To That Which We Bleed Over

Yami drifted in and out of conscience, vaguely aware of the passage of time, but he did not know if time was spiraling downward on his head, or taking wings and flying away. The years coiled, serpentine over his aching heart, leaving him with the gift of wisdom, at the price of his scars. He remembered staring, at the gaping shards of gold that were jutting from his arm, and arching an eyebrow to try and figure out how they got there.
He remembered that he had found a priceless gift of ...something. In later times, he would recall little of the strange, velvet dark where he lay bleeding what he thought was his last days. He did little but wait.
for deliverance, for salvation, an ending, or even a change...he no longer cared which one would come. He may have laid in swoon that way for a thousand years, or for a few moments...he didn't know and he didn't really think it mattered much. He felt, rather than sensed, his days bleeding out of his wounds in a steadying, gentle stream, as he was slowly, lethargically limped deeper into the dark indifference.

He could not make sense of what had transpired. Light, shadow, hope, and vicious cruelty, all bleeding red and gold and dripping into everything til it no longer mattered.

Yami was not alone, in his injuries, however. The Puzzle had shivered from the alien sensation of pain, and recoiled at the shock of its own existance suddenly fragmenting when Yugi had accidently dropped it. Pride had prevented it from even hinting that Yami was capable of inflicting wounds to its golden walls. But, the Pharoah's infernoes had already weakened its defenses. The Puzzle had squealed in agony to feel itself stretch, and break, and the resounding ghosts of all the power, and the anguish it controlled amputated. Yugi had unwittingly saved both of them, when he hastily shoved the pieces back together, but not quickly enough to save them from injury. The Puzzle had managed to summon enough energy from its own rage and its own twisted sense of violation to remain alive, and sate its sense of revenge. When the Puzzle felt the gaping emptiness of Yami's soul suddenly rupturing free, and the alien light trickling through its reeling core, the Puzzle had rounded blindly at Yugi, who was oblivously holding the tainted gold in his shaking hands. That was the first time that Yugi finally comprehended that the pretty bit of gold he held in his hands was no play thing.
And that was when Yami had nobly took the brunt of the attack.
That moment dangled in front of the Puzzle's awareness, a taunting pendulum that swung both the Pharoah and Yugi away from its malicious control.

While the Puzzle had recoiled into itself to lick its wounds and heal, Yami had endured the disorientation of being more free than he ever had, and then dying. The Puzzle had noticed Yami's wavering awareness, and drank in the sweetness of his confused anguish, but not before taking the chance to ressurect one of the Pharoah's memories, and replay it for its own sadistic pleasure.

Author's Note: To Spare The Dear Reader Confusion, this is a flash back of Yami's time in Egypt, brought forth by the Puzzle. I know that it is taking a big liberty, since the Yugioh animae is based on Yami only having vague memories of his past. However, I am writing this on the assumption that he had a few, or else how the hell would he know he was a Pharoah? This chapter is also an attempt to explore exactly how Yami was sealed into the Puzzle. It is my fervent hope that I don't scar anybody permanently by this literary vomit, either.

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It was the last day of his life. Yami clung to the rapidly shortening moments remaining by attempting normalacy. His servants were silent with the horrible waiting, his food remained uneaten, and he could not stop his hands from trembling. Yami had attempted to discuss the specifics of how his death was to be carried out with Seth, and Isis, and it proved to be an exercise in futility. After the gut-wrencing torture of arguing with Seth and Isis failed to move them into compliance towards his plan,
Yami had been forced to order them to obey him as their Pharoah. He cringed when he heard his cold, regal veneer, and the crushed hurt that briefly revealed itself on Seth's contorted face, before the Priest grunted from his old wound, and stood tall, and stern and noble. With equal rancor, Seth snarled out that he would sooner lay down his life for the Pharoah than be forced to commit murder. Isis had aquinested with her mournful nodding, and deep curtsy, but Yami saw the understanding and the sorrow etched plainly on her face as she lay a hand on his shoulder to lend him comfort. Seth stormed out of the room, and Yami grimanced when he saw the suspicious moisture that had suddenly sparkled in the Priest's normally icy eyes. Yami turned away quickly to spare Seth the embarrassment and himself the possibility that he would break down into weeping hysterics himself.

Isis was kind enough to answer all of his questions, though he could see that she was already tormented by the brutality of the whole thing, until he could no longer stand it. He ordered her out of his chambers, and dismissed his servants so he could have the last few hours alone. He spent his time writing out the elaborate orders of who was to run the Kingdom, what decrees his subjects were under, a charge for them to be treated mercifully. He spent a great deal of time in prayer, for strength, and spent the final moments watching the brilliant scarlet and violet sunset bleed over the dunes from his court yard balcony.

He heard the soft knock on his door, and turned to see Isis enter. She gave him a deep curtsy and whispered, "My Pharoah, it is time"
Her serene face betrayed no emotion, but the tear gliding down her trembling cheek made his heart ache.
Yami reached out to tilt her chin upward, as he rubbed the tear away with his thumb, and paused to gaze deep into her eyes-eyes that were now cerlian oceans of turmoil.

" Be brave, my lady. I hate to see your tears, Isis."

Her face hardened beneith his hand, the trembling mouth twisting into a taunt, tormented thing with bared teeth.

"And I hate to see your death, my Pharoah. Would you order me to cut my heart out so that my tears may not offend you?"

Yami snatched his hand away, and looked as if Isis has struck him. His mouth and eyes fell open in hurt suprise, as he drew himself up in an attempt to hide his hurt in a show of royal pride.

"My lady Isis. I can either order you to carry out the sacrifice as my subject," His cold mask slipped away as his voice trailed off.
He raised beseeching, searching eyes towards hers, and whispered,

"Or I can ask you to please help me do this as my friend."

Isis did not bother to hide her weeping as she flung both arms open and swathed the Pharoah in a frantic embrace. Maybe it was a means for her to hold something tangible of her king, or maybe it was the last desperate try to tell him how much he meant to her when words would fail.

Yami stiffened at the alien feel of arms wrapped around him, but then gripped Isis in trembling arms. Isis cringed at how harshly he clung to her, but did not cry out. It was the last embrace of a dying man's attempt to find an anchor to guide him through the horrible waiting.

After he released her, from the crushing grip, Isis tearfully smiled. "My brave, brave king and friend. I will help you through this in any way I know how...on one condition."

Yami's left eyebrow arched upward, warily, as he considered her. "And what might that be?"

"Only that you permit me a spell to ease your pain. It will not negate the sacrifice, and it will not change the outcome. But it will spare you needless suffering."

Yami felt his cheeks flame in embarrassment as the wave of relief coursed through him. He had spent most of his last night in endless pacing,
nearly overwhelmed at the thought of the certain physical torture that would follow. He was hardly immune to pain, nor ignorant to the reality of the suffering. But he was in doubt of his abilities to bear it well, and the thought of his dying moments spent whimpering like a whipped cur was more than he could handle.

"I will take you up on that offer, Isis. And thank you for your kindness in this matter. I was greatly troubled by the possibility that I would be in great pain-not the suffering, but the concern that it would break my resolve."

Yami bowed his head in shame. It seemed like such a petty thing to even voice, but he felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder, as Isis nodded her agreement.

"I will be with you, my king, until you breathe your last. And may Ra escort you to safe havens, and a rich reward."

"My king, it is time." Isis whispered in finality.

Yami nodded, saying nothing, but took a moment to gather his wits, place his regal restraint back in place, brace himself for his own death, and stop trembling so much. Taking a deep breath, muttering a prayer, he placed the crown on his head, held his chin up, and silently extended an arm for Isis.

" I know it is not customary, Isis, and I hope you forgive me. But I am trembling so much that I am worried about staying upright."

Isis did not speak, but laced her fingers through Yami's, ducked down to thrust her head into the crook of his arm, and held him with a firm hand on his back.

"Whenever you are ready, my king." Yami smirked. "And how exactly does one get ready for this sort of event, my lady?"

Then, he rose to his full height, the concealing majesty falling back into place as the Pharoah strode towards the door.

"Let us go, then, my lady."