and glanced at the men. They were lined up, straight and rigid. Most village boys, only a few actually trained. They would fight anyway.

He didn't want any of them to die.

Then again, he didn't want to be assassinated and have his land ruled by the Yashamaat, either.

Yami took a deep breath. "All right," he said, addressing the men, "I know that we aren't prepared for this. But this battle is going to win the war. For either side. So we have to win," he said, now fiercely, "understand? This is not for honor, or glory, or duty, or any of that, when you get down to it. This is just so you can go home at night without the fear that your wives and children are going to be dead or worse." Some of the soldiers shifted, recalling the past. Some of them had experienced just that. "We will split into three groups. Wedjiir, you take them - Th'amuren, you take those - and you men, you come with me. Th'amuren, go through the east gate; Wedjiir, the west. I will take my force directly through the main gates. Fine?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, my lord."

Yami watched them for a moment, making sure they were leading their forces correctly, then motioned to the largest group of men to follow him. They all did so instantly, without another thought - because he was their god.

Right. A god who was secretly scared so bad he couldn't even grip his reins. He kicked for the horse to go forward. For the love of Ra, he wished they didn't need him to do this.

A/N: Kafit's little speech translates into something like: "Come, my friends! Attack!" It's a language I made up in seventh grade, so it's pretty simplistic, butI ike using it for the Yashamaat's speeches. It's supposed to be Syrian. ::swetadrop::

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