A Tomb-Keeper's Lot, Chapter 11
Marik grasped the handle of the curved sword that was handed to him, clenching his fingers against the ridges of the leather straps and hoping he would be able to keep his grip despite his sweaty palms.
Fathi stood across from him, the moonlight from the chimney-like roof and flickering torches on the walls casting disturbing shadows across the grinning man's face.
He held his own sword casually in one hand, bringing it up to his face to stare at Marik over its edge.
"I would assume, since you seem to be so in love with your family's traditions, that you are familiar with how to use one of these?" he said coolly, giving the sword a little twirl.
Marik gulped. He had played with toy swords as a child, even had a lesson or two on the occasion he was able to manipulate one of the guards into teaching him, but he seriously doubted any of that would be useful to him now.
He could only hope Fathi had even less experience.
Marik glanced behind him at the Tomb-Keepers gathered against the wall on his side of the room, specifically at Odion and Ishizu, who were standing as close as possible to him without placing themselves in the way of the make-shift arena.
Ishizu's eyes shone with fear for her little brother, and Odion stepped forward slightly, worry etched on his face, wanting nothing more than to battle in Marik's place.
For one selfish moment Marik wished he would.
Tearing his gaze from his family, Marik's eyes darted around the rest of the room, anxious to rest on something other than his opponent; the real guards were lining the walls behind Fathi, some grinning eagerly and others looking a bit more worried, and the torches continued to burn in their mounts, glinting off the metal of the upheld swords.
One torch flared unexpectedly and lit up Marik's blade, catching his eye. He paused to look more closely at his sword: it was old, not quite from ancient times but made in that likeness, with a curved, sickle-like blade. The leather wrapping the pommel looked fairly new – these weapons were probably more for looks than practical use.
But there was something special about this weapon; the hilt was bronze and intricately molded into the shade of a bird with its wings outstretched.
And it wasn't just any bird. It was the phoenix incarnation of Ra, god of the sun.
Marik's breath hitched. There was the Winged Dragon of Ra, staring at him with ruby eyes from the hilt of his sword.
And here he was, once again fighting with the divine phoenix on his side.
This time however, he wasn't fighting for himself. He was fighting for his family.
He hoped that Ra would acknowledge his change of heart and give him the success he had been unable to achieve when they had battled the Pharaoh.
A chuckle from the man across from him drew his attention, and he looked to see Fathi smiling cruely at him, throwing his sword from one hand to the other with obvious anticipation.
"Ready boy? Or are you rethinking your decision? I knew you weren't man enough to fight me."
Marik clenched his teeth. He had no desire to banter with this low-life. "Let's just do this."
Fathi grinned in response, and then lunged towards Marik with his sword outstretched.
Marik quickly sidestepped him, his own sword held shakily in front of his body, pointed towards his opponent defensively.
The other man righted himself, his back arching and cracking as he turned again towards Marik. He smiled, apparently amused at the outcome of his assault. He took a few steps towards the younger man, who stepped away accordingly.
"Is this how the rest of the battle is going to be: with you running away, while I back you into a corner? Hardly conducive to an honorable win, wouldn't you agree? I don't know about you, but I plan to win."
He swung at Marik tauntingly, and the blonde barely managed another dodge.
Marik grit his teeth in irritation. He hated having to fight this man, but he hated his cowardice more.
His family was depending on him. The future of the clan was depending on him.
And in that way, the Pharaoh was depending on him too.
His grip on the sword tightened, the ruby eyes of Ra seeming to glow in the moonlight.
He would not let the Pharaoh down again.
So when Fathi came at him, swinging broadly, Marik swung out decisively to parry.
The blades met with a clang and Marik found himself pushed back a few feet.
Fathi laughed, saying "Nice try, but that's hardly fighting back."
Marik suppressed a growl, and attempted a swing himself.
Fathi easily dodged.
"Really, it's like you don't even care."
Once again Marik found himself fuming at the former Chief. His face heated up in anger – anger so intense it made his body tremble and his head throb.
He hadn't felt like this since before the Battle City Tournament. Since before he was saved.
His eyes darkened, and the man before him seemed to morph in his vision; his hair turned pale and stood on end, a glowing eye appeared on his forehead, and a malevolent smirk stretched from ear to ear, threatening to tear the psychotic face in half.
Marik could no longer distinguish between his nightmares and reality; he could hardly think at all.
With a yell he charged forward, swinging wildly at his opponent.
Fathi looked shocked as the young man attacked him, and though he expertly blocked each attack, his face no longer held a cocky smirk.
"How – DARE - you!" Marik gasped between swings, blood pumping loudly in his ears, "You know – nothing about us! You're a disgrace! You don't deserve – to – live!"
Their blades met again, and this time Marik managed to push Fathi off balance, sending the man to the floor. The man stared up at him, fear starting to show in his eyes as he struggled to get up, tripping on the edges of his robe.
Marik glared at him, at the pathetic little man on the floor, the one who had caused his people so much suffering while he was gone, and his vision darkened as shadows seemed to fill the room. His family would suffer no more. They would be avenged.
And the shadows would feast on Fathi's soul in the underworld.
He raised his sword high, ready to swing it down and lob the despicable man's head off, but a movement across the room caught his eye. He looked up, and his eyes locked onto the worried expressions of Odion and Ishizu.
The siblings stared at each other across the room, and Marik stopped with his sword still raised.
Because it wasn't just worry in their eyes, it was fear: fear for him.
And suddenly the shadows cleared from his view, and he stumbled back, almost dropping his sword in the shock of what he was about to do.
He was ready to kill in anger, for revenge… just as he had done during Battle City.
He almost gave in to darkness.
His eyes grew wide, still staring at his siblings, but now their gazes were filling with love and understanding.
They knew what he was feeling; they understood his anger, and they didn't blame him for it.
But their eyes told him something else as well: they knew he could do better.
And looking into their eyes, he knew he could too.
Marik lowered his sword and looked back at Fathi, who was staring at him curiously and calculatingly from his spot on the floor.
"Well?" The man said slowly, "you've got your chance. Aren't you going to finish your attack?"
"Not like this…" Marik said quietly, forcing himself to look Fathi in the eyes and willing himself to stay calm. "Come on, get up. You've still got your sword, so this duel is still on."
Fathi gave him another curious look, but he picked himself up off the floor anyways, dusting off his robe and flexing his shoulders. He lifted his sword and swung it around, readjusting to its weight.
In the pause, Marik took a moment to search his memories, trying to remember what he had learned from the guards on fighting: keep a good grip, keep your arms close to your body, keep your swings tight so your weapon is not far from you, use the curve of the blade to your advantage… it was coming back to him.
He dug his foot into the floor, testing the texture of it as he tried to figure out how quick he could move without slipping; there was a layer of sand on the floor, but the rough texture of the stone kept it from being a hindrance, and his boots easily found traction.
Fathi began to move towards him taunting "A mistake if you ask me, but no matter; your loss", and Marik remembered another tip: keep your eyes on your opponent's body – not his face. His face will try to trick you, but his body will betray his next move.
Sure enough, a slight twinge in Fathi's left shoulder caught his attention, and he quickly and accurately parried the man's swing.
Fathi sneered, but Marik didn't pay him too much attention. Instead, he watched the slight movement in Fathi's right leg and lept to the side as the man charged him.
Marik swung at the man's side but was intercepted. The metal shrieked as the swords slid across each other and Marik had to force himself not to wince, trying to keep his eyes open and alert.
They continued fighting in this manner for what seemed like hours to Marik, though the moon barely moved in the blue sky above the tomb.
They swung, parried, and dodged, neither one placing any blows.
But Fathi was slowly getting fiercer with his attacks, and Marik was becoming fatigued.
He couldn't go on much longer.
He needed a plan to win.
Marik spared a quick glance across the room at his family, and then swung his sword to intercept Fathi's swing. But he hadn't been paying close enough attention, and the curved blades were now interlocked, bringing his opponent dangerously close.
The move surprised Fathi, and he tugged impatiently at the blades, almost tearing the sword out of Marik's grip.
And then it hit Marik; a way to win this duel without bloodshed.
With renewed force he swung his arm in a circular motion, and Fathis' sword moved with his and slid past, causing the two to unhook.
But Fathi kept a firm grip on his sword.
Both men stepped back, breathing hard and sweating, and each wanting the duel to end.
Marik needed a way to distract Fathi, but the man was keeping a close eye on him.
He needed help.
Suddenly he felt a pulsing in his fingers, and looked down to see the ruby eyes of Ra gleaming in the sword's bronze hilt.
And he knew what he needed to do.
Across from him Fathi was twitching with anticipation, getting ready to lunge and end this duel, but suddenly Marik did something wholly unexpected.
He closed his eyes.
Marik breathed deeply, clearing his mind and focusing instead on the image of a shining, golden, fiery bird. He opened his mouth slightly, and with just the slightest tremor in his voice whispered "Great Beast of the sky…"
He distantly heard an angry cry, and the shuffling sound of feet running on sand, but he paid it no heed.
This would work. It would be alright.
He had faith.
"… please hear my cry."
A warmth enveloped him, and the sound of running ceased.
Marik cracked his eyes open slightly, and they shot wide as he saw himself enveloped in a golden light.
Fathi stared at him in fear and confusion; he had never encountered anything like this.
A hot wind blew through the chamber, and suddenly the torches along the walls burst into pillars of flame which scorched the stones above them and elicited yells and gasps from the spectators gathered nearby.
Marik raised his sword again, the glow around him softening, but the pillars of fire continued to burn bright, and the hilt of Marik's sword caught the light and reflected it all around the room in rays of gold and red.
Disbelief was written across Fathi's face, and it was becoming more and more mixed with viscious anger.
"WHAT are you DOING!?"
Marik stared at his opponent, suppressing the wonderment building inside him and said "I'm not doing anything. What you're seeing is the power of the Egyptian Gods, and they're on my side."
Fathi's look was incredulous, but fear still shook his voice as he said "What kind of nonsense is this? What's going on!?"
The pyres continued to blaze, and Marik stared at Fathi, more sure and at peace than he had been in a long time.
"If you won't even believe your own eyes, then I'm not going to bother explaining it to you. Just know this: you're going to lose."
Fathi's eyes burned with unbridled rage and with a furious bellow he charged Marik one more time; but that was just what Marik wanted.
As Fathi reached him, Marik swung, his blade hooking the others, and with unbelievable strength – strength beyond that of a man – he wrenched the sword from his opponents grasp and skillfully swung it around to grab the handle with his free hand.
Fathi stumbled past him, yelling in outrage and pain and clutching his right shoulder while his arm hung limp by his side.
Marik turned to face him, Ra's glow gone from around him, and with another blast of warm air all of the torches in the chamber were extinguished, bathing the room in a circle of moonlight.
The two men stared each other down, Fathi's face still full of anger, and Marik's full of relief.
The young man slumped forward; he knew he had been lent strength by Ra near the end, and now that it was gone he once again felt the fatigue of his day's adventures wearing on his body.
Despite his weariness however he still found strength to lift both swords and point them at his opponent, saying firmly "I win."
…
*Author's Note: (No, this story isn't finished yet)
… I'm a horrible person.
I deeply apologize to all of my followers and reviewers who have been eagerly awaiting the updates to this and have been constantly and cruelly disappointed every time I miss a deadline.
Seriously, why do I even put an update schedule on here? I never stick to it!
And I know I said there would just be one more chapter of this story, but… there's gonna be at least one more after this. I was trying to write this all as one chapter, but so far I'm at 4,000 words and I'm not even done… So I'm gonna split it in half and post the rest of it (hopefully) tomorrow.
My goal (after I failed the 'Marik's birthday' thing) is now to have this done before the end of the year.
I can still make it, as long as I finish writing this thing tonight.
And post it before midnight tomorrow. :/
What is my problem?