.:Author's Note:. Well, here's the next chapter... I know my update was slow but that's because I skipped ahead and wrote out a bunch of plot, but then had to go back and write what came before... so yeah. ORGANIZATION FAIL. Well, I hope this chapter is a bit more... plot-moving. The next few chapters should have an explosion of plot movement, no worries.

Anywho, without furthur ado, enjoy!

-DxH

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Chapter Two: Break-In

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When Marik awoke, he was lying on his stomach. He blinked and lifted an arm to push himself up, but suddenly felt a jab of searing pain slam his body back against the cot. His back burned with indescribable pain. Marik screamed, clutching the side of his bed. His shoulders began trembling immediately and he clutched at the sheets, unmoving, praying for the agony to end. The door of his room suddenly slammed open as Rishid lurched into the room. Upon seeing Marik, he threw himself beside the boy, grabbing a damp towel from the clay basin of water close to the bed. He wrung the towel and dabbed it along the young boy's brow. Marik's eyes snapped open and he glared at his illegitimate brother with such hate filled intent that Rishid's hand instinctively darted away from Marik. Marik blinked and his expression softened slightly.

"Oh… Rishid." Marik whispered hoarsely, managing a small smile. His face suddenly contorted violently as another throbbing of pain streaked through his body. Marik whimpered and stifled another scream. Rashid watched helplessly as Marik suffered against the pain of the future forced upon him. Finally, after a few excruciating minutes, Marik settled back down and breathed a sigh of relief. Sticky, salty sweat clung to his brow, which Rishid wiped away with the cool towel. Marik smiled weakly and gratefully and closed his eyes, returning to the respite of sleep.

Are you feeling better?

A little.

I told you.

Who are you?

Again, I don't know. Maybe you.

I see.

Do you?

Not really.

I thought not.

Do you live here?

Where?

In the dark.

I've always been here. I guess you could say that.

It's very dark.

Yes, it is.

Aren't you lonely?

...

It took well over a month for Marik's wounds to heal. Every time he tried to move, the pain would tear at his back and lance through his body like a bolt of flaming thunder. Marik spend most of his time in bed, and only let Ishizu and Rishid tend to him when he was feeling feverish or needed his bandages changed. Rishid noticed that Marik was becoming increasingly moody. He had odd tendencies to suddenly snap at him or Ishizu. Rishid was relatively certain that the cause of such mood swings was due to the pain of the Initiation carvings. But he couldn't blame him.

Every time he slipped the cloth bandages from Marik's back to replace them, Rishid couldn't help but cringe at the sight of the swelling red welts that made up various symbols, designs, and hieroglyphs. Rishid dabbed at the scars with a damp towel soaked in warm water. Marik released a small hiss of pain but did not shy away from the touch. After cleaning the wounds, Rishid firmly wrapped Marik's back in soft, clean bandages and eased the boy back into his bed. Marik looked up at him from behind soft wisps of unnaturally blond hair, and inherent trait in his father's side of the family.

"Hey Rishid?" Marik asked.

"Yes?" The young man replied, gently tying the bandages.

"Why is father so obsessed with this whole Tombkeeper thing?" Rishid paused, his hand resting on Marik's back.

"Father… father has a very old way of thinking." He said finally. "He believes that it is his utmost duty to protect the tomb of the great pharaoh, a future that has been passed down for thousands of generations in his family, until the day the Pharaoh returns."

"How can he return if he's already dead?" Marik exclaimed. Rishid shrugged.

"There is a prophesy that, one day, the Pharaoh will return. But since that day was not specified, the secrets have been passed down from generation to generation, awaiting the Day of Resuscitation."

"But I still don't understand. Does he think it's an obligation?" Marik asked. Rishid shook his head.

"Perhaps. But regardless, he believes very strongly in his duty, and so is passing this on to you." Rishid's mouth twitched in a half-hearted smile. "That Aknadin would pass this privilege on to you shows that he cares for you very much." Marik's hands clenched his pillow tightly.

"That's a lie." He muttered in his pillow.

"Marik –"

"You're lying!" Marik screamed, raising his head. Rishid flinched from the sheer strength and hatred that filled the child's eyes. "Father doesn't love me! He only thinks of me as an heir for this messed up ritual. If he really loved me he wouldn't force this on me! If he loved me, he would trust me! He would let me go outside and have a real life of my own!"

Rishid watched helplessly as Marik burst into tears and buried his head in his pillow. He sighed and gently stroked the boy's hair.

"Marik, I know it hurts. You are young, and the pain and confusion clouds your mind from the magnitude of what you have been given. When you're older, you may grow to understand." Rishid pushed himself off the bed, gathering the dirtied bandages and damp cloth, and quietly exited the room.

It's a lie. The child murmured.

What is? I asked.

My father.

Your father? He sniffed, fighting back tears.

He doesn't love me. He forced this on me. I'm just an object for him to manipulate to his will.

That's terrible.

You think so too?

Of course. I said, gently cupping his face in my hands. He could not see me in the dark, but I felt him lean into my touch. A good father wouldn't force something like this on his son if he truly loved him, I continued.

Thank you. He sighed. I'm glad you understand me.

Of course I understand you. I whispered. I am a part of you, so I know all about your life, what you are forced to endure, the pains you must carry. I touched his back gently. It is a heavy burden for someone so young. The child whimpered.

I hate this. I hate this life. I hate having my future predetermined like this. I hate my father for deciding my future. I hate the Pharaoh for forcing this life on me.

The Pharaoh?

If it wasn't for him, we wouldn't have to protect his tomb. All this about awaiting the resuscitation of a man who died 3,000 years ago is nothing but the deceptive lies of a bunch of wheezy old men who think they're prophets.

I understand. I'll protect you.

Will you stay with me?

Of course. I'll be with you forever.

Marik sat at his desk, idly twirling his stick of charcoal between his fingers and gazing absentmindedly at the scrolls in front of him. His father had been very strict-minded about his education since the initiation. He'd been forcing him to absorb scrolls upon scrolls of history, information, and various studies about the pharaoh and the secrets of the tomb. Marik felt disheartened and uninspired by his tasks. He found no joy, no ambition in learning about the exploits of the man who'd ruined his life. He sighed and dropped his head on the table.

Suddenly, a noise outside from his room caught his attention. His head snapped up and he caught his breath to better hear.

Voices, coming closer, bickered and barked through the corridor. As they passed his room, Marik heard the unmistakable, loud clattering of the armor of the palace soldiers who guarded the tomb. At least half a dozen men ran past his room, their voices anxious and tense with alarm. Marik left his desk and scurried to the doorway. He opened the door and poked his head out of the room. He saw the retreating backs of several soldiers carrying spears, swords, and hefty shields retreating through the doorway to the tomb room. He saw Rishid and his father walk by hurriedly, discussing in low voices. Rishid carried an unsheathed sword in his right hand. Rishid suddenly caught his eye and whispered something to Aknadin, who looked up at Marik. He frowned, his eyes narrowing.

"Marik, get back in your room." He ordered.

"What's going on?" Marik asked, remaining in his spot.

"Nothing you need to know about. Just stay in your room." Aknadin snapped back. Marik frowned and glared back at him. Rishid, noticing the tension, decided to intervene.

"It's nothing, master Marik. Something just came up and the soldiers are taking care of it. It'll be over soon, alright?" Marik twisted his mouth and turned on his heel, closing the door behind him. He placed his ear to the door and listened until the he was certain Rishid and his father had left the room. Marik opened the door, looked around and, seeing no one, padded noiselessly after them.

He ran through several large rooms, and after reaching a corridor, strained his ears, hoping he hadn't lost them. He heard a sudden, loud clatter from his left and heard Rishid cry out. Marik's blood ran cold and he darted towards the noise, his heart pounding noisily in his chest. Finally, Marik entered a large room supported by ornate golden columns and surrounded by riches and colorful fabrics and carpets. It was a room he did not recognize, but Marik did not remain to gape. He padded forward towards a pair of large, partially open double doors breathtaking in both size and beauty. The thick doors were carved from sidder wood, towering at least four meters, and inlaid with rounded bronze studs and intricate silver designs ornate in style decorated the front of the door. A huge, Egyptian eye carved of pure gold was placed in the center of the door, split in half at the center where the doors were slightly parted. Marik stood, awed and intimidated by these doors.

Suddenly, the sound of a sharp cry startled Marik. Someone began to laugh. Marik's blood turned to ice and he froze instantly. The voice wasn't deep, nor was it harsh or guttural. But something about the voice was unnatural, filled with spite, hatred, and a kind of intensity that curled his innards and made his heart beat painfully against his ribcage.

Marik slowly walked up to the doors and peered through them, careful not to give himself away. Marik's eyes widened as they perused over the scene of the room. The chamber itself was enormous, its ceiling stretching high above them supported by huge pillars of gold etched with thousands of hieroglyphs. Gold and silver, riches in amounts Marik could never fathom, piled at every end of the room, displaced only where a stone walkway and half dozen stairs led straight from the door to a large, elevated platform in the middle of the room, on which Marik could catch a glimpse of the end of a large, golden sarcophagus. Another huge golden eye in the middle of a colossal triangle had been carved out of the far back wall and glared soberly down at the chaotic scene below it.

The Tomb of the Pharaoh Atem.

The sound of approaching soldiers shook Marik from his reverie and he retreated behind the door. He held his breath as he heard his father barking orders at a group of soldiers, who marched past the door, their footsteps echoing through the chamber. Once they passed, Marik peeped through the door again and his eyes fell upon a most discordant scene that immediately chilled his blood and sent shivers down his spine.

Several soldiers were scattered around the room, attending to what Marik realized were several wounded and a few now lifeless bodies of palace guards. His eyes lingering on the prone figure of a corpse, who carried a large, freely bleeding gash across his chest, eyes wide and frozen in shock as they strained unnaturally against their sockets. Marik swallowed the bile that rose from his throat and averted his gaze.

The boy spotted, from the corner of his eye, his brother and father standing close by. They spoke in low voices that Marik could barely hear over the moans, clattering, and sharp whispered arguments between the soldiers.

"Are you certain?" Marik heard Aknadin ask in a low voice. Rishid nodded.

"Yes, I checked tomb and everything is safe. We managed to stop him on time, but there's no telling where he's gone now." Aknadin tapped his chin thoughtfully.

"How could he know about the sennen items though. Ever since they're creation they have been a secret to all outside the palace. Only those fit to inherit them have known of their powers. Why would this lowly thief seek the items?" Rishid shrugged, his gaze locked on the sarcophagus.

"Perhaps he did not know of their value, but was simply intending to rob the tomb, like any thief. There is plenty of gold here." Aknadin raised a skeptical brow.

"None of which he stole. I doubt a simple thief could make it all the way here without knowing his way around the tomb. There are only two passages leading here, both of which are heavily guarded. He could not have come here without knowing what lay at the end. No thief would risk his skin penetrating the tomb of the great Pharaoh for mere gold."

"If that is the case, this thief must immediately be apprehended." Rishid concluded firmly. Aknadin nodded and began walking briskly towards the door. Marik's heart skipped a beat when he realized he was headed straight for him. Marik sprung away from the door, looking around wildly for a means to hide. His eyes immediately found a large, intricate looking vase-like object beside the large doors. He dashed behind it, stumbling to his knees right as the door opened.

Marik held his breath, his heart pounding violently against his chest, as he heard Aknadin walk through the door. Marik slinked closer to the vase as his father advanced towards the end of the room and disappeared into the corridor. Marik waited until the sound of his footsteps disappeared before leaving his hiding place and padding quietly after him, when suddenly he was grabbed from behind. Marik stifled a yelp and twisted around to face Rishid, looking down at him sternly.

"What are you doing here, young master?" Rishid hissed, his eyes flitting around. "You shouldn't be out of your room." Marik blinked meekly.

"I was just curious." He said defensively. "I wanted to know what all the stirring was about." Rishid sighed. He took Marik firmly by the hand and dragged him through the corridor back to the main room. Marik waited until they had stopped to question Rishid further.

"What happened in there, Rishid?" Marik asked. Rishid looked at him quietly before folding his arms and averting his gaze.

"It's nothing. Just, please go back to your room, master Marik." Marik looked up defiantly, clenching his fists angrily.

"I hate it when you don't tell me these things, Rishid! Something clearly happened! The guards were running around everywhere, and even father looked nervous! Stop leaving me in the dark all the time! I'm the tombkeeper now, for Ra's sake, I want to know what's going on in this tomb!" Rishid looked helplessly at Marik. He sighed and pulled the young boy into a gentle embrace. Marik blinked in surprise but wrapped his arms around his illegitimate brother.

"I'm sorry," Rishid said. "Come." Marik followed Rishid back into his room and immediately sat on his bed. Rishid began looking through Marik's scripture and hieroglyph scrolls, tucking a few under his arm.

"Are you going to tell me or not?" Marik asked. Rishid glanced at Marik and returned to shuffling through the scrolls.

"A thief broke in to the tomb." Rishid said promptly. Marik gaped.

"What?" He cried, jumping off the bed. "A thief? But… how? This tomb is so well guarded. I mean, aren't there palace guards everywhere? And it's a total maze down here! How could he possibly –"

"I don't know." Rishid interjected. Marik opened his mouth to speak again but was interrupted.

"It's fine" Rishid said softly, gathering the scrolls in his arms and looking up. "There's nowhere for him to run here. We have every exit blocked off, and even if he did manage to leave, he didn't steal anything, so there is nothing to worry about." Marik frowned.

"What do you mean, he didn't steal anything? Isn't he a thief?"

"Well, yes," Rishid conceded, "but I don't think he was looking for mere gold."

"Well then what was he looking for?" Marik persisted. Rishid averted his gaze.

"It doesn't matter. Whatever it was, he didn't get a hold of it. Now get some rest. Tomorrow, your father will be teaching you about the history of the Pharaoh." Marik pouted.

"But I already know about the Pharaoh." He whined. "I want to help with the search for the thief."

"Absolutely not." Rishid said immediately, before looking at Marik softly. "It'll be over soon anyways. Tomorrow, I'll play bocce with you, alright?" The young tombkeeper grinned.

"Alright. But you'd better promise!" He said. Rishid smiled and solemnly held up a hand.

"I swear by Ra that I'll come play bocce with you tomorrow… and kick your butt at it!" Marik grinned and stuck out his tongue playfully.

"No way, I'll definitely win this time!" He cried, raising a threatening fist. Rishid laughed and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Marik let out a soft breath and fell back on his bed. He tucked his arms behind his head and closed his eyes, letting the world of tender dreams sooth his soon to be troubled mind.

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