Author's Notes:
Wow, over forty views on the first chapter alone. But three favorites and only one review? Come on. Please let me know what you like so far and what you'd like to see, I'm perfectly open to suggestions and critique for improvement. Feedback is food for the writer's soul.
To Lunagale (since you reviewed anonymously and I can't message you, I'll make the reply open), thank you. For the most part, this will stick closely to the manga in the beginning, with elements of the season zero anime. It'll introduce elements from the DM anime as well from Duelist Kingdom and onward. But yes, fem!Atem will appear in this chapter, though her true name won't be Atem when it's revealed (considering that Atem is derived from Atum, a male Egyptian deity).
Speaking of names, in this story, Yami will not actually be called Yami at any point, since that's mostly a fan nickname for convenience and used as a name only in the dub. Just a heads-up.
How long had she been here?
The darkness had been cold and endless, stifling. A prison, constantly keeping her adrift and vaguely aware where she was, but with no grasp on who she was, what this place was, why she was there.
Something told her, like a faint whisper not quite fully lost to the shadows, that she had been in here far longer than it seemed to her. How long she thought it had been, however, she didn't know. There was no way of measuring the minute by the minute, the hour, the day, the week and the month and the year. It felt endless, beyond time itself.
How she even knew what time was alluded her, as did almost everything else. It was one of the few things that stayed with her throughout, never slipping away when she reached out for it as if clung to her core. But, then again, she had no hands to reach out for anything, no core of her being—no real physical form or sense of touch. The darkness seemed to have taken it all away and absorbed her into it until she was a shadow herself, flickering like a sputtering flame, with only some form of consciousness to hold on to and call her own.
If she could have shivered, she would have. Because it was cold in these shadows, she knew that much, and why was it so cold? She had no idea how she could tell it was cold at all, that it lacked warmth—something she had never even experienced other than in little wisps of recollection that disappeared when she tried to hold on to them—but she did not dwell on it. She could not dwell on it, not when that would lead to more futile attempts at trying to remember why she was here.
It would only torture her further, if she tried, and she had so many times before she could no longer count them. Occasionally, once in an eternity, she would pick up on something distinct from the darkness—a flash of bright color, a brush of something soft, distant voices. A gleam of pure and shining gold. But they always vanished as quickly as they came, receding into the depths of wherever they had formed from and lost to what scattered, spread thin remnants of a mind she had.
She asked aloud, again and again, her questions steadily growing more varied and more desperate and broken, too deep in the darkness for her to hear herself. Who am I? Where am I? Why am I here? How long have I been here? Of course, there would be no answer. Why would there be? There was no one here but her, as far as she knew. But then, why was she alone? Did no one know she was here? Was there even anyone beyond here? Where had she gotten the idea there was anyone else with a mind and a consciousness and a voice, when she had known nothing but this vacant, eternal darkness that never had an answer for her?
Sometimes, though, she thought the darkness spoke to her now and again. To taunt her, mock her. The shadows would split, in twos and threes, little strands and pieces that would curl around each other to hiss into her consciousness. They sounded distorted and weak, as if she was hearing them from a distance, but their words were sharp and rolled around her mind in maddeningly repeating echoes.
Poor little girl, they would sing, high and grating like metal on rock, a distortion of how she imagined her own voice would sound if she had one to hear. Little girl. Little girl. Poor, weak little girl. Such a sweet, good girl. Such a foolish, weak girl.
That was what she was. A girl. Even though it was aimed as if to sting and demean, it was all that they called her, at least before she thrust them forcibly away and they immediately ceased as a result, and therefore all she had for herself. She was a girl, though what that exactly was, she didn't know.
But even that one scrap she could cling to carried a doubt that never stopped prickling at her. How could she know she was a girl? Were the shadows truthful, or were they only tormenting her and knew no more than she did about herself? How did they even know? Every time she asked this, they remained suspiciously silent. So she would return to her state of simply being, laid out in pieces, until they came back to use the word on her again and she had to chase them away once more.
Of course, she could do nothing but merely push them from her until they would inevitably return. She was a prisoner here, left at their mercy, and thinking about it only stirred a foreign sensation, something vaguely familiar that she was sure was called anger. Anger that she was so helpless and weak, that came with the faint, unexplained sense that if she was not here, if she could leave here, then she would be far more powerful than she could imagine in her current state. She could silence these shadows for good herself and utilize them like weapons at her own command.
If only...if only...
She longed for a way out. She looked for it countless times, and all her attempts met no success. The most she could feel, other than those passing, brief bursts of emotion she could barely name, was a hunger. Ravenous and craving, desperate for something—anything—other than the blackness that kept her formless and helpless in its grasp.
Light. She wanted light. She didn't know what it was, she didn't know if she'd ever seen it before, but light, warmth, a voice other than hers that did not mock her from cold darkness—she craved it, she needed it like a man would thirst for water in a scorching desert. She couldn't define the feeling for it herself, she only knew it was there and so she hung on to it.
Oh, and she was rambling again, now, wasn't she? Rambling things no one, not even she, could hear. Words that weren't fully formed and came out in some strange string of letters that was always falling apart and never being spoken in any discernible language. She had no mouth to speak with anyway, she had nothing, she was nothing, so how was she even speaking? How did she even know what she was saying?
But then, how were the shadows taunting her if they had no mouths to speak with, either?
They all spoke as one and they all sounded cruel and cold and everything she knew she must have despised even in whatever life she may have had before this prison. They spoke to her and she spoke back and then they would leave, and just when she was starting to fade back into their clutches, they would start again. They alternated between pushing her away and accepting her in, back and forth in a perpetual cycle that she was sure she would never end and oh, why wouldn't they stop, why couldn't they just stop, please, please—
Yet they never stopped, they were relentless in their torture, their amusement at her as if she were a broken toy far past its prime. They laughed. They took pleasure in her pain and she didn't know why, she would ask why, what had she done to deserve any of this?
Like everything else, she was given no answer.
And she had grown so used to it, now, beyond anything resembling apathy. She was a part of them and they still hissed at her, whispered words that repeated until she forced them away, flickering and shifting.
Until she saw it—a spark, small and white and sputtering before her. It was so tiny she would not have noticed it if not for its color, something bright in the darkness. The shadows hated it, they retreated with angry spitting and snarling, curling away until only she was left to take in the emanating warmth of what she'd waited for...she didn't know how long.
She half-expected it to fade into obscurity like the other flashes of color that had passed by before. But it remained, it stayed, continuing to float even as she reached out for it. If anything, it only expanded, bit by bit, until she heard it. A distinct noise that she was quite sure had not come from any of the shadows.
Click.
And with that one, small sound, the light burst into a blinding tide, enveloping her in its grasp.
The warmth was all too brief, fading quickly away before she had gotten over her sense of shock enough to savor it. But when it was gone, she was not in the darkness again as she had expected to be.
She was sitting on some smooth surface, her feet on a firm ground. No—not only that. She smelled musk and dry air, there were vibrant colors of assorted hues and shades everywhere with no hint of the shadows in sight, she could feel the rush of blood through veins—she had a form. A body.
A body!
New sensations overwhelmed her, nearly crushing in their force. The smallest brush of hair over her brow when she shifted, the fabric that lay against her skin, the prod of her tongue against her teeth, something clutched in her fingers. She felt herself shaking, parting her lips to take in a breath of the air—so clear, so warm and welcoming in her new chest, gulping it down as if it were the elixir of life. But, in a way, it was.
She felt the creak in her neck as she shifted her head, and it really felt strange, too, seeing something before her that was not a murky and dim shadow. It was stranger to look at it and know for certain that it was hers—in this case, her hands.
They were pale, almost like the spark of light that'd saved her, in a lack of color that fascinated her. Currently, they were curled around something held out before her on top of a desk. She could only stare it in some strange fascination, too absorbed in it to question, for instance, how she knew what all these parts of her were without a second thought, or why her now comprehensible, whole thoughts were coming together in some language she never recalled having known before—but then again, she didn't recall exactly what language she had known to form her words.
It was a pure gold pyramid, glittering out of the dimness between her fingers. An eye at its center emitted a harsh glow, as if the sun's disc had been condensed into the pyramid's heart and now shone out through the numerous cracks piecing it together. When her fingertips shifted over the top, they dug into the ridges running through in crooked patterns and thin lines, forming breaks in an otherwise perfect whole.
Somehow, she could feel the warmth seeping from the pyramid and into her hands, reaching through her until the light slowly began to recede from its cracks. Bit by bit, the pyramid began to feel heavier and colder in her fingers, and bit by bit, the same warmth built slowly around her in an increasing pressure, on her forehead and shoulders and around her until it morphed into a familiar darkness. But this darkness felt different at the same time—softer, gentler. It was easier to understand, it moved only at her will—she had nothing to fear from it, not anymore.
But as to whether others had nothing to fear from it as well...that was a different story.
Abruptly, she stood up, the pyramid still cradled in her hands and the warmth and the pressure on her head and around her heightening. As if the motion alone was a trigger, images flashed through her thoughts, coming as memories—were these the ones she'd missed in the shadows?—that were bright and vivid and awakened new sensations. They were sensations of foreign things, emotions she had never fully tasted until now and nearly snapped something in her mind at their force.
Anger. Fear. Out of all the responses to the memories flooding in waves around her, they were the most prominent, the sharpest and strongest. She set her teeth in a snarl, barely taking notice as her grip tightened on the pyramid to the point that her fingernails dug hard enough to break into its cracks and the pressure of the darkness grew so crushing it was becoming difficult to keep her breaths even. They came in hard shreds, caught in her throat as she finally pushed the moving images away. Her thoughts had returned to their previous state in the shadows, now scattered and haphazard, all working over each other with only one clear word between them:
Ushio. The name alone sounded sickening, even if only spoken mentally. Fury and hatred in its purest form sprang at the word, bitter in her mouth as she replayed what came along with it—uncertainty, shock, anger and fear, panic and worry and pain that was not as long as that from the shadows, but strong enough to leave an ugly mark.
Yes, that was enough reason for what had to be done. He had proven himself to be in dire need of something that would help him, and she would take it upon herself to give him that. It was only fitting.
She moved almost mechanically, her mind now whole in its decided intent and knowledge of what she had to do. Carefully, she stepped over the little contraptions and objects scattered across the floor, taking great care not even to brush her foot against any of them. The place she was in was dark, but not completely so like the realm of shadows had been, making her task easy. But she began to wonder, looking around, just what had exactly happened. What had been that light? How had it brought her here? How had it given her this body? Now that she thought about it without the fascination of having one distracting her, being in this form—as nice as it was, especially in comparison to being a shattered shadow—felt distinctly odd for some reason she couldn't name. It felt almost wrong, as if she was not meant to be in it, as if merely being in it clashed with an integral part of her—the only part she had.
A frown crossed her face—if it was supposed to be hers, but she shook the distracting thoughts away almost as quickly as they came. Now was not the time to mull over such trivial matters when she had a job to do. Somehow, the names for everything unfamiliar sprang to her mind as easily as she caught sight of them, yet she chose not to think further on it.
But then again, didn't she have more than enough time to carry it out? Surely, a little addition wouldn't hurt. It had been so very long since she'd had a chance at anything like this that could potentially be entertaining, after spending a time trapped with only her broken mind and mocking bits of darkness and nothing to do. She might as well make the most of what she had.
Holding the pyramid in one hand—the puzzle, according to the images, she bent briefly down to pick at an overturned bag sprawled on its side, rumpled on the floor as if having been carelessly flung. A thin brown cord lay around it in a pool, loosely hung from a hole at its top. With surprising coordination, she undid the cord from the bag and strung it through a loop at the top of the pyramid, fastening the ends together before putting it around her neck. It fit snugly in an upside-down position against the center of her chest, the point suspended just above the waist. The settled weight felt strangely soothing.
Something caught her eye, poking out from the inside of the backpack just a few inches away—her backpack, apparently. Her fingers fumbled slightly as she pulled it out by one corner. A white object, crinkled at the edges with a papery surface and square shape, which her mind helpfully identified as an envelope. It was a little heavier than she'd expected, but she saw why when she dug open the flap at the top.
Yen. There was enough of it in here—no, more than enough than needed. When had this been here? Had the old man—her grandfather, if the images had been any indication—put this here before he'd left? Perhaps. In any case, she sent a silent thank-you to him as she pocketed it. It would certainly be of help.
With that done, she gave the pyramid a final caress, before pushing open the door and making her way to silently descend the steps, down where she knew the phone would be.
She ignored the question that asked, somewhere in the recesses, how she knew where or what it was.
"Hello?"
She couldn't help it. At the sound of the unpleasant voice alone over the receiver, her lips curved into a smile. A small one, but it was enough to tell of what she had planned.
She cradled the phone—such a strange object, really, but using it somehow came as instinctively to her as breathing—near her ear, adjusting it in one hand as she spoke. Her voice felt unfamiliar in her throat, but it came out almost exactly as she hoped it would. "Ushio," she breathed, fighting to keep her tone neutral and low. It wouldn't do at all if her grandfather was awoken by the noise. "It's me. Yugi."
Yugi. Yugi Mutou. The name sounded natural, rolling off of her tongue, yet it also felt clumsy and awkward in her mouth. It was imprinted in her mind, clear as day, with the thoughts that told her yes, that was her name, yet there was still that damned questioning—the doubt that told her something was off about it.
Whatever it was, however, Ushio evidently didn't share the feeling. His voice was a growl, slightly slurred and punctuated with an obnoxious yawn as if he'd just been awoken. "You? What do you want, Yugi? If this is your idea of a joke—"
"I will pay you." That shut him up, and she took advantage of the pause to continue. "In fact, I thought it would be easier if I paid now upfront instead of tomorrow. Wouldn't you agree, Ushio?"
"Now?" The disbelief was obvious in his voice, but he now sounded more awake and alert, something that made her smile widen. "Do you know what time it is?"
"It is twenty minutes until midnight," she replied coolly, glancing up at the clock. The time came to mind as if it'd been instilled into her. "At that time, I need you to meet me at school if you want your payment. No more, and no less."
"Wait, really? You—" The word rose on a note to indicate the beginning of a verbal tirade, but she hung up the phone before she could hear any of it. She had no interest in whatever he'd have to say about it; he would come whether he liked it or not. She knew he would.
She would make sure of it.
The streets were silent, save for a scant few passing cars and the scratching of a cat behind several garbage cans. Heavy footsteps echoed against the pavement, coming from a steady thump of low-heeled boots. Ushio, hands in the pockets of his coat, scowled as his steps came to a gradual stop right before the school, the gates to his back.
Just what was with that Yugi Mutou? Cowering like a squashed bug after his warning for payment, and then having the nerve to call him up to meet him here for it? At midnight? What sort of logic was the idiot operating on?
Well, it wasn't like he had anything to really complain about, anyway. He was still getting his money, so did it really matter how weird the way of being paid was when he would receive it anyway? It was the only reason he'd decided to come at all, even after the little brat had hung up on him before he could complain. He looked around, squinty eyes narrowed nearly to slits as he fingered the handle of the knife hidden expertly in his coat. Where was he, anyway? He wasn't so stupid he'd be late for his own requested meeting, would he?
Come to think of it, his voice had sounded pretty funny. Maybe it was just the static from the phone, but the usually rather high-pitched, childish voice had seemed a little deeper than normal when making his ridiculous demand. But not deeper as in more masculine or commanding—if anything, it'd sounded more like a—
"Hello, Ushio."
He whirled around wildly. There, leaning against the wall, stood Yugi. Or...was it really Yugi? The one he'd warned earlier that day had lacked any kind of confidence, shoulders in a perpetual slouch with too wide eyes for his face, as if he was forever overwhelmed with something he never knew what to do with. This Yugi looked almost exactly the same, if not for the narrower eyes framed in thicker lashes reminiscent of a girl's and an asymmetrical smile that reminded him uncomfortably of a cat with a mouse in its claws. His shoulders were taut under his school uniform, with his spiked hair a little longer and tufted out at the nape of the neck. His arms were folded across his chest, just below a gold pendant that hung from his neck on a long brown cord.
And that voice. It was the one he'd heard over the phone, not the one from that morning—deeper, a little hoarse, more like it belonged to a young woman than a teenage boy, with odd dips in the pitch.
As uneasy as that made him, he shrugged it off as best he could. Why should he care if Yugi had some ridiculously feminine side with that voice and jewelry? It wouldn't really be a surprise, considering that this was Yugi Mutou—the nerdy, shorter than average bully magnet, who'd never been too much of a hit in the masculinity department. He would be less surprised if that was the reason why he'd stood up for those two bullying him and been so ungrateful for his justice—he could have had a thing going on with one of them that Ushio hadn't been made aware of beforehand. It would certainly explain why he wasn't dating that Mazaki girl, who'd always seemed too good to bother as much with his kind as she did.
"I was starting to wonder when you'd be here," Yugi continued, still talking in that too-feminine voice. "You're a little late, but that doesn't matter. It's good of you to have come."
Ushio's lip curled into a smirk in spite of himself. He had to admit, going all the way here at a late hour was worth it if he got his money, which was the only thing keeping him from socking Yugi Mutou in the nose right then and there. "I have to say, Yugi," he replied smugly, "your choice of time might be bad, but it's when you're paying up—that's enough for me! Now—"
He reached out a broad hand expectantly, fingers flexing. "—hand it over! 200,000 yen, remember! You better have all of it!"
Yugi watched him impassively, eyes fixed intently on his face, and something about that gaze felt unnerving to him—which he found irritating and tried to suppress the moment he became aware of it. This was Yugi, a boy who was more than half his height and weight, he wasn't scared of such a weakling. He wasn't supposed to be.
After a painfully long moment of staring, Yugi moved his shoulder off of the wall to stand evenly before him. "Not to worry, Ushio," he answered smoothly, pulling out something from the pocket of his jacket. "I have it all here—but it seems I was mistaken in the number. I brought 400,000, not your requested amount."
He brandished it in his hand, forefingers pointed, and Ushio's smirk turned into a toothy grin. All that yen in his hand—his! 400,000! Now this was truly his lucky day. Greed in his eyes, he reached out yet again, this time to grab for it, but Yugi shifted to hold it abruptly back and out of his reach. Ushio only had time to blink in surprise before Yugi spoke again, voice brimming with confidence.
"I'll give it on one condition," he practically purred. "You have to play a game with me first."
"What?" Ushio sputtered. "A game? You said you were paying upfront!"
"I did," Yugi agreed, smile tilting up further at the corners. "And I will, if you win. Then you get even more than 200,000 yen. How about it, Ushio? One game won't hurt. And it won't be just any game—it'll be a Shadow Game, to liven things up a little."
Ushio's grin grew. One game, even if it was a "Shadow Game"—whatever that was—sounded easy enough for all that cash. "Alright. How do you play?"
"First, we need a tool." Yugi pointed a finger at his side. "For this, it'll be that knife you're hiding."
Ushio made a scoffing noise, but complied and pulled the weapon out from where he'd been keeping it safely sheathed in his coat. So the dweeb wasn't as stupid as he'd thought, after all. But then, he didn't seem anything like he'd thought he would be now.
He laid the knife down on the stand between them, the blade glinting ominously, and in response, Yugi slapped his hand down flat, fingers spread, the bundle of yen balanced in a neat stack over his knuckles. With an all too casual air, he picked the knife up with his free hand and grinned up at Ushio.
"The rules are simple," he said calmly, the knife's tip point resting lightly against the top note of the pile. "You put the money on top of your hand and stab as much of it as you can with the knife without hurting your hand. You keep the money you stab through, and your opponent takes the next turn with the rest left. The one with the most money when there's no more yen left wins, but if you stab your hand or try to quit, you automatically lose, and all your money goes to your opponent."
That sounded simple enough, if more than a little strange, to Ushio. It seemed to be more of a test of strength than an actual game, not that he was complaining. But what threw him off the most about the whole thing was that this was coming from the same person he'd been able to bully so easily into paying him that he might as well be a breathing doormat.
"Well?" Yugi was looking at him expectantly. "Shall we begin?"
"...Fine." With Yugi's unnerving gaze still trained on him, Ushio reassured himself with the thought of winning the game and having more than the money he'd demanded. This'll be easy. He had nothing to worry about, did he? It was just a game. Not a normal one, that was for sure, but it'd be up before he knew it and then all the yen would be his to spend as he pleased.
So why did he feel so uneasy?
"I'll go first." Yugi lifted the knife with as much ease as if he'd wielded it before, fingers gripped around the handle as he pushed down. The blade pierced through the notes, sinking through the paper so deeply that had Yugi not been completely silent as he did so without a single cry of pain, Ushio would have thought it had gotten to his hand as well. But sure enough, when Yugi pulled the knife back out, four notes were impaled on the blade, with his hand entirely undamaged.
He examined the knife, plucking the notes off casually. "Hm, not bad," he said to no one in particular, as they drifted down from his fingers to land on the table. "But using a lot of strength without hurting yourself is much harder than it looks. Now, your turn."
His voice carried a foreboding note, as if giving a warning, and Ushio only rolled his eyes in response as he was handed the knife. Who did Yugi think he was kidding? This would be over before either of them knew it.
He then proceeded to eat his mental words when the stack of yen was resting over the back of his hand, knife clutched in the other and hovering over it. It took all his might to steel his arm into being still as a stream of sweat made its way down one side of his face. Ushio gritted his teeth, bushy eyebrows drawn together in an effort to concentrate.
Careful. He had to be careful if he wanted his hand to stay in one piece, but the money was practically calling to him and he couldn't stand the idea of losing it to anyone, let alone Yugi. His body seemed to be at war with itself, his grip on the knife alternating between light enough to stab without getting too much to spare his hand and forceful enough to get more than Yugi's four but risk the skin—and possibly the bone as well—of his hand.
"It's hard, isn't it?" Yugi asked, and Ushio's jaw clenched tight in his restraint from not looking up and breaking his focus. His voice sounded almost amused, far from the Yugi who'd pleaded for his punished tormentors to be spared from further pain—and still too much like a young woman's. "If you like your hand the way it is, you need to control your greed. Otherwise, you'll just end up stabbing all the way through."
"Shut up!" Ushio spat out, sweat beading his forehead. After nearly a whole minute of wavering, he finally steeled his arm enough to stab down. The knife bit cleanly through, coming up with eight whole notes. He held it up, his thankfully intact hand trembling as he let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding, as well as a shaky guffaw.
"Heh heh, look at that!" he boasted, his grin from before returning in not quite full force. "Double your amount, and not a mark on my hand! It's more of the strength that does it, you know!"
But Yugi's smile was disconcertingly still present, not even faltering once as he looked on. "Yes, very impressive," he agreed, and to Ushio's irritation, he still sounded as amused as if he thought he was a spectacle to be entertained by than something to be feared. "But don't worry. It'll get harder with each turn, and then your strength will truly be put to the test."
Ushio's grin strained, just the smallest bit, at one corner as he gave the knife, but he decided it'd be best not to respond and give the little creep any satisfaction. They'd see who was laughing in the end.
The game went on, the stack of yen at the stand's center gradually growing smaller and smaller with every passing turn. Surprisingly, and much to his glee, the hall monitor found that Yugi had been wrong: it only got easier the longer it went on, and his arm moved as if of its own accord to strike a perfect balance: enough yen to give him more than Yugi and light enough to avoid ever harming his hand. He could barely contain his smugness at the situation, smirking as he watched the knife flash down to stab through the several notes left perched on Yugi's hand.
When Yugi took it back out, only one note was stuck through the knife, and he tugged it off as usual with that infuriatingly serene, confident air of his. Just where had that come from, anyway? No one suddenly got so maddeningly sure of themselves in merely under twenty-four hours. "There's not much left," he observed, glancing at the now thin pile. "The game will be over soon."
Ushio couldn't prevent the look of pure greed that formed on his face then as Yugi passed the knife, his grin wide enough to bare every one of his teeth. He was sure—no, he knew that with this turn, Yugi had no chance. He could easily take these notes, so few in number, and win instantly. The set-up couldn't have been more perfect.
But he realized something was wrong the moment the knife was positioned in one hand and the yen over the other. His arm simply refused to budge when he tried to lower it slightly to make the stab lighter, instead remaining high in the air so that when it stabbed down, it would be with every ounce of strength within. And Ushio was far from weak in terms of physical power; how else had he been able to acquire so many clients?
Once again, the sweat returned, only in tenfold and now covering his knife-wielding hand, which was beginning to tremble as he tried and failed to move it. He bit down on his lip, teeth nearly breaking the skin as he tried to concentrate. It was the first turn all over again, only magnified in the sense of panic growing in his brain and tightening around his throat like a noose, strangling out small noises of frustration. Why can't I control it?!
Ushio hesitated for one painfully long moment, watching his shaking hand as it hovered over the yen. His breaths came in small, ragged gasps, becoming increasingly shorter as he attempted to will his arm back. I'll stab too hard if I can't control it! His thoughts were a mess, less comprehensible words and more jumbled sentences of fear and desperation. It's got too much strength! And too much strength will stab through to my hand for sure!
He stared down at the small pile, five notes in total, still lying across his other hand, swallowing back a whimper. By now, his hand had lost all feeling and everything running from his wrist to his upper arm felt horribly, achingly numb. The sensation, combined with the over-excess of strength around the knife, was agonizing.
"I told you this would be a Shadow Game, didn't I?" Yugi's voice was dangerously quiet, but Ushio didn't have to look up to know he was smiling. "A Shadow Game reveals the true nature of a person, and thus decides their fate accordingly. Your greed controls your hand now, Ushio, and you won't be able to hold it back unless you choose: sacrifice your hand for the money or forfeit the game and keep your hand as it is. It's your decision."
Ushio paused, letting Yugi's words sink in until he was struck by a burst of inspiration. Why hadn't he done this before the game had even started? He would have all the money now, without even having to win the game!
His grin returned, forming in fuller force than before. "Thank you, Yugi," he replied, his voice practically overflowing with glee at his own brilliance. "You just gave me a great idea! I might not be able to control my hand now...but who says I have to stab the money with all my strength and hurt my other hand when I can do it without hurting it and still get the money!"
Before Yugi could say another word, he launched his arm through the air, knife poised to strike and aimed directly to his head. "You lose, Yugi! Now die!"
But when the blade landed, the tip pierced not into flesh, but through the surface of the stand. Ushio's eyes widened as Yugi simply leaned to the side, the knife whooshing past him as he effortlessly avoided the hit. He took a step back, standing tall, and suddenly he looked even less like the normal Yugi than before—his eyes were gleaming scarlet like fresh blood from a new cut, his smile now a feral grin as an eye symbol glowed gold on his brow to emit a blinding light.
"Just as I thought." Yugi's voice was triumphant. "You couldn't follow the rules, Ushio."
Ushio could only goggle in disbelief, hardly believing the sight before him, as if taken straight out of anything but reality. His mouth hung open as he gaped, paralyzed with shock. "What...?" he choked out. "A third eye...?!"
Yugi lifted his head, and suddenly the hall monitor had the feeling he was being looked down upon from above, even though that made no sense—Ushio towered over him by more than a few inches. But none of it seemed to apply now, as Yugi spoke and his voice was in that too-feminine contralto, deep and commanding and ringing all around him.
"The shadows have shown all that lies in your heart." With every word, the shadows around them became magnified as the one that lay behind Yugi increased in height, more and more until it was rippling around him like a mantle in the ever-growing light. Every instinct in Ushio was screaming at him to run, but they all were blocked out to leave him stuck to the spot, unable to move, as if the numbness in his hand had extended to his entire body. "You came for judgement, and I pass it now."
He pointed one finger, voice rising to a shout. "Penalty Game—Illusion of Greed!"
And then the light surrounding him burst. It was pure white and consuming, burning, reaching, and Ushio could only scream as it engulfed him like an endless wave.
When it finally faded, he blinked spots out of his eyes in a daze. His mind felt strangely fogged over, too blurred for him to recall just what had happened. But he didn't spare it another thought when he realized just what was falling around him in an endless rain of green.
"Money!" Ushio shouted gleefully. He reached out, swiping his arms to catch the yen notes falling from the sky. Just the touch of one against his fingers was enough to send him into hysterics, the very sight leaving him babbling with joy. "Money! Moneymoneymoney! Everywhere! It's mine! MINE, ALL MINE!"
And he began jumping repeatedly in an effort to catch it, grabbing notes and waving them through the air. He was rich, rich at last, more than he could have ever imagined. In his whooping, he was too caught up in his ecstasy to notice a boy discreetly slip out the gates, hands in pockets.
The "boy" chuckled to himself—or rather, herself. Yes, the punishment was more than fitting. Everything had gone well with hardly a hitch. Justice had been administered, the shadows now obeyed her rather than tormenting her, and the Ushio fool was trapped in his delusion of wealth. In the end, it was a win for everyone, wasn't it? He would never harm anyone again, and he'd be all the happier for it.
She smirked to herself as she stepped out into the street, shoes clicking against the pavement as she walked. Releasing the penalty had felt like easing off a pressure carried on her shoulders, a burden from her chest, and she felt a little calmer, now, her thoughts less likely to scramble. Of course, there was still that distinct little sense telling her about how her new body was off, that it was different from what it was meant to be with her, but she shoved it away. There would be more time to think on that later.
After all, she had to get home now.
The smell of frying eggs was what first greeted Yugi when he opened his eyes that morning, letting out a wide yawn as he sat up, the bed sheets drawn up around him. His head still felt heavy with sleep, more so than usual whenever he woke. He wondered absentmindedly, as he sat up on his elbows, if Grandpa had gotten the eggs right this time. Most of the other several occasions had resulted in a lot of smoke in the kitchen and questions from concerned shop customers.
A glint caught his eye, and he turned halfway in bed, eyes alighting on the completed Puzzle. It lay on one side on his nightstand, a brown cord strung through it, shining in the sunlight streaming in through the window.
The Puzzle! The memory of putting the last piece in, the very center with the eye, came crashing back vividly. Nearly breathless with awe, he reached out to take it in both hands. It no longer felt as cold as he remembered it had; quite to the contrary, it was now warm, as if his touch alone had affected it. He ran his fingers over the top in admiration, stroking the eye at the center with his thumb as a smile crossed his face. Eight years of progress had finally paid off.
Paid. Paid. His eyes widened in horror as he remembered what else had happened the night before. He'd been panicking about all the money he had not being enough to pay Ushio, and he still didn't have it. That had led to him putting the puzzle together as a distraction from his worrying, then he'd been miserable when he nearly finished it except for the missing centerpiece, and his grandfather had given him advice and the last piece, and then...
Yugi frowned. Then what? What exactly had happened? He tried to think back to the moment right when he'd slid that final piece into place. He distinctly recalled there having been a click with it and not a snap like the others, which he'd found odd, but nothing else. It was as if everything that'd happened afterwards had been completely wiped from his mind to leave behind only a frustratingly empty space before he woke up the next morning.
Come to think of it, when had he gone to bed last night? He had fallen asleep in his school uniform, but he certainly didn't remember having turned off the light switch or actually slipping into bed and pulling up the covers. And, on another note, he didn't remember ever having this cord with the Puzzle before—in fact, wasn't the cord from one of his old bags? Why was it on there anyway?
"Yugi!" He jumped, foot catching on one of the covers and sliding almost completely over the edge of the bed, arms flailing wildly to keep his balance. "Come downstairs! Breakfast is ready!"
"Coming!" Yugi just barely pulled himself back up, deep in thought. A lapse in memory was a little worrying, but it was nothing compared to the still looming problem with Ushio. He let out a long sigh, clenching the Puzzle. He really was in for it now. All he could do, he supposed, was hide and hope the hall monitor didn't see him around school—which was unlikely, but it was his best hope.
He grabbed his schoolbag, stuffing a fallen assignment sheet in before zipping it shut and slinging it over one shoulder. I don't know why, he thought, absentmindedly reaching down to caress the Puzzle again, but it feels like it's trying to tell me something...did my wish on it work?
As Yugi stepped out the door to make his way downstairs, he was too intent on following the egg smell—which now had turned acrid as if burning—to notice the faint glow from the Puzzle's eye in response.
"Hey, look at this!"
"What's he doing?"
"Why're all these yen notes here? And what's with the holes?"
"Is that...is that Ushio?"
Chattering voices filled the morning air in the schoolyard, enough to go over Yugi's head as always as he entered through the gates, stifling a yawn behind his hand. He glanced around in surprise at the name, however. Ushio? What was going on? Had he done something?
Curiosity stirred, he moved a little closer to the source of the talking, which was a group of students crowded around a spot by an old tree. As he approached, he heard Ushio's voice over the conversation—and, far from filling him with dread and fear as he'd expected, it only baffled him when he heard what it exactly was saying. He couldn't really see it for himself, being so short and having to stand at the back, but he was getting enough from the sound alone.
"Money...money, it's mine, all mine!" Ushio was chanting. Yugi leaned sideways through a gap in between two girls in front of him, straining for a look. "This money, it's all mine! I'm rich, I'm rich!"
What he could make out was enough to make him inhale sharply, almost frozen with shock. The ruthless, feared upperclassman and hall monitor himself was sitting in a pile of leaves and bits of trash, eyes glazed over in vacant glee as he picked up handfuls from the heap to throw into the air around him. His mouth was parted, a stream of drool trickling down one corner as he laughed. Somehow, even the sound was enough to chill Yugi's blood.
What had happened? Had Ushio just lost it? Was he only hallucinating from illness? Numerous speculations bugged at Yugi as, unnerved, he turned away to quietly walk into school. Sneakers squeaking across the linoleum floor, he didn't realize where he was going until he heard a snort above him and, startled, looked up.
It took almost a full minute for Yugi to register that, of all people in the school, Katsuya Jounouchi was standing by his locker. His mop of blond hair hung limply around his head, bangs ruffled over his bandage-plastered face, and his clothes were rumpled and wrinkled almost completely beyond recognition, as if having just dried. At the moment, he was slumped over against the wall, arms folded, eyes closed and head tilted down as if starting to nod off. He gave another snort, mumbling something unintelligible.
"Um," Yugi began tentatively, not sure whether or not to wake him. "...Good morning?"
"Yugi!" Jounouchi jerked forward, stumbling slightly before regaining his balance and resting back against the wall, now crossing his arms back behind his head instead of over his chest. "Oh, good to see ya! Just the one I wanted to talk to."
"How are you?" The question came out before Yugi's thoughts could catch up, mainly prompted by the sight of the bandages marking the areas below Jounouchi's eye and on his jaw. He backtracked immediately, realizing how stupid that must have sounded. "I mean—your injuries. Are they fine?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay, don't worry about it." Jounouchi waved one hand flippantly as he continued, as if getting beaten up by a currently delusional hall monitor was a perfectly ordinary occurrence. "I wanted to ask you a question, actually."
"Really?" Yugi raised an eyebrow, perplexed. "What is it?"
"Well, it's more of a riddle," Jounouchi replied, now moving to prop one elbow up against the locker. He smiled, something that took Yugi a bit by surprise. "I've got a treasure that's in plain sight, but you can't see it. What is it?"
Yugi blinked slowly, pausing to think. In plain sight, but you can't see it? He fought the urge to fidget as he often did. "Uh…"
At that, Jounouchi broke into a laugh. Yugi looked up, startled, but it wasn't mocking as he would have expected it to be. The sound was friendly and warm, something he didn't think he'd seen Jounouchi ever do before.
Jounouchi grinned. "Come on, Yugi, it's friendship! Yugi and Jounouchi are in plain sight...but our friendship isn't! Invisible!"
Yujo. Friendship. Yugi blinked again, before breaking into a smile of his own. He even found himself returning the laugh. "Ah...yeah!" he beamed. "Yeah. I got it."
Jounouchi scratched the back of his head, his grin becoming slightly sheepish. "Uh...so, I guess this means I'll see you around, then?" he asked. He darted a glance at the clock. "I mean—oh, great, is it time already? Gotta get to class. And—uh—"
He paused. "...What you did back there yesterday with Ushio—that was brave. You showed me that was real friendship. I just wanted to say thanks."
"Oh—it's no problem, Jounouchi," Yugi said, a little flustered. "Anyone would've done it."
"No, I mean it." Jounouchi clapped one hand on his shoulder, smiling. "Seriously, thanks. And—" He stole another glance at the clock and blanched, cutting himself off. "—great. Seriously, gotta go. S-see you later, Yugi!"
And without waiting for a reply, he leaped into a hasty bolt down the hall, face bright red at the mushiness of what he'd been saying. However, in his sprint, he didn't notice as something flew off of his foot. Yugi stared after him for several seconds before he realized something.
"Wait! Jounouchi!" he shouted, running to catch up with a faded white sneaker in hand. "You forgot your shoe!"
(More) Author's Notes:
And that wraps up the very first part. Some clarifications, in case it wasn't clear in the chapter:
-The shadows tormenting Yami aren't actually talking. She just imagines their voices from having gone off the deep end from three thousand years of being trapped alone inside the Puzzle.
-Yami is female, but Yugi's body stays physically male when she takes over. Like in canon, the only modifications to Yugi's appearance when she's in control are to the eyes and the hair. Since they're of opposite genders in one body, this causes a lot more confusion for Yami.
-Yami's voice is still deeper than Yugi's, but is now meant to sound more like a contralto.
-Yes, Ushio was calling Yugi gay when wondering why he suddenly looked more feminine. Note that his views don't necessarily reflect my own.
I also made several edits to the first chapter, mainly to change and take out some words, add some parts, and generally improve it. Again, please review and let me know what you think.