By Definition Evil

Part 3

Necessity n. 1. Something needed for the existence, effectiveness, or success of something; a requirement. 2. Something that must inevitably exist or occur: a. That which is dictated by constraining circumstances. 3. The state or fact of being required or unavoidable. 4. Pressing or urgent need, such as that arising from poverty, misfortune, or emergency.

Darkness. Swarming before him. Every time he slept, relaxed, let his guard down in any way. It preyed upon weakness.

And when it lashed out all he could do was scream. Scream in rage and agony and fear as it tore his existence. Tore until he felt, quite literally, that he was about to fall apart.

"...g-goddamn it…oh God...oh…oh fuck…"

Marik moaned in pain as shadows slid across his skin. They entered him through his mouth, nose, ears, and rectum, exploring his insides more thoroughly, even, than Bakura.

"No!" Pleas were useless. "GET OUT OF ME!" Marik's chest clenched in panic. He began to heave, blood and stomach acid dribbling haphazardly down his chin. However, the darkness wouldn't be dislodged. It clung to him jealously, in control of his body and groping insistently for his mind as well.

The blonde resisted. Staring down at his clenched, translucent fists, Marik concentrated on existence, on being just human enough to escape destruction.

"…I won't…I will not surrender…you can't have me…I'll fight…I swear to God…I don't…don't want to die…"

And he didn't. Even if his life was pointless, even if what he had couldn't be called a life at all, Marik would cling to it. It was better than the nothing he was before, the cloying, tar-like blackness from which he had painstakingly pulled himself.

"…shit…oh f-fu…" He screamed again, tearing at himself in desperation. It hurt badly enough to push him past the brink of insanity, past the point where he was able to keep on fighting. Hatred stood no chance against the unflinching despair that fell upon him. Mariku wanted to give up. He wanted to feel…

To feel absolutely nothing. To be free of pain. To be free of hatred. To be free of every emotion. Lust, even. Joy. Happiness, after all, was worse than anguish. Happiness deceived people, made them think their lives were worth something. But Marik knew the truth. He felt it in the darkness that engulfed him, had seen it glinting in Bakura's vengeance-loving eyes. Self-worth was an illusion created by minds trying to make sense of their reality. Good versus Evil. New versus Old. Intelligent Design versus the Theory of Evolution. Why did it matter who was right?

"In the end, everyone dies anyway."

This was the one thing Marik knew to be true. When you cut a person, they bleed. When you kill them, they die and do not come back. Existence ends in death. What lies beyond existence?

If he knew, perhaps he wouldn't be so afraid to die.

Laughing at his hypocrisy, at his own, sickening deformation of humanity, Mariku continued fighting. He detested humans and their hope, but wasn't it hope that kept him going? Hope that one day he would be free, that he would one day escape this soul-tearing prison and live as something…as something more than what he was?

If this was so, then hope was indeed a foul invention. How many people had Marik harmed in the name of wishful thinking? How many people would he have maimed, tortured, killed to attain his goal? To destroy the world. An objective this lofty could be fed on nothing less potent than the selfishness of hope.

The shadows tightened their grip on his body, and Marik screamed again in pain and laughter. Unlike the discomfort Bakura had put him through, this was an agony the blonde could laugh at.

He chortled as darkness clawed ruthlessly at his consciousness, grinned broadly and sobbed with every breath he took. How could he help himself? It was so funny! All of it! Ridiculous! What did it matter if he did or did not exist? In all the world, in all the galaxy, in all the markedly infinite universe and all the dimensions of space and depth and time that came with it, his being was confined to one dark spot in the back of a young man's mind. He meant less than nothing. His existence didn't even register.

Since the moment of his birth, Marik's pleas had always gone unnoticed.

And as this thought came to him, the darkness around the blonde thickened and blood from his scream-torn throat rose up and flecked his teeth with crimson.

"…shit…I won't die…I can't…not yet…I…"

"How was your flight?"

"All right, I guess. A little turbulant."

"I see."

Rishid and Malik waited for Malik's suitcase at the Washington DC Airport baggage claim. They spoke to each other lightly, of weather and airplane food and other things that simply didn't matter. Rishid had slept badly, and blonde, though polite and apparently genuinely glad to see his stepbrother, seemed preoccupied with private thoughts. On the whole, they didn't talk a lot. It wasn't until they were halfway back to the apartment that Rishid even brought up the subject of work.

"Ishizu is very excited to see you. I also believe that she has more information on that Hindu tablet you're trying to dig up."

"The Gospel of Shiva?" For the first time, Malik really seemed interested. "I've been mining my sources for months. Nothing concrete, though. Only rumors."

Rishid smiled, glad to see the blonde stirring from his usual apathy. "Yes, though, from what I hear, the rumors almost as miraculous."

Malik laughed. "You have no idea! I've heard all sorts of stories about that stupid stone. Everything from it's cursed to it was brought here by aliens to it tells the prophecy of the end of the earth. Some seriously crazy shit."

Rishid nodded.

"One thing is interesting, though. The stories of everyone I've talked to all agree on one thing."

"Oh?"

"In order to obtain the Gospel of Shiva the seeker must make a great sacrifice."

A fearful thrill ignited in Rishid's stomach. "A sacrifice?"

"Yeah. It's a bunch of bullshit if you ask me. Even the name. Giving a biblically-styled title to an Eastern religion artifact? It reeks of falsehood! "

Considering all the magic he had seen, Malik's incredulity seemed laughable. However, Rishid supposed it did make sense in a way. By distancing himself from the paranormal Malik was also able to distance himself from the past, from the part of himself he would never quite come to terms with.

"Is this the place?"

The older man nodded as they pulled into the parking garage of a svelte-looking apartment complex. "It is. Ishizu's done the decorating. All sorts of artifacts and knickknacks she's picked up on her travels.

Though he had lapsed back into his air of careful detachment, Malik did seem to appreciate his sister's taste in interior design. Authentic katana from the Feudal Period. Zulu tribal masks. Greek idols. Even a display of exquisitely carved Celtic knots. The apartment was a museum in itself. Just one of the perks of being head curator of the world fastest growing museum branches.

"I'll show you to the guest bedroom." Grasping his suitcase, Rishid led the blonde to the spare bedroom in the back. "I'm going to take a light nap, but please get me if you need something."

"All right. Thanks."

He turned to go…

"Hey…Rishid?"

…and stopped in the doorway.

"Yes?"

Malik blushed. "It's nothing…just…well, are you all right? A-all I mean is that, well…you look really worn out."

Rishid couldn't help but smile. Despite his still prevalent faults, Malik really had changed for the better. "Don't concern yourself, Master Malik. I just haven't been sleeping well is all."

Master Malik… It had been a very long time since Rishid had called him that. The blonde felt guilty somehow, as if he had unconsciously demanded it. Still, he knew it wasn't his fault.

An old habit. It must have just slipped out.

Malik was troubled by this. Above all else, he feared being remembered for what he had been. He didn't want to be 'that boy who went crazy and started a cult.' He wanted to be Malik Ishtar. Loving brother. Reliable person. A perfect fit in what society deemed the mold of normalcy.

He did not want people to think that what had happened at Battle City was the result of some sort of mental problem. Malik was no saint…but he wasn't a psychopath either. He wanted to forget the darkness of his past, to feel always the way he had felt two nights ago with Ryou wrapped in his embrace. Warm. As if nothing could stand between him and happiness. Could such a life exist? So devoid of torment and self-doubt?

Malik sighed and began to unpack. He didn't think so. Not for me at any rate. Being around his family almost made the blonde's sense of despondency worse. He felt undeserving. He felt inadequate. He had the insatiable urge to apologize…but apologize for what? For treating his loved ones like pawns? For killing his father? Maybe he should apologize for working against Fate. That, according to Yami Yugi, seemed Malik's greatest offense.

But this last transgression Malik would not repent. What was there to be had in life without the ability to chose? What lesson could be learned? What joy could be felt to its fullest extent, if not for the existence of a malleable destiny? All else, all else he would regret—the cruelty, the killing, the lies—but never that he had been brave enough to grasp for something unforeseeable.

The passion of these thoughts caused the blonde to feel dizzy, and he stretched out in exhaustion on the bed's freshly starched coverlet. Malik was tired from the trip and still a bit overcome by what had occurred between Ryou and himself. Remembering that night, his stomach would clench with a sort of nauseous joy. He wasn't in love with Ryou. Still, the knowledge that he was somehow wanted…

At that moment, Malik had never felt so content. Or nervous. Insecurity ran deep within his nature. It was the reason that, until that evening, he had never had a lover. The blonde pushed people away out of habit. Not because he was an introvert. Malik simply feared their judgment.

As he drifted on the brink of lassitude and true sleep, Malik wondered again at the level of desire hidden beneath the mild, chestnut of the gaze of Ryou Bakura. How could such a quiet, well-mannered boy possess such carnality? He didn't know, but in a way the blonde was glad they were apart. He did not wish to stop seeing the paler boy—on the contrary, his body desired him even now. Malik simply needed a moment to collect himself, to determine what came next.

He refused to be caught in the slipstream of an ill-made Fate.

Rishid Ishtar dreamed of blackness, of an endless abyss infinite in its overwhelming completeness. Night did not begin to describe the absolution of such shadow. There was no starlight, no moon reflecting rays of a sleeping…yet Rishid could see. He could see the hand in front of his face, his feet walking on something similar to ground. Muddy ground. He felt vaguely as if he were sinking,

What seemed truly remarkable was the absolute silence of the place. All the usual auditory information of life—wind, radio, the impersonal murmur of a crowd—were nonexistent. The only thing Rishid could hear was his own respiration, but this sound, like his ability to see his hands and feet, was contained completely within himself. It held no sway over the formless landscape by which he was surrounded.

Maybe I've died. The darkness played sick jokes upon his thoughts. Maybe I'm in Purgatory awaiting judgment.

Or maybe his time for judgment had come and passed. Maybe Rishid was already trapped in the bowels of the she-beast, Ammit. Only in the black corridors of the tomb keeper's caverns had he ever been so lonely.

With a compulsion only found in dreaming, Rishid continued walking. The idea of immobility somehow shocked him. In the featureless darkness, he longed for movement, expression, something that even remotely resembled life.

It was only when his prayers were answered that Rishid immediately changed his mind. A muffled scream violated the shadow's quiet. The darkness, before so passive, was suddenly alert and wriggling. Before so sure of his solitude, Rishid felt an ugly, crawling sensation in his stomach as he realized he was not alone.

"…oh God…oh God stop it…no…sh-shit, no…"

This voice. Why? Why in the world did this have to be the voice to greet him now? Rishid ground his teeth in frustration, in fear. Of course. The creature had said so itself.

'I'll reach you in your dreams soon enough.'

And it had. It was in his dream now, testing, provoking him. But what could this thing possibly have to say?

"...out…get…g-get…" The thing was interrupted by its own high-pitched screaming.

Despite himself, Rishid flinched. How unnatural! For such a dark and heartless voice to grovel…to…to plead in such a way. It sounded almost as if the thing were...above all else, Rishid hated the idea of people being in pain. The need to protect was ingrained deeply in his nature, so deeply that nothing—not even reason—could deter it. In a way he blamed it on his empathy for Malik. The idea of another living creature being tortured did not sit well with him.

"…ah…ahh…"

This is a trap. Rishid continued moving forward. I'm a fool. He's only using me to get to Malik.

"…I can't…ahhh…please, God…I can't…"

He's probably faking it. This statement Rishid discredited almost instantly. Whatever plot the darkness of Malik Ishtar was concocting, the pain, at least, was real.

"…please…please…"

He could see him—it—now, sprawled out naked in his path. Seemingly unaware of Rishid's presence, it jerked and clutched itself and continued to moan. He could find no sense in it. As far as he could tell, the creature was alone. However, it continued to beg as if…as if something were attacking it.

"…p-please…"

Rishid flinched at the real agony lacing its voice. He hated pain. He hated to see anyone so helpless and alone, but this…this was not anyone. This was the creature who had tortured his beloved Malik, who had killed the man he so desperately wished to call his father. Disheveled blond hair, eyes devoid of normal, human light. Everything he had come to hate. How could Rishid feel any sympathy towards such a base and uncouth…

"…tell me…t-tell me whom I…"

'Tell me whom I should hate.'

The first words it had ever said to him. Words so helpless and despairing that, at the time, Rishid hadn't known to be afraid. Despite the gravity of the phrase, there had been no true malice behind it, only a sort of childish hopelessness that was actually a little bit heartbreaking. Even now, he sensed in the words this same, unpracticed desperation.

"…please, I…oh, God…"

"Shh…" He couldn't bear it anymore. The voice was different. The very soul was different, but the nature of these pleas reminded him so much of… "I won't harm you. Just calm down."

Thrashing wildly, the creature clawed bloody furrows into its sides and upper arms. Saliva dribbled from its mouth. Sweat poured. Its purple eyes, clenched shut against the torture, flew open occasionally to implore the emptiness above. It was painfully obvious to Rishid that it wasn't even aware of his existence.

"…I want to…ahh…I want…" It began to hyperventilate, shuddering sobs wracking its body until it moaned and choked and screamed and…

…and laughed.

It was laughing. In a strange, hiccoughed sort of way, it was actually laughing! This truth repelled Rishid. Revulsion now mingling with his empathy and hatred, he moved close to the blond, Malik-like creature lying at his feet. It did not acknowledge him but continued to chortle brokenly. He's a monster. He's absolutely…

Since when was it a he? Rishid stumbled back a little. He hadn't meant…that is, he wasn't…speaking of Malik's darkness as though it were human. Humanity meant kinship. Kinship meant…kinship meant he was responsible for actually helping this thing.

Looking closely, Rishid realized that what appeared to be untainted skin was actually trapped in a net of vein-like shadows. Nearly imperceptible in the surrounding darkness, they clung to him tightly, made somehow more substantial by the blonde's evident terror of them.

"…get out…"

They thickened around his mouth like a shroud, as if they wanted admittance.

"…I don't…I want…"

His chest rose and fell quickly, less out of need for oxygen—there was none in this abysmal dreamscape—than out of sheer panic.

"…can't…can't…but I want…ahh…" Without a final gasp, the blonde's struggles ceased. His mouth slackened and, aside from the occasional muscle twitch, his body became as still and stiff as death.

"Are you all right?" Rishid said this without thinking, realizing only afterwards what a stupid and derisive question it was to ask. Of course he wasn't all right! He was…he was dying and in excruciating pain and even if the darkness of Malik Ishtar was evil, even if he deserved all of this and more, Rishid would not allow it.

Without hesitation—hesitation would only serve to fracture his resolve—the taller Egyptian knelt beside that trembling darkness. His body shook with apprehension and disgust. Still, Rishid forced himself to reach out, to touch the agony-flushed cheek of his master's evil.

The blonde's reaction was both immediate and violent. His eyes flew open. His body jerked. His shriek-torn vocal chords gave a bark-like shout of surprise. For a moment the darkness' shocked gaze met Rishid's. Then, with a funny groan, he pitched forward to lie unconscious on the larger man's chest.

Rishid was so shocked by this that it wasn't until several moments later that he realized the shadows tormenting the blonde had finally vanished.

The lack of pain hit Marik like a well-aimed blow to the stomach. He felt drained without it. Relieved, yes, but also sort of empty. His was a nice emptiness, though, a serene one. Feeling took so much effort. He preferred to just to relax, to ease into the warmth surrounding him until he forgot everything—Bakura, Malik, shadows, hate. They didn't matter. Mariku was free for a moment, protected by something indefinable and bright.

Moaning a little, Marik tried to force himself deeper into the warm anonymity of this embrace. The pleasure he felt now was not unlike the brief, exploding sensation he had felt beneath the sadism of Bakura. However, it was more subtle, wholesome even. A sensation that bestowed without demanding. He had encountered nothing like it.

For whatever reason, Marik likened this feeling to the color green. Having never seen actual foliage, his idea of green was warped, not bright and vibrant but old, granular. Marik's green was the deep olive color of ocean waves, the weathered acceptance of a gaze not quite bright enough to be called emerald.

His gaze.

Rishid Ishtar was mute with horror. The blonde's body was so cold, so alike to death that he could not shake the impression that he was embracing a corpse. However, a quiet moan told him that the creature was far from dying. It even stirred a little, readjusting itself in his embrace. Rishid was struck by the jarring inversion of demeanor. One moment, screaming. And now? Now he was shivering and silent. Sleeping with the exhaustion of one whose burden has been miraculously lifted.

Rishid marveled at the calm of this unconscious face. Curiously enough, he—Rishid supposed it was a he after all—looked no more like Malik asleep than awake. Even with features relaxed and nasty gaze eradicated, the angles of his face seemed more extreme, contoured in away that had little to do with bone structure. Perhaps it is because he's underweight.

No. That didn't explain it. The difference ran deeper, rooted somewhere in the soil of temperament and sanity. The fact was, this blonde was more unlike Malik than one would think, and Rishid was admittedly glad for it.

"…I told you…"

The man shuddered. Purple, emotionless eyes assailed him. He hadn't even noticed the darkness waking up.

"…I told you we would meet…not like this…I didn't think…but…"

Rishid jerked away sharply, and the blonde gasped, the larger man's body heat suddenly lost to him. He sputtered for a moment—a swimmer in an icy lake—before throwing him a reproachful look.

"Why is it that they don't attack you?"

"They?" Then Rishid understood. The shadow. That…that net thing. "What was it? Why did it attack you?"

The darkness sighed, apparently over the unbearable pain he had just been forced through. "It was Nothing. I would say it attacked me out of jealousy." He paused for a moment to let loose a sardonic laugh. "But I'm fairly certain the concept of jealousy is beyond its grasp." He chortled again, as though remembering some private joke. "Still, you came. Whether willingly or otherwise you're here, and I'm happy for that."

"Happy?" Rishid found this unsettling. "How does my presence make you happy?"

"What I mean to say is that you must not dislike me as much as I had though. After all, you did save my life."

"Listen, you…"

"Call me Marik."

"M-marik…" Rishid choked on the syllables. He didn't like the name. Not at all. "Listen, I have…had…no intention of saving your life. My loyalty lies with Master Malik. You don't even exist."

Marik smirked, a gesture haunting for its wistfulness. "Your cruelty has never been convincing."

"Nor has your sanity!"

Rishid needed to calm down. He was losing his temper, his ability to think logically. This was bad. Marik was nothing if not opportunistic.

"You're no more sane than I am, Rishid." The smirk was gone, replaced with the equally unnerving callousness of the blonde's stare. "Let me ask you again. Does Malik love you back?"

"I…"

But Rishid's reply was ripped away by a storm of consciousness. Daylight pulled him from darkness and into the cool morning of a waking day. Cushions. A mattress. Cream-colored curtains glowing pink beneath the pall of sunrise. I must have slept all the way into morning.A dream. It had been a dream and nothing more. Still, something unresolved and doubtful tugged at the edges of Rishid's mind. Does Malik love me? Does he love Ishizu? Has anything about him changed at all?

For the first time in a long time Rishid began to wonder.

"I can't believe you! I can't believe you would do that!"

"Can't you?"

Slamming a pot of something stewing on the stove, Ryou Bakura continued to scream into what was, apparently, thin air.

"Well, I suppose I can…but seriously, Bakura! Did you have to…"

"How else was I to make him understand? He's even more obstinate than Malik."

"Malik's not…" Ryou blushed, severely irritated with the spirit living inside his head. "That is…"

"Oh come off it!" The voice of the Sennen Ring's former resident cut angrily across his consciousness. "Wasn't it enough for you to have sex with him? Don't tell me you're fucking in love with the guy!"

"I-I'm not." The flush in the young man's face became more pronounced. "Besides, this isn't about Malik!"

"About what I did to Marik, then? Don't even begin to defend him, Ryou! It's nothing short of what he deserved."

"No. I suppose not."

Exiting the sweltering kitchen, Ryou flounced lazily on the blue divan in the living room. He was on vacation in England and found the relative spaciousness of his family home a welcome relief to his dorm room's cloistered ambiance.

"Why did you go to him, anyway? I thought you said he was dying."

"Marik IS dying." A chuckle entered the yami's voice. "Slowly his life is being drained away from him. Dying and alone. Who knows? By the end he may be begging for my companionship."

Ryou was by now used to the presence of the spirit and, to a certain degree, desensitized to his sadism. However, at times Bakura's cruelty was too complete to stomach. "D-don't…don't talk like that, you…"

"Monster? Do not forget, Ryou, what he has done to us."

Unable to speak around the catch in his throat, Ryou could only shake his head in helplessness In truth, he remembered very little of Battle City, having spent the majority of the time locked inside his soul room. As far as he could tell, the yami of Malik Ishtar, though wreaking havoc among Yugi and his friends, had done little more to Bakura than cut down his pride. Banishment to the shadows was nothing to the spirit, not when he had an accommodating host to come home to.

Ryou prayed every day that Malik and Yugi would not find out about his greatest sin. That he willingly harbored Bakura was not something that he was proud of. But what other choice did have? He'd made the choice out of sheer necessity. It was either that or…

…or be alone. Ryou had no family. Until recently, he had not even had what he could call friend. He had given into Bakura with surprisingly little hesitation, knowing that, without the Ring, the spirit's power was only a fraction of what it used to be. No longer could his body be possessed. However, at times Ryou's mind reeled with the shock of another consciousness. Bakura's companionship had cost him a great deal of both mental and physical privacy.

But I'm not alone. Ryou had to remember that.

"I suppose you'll want to see Malik again? Play pretend at being lovers?"

"Yes. I'd like that."

The spirit's words were laced with a subtle ferocity. "Naturally, I won't object. However, it is important that you remember your obligations."

"I know." Ryou smiled despite his anguish. He often marveled at the imploring nature behind Bakura's vulgarity. "I'll never leave you. I promise."

-TOT (Sorry it took so long for me to update. I've been really busy with schoolwork and whatnot. I hope you like this chapter. And please tell me what you think of the Rishid/Marik interaction. It was surprisingly difficult for me to write.)

Please review.