Disclaimer: I do not own Yugioh or any Yugioh character portrayed in this fic.

A/N: A short thank you to Shantih, LiteraryMuffin and FFNRocks as well as the other reviewers of this story. Your input inspires me and spurs me on to keep writing. Not to mention that I'm having a ball writing it ;)

Chapter 5

Mokuba Kaiba certainly lived up to their expectations. And more. When they first broke the news to him, Joey had seen the boy's eyes widen, the fear and worry for his beloved older brother very apparent. He had wanted to step forward, comfort the kid, tell him all would be okay and that Yami Yugi would handle the 'supernatural' side of things. What he had not expected was for a miniature version of his one and only rival to emerge minutes after finding out the situation.

And now they were seated in the head office of Kaibacorp with Mokuba at the reins, a little, dark-haired whirlwind of cool professionalism and mindboggling efficiency. He had wrapped up the tournament, created a plausible excuse for the sudden absence of his brother, got Yugi to present awards and prizes and even gave a small, well-rehearsed speech on behalf of Kaibacorp. The tournament had closed with various shows and entertainment, which, needless to say, they had not stayed for. Mokuba had brought them straight up to the office, politely requesting that they be patient for a little while longer as he sorted through the various statistics and ran the financial prediction algorithms through his immediate staff.

After an hour, when the last lackey had exited the imposing double doors, Mokuba ran over to the couch where they had waited patiently (at least, in the Pharaoh's case) and the worried little boy was back.

"So, Yami Yugi," he began hesitantly.

"Yami will do," said the Pharaoh kindly.

Mokuba nodded. "All right, Yami. What happened to my brother and Mai and where are they now?"

"I can't say for sure, Mokuba, but what I am certain of is that your brother initiated a Shadow Game and that Mai was taken in with him."

The boy's eyes nearly popped out of his skull. "M . . . My brother . . . ? But how? Seto never believed in all the . . . uh . . . "

"Shadow magic? No, he did not. But unfortunately for him, it exists. Furthermore, he has the ability to both harness and control that power. However, by choosing to reject that heritage and pin it down to illusion, he inadvertantly trapped himself in a shadow game of his own devising."

"Huh?" was Joey's succinct response.

"Please explain," said Mokuba faintly.

"As I recall, your brother's exact words to Yugi were 'to convince him of his so-called heritage and he would never question him again'. While doing so, he pointed the Millenium Rod at Yugi, another Item holder, and issued what the shadow magic interpreted as a challenge. And so, the Puzzle responded in the only way it can. It cast your brother into a kind of complex shadow game. If my guess is right, Kaiba will only be able to find his way back once he has 'been convinced of his heritage'."

Mokuba turned a shade paler and groaned. "In other words, my brother has to accept shadow magic."

The Pharaoh nodded sagely. "Not only that, he must come to terms with his position as rightful holder of the Millenium Rod. In other words, accept that he is the reincarnation, or future projection, of Seth, High Priest and former advisor to the Pharaoh."

Mokuba's silent look of horror spoke volumes. It was Joey who gave vent to what all of their subconscious voices had been telling them.

"Goddammit, we're doomed!"

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"Repeat yourself, please, Seto Kaiba."

Atem leaned forward, his eyes traveling between Seth and Kaiba. The former had schooled his face into an unnaturally stiff lack of readability while the latter had folded his arms and assumed a posture that could only be described as cocky.

"Pharaoh, I was sent here via the Millenium Rod."

"Seth?"

"Highness, that is impossible. The Rod is under my constant supervision. I would know if it had been used by another or had left my possession for even a second."

Atem looked back at Kaiba for an answer. He seemed entirely unruffled. "I never said it was the same Millenium Rod."

Seth's expressionless state rapidly devolved into bewilderment and outrage. "Wh . . . what was that? You imbecile! There is only one of each of these items . . . "

"In this time, yes there is," countered Kaiba, loudly.

"What exactly are you saying, Kaiba?" asked Atem slowly.

"He's trying to imply that he's from another time!" thundered Seth, "Entirely implausible, since such a transfer between planes is impossibly complex and cannot be achieved simply by accident!"

"And yet, here I am!" Kaiba was livid now, "Explain that, Mr. Omniscient!"

"Silence!"

The argument died in its tracks. Both men turned to the figure on the throne with a slow, deliberate motion that had the rest of the room's occupants blink at the slight sense of deja-vu.

"Kaiba, do you have any proof of your claims?"

He scoffed, one hand nonchalantly inserting into the pocket of his white business suit. "Of course I do. See that cellphone? Can any metalwork you know of produce a product so advanced?"

"No," said Atem calmly, "But you indicated that it is a communication device. If you cannot prove that this is the function it performs, I'm afraid that it cannot count for evidence."

"For heaven's sake!" Kaiba took a step forward in disbelief, "Can't you believe the evidence presented by your own eyes? Listen, Pharaoh, my brother is worried. He can handle business affairs, but the longer I take to get back, the more scared and alone he's going to . . . "

"And we appreciate the gravity of your situation . . . " began Seth.

"No," Kaiba hissed through gritted teeth "No you do not!"

Something in his voice caused the High Priest to stop dead, eyes widening slightly. Mahad, looking rapidly between the two, stood abruptly. "My Pharaoh, I think we should enter Council and make our decision with regard to the course of action we should take."

"Indeed." Atem had not missed the strange exchange and nodded distractedly. "Mana, conduct Seto Kaiba to his chambers. Seth, accompany them and return immediately."

"Yes, my Pharaoh." Seth turned without another word, without watching to see if they were following and left the council chambers.

He never should have accompanied them. It was a thought that came to him immediately after . . . that incident. It was not something one expects, after all. Not even after hearing that note of emotion in his look-alike's voice.

They had almost reached the guest chambers (to be guarded closely, of course) when a voice called out to them, a child's voice. Merawhat, Seth's young page-in-training came hurtling through the corridor they had just passed, flinging himself to the ground behind the High Priest.

"Honourable High Priest! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Your cloaks came back from the seamstress and . . . and . . . I'm sorry! They hemmed them wrong and now . . . they're too short and I measured and they'll never reach your ankles and . . . "

Hissing in annoyance, Seth was about to berate the young page when - "MOKUBA!"

High Priest and appretice both stared on in shock and disbelief as Kaiba strode past them, dropping to his knees before the gobsmacked child, grasping his shoulders as if afraid he would disappear.

"Mokuba! I . . . I thought you were . . . what are you doing here? Where did you come from? I was so worried!"

Ignoring the gawping of the astonished page, whose eyes had turned wider and rounder when he had looked between Kaiba and Seth, the tall CEO flung his arms around the smaller figure and hugged him fiercely. There was a long pause, during which Seth recovered himself and cleared his throat noisily, Mana didn't recover herself at all and Merawhat's expression morphed from astonishment to fright and then to a strange, not unpleasant confusion.

"What do you think you are doing?" snapped Seth angrily.

Kaiba rose to his feet, one hand protectively placed on Merawhat's shoulder. "This is my brother! What's he doing here? Was this part of your . . . your shadow game thing?"

"That isn't your brother!"

Kaiba scoffed. "Just because you've dressed him differently, doesn't mean his identity undergoes a sudden change. And if any of you dare lay a finger on him . . . "

"Um . . . Kaiba?" Mana broke in cautiously, "That really isn't your brother. Ask him yourself."

"What?" Kaiba turned to Merawhat, "Mokuba, are you all right? How have they been treating you? Have you eaten? You look thinner . . . I swear, if they've been starving you . . . "

"I . . . I'm not . . . Mokuba," was his hesitant reply. The page looked petrified.

"There, you've heard it from him. Now enough of this nonsense. Get in that chamber so that I can return to the council!"

"Mokuba!" Kaiba was crouching again, hands placed on either side of the child's face, forcing him to meet his gaze, "Look at me. It's me, Seto. Your brother. Big brother. I'm here, it's okay, you don't have to say what they tell you to anymore. I'm right here, I'll protect you."

"B . . . but . . . I'm not . . . "

"Mokuba," Kaiba's voice was stern, "Stop this. Now tell me, how did you get here?"

Seth took an impatient step forward, but Mana placed a hand on his arm, looking slightly startled at her own bravery. She came up beside Merawhat, beckoning for him to rise. "Kaiba," she said, gently, "This is the page, Merawhat, who was born to a kitchen maid of this palace. I have known him his entire life, watched him grow up and serve the High Priest faithfully. He is not your brother. You are mistaken."

Kaiba stood again, towering over her, his cold fury washing over her like an arctic storm. "Don't ," he hissed, "don't you dare tell me who my brother is and who he is not."

"I'm sorry!" yelped Merawhat, eyes closed in horror at his un-asked-for predicament. "But I am not your brother, honourable master!"

He opened one eye and looked up at Kaiba, and in that moment, the CEO knew that he spoke the truth. "No . . . " He stepped back, "No . . . I . . . I . . . Mokuba . . . "

And suddenly Seth saw a boy. Not the ferociously cool, logical and collected business man, but a boy in a business suit. One, whose sudden realisation that the child standing before them was not his brother, had lost something fundamental and deeper-running than any of them could know.

Kaiba stumbled back, away from them, into the waiting chamber. He seated himself in a wicker chair and simply stared, blankly, ahead. Seth stood in the doorway, suddenly unsure of himself.

"High Priest," Mana said, softly.

"I'm leaving," he said shortly. "Inform me of any new developments."

So saying, he turned on his heel and strode past her and the page, who promptly prostrated himself again. Neither of them had noted the strange, fleeting expression on the child's face as he looked back towards the room where the 'guest' sat. An expression, almost, of longing.

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Mai was a lucky girl, in many ways. She had beauty, wit, charm and mannerisms that had most men eating out of her palms. Up until recently, it was mainly luck and her own inventiveness that had kept her alive. In that moment, though, when she looked up into those eyes, his eyes, she felt a profound sense of loss. As if all her luck had deserted her at the very sight of him. No ideas came to mind; no rapidly evolved, daredevil escape plans. She simply drew a blank. Although she had never stared down a cobra, she hypothesized that one could not get closer to such a sensation than this. It was his very presence, overpowering, hypnotic, vivid and suffocating with its poisonous vitality.

Fuck. I'm going to die.

This was her only rational thought as she saw him reach for her, as if in slow motion, one large, rough hand circling her upper arm and throwing her aside like a ragdoll. Something moved past her head as he threw her, a soft whoosh that brushed straight through her flying hair. The world seemed to speed up again as she hurtled towards the ground, landing hard and rolling for some distance before she dug her nails into the sand and tugged herself to a jarring halt.

Looking up, the sight which met her eyes caused her to let out a stifled gasp. Khalid had lunged forward, sword directed slightly upwards towards the left side of the prisoner's ribcage, obviously aiming for his heart. However, the blade's motion had been arrested by the chains that the prisoner had brought with him instead of abandoning back in the wagon, like she had thought. He had flung the chains outwards, wrapping them securely around Khalid's sword. She felt the blood leave her face when she realised that he had pushed her out of harm's way; that slight movement in the air near her head had been Khalid's swordthrust.

What the . . .

The thought died in her mind as the combat playing out before her began in full force. Khalid had been tugging hard at his sword hilt, trying to get it free. With a quick, deft twist, the prisoner spun the chains once more, freeing him, so that he stumbled backwards, unbalanced. The Captain regained his footing a moment later, just in time to dodge a flailing blow from the prisoner that nearly took his eye out.

Mai saw that her 'old man' had wrapped the upper portion of the chains around his forearms, using the hefty, metal padlocks as a kind of mace. He whirled and swung, his ranged weapon striking out at Khalid from unpredictable directions. The skill and strength with which he wielded his makeshift weapon was breathtaking, and Mai found herself following his movements with a type of horrified fascination. Khalid resorted to defensive tactics, his attention focusing on the trajectory of the deadly, scything arcs. His experienced eye was looking for an opening, that was plain to see, the blade of his battle-worn weapon striking sparks off his opponent's.

A thin cloud of dust gathered around the two figures as they danced, feinting, lunging, swinging at each other, the low, flickering light of the dying campfire painting sweat-slicked limbs with a burnished glow. She could feel the pound of their footsteps in the earth beneath her feet, hear their grunts of effort, the sudden growls of pain and snarls of ferocity. She could smell the metallic, rusty warmth of blood as the prisoner's mace shot out, slashing the side of Khalid's face and Khalid lunged forward, shaking off the injury, blood flying from his temple in a fine mist as he scored a gash along the other's thigh. In an almost dream-like state, she watched with her heart in her mouth, noting how they fought. Khalid, like the veteran soldier he was, with quick, efficient movements, going for the weak spots like a bulldog for an exposed jugular, the tinge of desperation indicating that he was fighting at the absolute limit of his skill. That he knew he needed to kill before his own precariously balanced existance was snuffed like a candle. The prisoner, on the other hand, fought with reckless speed and agility, making full use of his considerable physical prowess, aiming to maim as well as kill. The heavy restraints around his neck did not seem to hamper him in the slightest as he herded Khalid into tight corners, eyes ablaze and mouth agape in a soundless laugh of mad delight, nostrils flaring as he were scenting the older man's death.

Mai placed her hands over her ears, crouching as she tried to shut out the endless violence, the brutality of what she was witnessing. She'd had no idea, no idea at all . . . What have I done? What will I do? What will I do?

And in a quick succession of blows, it was over. Khalid made a skilful move, catching the tip of his sword in one of the chain's links, twisting, slipping as close to the prisoner as possible and suddenly releasing himself, stabbing straight for the throat. Mai let out a small shriek, expecting a death blow, watching in disbelief as the white-haired man caught the naked sword with his bare hand. He gripped hard, blood leaking from between his fingers as he effectively trapped Khalid in a very open position. A wide, manic grin spread across the prisoner's face as the chain clinked, wrapping around his massive fist before it crashed into the soldier's face, dropping him like a lead weight. For a moment, Mai had a vision of two dark eyes in a bloody catastrophe of a face, giving her one last glance of hatred before the tall figure of the prisoner stooped, placed his hands to either side of Khalid's head and casually snapped his neck.

And then his eyes met hers and she couldn't move. Her terror was looming, irrational. It caught at her throat and left her choking, incapacitated. Oh please, oh please God . . . She managed to bring her hands back to awareness, her quivering legs and she pulled herself shakily upright. He was watching her, head cocked to one side, Khalid's lifeless body slumped between his feet. She was backing away, hands spread out in front of her, slipping and stumbing as her incoherent thoughts were given life in a voice that was barely her own.

"P . . . please, dont . . . Oh, God, . . . don't . . . don't hurt . . . please . . ."

Her entreaties died away to a horrified whisper as he came towards her, head still bent to the side slightly, his walk the loping prowl of a stalking tiger. The embers of the softly sparking fire illuminated the ripple of muscle under skin, the scars that stood out from the whippings and beatings of the slumbering soldiers. She was sobbing now, tears forming glistening tracks across the sand coating her skin as he came closer, ignoring her rising hysteria. She could smell the blood on him and now she couldn't breathe, her voice coming in hiccoughs and gasps as she scrambled fruitlessly away from his outstretched hand.

He caught hold of her shoulder and she screamed, over and over, flailing with her fists, knees, legs. He gave a small snort, grasped her wrists, bringing them together in the fist of one of his large hands and wrenched them above her head.

Then he slapped her. The hardest, roughest, most stinging slap she had ever received in her life. Her head snapped to the side, mouth hanging open in astonishment.

"Are you done screaming, you moronic bitch?" His voice was a rasp as he shook her threateningly.

Teeth chattering uncontrollably, she settled for nodding vigorously.

"Where's the water?"

"I . . . In th . . . the second . . .wag . . . "

Seemingly satisfied with her response, he dropped her unceremoniously and padded away towards the wagon indicated. Halfway there he stopped and turned his head to look partially across his shoulder. A low rumble of annoyance came from his throat. Snapping to attention, she almost yelped and scuttled after him as fast as her trembling form would allow. When they reached the cart, he climbed up and disappeared between the canvas flaps and she approached cautiously, keeping a safe distance. She heard him tossing things about and, a few moments later, a dark gourd shot out, smacking her square on the forehead. She shrieked and backed away as his head poked out. He snarled at her.

"Are you familiar with the concept of catching and taking hold of things, idiot? Put your fucking hands to work."

"Uh . . . um, yeah, I . . . "

His head disappeared and another gourd soared towards her. She managed to catch it by the tips of her fingers, which were still shaking uncontrollably.

What do I do? What do I do? Oh God, Oh God . . .

She caught a few more gourds, bundles of rations and what looked like medical supplies. Finally, he clambered back out, two large sacks draped across his shoulders. He held them open and she hastily began to drop the loot inside, shooting him covert, terrified glances from beneath her lashes. He paid her scant attention, he seemed to be taking inventory. When they were done, he tied the sacks securely and glanced over at the sleeping soldiers. Frowning, he strode over a kicked one of them in the head. He was rewarded with a loud snore, a choking noise, then silence.

He turned back and stared at her. A slow grin spread across his face. "Hah. That must have been one hell of a gangbang."

Mai's jaw dropped. "Wha . . . why you . . . I drugged them, okay?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "With what, pray?"

"My . . . my sleeping aids."

"Get the key."

"What?"

"The key, woman. From that lively bastard over there." He gestured at Khalid before making his way over to the camels that were harnessed to the wagon train. On his way there, he paused and stared down at his former tormentors with a wicked smirk. Mai turned away hurriedly to face her assigned ordeal.

Oh hell no . . . But she guessed she didn't have much of a choice. If there was one thing she would not risk right now, it was incurring his wrath. Making her way gingerly over to Khalid she started to shake again slightly, her face screwed up in distaste as she reached over and poked him so that he rolled over onto his back. Gathering up her courage, she began to unbutton his shirt, the glint of the carved metal key gradually coming into view. She saw that it hung on a chain looped around his neck, traveling up into his blood-soaked hair.

Now what? There's no way I'm putting my hand up . . .

She narrowed her eyes, sucked in a breath and reached out, fingers fumbling desperately through the sticky, matted hair of the corpse beneath her. Caught up in her ruminations, she missed the pad of his footsteps behind her.

Her shrieks, combined with his hysterical laughter echoed through the surrounding desert as a pair of severed feet clad in soldier sandals popped over her shoulder and performed a jaunty dance routine.

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A/N: Slightly longer chapter, hope you enjoy!