So I left you on a naked cliffhanger last time. Well, this time, we're not so naked. Yerp.
Yeah, that made no sense, shut up.
- x - x - x - x -
My curiosity overwhelms me. I open my eyes, not sure what to expect.
The sight that greets me definitely catches me off guard, though.
Standing before me, fully formed and completely real, is my other half... Sort of. His skin is a deep caramel color, and he appears slightly taller, but otherwise exactly the same. Malik throws his lavender vest at him, yelling, "Cover your weiner!"
"My weiner enjoys being uncovered!" the pharaoh retorts, flinging the article of clothing back at its owner.
I chuckle a little, finding this hilarious despite being in a severe state of shock. I watch, unable to move as Ishizu steps forward with a robe, which he takes with a small nod of thanks. By the time my legs remember how to function, he's covered himself and Malik is no longer gagging in the background.
"Mou hitori no boku," I murmur in awe, stepping forward and reaching out to him. My fingertips connect with his cheek, and the feel of skin beneath my touch pushes my heartbeat into overdrive. I grasp his face in my hands, thrilled that he truly exists. "You're... really here," I say, my voice no louder than a breath. "But... how?"
"Yeah, I don't get it," Malik pipes up from somewhere behind me.
"It was part of the arrangement," the pharaoh explains slyly. "That if circumstances were right, I could resurrect myself in a physical form, to walk among mortals for one last lifetime before departing to the afterlife."
"... Circumstances?"
His eyes gleam. "The prophecy foretold of the Chosen One unlocking our secrets and being host to the Pharaoh's soul... I made the agreement that if the Chosen One allowed my soul to reside within his own, then I would be given this choice."
I stare at him in slight disbelief. "You mean... You weren't inside the Puzzle all this time?"
"No. Most of me was inside of you," he says softly, placing a hand over my heart.
Malik scoffs. "Alright, the gay sex references are getting on my nerves. I'm outta here."
"Wait." The pharaoh takes a step toward him, pushing me out of the way, but maintaining his hold on my hand to show that he isn't just being rude. He glances at me, and in that one moment we come to the mutual understanding that he has unfinished business to deal with, and that I know this, and I don't feel snubbed by his sudden action.
"Yes, what?" Malik turns his perturbed icy glare back towards my other soul.
"I know you blame me for ruining your life and all sorts of horrible things, but thank you anyway." He inclines his head in a small bow. "Despite your hatred, you performed the most honorable of all tombkeeper duties."
"Father would be proud," Ishizu says, placing a slender hand on her brother's shoulder.
Malik almost appears to pout. "Y-yeah, whatever," he mutters, clearly flustered, as he turns to continue his exit.
"Strange kid," the pharaoh says under his breath. "Ah, yes, I almost forgot..." He turns back to me, looking very proud and regal. "I suppose you'd like to call me something other than 'mou hitori no boku'?"
I feel myself blush. "That... would make things a little less awkward."
He smiles and touches a kiss to my nose. "You may call me Atem."
"Hey, pharaoh boy!" Malik's back. Oh joy.
"And you," Atem commands, pointing a finger dramatically at Malik, "may call me His Majesty The Pharaoh, you silly peasant."
"Oh, shut up, I'm just here for the Rod." Malik stomps up to the stone tablet and reaches for the Millennium Rod.
"Wait don't touch that!" the pharaoh cries suddenly, and I prepare myself for the disappearance of his physical form.
Malik pauses, the item half-removed from its place in the stone. His worried expression turns to one of pure loathing as he realizes taking the Rod won't do anything. "You're an asshole."
Atem chortles heartily. "Yes, but you totally fell for that." He quirks an eyebrow at Malik. "What do you want the Millennium Rod for, anyway? It's not going to work now that I've been revived."
"None of your business!" Malik storms out, Rod in tow.
I regard the remaining artifacts with curiosity. "Their powers don't work anymore?"
"Oh, they do." Atem rubs at a spot on the Millennium Ring. "If I let them." He grins deviously. "Speaking of which..." He turns to the remaining two in the room, his expression returning to that of a noble ruler. "Shaadi and Miss Ishtar, if either of you would like to reclaim possession of the Ankh and Necklace, you are free to do so."
"Are you sure, Pharaoh?" Ishizu steps forward with a look of concern, and possibly worry.
He shrugs one shoulder. "What fun are magical artifacts if you don't use their powers?" That mischievous grin is back. "Besides which... If you've grown accustomed to having something, and it's suddenly taken from you, I imagine it would be difficult to adjust..." He wraps an arm around my waist. Noticing their hesitation, he sighs. "Oh, just take them already, you're not fooling anyone."
- x - x - x - x -
Author's notes come first!
That thing about Malik's dad being proud of him? No idea whether or not that's even plausible in canon. I'm probably making shit up again trololol.
And yeah I assumed he would have an important part in the revival thing, since there's all that crap carved into his back and I seem to remember him saying the pharaoh's memory was there or something and i really don't know, these doritos are delicious.
And yes, Atem does have some "godlike" powers. What can I say, the gods like him. He's kind of a suck-up. XD
What did he say to the gods before being resurrected? "Give me life." No clue how to translate that. You have an imagination, use it.
Dude, you totally know Ishizu would be all over that Millennium Necklace. Don't lie, you would be too.
Also, I am not at liberty to tell you what Malik plans to do with a non-functional Millennium Rod, but I can tell you that it involves Bakura, fifty-two pounds of unpopped popcorn kernels, seven goats in varying shades of off-white, one wacky waving inflatable arm-flailing tube man (preferably fluorescent orange, but lime green will work too i suppose), several bars of Pears Transparent Soap, the contents of a box labeled "Grungy Non-Stinky Clay" in Jamie Hyneman's workshop, approximately seven small-breed dogs (number may change depending on collective ferocity of said dogs), a large amount of zip-ties in various neon colors, and a scissor lift.
Don't ask me, man. I just found their grocery list.
NINETY-THREE PERCENT OF THIS SUBMITTED CHAPTER IS MADE UP OF AUTHOR'S NOTES.