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Content warning: Jean Claude strikes a lady, potions being used can cause extra limb and body modifications, and battle scenes including non-and-graphic injury description. Also, there's a warning about the actions of a character, but for sake of spoilers it's at the end of the chapter. Please scroll to the end for an additional content warning.
It was the invisible and gentle pressure settling on her shoulders that first brought Elya to attention.
When she had woken up, she could feel that something had changed. She could not put words to the feeling, only that something about her current situation had shifted. Whether this change was for good or for worse had yet to be determined.
When the deafening roar of the dragon sounded from within the castle, Elya flew to her feet. The dress she had been mending fell from her lap, crumpling into a pool of silk at her feet. The world for a moment spun far too fast. She steadied herself, one hand on the back of the chair and the other resting on the barely visible curve of her stomach, before finally going to the window.
Elya arrived just as an explosion came from the outer wall. At the same time, an immeasurable pressure dropped onto her shoulders. Green light erupted around her neck and the room darkened as the magic sparked and danced about her face. Elya gasped as her legs suddenly buckled, her hands catching the windowsill in a desperate effort not to hit the floor. She could not afford another round of that spell, she thought with panic. The last time had been far too close, she had nearly lost—
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, everything stopped.
Elya waited, silent and frightened. She counted down the moments until the gag spell activated. It was not until a few uneventful minutes had passed when she realized that the pressure from the enchantment was no longer on her.
She hesitated, looking out over the courtyard from the window. Nothing seemed visibly different, but there was no denying that the pressure was gone.
Could it be…?
There would be no way of knowing without testing her apparent freedom. She dared not yell from the window, not yet; there was no telling if anyone else had gone through what she had. If there was a chance that help was coming, she dared not jeopardize the attempt.
There was one way she could find out.
"Raphael," she said softly, instinctively cringing as she waited for the accompanying spike of painful electricity to hit.
But nothing happened. No pain, no menacing crackle of magic, no screaming.
The spell was broken. She was free.
She felt the tears start to burn at the corner of her eyes, but she barely had time to revel in this newfound revelation. There was a sound from the room next to her. A thin voice, sleepy but frightened, reached her. "What happened?"
Her relief and elation died as a new thought hit her. If the enchantment had lifted, it would not be because their captor had willingly chosen to end it. Something beyond Jean Claude's control had just happened, which meant that he would eventually come to them to take Serena.
"Elya?" The fright in the girl's voice was palpable. "Elya, are you alright?"
"I'm all right, Princess," Elya said at last, already starting to move. "I have something I need to do. Please forgive me if I don't enter right away."
She had faith that those who had broken the spell would come to their rescue, and if they did not Raphael would. Right now, her priority was to protect the sickly girl in the room next door. Jean Claude would come, there was no stopping that—but he would not take the princess without a fight.
Jou's words had just finished echoing around the empty throne room when Jean Claude recovered. There was already a confident smirk stretched across the man's features. "I hardly believe you have the authority to tell a prince what to do, boy," he sneered.
"Cut the crap, Jean Claude. We're the only ones in the room. You don't have anyone here to impress," Jou barked, pointing at Jean Claude with his sword. "We both know who's the real prince here."
Jean Claude grinned at that, gesturing to the guards coming in behind him. "What do you call them? The peanut gallery?" he asked cheerfully. "They believe that I am the prince. Why, look at the state of you, boy. You're no more a prince than I am a jester."
Marik felt a bolt of irritation hit him. They'd never get anywhere with this man's posing. The only reason Jean Claude was even posturing at this point was because Mai was right there. The man was trying to make Jou look as if he were an insane peasant, and that would not help an amnesiac Mai.
He nudged Rishid, winked at his brother, and then pushed his way to the front. He forced his mouth into a feral smile and moved in front of Jou. "Shut up, you little fool. You are wasting our time," he hissed.
His voice was not quite as warped as Ishtar's—it would never be—but Marik's actions had the desired effect. More than one person, Jean Claude included, recoiled from his approach, and his next words died. Marik gave them a smug smirk and turned, giving Jou an encouraging nod as he passed.
Jou shot him a grateful grin before he sobered and stepped forward once again. "I bet you're expecting me to start this grand monologue about how you're evil and how I'm going to beat you and take back what's mine," he started. "Lucky for you, I'm not the heroic speech-giving type."
He lifted his sword, pointing it at Jean Claude. "There's no magic caster to hide behind. There's no catching me off guard, there's no secret trick up your sleeve—this time, it's just you and me."
Jou's eyes moved to Mai, his jaws tightening. Even if there was a slim chance that she was pretending not to remember him, he knew that they had not parted on the best of terms. The woman's eyes were filled with a myriad of emotions—he could not gauge her reaction at seeing him. Even as his heart ached, however, Jou pushed his own feelings aside. Now was not the time.
"Mai," he said quietly. "I know you have no idea who I am or why I'm interrupting your wedding, but you need to get away from Jean Claude. Please, even if you don't know me or trust me…for your own safety, step away from him."
Mai blinked at him but said nothing.
Jean Claude pulled the woman to his side in what was supposed to be a protective gesture, but his current stance only made it look as if he was holding her captive. "Mai is safest by me," he declared. He glanced down at her before he pulled her closer to his chest. "Don't you fear, my love, I'll keep you from this mongrel," he said to her.
Gurimo motioned for the men beside him to move in front of Jean Claude, and within seconds Jean Claude's supporters had formed a solid wall between the two parties.
Jou growled, looking to Jean Claude with anger. "Oh, what? You think they're going to stop me?" he asked. "News flash, I'm going to cut through them and come straight for you."
"Really?" asked Jean Claude dispassionately. "I invite you to do so. While you're doing that, I'm going to resume our wedding. My dear princess has already said her 'I do's', so if I'm not much mistaken it's time to kiss my bride."
"That's a lie!" Miho snapped suddenly. She flinched as more than one surprised gaze swung to her. She'd nearly been forgotten, but at Jean Claude's words she'd had enough of staying silent. She jabbed a finer viciously at Jean Claude. "Princess Mai did not say it, the priest has not said 'man and wife'! She should not even consider marrying Jean Claude! He is not—!"
"Be silent, you wretched girl!" Jean Claude snapped, and he backhanded the girl with a vicious sweep of his arm. The force of the blow knocked Miho to the floor and down the stairs, the young woman nearly landing at Jou's feet. She let out a pained whimper but did not rise from the ground. Mai gasped, though Jean Claude did not let her move from his side.
Tristan let out a snarl and tried to push past the men beside him, but Ryou held him back at the last second. "Save your energy for what's to come," he said quietly. "She's not dead, only stunned. You'll have your chance to avenge her later."
Jou bent down and carefully pulled the dazed Miho into his arms. A blue-black bruise was already rising on her cheek; her ponytail was half-falling from the ribbon. "You got bolder while I was gone," he remarked, his voice oddly gentle. "Don't worry. I'll get him for hitting you."
He rose to his feet, Miho safely in his arms, and he carried her to Jethro. "Get her out of here and to the dancing troupe in the courtyard, then come back," he ordered quietly. "They're set up to take care of the wounded."
Jethro was not even out of the throne room when Jou turned to glare at Jean Claude, fury already rising at Miho's treatment. "You won't enter a fight without your little cronies, but you can hit an unarmed woman easily enough," he said icily. "Ooh, la. What a brave leader you are."
Jean Claude's eyes flashed as his jaw tightened, but he decided to ignore Jou and turned to Mai. "Forgive me for the interruption, my love, but I believe the time has come to kiss my bride."
Mai's face cleared of confusion and alarm. She did not fight him or lean away from Jean Claude, instead placing her hands on his shoulders to face him. "All this commotion aside, there is something I've wanted to do for a while now," she admitted then.
Jou felt icy horror grip at him, his anger slipping away instantly. Miho had confirmed Mai hadn't said "I do", but a kiss may as well seal the deal—it sure as hell wasn't an "I don't".
"Mai, don't," he said sharply, his voice cracking from distress. He started to run as Jean Claude leaned toward the woman. "Mai, no!"
His foot caught in a fold of the rumpled carpet, and he stumbled and fell to his knees. Outright panic set in as he registered the alarmed voices behind him and Jou shot to his feet, his terrified eyes swinging to where Jean Claude and Mai were—
And his gaze settled on them just as Mai drove her knee straight into Jean Claude's groin.
To say that the past two days had been unbearable for Mai would be a massive understatement.
When Mai had regained her memories that night, the very first concern she had was keeping them. Almost the entirety of her plan had banked on what she knew of magic and on her acting skills. There had been an initial fear that she would succumb to Ishtar's spell, of course. When she had regained consciousness in her quarters with not a memory missing, she had realized her plan had worked.
She had worked doubly hard to ensure that Jean Claude's suspicions weren't aroused. It had been sheer torture to allow Jean Claude to fawn all over her, and even more so that she had to always simper and hug his arm. Partially it had been to set him at ease, but it had also been a ploy to keep Ishtar away; her so-called fiancé would not allow the Enterran remotely near her.
Mai had not wanted an elaborate wedding to happen at all, as she was aware of the drawbacks of inviting so many nobles to see a false prince getting married. However, she had realized that if she refused Jean Claude she would be under constant watch, and eventually it would be found out that her memories were still intact. It was the lesser of two evils.
She had taken a huge risk by making certain Sivya would arrange for Téa's dance troupe to arrive in Hermos. She had even been able to send a message to Duke in the form of a wedding invitation, though she could only hope Vivian had reached her cousin before the announcement did. From there it had simply become the waiting game. She did not know how or when Jou was coming, but she knew there was no way in Hell he wouldn't come.
But staring at him in the aftermath of his dramatic appearance, a lot of feelings that she had buried and nearly forgotten had all returned. The memory of their last encounter was heavy in her thoughts as she'd met his eyes—she didn't know if she wanted to run from him or run to him.
Mai had nearly forgotten about her plan until Jean Claude leaned in to claim a kiss. That had been more than enough to jolt her out of her thoughts. An apology to Jou could wait—this could not.
There was not a single moment of hesitation. She brought Jean Claude to his knees with a swift, vicious kick.
"Don't you ever call me 'my love' again!" she hissed venomously at Jean Claude's crumpled form. "You seem to know it all, so here's hoping you know how to shut up!"
She straightened up, turning her attention to her allies. "Oh, that felt good. I've wanted to do that for ages!" she said happily. "Hi, boys! Your timing's off, but better late than never."
She heard Valon give a startled laugh from somewhere in the crowd, and she even spotted a small smile flit across Raphael's features. Jou, on the other hand, was stunned into silence, his shock too great to form an expression and his mouth halfway open.
There came a high-pitched whine from the floor, followed by Jean Claude's strained voice. "Seize her."
Gurimo moved first, his sword already drawn as he advanced on Mai. His hand shot out to grab her, but she danced out of his reach and grabbed a nearby candle-stand, brandishing it like a staff as she backed away. There was another man coming at her from her left and she put herself in the corner—great job, Mai, you put yourself in a position with no way to escape—
"GO!" Jou's shout was an order, and Mai caught a rush of movement as every man behind Jou rushed forward. The throne room had erupted in front of her as both sides engaged in combat, swords and shields clanging against one another. The battle for Hermos had begun.
Mai had been momentarily distracted by the battle in front of her, but then Keith caught her arm and yanked her to him. "Gotcha," he said as he leered down at her.
And then Jou was suddenly there, pushing his way past every single man in front of her and lashing out with his fists and feet to knock the guards down. He took Keith out with one powerful punch to the nose, and as he fell Jou managed to catch and right Mai. He released her and continued to fend off the men around them.
"You took your time getting here!" she called to Jou, smacking one man upside his head with the stand.
"I had a curse to break, Mai! Cut me some slack, will you?"
"But you came literal seconds before I said, 'I do'! I was this close to clawing his eyes out, and before that I was up to one thousand ways to kill Jean Claude in his sleep! One. Thousand. I want the time I had to pretend to be his doting, fawning princess back—with interest!"
"I dunno, looks like you were having fun to me!" Jou snarled. He caught Mai around the waist in the same movement Jean Claude had, except this time he spun her to set her down behind him as he used his sword to block the dagger coming at him. "Princess of Phonyville, sounds really nice to me!"
"Oh, shut up, you idiot! You really thought I'd marry him? How dense can you be?" she retorted. "Duck!"
Jou dropped as Mai swung the candlestand again to knock down two men at once. "Yeah, and our last encounter went so well," he retorted as he climbed to his feet.
Mai flinched, and Jou groaned. "Damn. That's not how I wanted that to come out."
"No, no, you're right," Mai replied, kicking another man to shove him away. "I should have known better—"
"But you had every right to be afraid of me. Hell, I was afraid of me!" Jou cut over her. "Not your fault, okay?"
"And it isn't yours either, Jousef, so I better not hear one more apology." Mai whirled to face him, her eyes flashing. "We aren't playing the blame game anymore!"
Jou nodded, relaxing. There was so much more to have to this conversation, but now wasn't ht the time to have it. He caught one man in a headlock, holding them there as he looked to Mai. "By the way, I totally knew you were faking. Your act was convincing, but I knew you were faking losing your memories."
"Jou, you ran up the aisle screaming 'no' at us."
"That's not because I had trust issues with you! If you'd kissed him, you'd be dead right now. See there's this really old spell on the throne and if—hang on—we're trying to have a conversation here!" Jou roared in frustration, slinging the guard he'd put in a headlock into a charging guard.
Mai shook her head as she stepped closer to him. "We should probably talk later," she called. "Too much going on at once, you know?"
"Yeah, yeah, I know—I'll heroically save the day and come back to the damsel later," he said with a grin.
"I am not a damsel! Didn't you see me take out Jean Claude with one mighty swing of the leg?"
Jou laughed, artfully dodging another blow. "Okay, so you aren't a damsel," he admitted, kicking one man down the steps. He sobered as he turned to her. "Don't become one. Jean Claude is going to play that card any chance he gets—I don't want him using you as a pawn."
Mai nodded. "You bet. I've got a place to go anyways," she said, thinking of Serena and Elya in the tower. "You be careful yourself, Jousef!"
Jou flashed her a grin and gave her a thumbs up before he disappeared into the fray.
Mai didn't waste time, starting for a side entrance. Jou would not be able to focus if she was in the room, and he was right about one thing. She needed to get out before someone thought it a grand idea to turn her into a hostage. Her progress was hindered by her dress, however—it was gaudy and awful to begin with, and since everyone was fighting more than one person was tripping over or stepping on her gown.
Mai growled after she heard another rip. This was bordering on ridiculous. How many men could step on a dress in one day?
"Watch out, Highness!"
Ryou appeared suddenly on her left, tossing a few berry-shaped bottles into the air. He yanked hard on her arm and pulled Mai to his side just as a multi-colored cloud of smoke enveloped a group of enemy soldiers. At the same time, Mai felt the hem of her dress rip away, taking almost half the skirt with it—the skirt now rested high on her thighs, though not enough to be indecent.
Well, at least she would not have to worry about her dress being stepped on anymore.
"You'd best get out of here!" Ryou called to her. He was splashing potions right and left, missing allies but hitting opponents. The results of Ryou's work were not a pretty sight to behold. By now almost a fourth of Jean Claude's men sported tentacles, oozed green slime and fur, were covered in angry purple welts, or had swollen faces.
"Remind me to never make you angry," she told him.
Ryou smiled far too innocently at her. "It does keep things in perspective, doesn't it?" he agreed cheerfully. "Now go. Get out of here, and hurry!"
Mai hurried through the side entrance to the throne room. She got through the doorway and pulled the oak door closed behind her; she waited to see if anyone had followed her but jumped as she heard hissing coming from the door. What appeared to be tar melded the door shut, and she heard Ryou say a satisfied, "There we go" from the other side.
Mai hurried down the passageway and out into the expansive corridor beyond the throne room, but her own safety was the last thing on her mind. She needed to hurry—there was no telling if Jean Claude had a contingency plan surrounding Serena and Elya, and she didn't want him getting any chance of executing such plans.
Valon saw Mai disappear through the side entrance, and the next look he cast that door found Ryou sealing the door shut behind her. He searched in the crowd for Jou. "OI!" he called. When he spotted Jou's head turn, he called, "She's outta 'ere!"
Jou shot him a thumbs up and returned his attention to his opponent; Keith had recovered from Jou's initial punch, found him shortly after Mai had left, and had challenged him once again. Jou would have liked to get at Jean Claude instead, but the man had disappeared in the chaos around them. He did not worry about the pompous braggart. As soon as he beat Keith, Jean Claude was his to take.
"C'mon, you drunk doofus! I've fought baby dragons tougher than you!" Jou snapped, and he blew a raspberry as he ducked Keith's punch. "Your aim is terrible. Who taught you how to fight, anyways? I'm finding it harder and harder to underestimate you."
Valon grinned before turning his attention to his own fight. He dodged a swing from his latest opponent. "Oh what? 'avin' trouble? Maybe I should tie my 'ands behind my back, like before," he taunted sardonically, kicking another man high in the chest. He had found his antagonists from the forest and was happily and soundly thrashing them.
Raphael was not far from Valon, and though he avoided causing fatalities he was not above severely maiming those who came against him. He had found those who he had sworn vengeance against, though said avenging was done more on Alister's behalf—in the moments before the battle had begun, Raphael had located the men who had gleefully unstrung Alister and who had mocked his friend during his suffering.
Jethro had returned to the throne room shortly after chaos had erupted in the throne room. He and Corda were moving in tandem, keeping their backs to one another as they parried sword after sword. Adias and Faust covered their flanks, their spears forcing any enemy to keep their distance. Though the three older men were more experienced, Corda was holding his own.
Rishid and Marik were near the back, covering the retreat of any wounded allies and moving with deadly force. Every swing of Marik's Damascus blade delivered mortal injuries, and men around them gave the two Enterrans a wide berth after watching Rishid knock down four men with a well-placed swing of his staff.
Ryou was darting through the crowd, and whenever one of his potions could not manage to take someone down his dagger did; Ryou's potions were nonlethal even when mixed, but they were crippling to any who encountered them. He was starting to run low on vials, however, and he could feel the familiar pounding at the back of his skull. Bakura could feel the battle raging around them and was becoming impatient.
He passed Jou, who had just downed Keith and was looking around him almost wildly. "Have you seen Jean Claude?"
"No, but he couldn't have gotten far! I sealed the side entrances after Mai escaped, he's bound to be here somewhere!" Ryou called back.
One man tripped Ryou and the white-haired man fell with a startled yelp, but before any harm could come to him Tristan kicked the guard in the rear to push him forward and out of balance. "Jou, heads up!"
Jou looked over at the last second, and as the guard stumbled and straightened in front of him the prince drove his head into his opponent's. The blond man staggered for a moment, clutching his head as the enemy guard fell. "Ouch."
"You idiot, I didn't mean headbutt him!" Tristan groaned in exasperation.
"You said 'heads up'! How else was I supposed to take that?" Jou retorted, shaking his sword at him.
Ryou got back to his feet and thanked Tristan for his help before he ducked back next to Marik. "Keep them off me, I've got to let Bakura out," he said. Marik did not reply, but he moved in front of Ryou defensively.
He was reaching for the bag at his side when he saw the priest from earlier. Somehow, the man had made it through the crowd and to a spot near the doors. Oddly enough, though, the priest was edging towards the Enterran, making no effort to leave. He did not look the least bit frightened by his surroundings.
He felt the flare of Shadow magic rise just as Marik took a step backwards, and he realized what it was. "Marik!"
Marik pivoted and twisted out of reach as the older man disappeared into an amorphous wall of shadow. Ishtar reformed in seconds, grinning widely at Marik. "You felt my presence, hm? You're getting better at recognizing me through my disguises. It won't help you, but at least you're figuring it out."
Marik lifted his swords in a challenging manner. "We'll see who overpowers who, now that we're not playing mind games."
Ishtar raised an eyebrow at that. "Dear little Marik, I'm nothing but a mind game."
And with a casual flick of the wrist a flash of gold jumped into Ishtar's hands. He leveled the Millennium Rod and pointed it at Marik. Almost immediately the Enterran's limbs locked into place as his jaws snapped shut, powerless to move as his alter advanced on him. His swords clattered uselessly to the floor.
"It's far too noisy in here and they won't come unless I draw them out," he drawled. "Besides, you and I have unfinished business."
The blow came from behind Ishtar and the entity had but scant seconds to dodge the quarterstaff whistling through the air above his head; had the blow connected, it would have certainly shattered his skull. Rishid had seen what had happened to Marik and had now put himself in front of his brother, grimly determined not to allow Ishtar to pass.
Ishtar rolled his eyes. "I have no patience for you today, servant," he stated, very deliberately not looking at Rishid's face as he swung the Rod in a vicious slice through the air.
Marik could not physically scream, but the sound of his horrified cry in his throat still reached him as Rishid was thrown far too violently into a column. The blow was of bone-breaking force, but the main damage from the slice of Shadow magic had channeled itself into Rishid's staff. The wood had been cut in two, and while it had shielded Rishid from the worst of the attack it could not protect him completely. The front of Rishid's clothing was still torn, and blood was starting to seep through his shirt.
Ryou wasted no further time. As Ishtar moved on the fallen man, he opened the bag and shouted, "Bakura!"
Icy air shot past Ryou as tendrils of dark black smoke flew from the bag, solidifying as it moved. By the time Ishtar had lifted the Rod to strike Rishid a second time. Bakura was tangible. With a swing of his own arm, a wave of Shadows rose from the floor and blocked Ishtar's strike.
"At last, we meet in person," Bakura remarked, folding his arms casually. Without turning, he said, "Hey, bald guy. Are you still alive?"
"I will…be fine…in a moment," Rishid wheezed out, still trying to gain his feet. "Marik…"
"I won't let it happen."
Bakura was not the only one who had left the bag. Yugi was also free and was moving quickly through the crowd, his size a complete advantage as he slipped nearly unnoticed to Marik's side. More than one man tried to grab him as he passed, but every time one tried to lay a hand on the boy they would vanish to be replaced with a rabbit. The Puzzle around Yugi's neck was already gleaming as he reached Marik.
Brace yourself, warned Yami then, and a streak of cold shot through Yugi's veins as Yami channeled Shadow magic. A wall of pressure rose, the spell of the Millennium Rod resisting against the Puzzle. Yugi heard a surprised grunt from Yami: he's stronger than I thought he'd be.
"Naughty, naughty, little magic caster," Ishtar purred, and his body burst into another amorphous wall of shadow as he flew toward Yugi. The glint of fangs was visible, large jaws in a formless mouth opening as the darkness rolled toward Yugi. In the shadows was a gleam of gold—there's the Millennium Rod, Yugi, grab it—!
Corda suddenly lunged from the right, shoving Yugi into Marik. Both fell to the floor, and as the Puzzle touched Marik's chest Yugi felt the spell break and Marik sagged with a startled gasp. Jethro and Adias grabbed Yugi and Marik, pulling them backwards and away. Corda, meanwhile, turned to face the Shadows with his sword drawn, already taking a swing—
Marik caught a glimpse of Ishtar's thoughts. The warning bubbled out of his throat, almost strangled by horror. "Get out of the way!"
But it was too late. Ishtar had not slowed and slammed into the boy's right side. The jaws closed on Corda's right arm just above the elbow, and a sickening pop rent the air. Corda let out a high-pitched, keening cry of pain and staggered backwards.
Jethro's and Adias's cries were simultaneous. "CORDA!"
Bakura took advantage of the confusion. His body blurred and dissolved into multiple shadows, a deep red light shining through them. It immediately lauched after Ishtar. The two shades danced through the air, slamming into each other; each time they bounced into each other, crimson energy collided with dusky purple, and soon there were multiple holes in the walls. Whatever objects they touched withered and decayed, and the combatants below them hurriedly cleared away to shelter—no one wanted to find out what happened if either magical form touched them.
Marik wasn't paying attention. He'd shot to his feet to catch a crumpling Corda, helping him to the floor. He could feel blood on his hands, and it was already pooling on the stone beneath them. He moved his hand upward along Corda's arm to find the wound—
And his hand met empty space. Marik stopped, feeling a chill go down his spine.
Corda's arm below the elbow was gone.
The cut was jagged and uneven, looking as if it had been caught in some frightful vice. Marik didn't dare look closer, his gaze averting quickly as he undid his belt and looped it around the ruined arm. He was pulling it tight just as Adias and Jethro reached them.
"My arm…" Corda said faintly as he looked to them, his voice very small and vulnerable. Child-like fear and confusion colored his face. "I can't move my hand, I can't…Jethro, why…?"
"Don't look!" Jethro's voice was a desperate whipcrack, a desperate order to stop the younger guard from seeing his arm. Adias moved surreptitiously to block the boy's view. "Don't look, lad."
Yugi reached them. He took one look at Corda's arm before he moved, the tip of his staff glowing lavender. He murmured something under his breath and Corda sagged in place, his eyes closing. "I put him to sleep for now, but you need to get him out of here," he said quickly, his eyes meeting the two guards. "My spell won't last long."
Noticing Ryou nearby, he motioned the white-haired man over. Ryou needed no second telling—he'd seen what had happened and was already holding potions to help. He quickly relayed which ones to use to Jethro and Adias. He offered to go with them, but Jethro already had Corda in his own arms and was hurrying through the throne room.
Yugi watched them go, casting spells to keep back any attackers. Once they were safely out, he looked to the chaos around him. No one had gone near him, wisely giving him a wide berth; no one wanted to tangle with a magic caster. Marik had disappeared back into the crowd, and at one point he spotted Jou beating back someone that towered over him, but the battle swallowed him once again. Numbers were down on both sides; Jou's forces had carried their own wounded out and away, but Jean Claude's fallen were left where they were, and more than once someone was stepped on.
Above them, the battle between Ishtar and Bakura raged on. They'd not summoned any Shadow creatures yet, but there was no guaranteeing that would last. They had to get the Shadow users out of the building to avoid hurting any innocent lives. Yugi tucked his staff into a holster behind him before returning his attention to the fight.
"Yami?"
Ready.
Yami's presence switched with his almost instantly, gently but firmly forcing Yugi into a corner of his own mind. With the spirit now in charge of Yugi's body, Yami flung out an arm to the Shadows around him. Ice seemed to shoot through Yugi's veins, and for one moment the world seemed to dim.
COME.
The shadows around him answered.
With Corda safely attended to, Marik had turned his attention to Rishid. The older man was staggering to his feet and clearly trying to regain his bearings, but more than one enemy had realized that the Enterran was unarmed and essentially defenseless. There was a small group around him, and one kicked Rishid hard enough to knock him back to the floor.
Marik dove for a fallen piece of Rishid's staff and in three strides reached the offenders, swinging his new weapon fiercely against another guard's head. "Leave him alone!" he hissed, moving in front of Rishid. He had no clue what to do with only half a staff, but he was not about to let any more harm come to his brother.
"Or what? You're outnumbered!" sneered one of the men, lifting his sword.
"Numbers aren' everything, git!"
Valon tackled the man and knocked him backwards, his tackle carrying them both into the group at large. He'd been trying to find Raphael when he'd spotted Marik's situation.
"I've got this!" Valon called over his shoulder, gleefully putting one man into a headlock. "Get your brother outta 'ere!"
Marik wasted no time. He pulled one of Rishid's arms around his shoulders and helped him to his feet, slowly guiding his brother out of the room. Their route was thankfully clear, especially since a group of Jou's guards were helping the grievously injured make their way out without being attacked. "Rishid, are you alright?"
"He missed anything vital," Rishid said tightly as they stepped outside, grimacing as Marik inadvertently jarred the wound. "Will your friend be able to beat them?"
"Valon's fought tougher battles," Marik replied with a reassuring smile. "He'll be fine—I'm more worried for them."
The courtyard was mostly empty. Thankfully most of the royals attending the farce of a wedding had already fled the grounds, though there were a couple lingering with confused, outraged, or frightened expressions on their faces as they looked around them. The wounded had been gathered under a tent, and Marik caught a glimpse of Téa tending to Corda. Marik silently counted those who were allies and felt his heart sink when he realized that over a third of Jou's guards were out of the room.
Marik found a small space on the wall near the caravan and guided Rishid to the area, carefully easing his brother against the stone. His fingers immediately began probing the rip in Rishid's shirt. "Don't argue, hold still," Marik told his brother shortly when Rishid tried to brush off his concern.
A shallow cut stretched diagonally from Rishid's shoulder and ended just above his stomach. In some places, it looked more like a welt; already the skin around the injury had begun to bruise, dark blues and purples visible against Rishid's skin. As innocent as it appeared, it was still bleeding too much for Marik's liking. He ripped away a portion of his shirt and pressed it firmly to the deeper part of the wound, ignoring the cool air tickling at his now-exposed waist.
Footsteps came behind him. When Marik turned, it was to see his sister kneeling beside him. "Marik, what happened?" she asked, and there was something urgent in her voice.
"Rishid's hurt. It's not fatal, just troublesome," he grunted, and he allowed Ishizu to take his spot.
Marik jumped as an explosion sounded from his left, coming from behind the castle wall and out of sight of where he stood. More than one member of the dancing troupe shot the area nervous expressions, but Marik caught a flash of images in his mind that weren't his and grimaced. Bakura and Ishtar were outside and just around that corner. Marik rose to his feet, grimly determined. That battle was where he needed to be.
"Rishid, remember when I promised you that I would never order you to do anything?"
Confusion briefly danced across Rishid's features before it disappeared. He nodded slowly. "I do remember, yes."
"I'm afraid I have to take that back," he replied as he turned to face his brother and sister. "I have a couple orders after all. Will you follow them?"
"…Of course."
"Look after our sister, Rishid. That's my first order," he said, gesturing to Ishizu. "You've already been doing that, I know, but I need you to keep on protecting her."
Unease flickered through both Rishid's and Ishizu's eyes at the last comment; his sister's hand rose instinctively to where the Tauk normally rested but faltered when her fingertips met nothing but air. Rishid spoke first. "What do you mean by that, Master?"
"And there's my second order!" Marik said fiercely, causing them to start in surprise. "Never bow your head to anyone ever again. Ishizu and I are not your masters—we're your brother and sister. Understand? You aren't a servant, Rishid, and I won't stand for anyone making you feel otherwise."
Rishid was struggling to sit up, alarm flashing across his face. "Master, what are you planning to do?"
"See, there you go," Marik said with a small shake of his head. "I give you an order and already you've disobeyed it. You're a terrible servant."
His older brother flinched at the echo of their father's words and despite himself looked away. Ishizu looked as if she wanted to utter some form of protest, her eyes flashing as her jaw tightened. "Marik—"
Marik forced him to look back. "That's why you should focus on being an older brother," he added softly. "You're happier being one, and you're a lot better at it."
"Marik, what are you doing?" Ishizu asked, her voice sharp and full of growing concern. Rishid was blanching, struggling to try and get to his feet. Ishizu was clearly torn, both brothers needing her but unable to help both. "Marik—"
"I'm ending this," he said, rising to his feet. "If I'm right, there's only one way to stop Ishtar—and I'm not sure I can come back from it."
Marik turned on his heel, his pace quickening even as he heard his siblings shout for him. His speed increased, until he was sprinting back into the throne room. He stood just outside the doorway, reaching for the link between himself and Ishtar to help guide him to where Ishtar had gone. He felt a strong tug at the other end, and he used it to guide him through the battle.
It was strange, he thought as he ran through the crowd. Shouldn't he be more worried? Shouldn't he be more scared? He was so strangely calm, even as his heart pounded and his breath was quickening all the while. Maybe if he focused, he could feel the panic bubbling—but he pushed it away. If he let himself process what was about to happen, what he was about to do, he'd change his mind. Marik couldn't afford to do that.
Still…if there was ever a moment where he could undo the past, it was now.
Bakura's fight with Ishtar had moved outdoors, where there was more room and less to run into. Their battle was now in the gardens. The grass was brown and withered from deflected spells, the trees shriveled and the flowers dead. The walls were charred as well, craters still smoldering; every now and then crumbled stone fell into the grass around them. They'd reformed by now, no longer amorphous shadows but solid figures engaged in hand-to-hand combat.
Bakura had to admit that he was mildly impressed. It was hard to land a conclusive blow on the other Shadow user. Bakura could temporarily injure Ishtar, but he could not inflict mortal wounds. Ishtar had not been joking, either, when he had said he was nothing but living Shadow magic. Bakura had managed to take off his head once, only for the Enterran to laugh and reattach it as if it was nothing. It was becoming rather obvious that it would be nearly impossible to kill Ishtar outright.
Next time you completely lose your mind and decide on creating an alternate entity, make it something a lot easier to kill, Marik! Bakura mentally snarled, hissing as another flash of Shadow magic grazed his side. He nearly avoided the next blow, one which would have surely blinded him.
It was as they were readying themselves for another strike when they felt the thrum of magic in the air, and both paused briefly as something rose from the shade of the castle and glided over the dead grass.
Yami had finally arrived.
The temperature dropped even further as Yami's own magical presence was added to the tense atmosphere. He was a solid black shape against the scenery, only an outline of his body visible in the sunlight. Yami's eyes glowing fiercely with a light that rivaled the sun; visible on Yami's forehead was the Eye, and on his chest was an illuminated outline of the Puzzle.
"And there's the other," Ishtar drawled. "I'd wondered where he was and when he planned on—"
Yami moved forward then, vanishing out of sight. Ishtar barely had time to realize what had happened when Yami hit him hard and fast from the left. From the base of Yami's feet rose several spikes, forcing Ishtar backwards and knocking him out his stance.
The other user growled and waved the Rod sharply, using the same cutting motion he had on Rishid, but Yami was ready. As the magic reached him his hand moved and the blast of Shadow magic was easily deflected, rebounding instead into the dying willow tree.
A sweep of Yami's arm conjured arrows that were darker than night. They launched, flying in a never-ceasing stream at Ishtar; the Enterran melted into the ground and moved quickly across the grass, dodging until the torrent of arrows ceased. Ishtar's previously confident smirk vanished as he rematerialized. He was clearly caught off guard by how quickly Yami was conjuring the Shadows. He lifted the Rod and conjured a spear dripping with dark sludge hurtled through the air at Yami, but the spirit spun and caught it in a wave of Shadow. He redirected it back to the original caster, and Ishtar's hand flung out to turn it into a harmless puff of smoke.
Bakura entered the fray then, his fingers elongating into wicked shaped talons as he struck at Ishtar. The shadows rose in defense and hardened, snapping the talons off, but Bakura's other hand gripped the dagger and he slashed at the exposed face. Ishtar adroitly dodged it, though the smallest amount of black blood began welling up in the wound on his cheek.
Between the two Shadow masters, Ishtar was soon reduced to only barely visible patches of Shadow, whole chunks of his body missing. Ishtar was still holding his own against them, and already he was starting to heal. They would have to continuously attack him until he vanished entirely—and even then, there was no guarantee that the other man would truly be vanquished.
The Millennium Rod glowed as Ishtar summoned several Shadow creatures to his aid. Two monstrous forms rose from the darkness around them, one with burned flesh and spikes studded in its skin and another composed of molten lava. "Newdoria, Golem!"
Bakura and Yami were not deterred. Necrofear lunged from the right to take on Newdoria, and as the Golem turned it was attacked by a man clad in purple robes and who carried a jade-green staff.
"Of course your Shadow creature's a magic caster!" Bakura said sarcastically. "How fitting, considering who called him."
He could not tell if Yami was smiling or not, but an undeniably smug air hung about him as the Dark Magician blasted away at the Golem. Both of Ishtar's Shadow creatures fell beneath the onslaught, but this victory was short lived—when they turned their attention on Ishtar, it was to find the Shadow wielder whole and intact, as if nothing had happened.
"Strike me all you want, you wretched fools," Ishtar hissed, grinning at them. "I may not have an anchor like you, but I am not bound by the physical limits of your vessels. I can heal faster than you can wound me."
Bakura grit his teeth. He could feel Ryou's exhaustion at the back of his mind as the boy tried to accommodate the amount of stress the Shadow magic was putting him under. Yami was starting to slump, flickering at the edges of his outline; the amount of magic being channeled through Yugi alone was wearing on him. At least Ryou had been in perfect health prior to arriving at the castle—Yugi was still recovering from what had happened weeks ago, and the strain was showing.
"What do you plan to do?"
The question came from Yami, his voice a cross between his own and Yugi's. The Shadow mantle vanished to reveal the spirit entirely, his expression giving nothing away. The Puzzle stopped glowing as the Eye disappeared from his forehead. "Answer me, Ishtar. Once you have anchored yourself to Marik, what is it you plan to do?"
Bakura stared. "Of all the absurd—!"
"I have heard every other motive involved with this plot and Jousef. I wish to understand Ishtar's, that is all." Yami's voice was matter of fact.
However, Bakura caught the slightest note of exhaustion in those words. He's stalling to allow himself to recover. Not that he blamed him. Summoning creatures and using Shadow magic as a weapon was taking its toll on him as well. If he used more magic without allowing Ryou a chance to recover, the boy would collapse.
Ishtar laughed, a hair-raising sound that echoed on the stone walls. "Why do I need a reason to hurt anyone?" he asked, grinning insanely. "I am what I am because I freely choose to be. I want to watch this world burn."
"Will you be able to do that if you bind yourself to Marik?" Yami countered. "You are strong as you are now. You would trap yourself in a mortal shell?
Ishtar's grin stretched even further. "Don't you understand anything?" he said with a grin. "I am Marik, and he is me. I am not some ancient and rotting spirit bound to an item and one who relies on using others to manifest, like you and Bakura. You both know the power of the Shadows. You know I can bind myself to him and wipe my weaker alter away altogether. The shadows can sustain that body then—I'll be whole and complete."
Ishtar's smile grew larger. "I'm not an idiot. You're stalling for time. You are both older than I, and you preach about how you're better than I am, and yet I'm winning this fight because you care too much for your vessels."
"Then how about you face me?"
All three Shadow masters froze as Marik stepped out from the shadow of a fallen column. He strode toward them, his jaw set. "You're stalling just as much as they are. Otherwise, you'd have finished this by now," he said grimly, never stopping. "I know. Your strength is fading. The Orichalcum shard is at its limit."
"It's not polite to read minds, Marik," Ishtar growled.
"Funny that you are pointing that out," Marik replied, stopping a short distance away from Yami and Bakura. He drew his knife, pointing it towards Ishtar in challenge. "But we've all stalled long enough. Ishtar, it's time to end this."
Bakura's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing?" he growled. "Marik, back off."
"Why? He exists because of me," Marik retorted. "I won't let him keep doing what he's doing, Bakura. I have to stop him."
Ishtar eyed him with a bored expression. "You enter a battle armed with a mere dagger when the weapon of choice is Shadow magic? You are truly stupid, child."
"Wouldn't that make you stupid as well?" Marik declared flatly, smirking at the other man. "You do keep pointing out that you're me."
"Marik, stop," Yami said sharply.
Naturally, the Enterran boy ignored him. "Let's face it, Ishtar, you can play big bad scary man all you want, but the truth is you're posturing. Take away the Rod, take away the Orichalcum, and then what? You're just a ghost, a literal figment of a child's imagination."
Ishtar's features twisted in rage. "We'll see how harmless I am when I am in control!" he snarled. He exploded into shadows once more and hurtled towards Marik before Yami and Bakura could stop him.
But Marik held his ground, even as Ishtar grew closer and closer. He didn't move his gaze away from his alter, even as Bakura and Yami went into motion to block Ishtar's path. Ishtar easily twisted around them, coming ever closer.
Within the shadows was Ishtar's face, his furious eyes boring into his. Marik did not flinch, even as there was triumphant laughter sounding in his ears.
At the last second, Marik's eyes moved to the gold glittering in the darkness.
He dove forward just as Ishtar reached for him, his hand reaching blindly—his fingers closed over a thin rod and he pulled as he continued forward, his body instinctively tucking into a roll—
All three Shadow Masters turned at once, Ishtar reforming quickly. They all saw Marik at the same time, who was now on his feet and pointing the Rod directly at Ishtar.
"Who's in control now?" he asked them, his lavender eyes flashing.
Holding the Rod was akin to holding cold fire, something inanimate and yet alive. It was simultaneously eerie and familiar as it settled into Marik's palm. Smooth but thrumming with cold waves, power rising and falling like the tides of the ocean...it was alive and sentient, and it recognized him. It was already calling to him, whispering for him to use it once more...
But Marik's eyes never moved away from Ishtar, and he ignored the siren call from the Rod.
He caught a movement from the corner of his eyes, followed by a soft gasp. He didn't need to turn to know his sister's voice, nor did he need to see Rishid to know his brother was there. Both of his siblings had followed him when he'd left—they were here now, he thought with a downward turn to his mouth.
He returned his focus to the entity in front of him. Without the Millennium Rod to stabilize him, Ishtar was blurring at the edges and could not fully form. In the place where his heart was supposed to be, a cool green light began pulsing outward in time to a heartbeat; it was the only reason Ishtar was still tangible, Marik realized.
Bakura and Yami exchanged dark glances at the sight. Ishtar had only been using Shadow magic against them, not once calling on the power of the orichalcum stone in his possession. He had been at half strength during their battle…he had been toying with them.
"So. You want to use the Rod to banish me? Make me non-existent?" Ishtar asked then, his eyes holding savage amusement in them. "Please, by all means. Use it, dear boy."
Marik shook his head, keeping his thoughts clear. "No. You've said it countless times before—you are me. I saw what was in your mind. Killing you kills a part of me," he said coldly. "I'd be left with a perpetual hole torn in my soul with you gone. A ragged wound that never heals and festers deep inside me? No. I won't let you hurt me, not like that."
Ishtar was watching him intently. Marik felt something brush against his mind as Ishtar tried to read his thoughts. Marik evenly met his gaze and almost easily pushed him out, keeping his thoughts empty.
"I've been thinking about you, ever since I found out you existed," he said quietly. "Even though I didn't consciously create you, I believe you exist because I was angry. I was in pain, no one could protect me, and I was helpless. That's why I created you—but the magic of the Shadow items and the darkness of our clan warped you."
Ishtar did not move. Marik did not goad him for a reply.
"I cannot allow you to continue this, Ishtar," he said quietly. "Whether your initial purpose was to protect me or to destroy everything around us, you've hurt too many people for me to ignore you and let this continue. This has to stop."
"And how do you plan to make me? You and I know there's only one way to do that, Marik," Ishtar spat.
Marik set his jaw. He shifted his grip on the Millennium Rod and unsheathed the hidden dagger. The blade gleamed in the sunlight. "You're right."
Ishtar stiffened, his eyes on the dagger. His gaze shifted to meet Marik's. Once again, there was an attempt to read his thoughts, and again he was rebuffed. "You wouldn't," he said, something flickering in his expression. "You can't."
Marik lifted his chin. "You of all people know what I am capable of," he said quietly.
The tension on all sides was skyrocketing, settling like a thick blanket on all sides—all but Marik, who was feeling oddly tranquil. He knew what he had to do, and he knew how slim his chances were of his plan succeeding, but one way or another this would end.
"I thought about it, Ishtar," he said quietly, looking down at the Rod before meeting Ishtar's gaze. In his hand, the Millennium Rod began to pulse, heat gathering under his palm and fingers. "Violence and bloodshed were what created you—and it's by violence and bloodshed that you must end."
Ishtar gave a barking laugh, but there was an uneasy note to the sound. "You plan to stop me by killing me," he said, grinning widely. "I'd love to see you try—show me what you are capable of!"
With those words, Ishtar burst into a wall of smoke and shadows, hurtling faster than he had ever moved before as he bore down on his counterpart. No one had time to react or stop him, and Marik heard his siblings cry out in alarm for him.
Marik finally moved just as Ishtar reached him, but it wasn't to dodge Ishtar. It was to flip the dagger, the blade now centered over his own heart.
Yami's eyes widened in shock as he realized what was about to happen. Ishtar's forward momentum was too much to curb or sway, and Marik was holding his ground—"NO!"
From within the cloud came a howl of horror as Ishtar finally saw what was in Marik's thoughts. Bakura started as he realized what Yami had, involuntarily starting forward the same way Rishid and Ishizu were to try and stop Ishtar—inside the shadows, Ishtar's hand formed and flung outward, instinctively seeking to stop before he collided with Marik—
But it was too late. Ishtar's outstretched hand met the head of the Millennium Rod, and the dagger plunged into Marik's chest.
Marik's vision whited out, the pain strangely dim as it reached him. He never felt the blade pierce his heart, and he saw Ishtar's body explode into frantically flailing shadows, dusted with light that burst from within an area on his own chest. Smoke rose from Ishtar's face as a trailing scream of denial touched his ears, his family's horrified cry from behind him mingling with Ishtar's.
Then he was over.
Everything was…over.
Content warning (spoiler): character death…Marik takes his life into his own hands.