Well, I thought I'd start chapter six since I needed something new instead of just updating old stuff. I don't know how this is going to go, so bear with me. I just have a notebook full of ideas and for some reason it starts with chapter seven instead of six, so…
*shrugs*
Disclaimer: I don't own YGO!
Chapter 6
Discoveries
Experiencing something and seeing something were two different things. To experience, one has to try new food, learn about the culture, participate in ethnic activities and traditions, and completely divulge in the newness that he/she is experiencing.
Seeing is more along the lines of driving on the highway and saying one was in so-and-so place when one really just stopped at a rest stop to grab a bite to eat and use the bathroom.
Malik saw the world.
He never experienced it.
It was like he was a puppet, someone from the inside controlling his motives. He was in control—or struggled to be in control—and knew what he was doing the entire time. He assembled the Rare Hunters, killed those who resisted, and stole precious treasures. Marik was the one goading him on though. He planted a seed and let it grow with little words and by pretending he was on Malik's side the entire time when in reality he wanted to go on with his own plan. As he looked back on it, Malik realized he didn't want to kill the pharaoh. He was angry that he was stuck in a hole in the ground for the rest of his life. At first he was angry with the pharaoh, but the truth of it was his father kept them there. Whipping Odion wasn't the only reason he killed his father; he kept Malik from living a real life.
Marik took revenge to the next level.
All of his plans, everything from leaving the Ishtar Clan to entering Battle City was to get to the pharaoh. He even allowed Malik to get a motorcycle to appease a childhood dream. Malik did everything; he couldn't blame his darker half for that. Marik was the darker force that goaded him on, only to reveal his plans at the end. Maybe a bit of him did want to kill the pharaoh.
It didn't matter anyway.
/…\
Ryou had many things to think about. His father… School… How hungry he was… His sister and mother… Yugi and his other friends… Anything but him, that constant pain and torture that resided inside. He couldn't look in a mirror without shuttering and thinking in disgrace of how much he resembled the Spirit. Why did he have to look like him? Ryou had never hated anyone as much. There were few things that Ryou knew of the Spirit, but he seemed to know everything of Ryou. Occasionally, Ryou would find one of the Monster World figurines on his bedside table or his journal open to different pages of times when he woke up in very peculiar places or situations. Sometimes late at night he could hear a door rapidly open and close in the back of his mind. He once fell asleep in his bed and woke up at his sister's tombstone. The Spirit rarely talked to him, but he was very good at giving hints at knowing Ryou's life story. It appeared he'd watch as things played out if he wasn't impersonating Ryou or taking over his body.
He couldn't help it anyway.
:::^:::
The Shadow Realm wasn't just going to let Ryou and Malik chase the cards easily.
As the two boys ran after the shadow, a swimming pool size hole opened up and swallowed them. The wormhole swirled different shades of purple and blue before dumping them out in a thick, misty room lined with clocks that hung from all different angles.
Ryou glanced at Malik. Malik was just as doubtful.
"Hey don't look at me," he said. "I don't know everything."
Ryou shrugged. "Based on your prior knowledge then."
"Okay then…" Malik took a moment to think and then gave Ryou a look. "I have no idea where the hell we are."
An eerie silence suddenly overcame the two teens.
Then one of the clocks chimed.
"What time is it?" a voice said.
Neither boy spoke.
"No one knows?" The voice said. "Well, I'll have to check for myself."
One of the clocks suddenly moved, jumping off the wall and strolling in front of Ryou. "You seem like a distinguished young fellow," it said. "Could you please tell me what time it is?"
The clock had grown with each word it spoke, starting at a small six inches high and reaching three feet. The clock donned a purple cape held up by two gears on either side of the round face, two arms loosely hanging from the gears. Two feet sprouted from another set of gears toward the bottom of the face. It held a staff with a little clock on the top, the hands constantly spinning around.
Ryou blinked at the creature before turning his head to Malik, lifting his eyebrow at the Egyptian. Malik shrugged, the same look of bemusement on his face.
"I'm sorry, sir," Ryou answer with sincerity, "I couldn't hazard a guess as to what time it is."
The Time Wizard rubbed the middle of his face much the way a human would rub his chin. "That's such a shame." He pulled out a cartoon-sized coin. "Well it just so happens I lied and I do know the time."
Ryou's excitement got to the best of him and he opened his mouth without thinking. "You do? Could you tell us what time it is here?" He clapped his hands over his mouth.
"Of course!" The Time Wizard said. "But I'll flip for it. Heads," he picked up the coin and waved his hand over the smooth surface. The metal rose in a pattern and the faces of Malik and Ryou engraved on the surface. "Heads and I'll tell you what time it is here and on earth. Tails," he flipped the coin and waved his hand over it again and his face appeared. "Tails, and… well, you'll find out. Ready?"
The boys nodded and the Time Wizard threw the coin high in the air. It seemed to flip and turn in slow motion as gravity came into play, the coin falling back to the ground. It landed with a hard clatter, Malik and Ryou's hearts stopping as the face of the Time Wizard stared up at them.
The Time Wizard clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "Such a shame. Rules are rules though!" He held up his staff and the hands spun at lightning speed.
"Rewind!"
/…\
An unsettling feeling rose in the pit of Bakura's gut as he waited for the shadow servant he sent out to retrieve Ryou's deck to come back. The feeling made him angry. How could he be this way when he was in his own realm? It didn't make any sense.
A slight wind rose around him, a message that the shadow was near.
"Ah, there we go," he said, smiling as the dark vesper glided into view, a deck of cards wrapped in a ghostly tentacle. Bakura stretched his arm out just as the shadow reached him…
….and it vanished.
The cards, shadow, everything was gone. Bakura was flabbergasted. For once, he didn't know how to react.
"This," he said with a humorless smile and tone in his voice, "doesn't happen to me." He repeatedly flicked his wrist, attempting to bend the shadows and salvage the cards, but to his avail each effort was inoperable. No matter how many times he called the shadows, they wouldn't respond. Bakura's ire was beginning to boil. For the first time in the five thousand years he was sealed in the Millennium Ring—although he denied to confess it verbally—he didn't know what to do.
A thought, small but sure, stirred in the caverns of his mind and he closed his eyes, annoyance washing over him.
"Well, if there is nothing left to do," he said, agitated, "it's time to find those insufferable boys."
/…\
"I sincerely am a crafty bastard," Azazel said to himself as he shuffled through the deck of cards one of his servants obtained for him.
"Don't toot your own horn," Murzix grunted. The magician and shadow moved out of Murzix's study to a room resembling a kitchen. The little green orb had returned and was zooming about, grabbing food from different parts of the room and frying, cutting, and boiling them.
Azazel mock frowned. "Am I not allowed to be proud of myself?" He smiled and pushed off the ground to hover five feet in the air; he crossed his legs and resumed shifting through the deck. "Hmm, he actually has a pretty good deck. Duel Monsters. Hn." He looked down at Murzix and smiled at him. "You really have outdone yourself."
Murzix couldn't stop his small smile. "Animating articles is my specialty."
"What was that about tooting your horn?"
Murzix returned to his usual stoic composure and cleared his throat purposefully. "What do you plan on undertaking with those?"
The inky black tie around Azazel's neck loosened and waved lazily in a nonexistent wind. "I was just going to keep hold of them for a bit. You can't have a good time with guests if they have a way to protect themselves." He grinned widely.
Murzix shook his head impatiently and waved off the little green orb, the small ball of light making a sad noise when its master snubbed the food it prepared. It flew up to Azazel who lifted his eyebrow at the platter.
"What is it?"
"I don't know," Murzix said impatiently, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Ask it."
The little orb chirped and twittered something and beckoned Azazel to take one of the little balls. He looked at it skeptically but gingerly took a reddish brown lump off the tray and popped it in his mouth. He chewed slowly and nodded approvingly at the green sphere. It gave the impression of jumping for joy before giving Azazel the tray and soaring away.
"Any clue what this is?" Azazel waved one of the russet chunks.
Murzix uninterestedly looked up from a text that appeared in his hand. "No idea." He shut the book and it vanished in a breath of smoke. "Are we going to do something productive or are you merely going to endure playing games of cat and mouse?"
The shadow took a small bite of the green orb's creation and chewed thoughtfully. "We can't just go straight into the fun part," he said slyly. "You have to drag it out."
"Never to the point," the magician exhaled heatedly. "I understand the taking your time part, but not the dragging it out."
Azazel pursed his lips and chucked. "Of course you don't." He waved his hand, the platter and cards disappeared in flurry of shadows. "It's not your style."
"And it's yours?"
"I'm a crafty bastard."
Murzix groaned. "You're using it in the wrong context. Moreover, how can you call yourself such a name? That term didn't even exist two hundred years ago, let alone two million years ago."
"Don't speak that way," Azazel scoffed and floated down so his feet touched the ground. "You make us sound so old."
"We are that old."
"Serious as usual." Azazel's smile was heckling. "This is why I work alone."
"Conceited and arrogant as usual." Murzix's smile wasn't as wide, but it held the same water. He scratched the front of his neck, his inhumanly long, sharp fingers grazing a scar that protruded from his paper-white skin. "Remind me why I am helping you."
Azazel's tie flitted around excitedly. "Do you honestly not know who our guests are?"
Murzix narrowed his silver eyes, the red "X" shaped iris shrinking to an upside-down "V." "I surcease paying attention to humanly simplicities such as who meanders into our dwelling."
Azazel's grey face darkened. "Are you comparing me to those simpletons?"
"Observing who appears and departs the Shadow Realm is the equivalent of keeping up with tabloids. It is cheap entertainment."
A red glint flashed across Azazel's eyes, his white iris becoming almost invisibly small against the blacks of his eyes. "I do it because neither of you will."
Murzix fell silent and studied his comrade with derision. "If you have nothing of importance to say, I will have Wioqu show you out." The little green orb flew in the room at the sound of its name, bouncing up and down in anticipation.
"If you want me to leave, just say so." Azazel stood up fully and shoved his hands into his pitch-black jeans. He started walking out the door, the little orb drifting next to him. He turned he grey face back so he could see Murzix with one eye. "I just thought I'd let you know that the Spirit of the Millennium Ring is here."
Murzix froze in his footsteps. "What did you say?"
Azazel craned his head back at an impossible angle. "You heard me."
The sorcerer motioned for Azazel to come back in and the shadow spun his body around. "You aren't jesting."
"Why would I kid about something like that?" Azazel's smile was Cheshire-like. "Would you like to help me now?"
"More than ever." Murzix's blue hair caught a small fire. "What shall I do first?"
/…\
It was as if the whole of the Shadow Realm was against him. Bakura couldn't call on the shadows to retrieve the cards. The shadows wouldn't respond to him at all. The fog seemed to collect around him like he was a magnet. Duel Spirits didn't notice his passing by, like they intentionally ignored him. He didn't even know what time it was.
"What the bloody hell is going on?" He growled to no one in particular. He was just another mortal sucked into the labyrinth Shadow Realm.
No. He was not just any ordinary mortal—hell, he wasn't even a mortal. Even with his added years and experience, he had no clue to what was happening.
"Do you have any idea?" He asked aloud.
The air was silent.
Bakura huffed, displeased by his predicament. No, he wasn't just another person wandering the dark, but he was in the same state as his host and that whiney teenager. A sad quandary, but one must move on.
He took a step forward and fell through a wormhole.
I know, I know. Murzix and Azazel took up most of this chapter, but I do have reasons behind it. I wouldn't add random OCs to a story if I didn't think they'd help it. And they will. Trust me. Not to mention I needed some description of them. If you check, I have a link to what they look like—chibi form—in my profile!
Review?
Over and out,
Mahersal
