Thank you very much for the reviews!
See chapter one for the disclaimer.
Chapter Thirteen
(In which a long-awaited ritual doesn't quite have the effect Malik was expecting.)
It was rather cold, that was the first thing he noticed when he came into control, standing on the patio of a large mansion that had something of a castle, with white walls and huge, rounded windows and two small statues of what he was pretty sure were duel monsters at either side of the entrance. The patio was in the centre of a part-like garden which was, in turn, entirely surrounded by large trees.
It wasn't the cold of winter, but a faint, rainy and resilient kind; maybe it should have given him a clue as to where in the United States they could be and where not, but he had long ago stopped to think about that kind of thing; it made his life seem much more fathomable and less out of his control to let space became something utterly abstract, with no connection between the amount he knew he had travelled and the amount of way his body covered.
Of course, now there was Malik to provide him with a little context, though he hadn't broken his word to the spirit and asked questions. They had not talked much, in his soolroom. They hadn't had sex all the time either; the silence, sometimes, was companionable, and whatever they could speak could not always be. That might have been why he and the spirit had started this, in their shared isolation. At least he liked this theory better than the idea that the spirit was only using him or trying to tie them to each other more surely.
He drew the long black coat closer around himself; the spirit had left it open; forever nagging him when he wasn't in control, he was noticeably careless about their body's wellbeing when he was. One could almost call it sweet, if one was a little bit insane and very desperate. Bakura thought that he might qualify.
He turned to Malik who was standing behind him, millennium rod in hand, though not glowing with obvious magic; he was dressed lightly and had to be cold. But it was Pegasus, strolling forwards to come to stand next to him, the protected painting tucked under the other arm, who explained to him where they were:
"Welcome to my castle," he said, and made a large gesture at the mansion; behind him, Malik snorted.
"Stay close," he warned; he looked worried. "Go on."
Pegasus gave him a look, then, in easy steps, went to the door; there was no key, it seemed; instead, he tipped a code on the small keyboard that was installed on the wall next to the door.
Malik didn't move to watch Pegasus; instead he came to stand next to him. Absently, he laid a hand on his shoulder: he was forever touching him when he was in control, since they had started what passed for a relationship. Bakura liked it, and had started to respond in kind: the simple comfort of physical touch was something he'd never had, in his long time alone with his demon.
"You don't know what he's up to, do you?" Malik murmured.
He meant the spirit. Ryou shook his head.
"He wouldn't tell me," he said softly, and leant his head light against Malik's shoulder; Malik let his own head rest against his, and drew an arm around him. "I don't think he wants to hurt us."
He was careful not to put any stretch on the "us"; maybe that didn't count as breaking his promise of making no attempt at turning Malik against the spirit, and he was more worried about that than before: he was as safe from him as a deadly weapon, but he had more to lose now from being banned away (he thought: they all did, the three of them; but the spirit might be too self-destructive to care).
He didn't have time to find out if Malik had caught his meaning; the door flew open grandly.
"Voila!" Pegasus said, and stepped aside and made a mockingly inviting gesture.
Ryou, looking around, picked up the heavy suitcase that was standing by him.
"You go first," Malik snarled; "and don't touch anything. There could be traps," he whispered at Ryou when Pegasus had walked ahead.
Ryou wondered why, in that case, he was the one in control; maybe the spirit thought that Pegasus would have scruples doing anything that might harm him. He had his doubts but then, he didn't know Pegasus well; the spirit had had more time to observe him.
They went through a first survey of the house without any incidents, however; Ryou had to relinquish control when the spirit meticulously searched through the room where he was planning on locking up the house's owner for any secret passages or other devices. When he came back into control, he found himself sitting on a soft red sofa in what appeared to be a large room all draped in rich red, from the wallpaper – which, on closer inspection turned out to be made of thin cloth threads – over the carpet to the elegantly draped curtains by the windows, from which one had a nice view to the large, park-like garden which he had seen earlier. It was much darker outside than before, however, so some time must have passed.
Malik sat on the sofa next to him and was smiling.
"Hi!" he said, and gestured at the low round table by the sofa, where someone had arranged large quantities of cake. "I figured you'd be hungry."
"Uh, yes," he admitted. "Thanks."
He found himself smiling back; the spirit was often comfort as much as danger; but in his moments of return to consciousness, Ryou had often been alone, and after the warmth of a room shaped to his very soul, the brisk change had never been pleasant, though he'd gotten used to it. Maybe he was being unfair: once, when it had mattered, on the Battle City ship, the spirit had been there to shield him, while Malik had shoved him away into danger, alone. But – well. Small gestures and repentance had to count for something?
"You're welcome," Malik said, still smiling, while he began to eat; the cake had been frozen and was still cold, but he didn't mind. "We made the card," he added, a little later, when Ryou's worse hunger was stilled; he sounded cautious now, and Ryou could feel his spirit on the edge of control, attentive. "Do you want to see it?"
"I – don't think so," he answered, leaning back and looking at Malik. He wasn't supposed to ask, but he had to know: "What – how's Pegasus?"
"He's fine," Malik said quickly, and swallowed. "He banned him into his soul-card again, but it's not – It's safe."
He trailed off. Ryou nodded.
"That's good," he murmured. "And now?"
"I'll – sell the card," Malik said, a little unsure. "After – whatever it is he's after. That's the plan, anyway. And – I don't know."
Ryou looked away; he hadn't been thinking as far as after his spirit's ritual took place, other than in worrying about the danger he would be to Yuugi and the others (and to himself, he remembered, with some delay). But it was true than then, the partnership would be over. And then what? Malik made his spirit more human, and that too would be gone, and he would miss him.
"Will you come to my soulroom?" he asked; there would be warmth and closeness and peace there. Malik looked him square in the eyes even as he grabbed the rod and began to vanish; Ryou waited until he was gone, felt his presence, next to his spirit's, comforting and new, before he followed.
Bakura had chosen the cellar of Pegasus' mansion for the place where the ritual would take place; no natural light, he'd explained when Malik had asked, though apparently the huge electric lamps were no hindrance. The room was large and otherwise completely empty, and looked like it had never been used for anything at all.
Malik, in truth, had briefly considered running once the card was complete; he had menaced to do as much when Bakura produced the millennium eye, which he had failed to tell him about, and that was an unwelcome reminder of the fact he was willing to rip out someone eye to get their millennium item. But, aside from all the other reasons, he was curious, and, absurdly, he felt part of this. Besides, the card wasn't complete, as far as he was concerned: Bakura, possibly foreseeing his reluctance, had insisted that the microchips would only be installed afterwards.
He watched from the sidelines as Bakura drew a pentagram on the floor with chalk, then placed a candle on each extremity of the star. Then Bakura took the now complete Blue Eyes White Dragon card, and placed it carefully in the centre of pentagram; then he stepped out of it, looking grim and exited at once, and placed himself on the opposite side of the sign.
"Well? Come on then, get ready."
He had to do nothing but concentrate the rod' energy onto the card in the middle once Bakura told him to; but he'd expected there to be more.
"That's it?" he asked, wielding the rod.
"There's a spell," Bakura said. "I'll say it; when I say now, you start."
"I remember," Malik said, but returned the spirit's slightly maniacal grin. "Go on."
Bakura began to chant.
After only four words whose meaning Malik, despite his best efforts, couldn't make out – Bakura's singing voice was barely above a whisper – the lamps flickered and, instants later, went out; Malik shivered: he hated the dark. He concentrated on the light of the candles, which, as Bakura went on – and his voice became gradually louder – began to flicker upwards, higher and higher, to a thin thread of fire; the only other light came from Bakura's millennium ring, which glowed bright blue, and Malik worried for a moment that he'd missed the signal.
Only after he got used to the dark and the brief panic ebbed away did Malik become aware that he could understand some of the words: the ancient tongue he had learnt in his own childhood, though slightly different, like distorted. Spirit raised from the grave made flesh, soul made fire made flesh made fire and lightning... As he spoke, a large, dark shadow grew behind him; the larger it grew – and the more used Malik became to the surrounding darkness – the clearer he could see it: a head with horns on it, a strong torso, and then a moving snake as a tail; Malik was so entranced by the picture that he almost missed his cue.
"Now," Bakura said, his voice a low, insistent hiss.
Malik raised his arm and concentrated with all his might on the card, which just at that moment had started to glow; as soon as he directed his magic onto it, the five flames drew together above it, mingled into a bright white storm, before calming and condensing in an opaque form above the card. Through its brightness, he could no longer make out Bakura or the shadow behind him.
And then, the bright silhouette slowly took shape, its blinding light dimmed, replaced by colour, human skin and human hair, and –
The girl was floating in the air, her pale and naked body curbed backwards so that the long, colourless hair fell down behind her, almost touching the floor. Still surrounded by a circle of white light, beautiful, displayed and surreal, she seemed to be coming right from the cover of a cheep fantasy novel.
Malik stared at her in total shock, even as the brightness vanished, and the five candles went back to normal. What in the name of all gods...?
"This is why you wanted the card and a second millennium item?"
He received no answer, and angrily turned toward the spirit.
But it wasn't the spirit who looked back at him; Ryou, possibly looking even more confused than he probably was, stared back at him with wide eyes that didn't seem to see him; he was looking at a spot to his left, and his mouth gaped open and closed without a sound; the millennium eye, which the thief had been holding in his hand, had fallen to the floor and rolled away.
"Bakura?" Malik repeated, and felt fear chill up inside him, the clear impression that he was the victim of some mystification. What had Bakura done? He took a tighter grip on his rod, ready to launch an attack. "What the –"
"There!" Ryou managed to say, in a feeble voice.
Malik followed his gaze: it was something in the very back of the room, to Ryou's left, farther away from the pentagram than Bakura had been, a human form clenched together, much like the girl's in front of them, who had slowly been lowered to the floor at well. Even in the faint light, Malik could make out the pale hair...
Ryou seemed to have recollected himself, and resolutely stepped towards the figure; Malik opened his mouth to tell him to stop and wait, but the words died in his throat: he could recognise the figure more clearly as he began to get used to the darkness that was following the blinding brightness from the spell, and...
"This can't be...?"
Without thinking, he had approached it as well, and was looking at the body from over Ryou's shoulder.
"It's him," Ryou answered his incomplete question decidedly. "Him as he was in his previous life."
Dun dun duuun!
...sorry.
As always, I love hearing from readers. In the next chapter... Malik is surprised to get any answers at all.