Author's Note: I forgot to mention that I researched arsenic well enough to write about it for last chapter… which was more than just a little bit awkward… I was so worried that I'd google it and the police would show up on my doorstep. Needless to say, they didn't. And, for your information, arsenic, did in fact, exist in ancient Egypt. It wasn't given a name until the thirteenth century, but it was used as rat poison along with… other means.
You get the point.
This chapter is going to be unusually long. I hope you guys don't mind. Who knows; maybe you guys will actually like a nice long chapter.
Thanks so much to all the people who still read this FanFic even though it's been an entire year since I started it. It makes me feel nostalgic when I think about when I began it… Eh, enough of that. Enjoy the chapter.
P.S. The beginning is a flashback like last time. Happy reading.
Chapter 31
Marik started feeling sharp pricks. They were minuet and quick but also effective. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the painful pokes. For a moment, they did vanish, but the jabs returned shortly after, twice as quickly. Marik blindly swung his hand to the side, a slap of noise being the result.
"Hell, Kisara, be more careful."
"It wasn't me. He seems to be waking up."
"About time."
Marik blinked, his vision adjusting to a dimly lit corridor of the Thief King's hideout. Bakura himself was sitting against the wall next to him, but a beautiful woman was sitting on her knees just before him. She seemed hard at work, thin needles being kept balanced between her teeth as she did something, retrieving a needle or two when she deemed necessary.
Then Marik took note of what she was so adamant about finishing.
The blonde yelped, jerking himself away from the woman. "Mother of Ra, are you trying to dissect me?"
"He has such a scratchy voice," the white-haired woman mumbled, feeling Marik's neck with her cold fingers without his consent. "Perhaps it's a side effect of his fainting?"
"No, he sounded like that before," Bakura assured, chuckling.
"Is no one listening to me?" Marik screeched, flailing in alarm. "Have either of you noticed that there are Ra damned needles in my skin?"
"Stop that," the woman ordered calmly but forcefully, putting her hands on Marik's shoulders. "You are going to reverse all my fine work."
"'Fine work'? Listen, lady, I wouldn't consider this to be fine work," Marik told her, reaching for a needle in his leg to pull out.
The woman slapped his hand, the boy's arm retracting back to his lap. "I said stop." She picked up the needles she had placed beside her and poked another one into his skin before he could protest. "He sure is a stubborn one," she commented tiredly.
"That he is, Kisara," Bakura agreed, attempting to hold back more laughter.
"Want to hear a secret?" Marik suddenly asked, gaining both Bakura's and the newly branded "Kisara's" full attention. After a pause, he divulged, "I'm still here. And I don't take kindly to you two pretending that I'm not."
"Feisty," Kisara labeled him, driving another needle into his arm. Marik yelped a second time in response.
"I suppose," Bakura muttered offhandedly.
Marik turned to glare at Bakura but ceased when he spied a bright red imprint across the Thief King's face.
"What happened?" Marik inquired, pointing to the mark.
"What? This? Oh, nothing. You just tried to attack me while unconscious. No big deal." Bakura shrugged expressionlessly, but the sarcasm was evident.
"He's only joking," Kisara assured Marik when she saw how horrified he was at the very idea. "You just moved your hand while you were fainted, and his face happened to lose the exchange."
Marik couldn't stop himself from laughing, earning a growl from Bakura. Kisara joined in, amused Bakura was getting worked up over seemingly nothing.
"I like you," Kisara declared. "You already know our names. What's yours?"
Marik thought carefully before answering. He looked over at Bakura; the Thief King was leaned forward with interest. Oh, that's right. He doesn't know my name yet, Marik thought with a devious smile. Too bad I have to tell Kisara… I would have had a lot of fun trying to make Bakura guess my name.
"It's Marik," he finally informed.
"And your role in the palace?" Bakura interrogated, hoping to catch this opportunity to learn all he could about the mystery kid from the palace.
"Being a professional wallflower," Marik enlightened, laughing at his own inside joke.
Kisara and Bakura exchanged a look.
"Translation?" Kisara questioned, prodding Marik's arm with another needle.
The blonde winced but revised his answer: "Well, my older siblings work I the Pharaoh's Royal Court. I myself don't have a real position in the palace other than I live there and know some of the people."
"Like whom?" Kisara asked gently, which was followed by another needle to his shoulder.
"Well… I know the Crown Prince… Although, Ryou knows him better."
"And who is Ryou?"
Marik froze at that. "Eh… I rather not say," he said hesitantly, memories of what had made him faint still fresh in his mind.
"Understandable," Kisara dismissed. "Bakura can be a little intimidating when he is trying to make a point."
Marik turned to Bakura. He blinked, gathering his thoughts and organizing them carefully. "So you weren't going to kill me?"
"I thought about it," Bakura stated simply for the shock factor. "But I restrained myself." He rested his hand on his chin. "Though, I would have been completely justified in doing so. Not that I have ever cared for justice… But you did try to poison me. With my own arsenic no less!" Bakura released coarse laughter that seemed less bitter and more pleased.
"And… you are happy about this…?" Marik said slowly, sincerely disturbed.
"Well, of course," Bakura answered matter-of-factly. "I use that same room and scenario to test all my new… recruits. If they find some way to try to kill me with what I have in there, they automatically pass the test. Not everyone passes; you should be proud. Although…" He chuckled. "I've never had one of them faint directly afterwards…"
"You would have too if you were faced with your own deathly stare; you nearly killed me with it!" Marik defended himself angrily.
"No, no, you were shaky long before then," Bakura insisted. "I could hear your shallow breathing from all the way across the room. You were guaranteed to collapse before you even approached me."
Marik would have denied this, but another needle being driven into his arm kept him mute.
"And now I need to take them all out," Kisara announced, looking over her ending result with delight.
"What?" Marik screeched, "What was the point of stabbing me repeatedly with needles if you were just going to take them all out again?"
"Would you rather I left them in?" Kisara inquired smugly, making Marik grow quiet. The woman shook her head and examined her workmanship, explaining, "I did it to wake you up, relax your nerves, and test your reflexes. In case you're wondering, your reflexes are just fine—as I presumed. You're just clumsy. But with proper conditioning, we can fix that."
"What do you mean by clumsy? I'm not—Ow!"
In one swift move, Kisara pulled out every single needle in Marik's right arm. She deposited them beside her, giving an apologetic smile.
"Stay still," she ordered of him while she moved to his left side to continue her effort. Marik reluctantly did, morbidly fascinated with the pockmarks left in his skin.
Bakura suddenly stood up, telling Kisara, "Come get me when the other tests are over with."
Marik gulped. Other tests? You mean there's more? I hope they are not nearly as painful… He rubbed his arm fondly.
"Yes, of course," she replied and gave Bakura a nod of understanding.
Marik slumped against the wall as Bakura disappeared from the room. He closed his eyes and let Kisara pull out the rest of the needles without a fight. I don't think Bakura's going to let me go to Alexandria… he thought with a sigh, nearly hopeless. Still, I hope Isis and Shada are not missing me too much.
-transition-
"Marik!" Mai called through his daydream. She was such a formal person that the lack of title she put in front of his name immediately made him snap back to reality. "Come quickly! It's urgent!"
"Mai, what is going on?" Marik questioned, getting up abruptly from his seat. He raised an eyebrow when Mai immediately grappled for his arm.
"There's no time to explain! You have to come with me right away!"
Marik stopped fighting her and let the blonde woman yank him outside when he finally sensed the true terror in her tone.
He followed her, discovering a gathering around the edge of the camp. He felt tension growing amongst them, probably being heightened by the fact that their leader was still nowhere to be found.
"Stand aside," Marik ordered them, determined to get to the bottom of what was causing so much commotion. Mai was lost behind him as he traveled to the other side of the crowd, frantic calling of his name being lost in the chaos.
Marik held up his hand above his forehead to shield from the sun, trying to scout out what held the entire mob's attention.
Riding towards them was unmistakably Yami. But whether he was approaching as friend or foe was much harder to interpret.
"Make space," Marik commanded, and all the men excluding him shuffled back.
They all watched as Yami rode on the horizon for a while until he finally stepped down from the golden pedestal and made his way down to the camp.
When he came closer, Marik's eyes immediately widened at the rust-colored stains on Motou's face and attire. Even his horse had a splatter across its front, and observing this made Marik and the others take notice of something else as well.
Bakura. He was slung over the back of Yami's horse, but unlike Yami, his situation was much more difficult to decipher. One of the Thief King's arms was hung over the side of the horse, his hand crimson red, but nothing else could be read of his condition. Except that he was very still.
Very, very still.
After a few minutes that felt like millenniums, Yami halted his horse in front of the crowd of thieves and bandits, as stoic as ever.
"I brought you children something," Yami stated. He turned, scraping Bakura off his horse and then depositing him on the ground. A moan from the Thief King when he hit the sand was the only indication that he was still alive.
No one moved an inch forward.
"Consider it a warning," Yami continued. "I didn't take his life this time, but that does not mean I won't be back to finish him off." The Motou pulled his horse's reins to the side, the animal turning completely around. Quiet and slow, Yami's horse trotted away, leaving the camp in a trance.
When Yami disappeared from sight, Marik sunk to his knees beside Bakura, wailing, "Bakura! Bakura! You can hear me, right? Tell me you're all right! Tell me!"
Bakura didn't stir. From his earlier moan, it was apparent he was still living, but how much life was left in him was yet to be determined.
"Lord Marik, what do we do from here?" one of the bandits asked hurriedly.
Marik was silent for a moment. He reached out and put a hand on Bakura's shoulder only to retrieve his hand and judge how much blood he was losing.
"We need to get him to Kisara. She is the only person I can trust who can revive him," Marik decided quietly.
"But we weren't given the orders by King Bakura to move away from the palace…" another man brought up hesitantly.
"Does it look like Bakura can give orders right now?"
Marik asked this with such ferocity that the entire faction jumped. The customarily calm and collected blonde stood up and turned around, any tears he had shed being lost as his hair began to stand on end and a golden eye appeared on his forehead.
"Question my authority again, and Bakura won't be the only one whose blood is being spilt."
Fear swept through the crowd, and the men scattered within an instant. The only person who remained where she had been was Mai, her own tears continuing to fall.
The creature that possessed Marik inquired cruelly, "Did I stutter or something? Because I do believe I just informed everyone that it would be dangerous to ignore me."
"Marik, you don't know what you're saying," Mai started out quietly, "That spirit is back. You need to banish him your own free will; Bakura is unable to help you this time."
The devil inside Marik grinned maliciously. "You think he has the strength to do that now? That pathetic excuse for the Thief King's right hand couldn't do it alone before, and he can't do it now. Only Bakura or Kisara can shut me away, and…" He took a spiteful pause. "… the only one present is a little preoccupied at the moment."
Mai resisted the urge to pull her own sword from its sheath. No. That monster isn't Marik, but if I end up treating him like one, all the damage I would do on him wouldn't only affect this demon but Marik as well. I have to approach this psychologically. It's the only way I'll have a chance at getting through to him, she thought over carefully. "Marik, please! I know you can hear me!" Mai called past Marik's body and into his soul.
"I doubt that," the evil spirit snickered. "He probably cannot even hear me over the crying he's doing. Honestly, it's pathetic how much he cares about that nearly dead so-called 'Thief King' behind me."
"You see what he's calling Bakura, Marik? You need to fight his control over you!" Mai pleaded.
"Absurd," the demon dismissed, shaking his head.
"Marik, you have to listen to me! Turn your head and look at Bakura! He needs your help!"
The devil scoffed. "I refuse to even lay my eyes on that pitiful excuse. He couldn't even fight off Yami after all."
Mai told Marik heatedly, "If you just look at him, I am confident you'll snap out of it!"
"I told you, blondie; I refuse." He folded up arms across his chest, sneering.
"Well then, just look at your hand!"
Caught off guard, the demon lifted his hand up to his gaze, seeing it was, unquestionably, stained with deep red liquid. His eyes widened, gasping in astonishment.
"And that is not just anyone's blood, Marik," Mai informed coolly. "That is Bakura's blood. He will die if you don't act right away."
Bakura… die? No! It can't be true! I won't let it happen!
The spirit holding Marik captive in his own body suddenly stumbled back, breathing heavily.
"Fight it, Marik!" Mai encouraged. "Continue to fight it!"
Bakura is hurt… He needs me… I have to help him!
The devil recoiled as he felt an unnatural feeling beginning to spiral around his control on Marik's body. He was slowly being washed away like an unwanted stain out of clothing. And after a moment, he lost all jurisdiction over his host, being cast into the darkest cavern of Marik's mind.
Mai saw the corner of Marik's eyes grow tears again, and she asked hesitantly, "Is that it, Marik? Is he gone?"
Marik hung his head but nodded. He turned back to Bakura and picked him up, throwing the Thief King over his shoulder.
"It'll be all right, Bakura," Marik mumbled tiredly. He didn't look into Bakura's face to see if any of this had registered. "Kisara will take good care of you." He chocked on his own emotion, sniffling, "Maybe I am pathetic like that thing said, but I'm not going to let anything else harm you. I swear."
Mai stayed silent throughout this—not that Marik minded or even noticed. She watched him shuffle over to where the horses were corralled, commandeering the reins of the first one he reached.
The blonde woman didn't argue against Marik going ahead alone but instead inquired as the other shifted Bakura from his shoulder to the horse's back, "You sure you can't get that wicked spirit exorcised out of you?"
"Kisara said it's too unsafe," Marik reported darkly. "She says my whole soul could collapse. Not to mention that it would be extremely painful. But, after today's events, I think I will have to reconsider my options." Marik mounted the horse, taking the reins in one hand and using the other to keep a good hold on Bakura. "Make sure the rest aren't far behind," he instructed Mai.
"Of course," she consented.
Marik merely nodded and began their trek into the desert, blue sky becoming bleak sand almost instantly.
-transition-
"Strange," Isis muttered to Mahad as she gazed out the tower. "It looks like the Thief King's faction is retreating."
"Not retreating," Mahad clarified. "They are simply leaving. There is no telling when they will be back."
Isis sighed, turning her back on the window as if boycotting their surveillance.
"Something the matter, Isis?" Mahad asked curiously, finding the priestess's behavior peculiar.
"No… Well, yes, actually," she admitted. "I had a vision earlier."
"Really?" Mahad narrowed his eyes at her. "And you haven't reported it to the Pharaoh, Isis? That seems unlike you."
"It did not involve anything that Pharaoh Akunumkanon isn't already aware of," Isis insisted. "Just the letter that will arrive early tomorrow."
"And nothing else?" Mahad questioned, leaning his back against the wall.
"Unfortunately, no." Isis sighed a second time. "And the reason I'm distraught about this is because my vision did not enlighten me with any details of Marik." She pressed the tips of her fingers against her forehead, adding crossly, "Again."
"I see. You still haven't received even one vision regarding him?"
"No, I never have, and I severally doubt I will at this point." Isis's lips formed something of a pout.
Mahad chuckled quietly before saying, "Magic is oddly particular about the amount of power it gives you over it. Always has been. It can give you immeasurable power and yet nearly zero rule over it or the complete opposite."
"I should be grateful for the little power I have been blessed with, but I'm not. It makes me angry how little control I have over it," Isis complained. She ran her fingers over the Eye of Horus on her Millennium Necklace, thinking thoroughly. "Can I change the subject?" Isis suddenly asked.
"Hmm? I suppose," Mahad approved, his mind obviously distracted by something unknown to his fellow Item Bearer.
"It's about Akhenaden," Isis confessed, and immediately Mahad was at attention. "Will we be burying him soon?"
Mahad dove into his pocket and retrieved the Millennium Eye, beginning to toss it up into the air and catch it, toss it up into the air and catch it, toss it up into the air and…
"No, Isis, we won't be," Mahad informed, catching the Eye in his palm again, light ricocheting off its gold form. "He was a traitor until the very end… You should be fully aware of that."
"But he was also the Pharaoh's brother," Isis said quietly. "Doesn't he deserve at least some respect?"
"Some? Perhaps." Mahad did not move at all, this focus locked on the golden Eye, soaring up then plummeting down, soaring up then plummeting down, soaring up then… "But you of all people should know how difficult brothers can be."
Isis flinched, not prepared at all for Mahad to say this. She swallowed dryly and excused herself at once, departing out of the room.
Mahad didn't watch her go, his attention still on the artifact resting in his grasp. As soon as the priestess's footsteps could no longer be heard, he threw the Eye back up in the air but this time abandoned it and let it meet the floor.
A smashing sound and a pile of miscellaneous pieces were the result.
Mahad took a knee to the floor beside the mess. He gathered up the pieces in a neat pile and groaned dejectedly as he slid them back into his pocket.
"A fitting end to your accursed eye, don't you think, Akhenaden?"
-transition-
Marik tried not to look at Bakura as he traveled with the Thief King barely kept atop his horse. But, hard as he might, he couldn't resist glancing at him every now and then, half expecting for Bakura to wake up, brush himself off, and make fun of Marik for worrying so much about him. Even though Marik tried to makeshift patch up jobs on the areas where Bakura was losing blood, he doubted the other would awaken before they made it back to the Valley of Kings. And, just as he thought this, Marik felt something stir beside him.
"Marik…"
Marik gripped the reins of his horse tighter and immediately smiled at Bakura best he could. "Isn't it great, Bakura? You seem to be all right. Kisara is going to make sure you stay that way just as soon as we arrive. Just sit tight and rest. Kisara will make sure you have a full recovery."
"Marik—"
"By this time tomorrow, I bet you will be as good as new."
"Marik—"
"I've seen people nearly mutilated, and Kisara fixed them right up."
"Marik!"
The horse, spooked, came to a complete stop.
For a second, it seemed like Marik had finally taken a hint. But it didn't last long as he looked down at Bakura for barely a moment and then simply disregarded him, directing the horse to continue its trek.
"Marik, stop the horse," Bakura commanded sternly, reaching out to try and take the reins away from the blonde.
"Now why would I do a silly thing like that?" Marik inquired playfully, attempting to maintain a sense of calm under his seemingly naive persona. "We've got to get you to Kisara right away."
"Marik, you obviously don't understand."
"Understand? Of course I understand! You need to get to Kisara so that she can help you."
"No, you idiot, stop the horse. Now."
"Why?" Marik questioned, skimming the area. "We're not nearly close enough to the Valley of Kings yet. There's no one out here; there's only sand for miles."
"That's the point."
Marik finally seemed to realize there was something wrong and asked Bakura, "What do you mean by that?"
Bakura moved his focus from Marik to the desert around them. "I'm… I'm dying, Marik. And I want you to kill me before my injuries do."
Marik felt his heart lurch but somehow remained a look of innocence, assuring, "Don't be ridiculous, Bakura. Kisara will—"
"Will you listen to me just once?" Bakura yelled, pushing himself into an upright position. "Kisara won't help! Do you think this is easy for me? To admit that I'm done? Well, you're wrong if you think that!"
Marik froze, a helpless feeling making its first appearance. "But… you're fine," he tried to convince himself more than Bakura. "You strength is already returning," he referred to the way Bakura had sat up not even a minute before.
"It's only a combination of alcohol and adrenaline that is keeping me from feeling most of the pain right now," Bakura educated him, looking down at his wounds. "Soon the numbness will vanish, and I will really start to die." The Thief King briefly wondered if any of this was making it through Marik's thick head, but it was hard to evaluate from his blank expression. "Do you understand? This is why I want you to kill me now."
Marik laughed. He actually laughed.
"What makes you think I could do that, let alone would?" he asked, convincing himself that Bakura was kidding.
Bakura huffed. "That's the funny thing; I wasn't making a request."
The Thief King stole the reins from Marik, pulling them back as hard as he could. The horse bucked, the two of them falling onto the sand, the animal wildly taking off.
Marik sat up and rubbed the back of his head, muttering, "What the hell did you have to go and do that for?"
"If you had killed me when I asked, I wouldn't have had to take such drastic measures," Bakura told him, not moving from his lying position on the ground.
"Oh, so now it's my fault?" Marik asked, feeling anger flare deep down inside him.
"Yes," Bakura confirmed, spreading out his limbs and making a sand angel. "It's all your fault."
"That's a really nice way of thanking the person who is trying to save your life," Marik hissed, standing up and brushing sand and dust off of his attire.
"But I don't want it saved," Bakura growled. "Haven't you been listening to a word I've said?"
"Yes, I have, though you apparently haven't been listening to me." Marik towered over Bakura's lying form, ordering, "Give me your hand."
Bakura seemed to think about this for a while but then resorted to crossing his arms stubbornly. "No."
"Stop being so immature," Marik reprimanded, grappling for one of Bakura's hands. "I will physically drag you all the way to the Valley of Kings if I have to."
"If you drag the wrong arm, you'll end up pulling the entire thing off," Bakura warned, making Marik think twice.
Oh, right. That deep slash in his shoulder… He's being so incredibly annoying that I almost forgot.
Marik clasped the intact arm and began dragging, insisting as he pulled him along, "I'm not… going to let you… throw away all we have worked for… Bakura."
"And what have we worked for, Marik?" Bakura asked, the other continuing to haul him across the sand. "Or should I say what have I worked for? You forget, Marik, that you've only been part of our operations for about five years. There was another fifteen before that where I had no influence and no followers. It was just my sword and I, tackling this Ra-forsaken country all on our own."
Marik halted, looking back at the Thief King on the ground. "Really, Bakura? Fifteen years?"
Bakura rolled his eyes. "Fine, twenty. But that's as high as I'll go. Stupid kid…"
Marik chuckled, reaching for Bakura's hand to drag him again. Only this time, Bakura reclaimed his arm, keeping it away from the other.
"Give it here, Bakura," Marik lightly scolded like a protective mother taking away a toy that a child could choke on, holding out his hand.
"No. I'm not letting you pull me any further. Either kill me now or go on ahead and leave me to die." Bakura crawled a few feet away in the opposite direction before collapsing back into a lying position.
Marik felt his anger rise again, resisting the urge to mar Bakura's smug little face. "Get back here, Bakura."
"Sorry. No can do," Bakura mumbled offhandedly.
"You can and you will," Marik threatened irritably, marching back over to Bakura's side.
The Thief King looked up at him and disclosed quietly, "Actually, I really can't."
Bakura's voice did the trick, convincing Marik that he wasn't simply playing games anymore.
"Are you serious?"
"I'm dead serious." Bakura cackled at his wordplay. "But, in all honestly, I can't feel my left arm anymore."
"Your left arm you say?" Marik leaned down and examined his shoulder, blood still rushing out of it despite all that he tried. "That doesn't make any sense… If you were dueling Yami in swordsmanship, he would have mainly targeted your right arm in order to severally weaken you had he landed an attack."
"You don't know? I'm left-handed, Marik," Bakura notified him.
Marik was quiet for a while, thinking this over. "Isn't left-handedness considered-?"
"A sign of a devil? That's right." Bakura whispered the next part: "Actually, I'm ambidextrous, but I like to fight with my left hand to confuse and frighten people."
"That sounds awfully like you, Bakura," Marik said with a teasing smirk.
Bakura shrugged only one shoulder. "Whatever the case, none of it matters anymore. I'm going to die one way or another today."
Marik bit the edge of his lip with horror. "How can you say that so nonchalantly? Aren't you afraid?"
"Afraid? Ha, that's a good one. That word lost all meaning to me years ago," Bakura explained, glancing up at the blonde with a knowing look. "You remember my story of Kul Elna?"
"That's not something people simply forget," Marik assured.
"Good. Then I don't have to repeat myself." Bakura rolled over on his side. "Go now, kid. If you don't want to kill me, you might as well get a head start to the Valley of Kings and make it there before night falls."
Marik shook his head and reached down to retrieve Bakura's arm again. "Come on, Bakura, let's be rational and—"
A slap rang through the air.
Marik stumbled back, clasping a newly red mark on his face. It didn't hurt him as much as it surprised him, but the result was the same. Instantly, Marik was furious.
"You-you slapped me!" Marik sputtered.
"That I did. It's for your own good really. Now run along."
It wasn't the slap that stung the most. It was Bakura's choice of tone. And it pushed Marik right over the edge.
He took a handful of Bakura's cloak near the collar and yanked him up until their noses were only inches apart.
"Ooh, it seems I've made him mad," Bakura observed. He revealed a sinister grin. "How sad. Is this the best that you can do? If you're so damn angry, why don't you kill me?"
"You're making me want to!"
As soon as the words left his mouth, Marik understood what Bakura had been trying to do.
Marik dropped him, the Thief King falling limp upon the sand. The blonde swallowed, saying slowly, "You're… you're trying to provoke him, aren't you? The demon possessing me… You're trying to get him to control me and then let him kill you. Am I right?"
Bakura sighed. "You're correct. And I was so close, too…"
"Well, you can forget about it, because I'm not going to let that happen. I won't. Please understand; I cannot accept that this is the end of you. You have to at least let me try to save you. Please." Marik looked down on the defeated king. "There are people who need you, Bakura."
"No, Marik, there aren't. Only you do."
"And, even if that were true, couldn't that be enough?" Marik felt tears trying to surface. "And it's not. Kisara cares about you. And Mai. And our entire group. You should have seen how lost they were without you."
"Well, of course they were lost without me," Bakura snapped haughtily. "I've been their leader for a good portion of their lives. It would only be human nature to be shocked. But just watch; in a couple of days, someone will cease the opportunity and take my title for themselves." The man chuckled. "You might even do it, Marik."
"You know I would never do that," he denied.
"Oh?" One of Bakura's eyebrows rose skeptically. "What about what you did to get my men to return to the Valley of Kings? We must be out here in the middle of the desert for some reason…"
"That-that doesn't count!" Marik defended frantically. "I ordered them to do things while under the evil spirit's influence!"
"Excuses, excuses," Bakura said under his breath, moving his uninjured arm under his neck to bolster his head. "Either way, you did it, and that proves that you could lead the group if you wanted to."
"Even if I could, I wouldn't," Marik promised him. "I want to help you rule Egypt. I have no desire to rule it by myself. Why would I want to?"
Bakura mulled this over, staring up at the sky that was gradually becoming a deep shade of purple. Finally, he inquired despondently, "You're really not going to give up, are you?"
"Not a chance," Marik verified with an acute nod of the head.
Bakura sighed. "Fine. I give. I'll try to make it. No promises though…" He brushed his wounded shoulder with his fingers, wincing.
"Are you getting the feeling back in your arm?" Marik asked hopefully, leaned down next to him.
"The short answer is yes." Bakura flinched again. "All the lack of feeling I had is starting to fade."
"Are you in pain?" Marik questioned, wide eyes fearful.
"Well, it sure as hell doesn't feel pleasant." Bakura closed his eyes, concentrating on not convulsing from the waves of pain.
Marik glanced everywhere at once, becoming stricken with fear. "I'll-I'll go fetch the horse! It can't have gotten too far away…" He jumped up, fleeing the scene. "I'll be right back!" he swore as he went.
"I'll be here," Bakura muttered more to himself than anyone else. He glanced at the ground, realizing that his shoulder wound was not the only problem at that time. The slash across his chest was becoming a problem very quickly, Marik's patch job being completely soaked through.
The infamous thief could hear his heartbeat loud in his ears, faster than usual, even frantic. As soon as another prickly wave went through him, and he knew he wasn't going to be able to hold onto his consciousness for much longer. I guess I can't be of any more help today, Marik, Bakura thought as the sky above him became blurry, dark and light spots plaguing his vision. He tried to blink them away, but they remained persistent. Not that I was ever any help in the first place…
Suddenly, his head became very heavy. Darkness became so inviting.
For your sake, Marik, I hope this isn't the end for me.
-transition-
To the Pharaoh of Egypt, Our Holy Land—
Greetings. I would say good morning because I believe that is when this letter will arrive, but I cannot be sure.
I did as you commanded and went after Bakura—more commonly known as the Thief King. But, before I had the chance to unofficially execute him, I am ashamed to say that I realized I had the advantage in our duel and abandoned my efforts for the day.
However, I have been informed that Bakura later died later that night from the injuries I inflicted on him.
It would be a lie to say that I am satisfied with how his death came about, but I am pleased he will not be a bother to Yugi anymore.
Speaking of which, if Yugi asks of where I am going, assure her that I think about her enough each day to make the distance between us seem miniscule.
Give the Crown Prince my best.
If anything goes awry, remember my loyalty to Egypt as long as Yugi is kept safe. You should be fully aware that my promise of dependability during times of trouble expires the first minute Yugi is no longer protected.
My regards to your palace staff.
I would like to request Yugi send me regular letters, but that would require me giving out my location, which I cannot afford. Besides, I do not think I deserve the privilege.
-Yami Motou
Postscript: I will give you a parting gift as a last note. Know that Yugi's birthday is in twelve days. I know she will be too humble to bring it up.
Author's Note: … *gulp* Ehh… You guys look angry with me leaving it there, don't you? *hides*
I hope you guys enjoyed this longer chapter. It's taking me about every ounce of strength I have not to spill what happens next. I really should just leave before I spoil it… *duct tapes mouth shut*
Review if you have the time! I'd love to hear what you think!