Disclaimer: I don't own YGO…duh!

This chapter is going to really delve into Marik's head. This is why he is who he is…ahem…without further ado…

Chapter 14: Constant Idol

Marik opened the door to his father's study. Lord Ishtar's back was to him, and he could not see his face; he could only see his long shadow, trailing onto the wall, caused by the flickering glow of the one candle that lit the parchment Lord Ishtar was currently scratching into. He was seated at a simple wooden desk, bent over several scrolls of text.

Marik was never one for books, but even he was surprised at the volume of literature that occupied the room. Had there always been this much? Marik wasn't sure; after all, it was rare he was welcome in his father's chambers, much less into the private library in located behind the bedroom.

"Marik," his father called tonelessly, "come forth, my son." Marik was surprised at his father's wording; "my son" was often a phrase associated with his younger brother, Malik. As Lord Ishtar had said earlier, Marik was no son of his.

Marik came forward, to his father's side, and dipped low, kneeling on one foot before him, and one hand crossed over his chest as a sign of respect. His father turned, got off the chair, and placed his knotted hands over Marik's shoulders, raising him up carefully.

Lord Ishtar tilted his head, and smiled at Marik, bearing his pointed, canine-like teeth. Marik felt a chill travel down his spine, and settle in his fingers, going cold. His father had never smiled at him. It was a sign of affection Marik had long waited for; but instead, the effect, given the dim light, was unnerving.

"You are me," Lord Ishtar spoke suddenly, flicking his deep, abysmal eyes at Marik. "You are my true son. Why did I not see it before? I always thought it was Malik, but no. You."

Marik was confused by his father's words. He sounded almost deranged. "My Lord," Marik began carefully, "what do you speak of? I'm afraid I don't understand. I thought I was to receive a sanction tonight."

"No, my son, tonight brings us not a sanction, but a blessing, from Set himself!" his father laughed merrily.

Marik gazed at his father steadily. "My Lord, you must've meant the Great Ra, for Set is the God of the Darkness."

"You shan't question your father," Lord Ishtar stated levelly. "I meant Set, the great god who will deliver all of Egypt from her enemies." Lord Ishtar paused. "It is time I showed you everything, my son. Everything. I want you to see the great era you are now destined to become a part of."



Marik was frightened by his father's change in personality. His father neither gave him the decency of being called a son of his, nor did he ever share anything remotely intimate with him. "My Lord, I do not understand. Why am I here then, if not to receive some sort of punishment?"

"No, it's Father," Lord Ishtar demanded, his canine smile gracing his lips once more. "You shall call me father, for you are my son. My true son." Noting Marik's confusion, Lord Ishtar continued, "you like hurting them, don't you?"

"Hurting who, my L…Father?"

"The girls, my boy, the girls. Hitting them, making them cower in your wake. It makes you feel good, doesn't it?"

Marik nodded truthfully, unsure how to respond to his father's strange question.

"It gives you a rush, doesn't it? And you never feel bad after, do you? You feel as though the world is right again when it is done? That voice stops bothering you, stops telling you to do things. Everything goes quiet, and you feel free."

Marik nodded again. Lord Ishtar hugged him unexpectedly, his grip like that of a python's. So tight, so suffocating.

"My son," he whispered in Marik's ear, his breath cold as ice. "My son. I never noticed it before. How could I have been so blind to my flesh and blood? My very shadow. You were always the quiet one as you both grew. Malik was the one who went to parties, and bedded the women. I always thought he was mine. But then, today, my eyes were opened," he continued, speaking happily, almost as though in a trance. Slowly letting the story reach his mouth, to travel outwards, into Marik's waiting ears. "I saw the contrast between you two. He wouldn't let the girl die. He wouldn't beat her, or have his way with her. I always thought it was strange how he never took slaves to bed. But you, you must've been using your servant women all along. You told them to be quiet. You scared them into their silence, and promised to kill them if they told, didn't you?"

Marik responded, enthralled by his father's words, "Yes. I had them every night. All the time. I did it by the well outside, where no one could see or hear. And, at parties, when I took a noble woman, I would treat her like my sex slave. Make her do everything I wanted. Hold a knife to her throat. Told her if she told, I would kill her family. For hours…" he trailed off, and widened his eyes, shocked that he had just shared that with his father.

"You needn't be ashamed, my son. I had done the same when I was your age. I always thought you were the gentler of the two, because you never did anything to stand out. But now I see, it is Malik who is the gentleman and the fake, and it is you who is destined to worship the dark. The Fake. The Lie." Lord Ishtar finished triumphantly.

"The fake?" Marik questioned softly, curious as to what had sparked his father's sudden dismissal of his youngest sibling.



"Yes. The fake. Your mother was a whore," he cried, voice rising in angst. "I know it. I know she had relations with the past Pharaoh. She must've have! They were too close! I suspected it all along. Every time she said his name, it threw me into a rage. I would beat her, but she would still see him. She must've been with him; after I would make love to her, she would disappear, and not return for hours. She was seeing him. She was!" his father was shaking now, eyes ablaze with madness.

Marik knew; he knew his father was sick, but so was he. And, the affection was so tempting. It was what he needed, what he craved. He would do anything to keep it. Even if it meant accepting a lie about his mother. And he knew it was a lie…

It had been three months before her death. When the nightmares had started. The dark had called Marik from his restless slumber once again. He had heard voices, whispering in the dark. He had felt a cold, purple mass cradling him in his dreams. He rubbed his eyes, and got out of his bed.

The previous night, the dreams had woken him up, like usual. He ran to his mother, tugged at her covers, and she took him in her arms, rocking him back and forth. Her long hair enfolded him. He loved her long dark hair. Her voice was like a melody. She was everything to him. "Don't cry, Marik, my dove," she would pacify. "Shh. Shh. I am here. Mother has you, and she loves you very much."

His father turned over, and remarked coldly, "My dear, the boy is eight years of age. Surely he can face the dark alone. Find a way to end this foolishness! Marik, you are not allowed back into this room, unless we are awake to receive you."

Marik glanced up at his mother, his big violet eyes afraid, construing terror. "It's okay, my Marik," she murmured softly. "Here, I will give you a weapon to fight the darkness with."

Lord Ishtar gripped her wrist tightly. "Why do you coddle him so?" he hissed. "He is a man; he will learn to take care of himself without you. And why do you call him your Marik. What about your Isis and your Malik?!"

Lady Ishtar glared at the man beside her. "He was the son we waited for, years after Isis. Our first son! A great blessing! He is ours!"

"So you say," his father responded, icily.

Lady Ishtar ignored his statement, and whispered to Marik, "When the night is scaring you, go to the temple, on the lower floor. Pray to Mother Isis. She is the greatest mother of all, even greater than me. She shall protect you, my darling."

Marik nodded, and did as she had bidden the next evening. One night, he was surprised to find his mother in the temple, crying. He pressed behind one of the many painted columns in the great temple. They lined a long aisle that led up to a great altar, where Isis, the household patron and his sister's namesake, was honored, with a statue in her image. His mother was kneeling on the steps leading to the altar at the statue's base.



"Mother Isis!" she wept, raising her hands to the ceiling. "My husband! Oh, help me Great Mother, guardian of families! He believes I have had relations with the Pharaoh. O, My Mother, I would never do such a thing. I love the Pharaoh, but he is my dear friend, and nothing more! I have pledged loyalty to my husband, and I shall honor it always! Even when he hurts me, and bruises me, I know his love is still there! I am afraid, Mother Isis! I ask you to grant me strength. Please, wipe away the malice in my husband's heart. Something horrible has spurred a great change within him. I love him, and I ask you to protect him from the depths of the underworld. Help me...be merciful."

Lady Ishtar collapsed on the steps, sobbing. She looked strangely fragile. She was no longer the kind, strong woman he knew. Awash in moonlight, she sat, begging Mother Isis for redemption.

Redemption wouldn't come. Marik had decided that. Mother Isis wasn't protecting his mother. And, he knew she wasn't protecting him either. The nightmares still came. There were no gods. And, three months later, after his mother had died, he was sure of it. She had asked for aid, only to be slaughtered at his father's hands. Marik had realized, long ago, that the only thing he could depend on daily were the nightmares.

Those demons, those denizens of the dark, though unwanted, were the only constant thing in his life. Constantly prodding him to do harm to others. And, then his father. He was also a constant ; the only authority Marik had left. Authority he had to do his best to please. He so wanted his father to be his hero. He wanted to be just like him, no matter what. And he had tried. He beat his women, just like his father had done.

"You are mine," a voice echoed, startling Marik. His father's cold eyes were fixed on him, expectantly. "Malik belongs to the whore. She is like him. You…yes…you are like me. I always thought the favor she bestowed on you meant that you were the product of her love with that man, Akhenamkhanen. But now I see. You do as I do. You learned from me, didn't you? That night, when I sent that bitch to Set, to hell. You saw."

Marik smiled at his father, completely entranced by his favor and by his love, however hollow it may be. He was accepted. His father wanted him for once. Not Isis. Not Malik. But him. He swelled with pride.

"I did, father," he said proudly. "I did."

Lord Ishtar laughed chillingly. "I always wondered why you did not tell. I thought it was because you feared me. No. You wanted to be like me, didn't you? Emulate me? And you have. If only I had known sooner." He stopped. "Well, my true son, I will divulge my plans to you. We have great plans for Egypt, Akhenaden and I. We are going to bring about a new era. And you shall be a part of it!"

"Do you mean the great Akhenaden, the Pharaoh's uncle?" Marik questioned.

Lord Ishtar's eyes glittered. "My son, I will tell you all! We have just begun, dear boy. Just begun." He laughed manically, and Marik leaned in, eager to hear more. Eager to be the son he never had been, and to claim the love of the father he had never had.