.:Author's Note:. Whoooo fourth chapter. This one took a while mostly because I wasnt so sure about how to get Marik from a to b without being obnoxiously repetative. Yeah and you may have noticed the weird secre-passage system I invented. Yeah, that was kind of necessary for this chapter, when you think about the logistics of it.

Anywho, WE FINALLY MEET AKEFIA. Yeah! Moment you've been waiting for! I hope he doesn't seem too OOC right now - he's quite the ice king, but he'll warm up eventually xD Next few chapters are going to speed up the plot quite a bit. So keep reading ^^

-DxH

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Chapter Four: The Thief

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Marik bent over the map, eyes squinting through the dim light at the ink-sketched lines and hieroglyphs identifying the various rooms in the Underground Palace. The Underground consisted of three sections, labeled wings, each with separate rooms of their own. The East, or Right, Wing was where Marik resided most of the time. Here, there was a large common room, a dining room, several rooms where he, Rishid, and Ishizu slept, a large public bathroom, and a corridor with several other, mostly abandoned rooms. On the other side of the corridor was the Central Wing, which Marik had visited only on certain occasions. It mostly consisted of a massive room supported by several pillars with a large hole in the ceiling, allowing for the only source of sun and moonlight to pass through into the Underground. Marik often wished he could stand beneath it more often than he so seldom did, but it was often patrolled by guards or the scribes and monks that shared the knowledge of the Underground and resided here. Marik was relatively sure his father had a room here, having often seen him return to the Central Wing for the night. The weapons room and the vast palace library were located side by side here, and Marik recognized a large, etched square by the corridor on the lower right indicating the Tomb Room.

Lastly, the West, or Left, Wing was the most, say, mysterious out of the three wings. Marik had seldom ventured here, once on accident when he had been wandering through the hidden passages and stumbled upon an abandoned room filled with hideous and frightening devices of wood and metal likely for the purpose of inflicting pain upon so called 'enemies of the state.' Marik since then avoided this torture chamber when he could, having felt sick to his stomach for three days after. The only other occasion he had been brought to the West Wing was for an event he would much rather forget – the initiation. Memories sent shudders through Marik's body, and his back itched in recollection of the pain. Otherwise, there were several other rooms indicated but not named which Marik assumed had little to no purpose, and, dissuaded by what he had henceforth discovered in this wing, did not try to investigate any deeper.

The small rectangle labeled "Dungeon Room" resided not far from the tomb room, but in an area of the Underground he wasn't very familiar with. The map indicated it to be even deeper underground, beneath the weapons room. Marik shuddered at the thought of going even deeper underground. Already he could feel the walls constricting and choking him, shoving at his consciousness every minute of every day.

Marik looked at the dungeon for an entryway. The passages that he'd found blocked or barricaded, Marik had marked with an X using a charcoal pencil, and he skipped over those, knowing full well they were passages he couldn't use. Only two passages led to the dungeon. The main passage was obviously from the Central Wing, leading straight from the corridor to a room harboring the stairs used to descend into the penitentiary. This passage was definitely a no-go, Marik thought. Considering how difficult it had been to capture this thief, they had probably stationed several guards at the entrance. Thus, this left only one passage, which, to Marik's heart-dropping dismay, began from the Left Wing.

Marik looked over the map, hoping for an alternative route of some kind, but there was none, and the boy was left with bitter second-thoughts about his journey. The boy rolled up the map and stuffed it under his tunic. He threw his hood back on and quickly returned to his room, where he shut his door and threw himself on his bed. Tonight, he thought.

Navigating the corridors at night proved to be a much harder task than Marik had thought. With the recent break in on this thief's part, more guards had been posted around the Underground than usual, forcing Marik to take several detours and avoid larger areas in the Central Wing. When he finally reached the end of the corridor separating the Central and West Wing, Marik paused. He took a deep breath, pulled a torch from its hold on the wall, and with one hand, opened the door to the West Wing.

The door creaked loudly, causing Marik to wince and freeze, listening for the sound of rushing guards or accusing voices at any moment. But nothing moved, no voices or pattering footsteps sounded through the corridor. Nothing but the flickering of the torches. Marik slowly closed the rusty, iron-wrought door behind him. Since the West Wing was so rarely used, no one had bothered to oil the door, and Marik had broken the rusty bolt lock on it several months before. Marik held up the torch, shivering unconsciously. Though close to the Central Wing, the West Wing felt particularly cold to Marik's skin. He drew his cloak closer to his body and raised the torch, looking around at the empty, cob-web filled room. At the end of the room were a pair of large double doors Marik had to struggle to open, but once he did, found himself in a vast room, almost larger than the common room in the Central Wing, but much darker and emptier, and devoid of any light-admitting hole in the ceiling, much to the young tombkeeper's disappointment.

Not to be discouraged, however, Marik briskly continued forward, regarding his map at every few intersection to be sure he was on the right path. Finding himself lost and stuck in the West Wing didn't appeal to Marik in the least, especially considering his past interactions with this particular section of the tomb. Marik shuddered as he recalled the memory of the Initiation, of the dark man standing over him, and the gleaming knife that leered hungrily over him, hissing with longing for his flesh.

Finally, Marik located the entrance to the hidden passage. He opened the door across from the large, decrepit-looking pillar-supported space, and stepped inside a room which smelled moistly of fungus and dirt and something else. Marik hoisted the flickering torch over his head and inspected the room before him. It bore little difference to the other rooms of the West Wing – relatively empty, lightless, and covered in a thin layer of dust and cobwebs. A few decaying pieces of musty wooden furniture hunched like cripples in the back of the room atop a thick carpet which had lost whatever décor and color it may have previously boasted and stretched out across the floor. But wherever he turned, the tombkeeper found no door, no entrance. Not even one of the many recognizable signs of a hidden passage. He stared down at the map, eyes furrowed in disappointment. He fervently prayed that the passage hadn't been blocked or torn away, though the poor state of the room persuaded him that no one was likely to bother. Marik took a few steps forward, his feet muffled by the damp carpet. He stared down at the map, and suddenly, something came to his attention. Usually, a route was represented by a pair of parallel lines protruding from a wall of the building, and a secret passage was identified by dotted lines. In this case, however, the parallel lines came directly from the middle of the room, as if an invisible door was placed in the center of the room. Marik looked down.

Of course!

Feeling giddy, Marik set the torch and map by the wall, careful not to let the torch tip over. He gripped the carpet in both hands and, with a grunt, peeled the carpet off the ground. Insects scuttled away from the sudden intrusion of light, and dust sprang up in thick gray swirls from where Marik unceremoniously dropped the end of the carpet. The tombkeeper grinned as he marveled at the three-by-three foot trap door that greeted him from amidst the cringing insects and specs of dirt. Marik tugged the trap door open and grabbed the torch and map. He kneeled by the hole in the ground and lifted his torch to peer down below. Marik was clearly able to see the ground, which wasn't too far down, but eyed the rusty-looking ladder dubiously, debating its safety. Finally, deciding he had no other choice, Marik stuffed the map back down his tunic, and with one hand holding the torch and the other clinging on to the railing for dear life, he began his climb down the gaping maw of the trap.

Dampness and cold met Marik's naked foot when he finally reached the end of the ladder and touched the floor. He exhaled loudly, almost shocked to have made it down without capsizing the entire ladder. He lifted the torch and registered a one way passage across from him that continued on into the dark. The passage was immensely colder than above, and Marik shivered, clutching his cloak closer to his body. Marik began tentatively walking forward, keeping the torch near him to absorb what warmth he could gather. His footsteps echoed ominously through the empty, silent corridor. As he walked, Marik began thinking about the thief. What would he look like? What would he talk like? Would he speak Egyptian? The prospect of such a new experience, of new knowledge thrilled the young tombkeeper, and he shuddered in excitement. He'd never seen anyone from the Outside, aside from the occasional guards and monks. But Marik could never talk to them, and even when he did try, they never replied to him, and simply ignored him as if he were a ripple of air that couldn't be bothered with.

Finally, the passage abruptly ended and Marik stood facing a flat wall. He blinked and pulled out the map, checking to make sure he hadn't missed an intersection. But the sketches on the map indicated only a straight path inevitably leading to the dungeon. He frowned, pursing his lips, and looked up.

"There has to be some secret opening, then." He mused, and, secretly, hoped. Marik felt his way along the limestone bricks of the wall with one hand, knocking on them, feeling about for the familiar change in texture of a hidden opening. Marik's fingers abruptly froze on a brick about three feet off the ground. The brick felt significantly smoother, lighter, different from the others. He triumphantly kneeled and pushed the brick forward. It slid effortlessly forward, and then moved aside to accommodate a surprisingly small opening at the bottom of the wall. Immediately, the sharp scent of feces and decay nipped at his senses, causing him to grimace in disgust and cover his nose. When he managed to swallow down his surprise and nausea, Marik quickly set aside the torch and map, careful not to let the torch tip over and burn out, and crawled through the doorway.

When Marik had completely emerged from the opening, he stood up, dusting off his robe, and surveyed his surroundings. He was in a large room in which the entire left portion was divided into several sectioned off prison cells standing side by side, separated from the rest of the room, a long corridor, by rusty metal prison bars. Across from the boy was a wooden door, likely bolted from the outside. The room was also lit by a few flickering torches which stood at alert on the right wall, flickering menacingly at those unfortunate enough to find themselves in the cells across from them. Marik turned around to discover a variety of chains, cuffs, and ropes hanging off the wall – likely why the hidden opening rose no higher than a meter.

Marik peered curiously into the cell nearest him. He immediately recoiled, his eyebrows furrowing in disgust. The cell was empty, but dark and consumed by shadows. Nothing but a plank of wood, a bucket, a pair of metal cuffs chained to the wall, and the black form of some unknown thing slumped in a corner, hidden by the shadows, decorated the cell. The nauseating scent of death wafted up Marik's nose again, causing him to hiss and pull his cloak closer to him.

Marik began walking slowly, cautiously, and silently. He held his breath, peering through each cell for the presence of someone, or something. His heart pounded loudly against his chest and through his ears, growing louder at every cell he passed. However, when he reached the end of the cell without finding anyone, Marik frowned, perplexed.

"That's strange." He muttered under his breath. "This is the only dungeon room in the tomb. Where else could they have put him?" As Marik shoved through his brain for an answer, a sudden shuffling noise caused him to jump. He whipped his head around and held his breath, listening. Again, he heard the shuffling of fabric, and this time, the clink of something metallic against the ground. Marik slowly followed the sound to the end of the room, back where he had started, and peered through the last cell.

It looked exactly as when he had left it, everything in place. Except the strange black shape in the back corner had disappeared. Marik cautiously approached the cell, looking around for something, anything.

"Who are you?" Marik squeaked and leapt away from the cell, his heart pounding furiously. A figure, one that had easily blended into the shadows of the cell, shifted from its spot near the right-hand wall of the cell. Marik was able to barely distinguish a hunched, human form, sitting with bent knees against the wall. He waited until his heart rate slowed before approaching the prison cell again. Mustering as much confidence as he could, he looked straight at the figure.

"Are you by any chance the thief that was captured recently?" The figure didn't move or respond, and seemed rather to be sizing him up. Marik felt strangely uncomfortable under the piercing scrutiny of the stranger he couldn't quite see. Suddenly, the figure moved slightly, allowing for some of the light from the torches to touch upon his form. Marik sucked in a breath as he beheld before him the figure of a man with shadow-lined ivory hair and dark, icy blue eyes that glistened eerily in the firelight. His face was so hidden by the shadows, that Marik could not but compare him to a ghost or a spirit of some kind. The thief's mouth suddenly twitched, but his eyes remained fixed on the young boy, unblinking.

"It is I." He said in a quiet and parched, but steady voice. "What does a child of the Tomb like you need from me, if I may inquire?" Marik swallowed, but refused to let himself be intimidated. I've made it this far, he thought to himself, licking his lips, I can't back down yet!

"I can get you out of here." Marik said, attempting to keep his voice even. The thief released a weak snort.

"Really?" He asked snidely.

"I can."

"I don't need help from a kid to leave this place."

"I'm your only option. That or they'll ship you off to the palace tomorrow, where you'll probably be executed." Marik had no idea if this was true, but either way, he was playing his best card and praying the thief would take the bait.

The prisoner suddenly shifted and pushed himself off the ground. He staggered but quickly stabilized himself on his two feet and limped towards Marik. Marik felt his throat constrict and felt a strong urge to step back, but his pride and fear kept him rooted in place. Despite his hunched, injured, and gaunt stature, the young man before him gave off a frighteningly intimidating impression. The thief leaned forward and grabbed the rusty prison bars with both hands, bending forward and locking eyes with the young tombkeeper. Marik sucked in a surprised breath and his eyes widened as he met the cold, deep blue eyes of the white-haired thief. For the first time, Marik was able to take in the full scope of the thief's features. A sharp, gaunt face once a light golden olive perfected by the sun and now smudged with purpling bruises faced the young boy. The thief could have passed for handsome, beautiful even, with shapely eyes and ivory hair, if not for the bruises littering his face, the cuts and dry skin chaffing his full lips, and, perhaps, the long, startling scar running down the thief's right eye. The young man, as he could hardly pass for more than six years past Marik's own age, opened his mouth, snapping Marik away from his morbid fascination with the figure before him.

"Say you do help me out." The thief hissed in a voice not unlike a snake, but finding more resemblance to a lonely desert wind beneath the full moon, which swept across Marik's body and sent shivers running down his spine. "Say, you get me out of here. What makes you think I won't kill you as soon as I get out? I hate your kind with a passion you can't even begin to understand." The thief stared unblinking into Marik's wide eyes, a look of pure malice, disgust, and hatred written upon his features. Marik willed himself to match the man's gaze, and resumed a steady pace of breathing to hide the erratic pace of his frenzied heart.

"Because I have access to a secret passage that allows us to bypass the guards. You're in no condition to fight them anyway." He said bravely. The thief cocked an eyebrow and scrutinized the small boy in front of him.

"Well, you have a point. But tell me, what do you get out of this? Surely you're not releasing me out of pure goodwill, or, considering my record, malice." Marik flinched and unclenched his sweaty palms, feeling his nails digging uncomfortably into his skin.

"I want you to take me with you. It doesn't have to be far. Even just to the nearest city." Marik managed to tear his gaze away from the thief's and let his eyes rest on the dank cell wall behind him. "I know the way out of here, but its bolted shut. As a thief, I'm sure you would know how to get past it." Akefia stared at Marik for a few, excruciatingly silent minutes, contemplating this deal.

"I'll do it," he finally said, "on one condition." Marik looked up and felt a strong revulsion to the strange gleam in the thief's eyes. "I want what I came for."

Marik felt his heart sink. "The Millenium Items." The thief nodded, a cruel smile playing on his bleeding lips. Marik grit his teeth. His entire upbringing, his whole life, was dedicated to protecting the items from people like this thief. To hand them over to a man who would certainly abuse their powers would betray his entire people and everything he had learned.

But you would be free, whispered a voice. No longer will you be a prisoner. This tomb has cursed you, and torn away your future. Isn't it time you decided your destiny for yourself?

Marik closed his eyes, and opened them, matching the cold eyes of the thief. "I'll do it." He said in a level tone. The thief grinned, an icy expression that failed to reach his darkened eyes.

"Then we have a deal." The white-haired devil concluded, thrusting a hand through the bars. Marik stared at the slender, curling fingers, almost skeletal in form, and raised his own hand. As Marik clasped the thief's hand, he realized just how small his fingers were beneath the others strong grasp.

"I'm Marik. Marik Ishtar." The young tombkeeper introduced himself.

"Akefia." The thief replied through his teeth. He bowed slightly and retreated to the shadows of his cell, though still facing the boy before him.

"I look forward to working with you, Marik Ishtar."

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.:Author's Note:. Isn't he just evil? Too evil I think. Oh well, I blame it on the horror-movie-type-setting of this chapter. I also think that a lot of fanfic writers portray Akefia and Bakura as just these fun-loving mischevious guys. But I mean COME ON! BAKURA TRIED TO SUMMON ZORC AND DESTROY THE WORLD FOR GOD'S SAKE! HE'S PURE DAMN EVIL! Except around Marik. We all know he's got a soft spot for the tombkeeper.

Also, remember to review! Tell me what you like/don't like so I can improve my writing and such~

-DxH