I've talked about "the gods" in this story, and I've so far invoked Horus. Mostly. But you know I had to bring Ra and Osiris into the mix at some point, right? C'mon. The god cards exist for a reason, don't they? Maybe that's just me coming up with an excuse, I dunno.
But I figured that Seto's next test, now that he's a serious contender, would involve him learning directly from the gods. So, first up was Ra. As would fit the scenario where Seto took on Yami Malik at Battle City.
I've always thought Malik's "every monster you lose will take memories with it" strategy wouldn't work on Seto. Granted, I think he would actually come up with something new if he'd ended up facing Seto in that match, but the point I wanted to make last time was that Seto's past has inoculated him against certain techniques. Like, yeah, shit sucked, and you didn't come out of it unscathed, but you also came out of it stronger.
That felt important to point out.
Like, I'm mostly on Seto's side when he talks about burying his past. There really isn't much there that's pleasant, or worth keeping close to his heart. But it is true that he learned a lot of important lessons as a boy, and I figured the gods in particular would want him to understand that. If he's gonna be a king, a real king, he's gonna have to be able to use all the cards in his deck.
Forgive the pun.
Verse One.
Do you understand, child, the lesson that we have endeavored to teach you?
Seto kept his eyes lowered, focused on what would have been the floor if he'd been in physical space. As much as he claimed he had no respect for gods—and he didn't—Seto couldn't shake a certain innate respect for power, and there was only so much cocksure confidence he could summon in the face of the sun.
". . . I do," he said.
Speak, then.
"I have spent my life running from my past," Seto said. "Every day of my childhood, I've struggled to survive. As soon as I found real freedom, the only thought I ever put toward the path behind me was: how do I bury this? The past is just a string of footsteps. I've always called my history regrettable, and I have never seen fit to embrace it."
The sun, hanging in the darkness like a bonfire in the ocean, did not respond; all the same, Seto could feel an anticipation in the space around him, thrumming through him like echoes of ancient music. Music that existed before ears to hear it.
"This moment, this glimpse into an alternate history," Seto went on, "has shown me what I can claim from my past. How much I have earned from my past. As difficult, as painful, as they were to earn, and as much as I wish I had never earned them at all, the skills given to me by that adversity have great power, and potential, if only I have the courage and opportunity to use them. By running so long, by never looking back, I haven't allowed myself the chance to recognize those opportunities when they come to me."
Something about the warmth, cast by the sun, changed.
From sharp and angry to . . . soft, somehow.
You have learned well. You have witnessed and recognized a weakness in yourself. Remember these moments well as you step forward with our blessing. Your next challenge will teach you a new lesson. What you have learned from us will guide you well.
"Thank you," Seto said, and he was surprised at how sincere he sounded.
Have you questions for us, before we leave you to continue your journey?
Seto wondered if this was another test. Should he have questions? Would the gods consider it weakness if he did? Seto didn't think so. He thought long and hard before speaking again; eventually, he decided on a question.
"While I am here," he said, "what is happening in the . . . mortal world? Is my family safe? Are the people who rely on me being provided for? I would not have them abandoned."
The sun did not answer at once; it seemed to be taking its time to consider his question.
We see all that is touched by our rays, child. We are watching. Any who would deign to take advantage of your absence will not be suffered. Focus on your work, secure in the knowledge that we care for your own. As the people may rely on their kings, may kings rely on us.
Seto thought about just how little he would have trusted a king, how little he had ever trusted authority figures—even those he respected—but he said nothing.
The sun heard him, regardless.
Seto thought the low, rumbling pressure pounding in his chest must be what happened when a god laughed.
Verse Two.
Osiris elects not to remain an otherworldly voice; he shows himself in full. Seto walks, slowly but carefully, through an ancient stone hall. Though he can sense the age radiating from the stones, there is no sign of decay or neglect. It's like this place rejects the very concept of removing life from itself. There are signs of wear from infinite hands and feet walking through this space, but nowhere is there a sign of anything being neglected.
Seto senses . . . warmth.
He hears the god's footfalls before he realizes he isn't alone.
A figure strides through the hall to meet him; wrapped in linens, bearing twin crowns, the Lord of the Dead has no skin covering his face. Only a skull, with twin pinpricks of vibrant green light shining from the sockets.
Seto stops. Regards the god carefully. Nods his head.
"Come forth, my son," says Osiris, gesturing grandly. Seto follows the god into a wide, open chamber where sits two thrones. Before the thrones, where there ought to be a wall closing off the room, there is naught but a void of space and distant stars.
"Do you know, my son, what it is that the dead possess?" Osiris asks, as he sidesteps the thrones and turns back to regard Seto. Though he has no facial expression to speak of, Seto can't help but feel like this god is regarding him fondly.
". . . I do not," Seto says, slowly.
"Patience."
Osiris laughs; again, there is no shift in his face, but it feels like he smiles. The god takes up a scepter and gestures to the void.
"I imagine," says Seto, "this is where the next game will take place."
"You are correct." Osiris flips his scepter in his grip. "The rules are simple. You will sit here with me. You may leave this chamber whenever you like. You are not compelled to stay. However, understand this: if you leave before I am satisfied, you will forfeit my blessing."
"How many blessings do I need," Seto asks, "to pass this challenge?"
"That, my son," says Osiris, "is entirely up to the bearer of the Scales."
"I don't suppose it's a coincidence that he hasn't told me the win condition of this game," Seto mutters.
"I would not call that a coincidence, no," says Osiris. "I am no expert on the duplicitousness of the recently dead, but I do believe he has withheld this information from you quite purposefully."
Seto scowls. "I see."
"There is one other . . . wrinkle, my son." Osiris gestures to the thrones. "You will not understand the nature of this game until after you sit."
"I can . . . get up, leave, whenever I wish."
"Correct." Osiris nods. "I will not keep you here."
"I won't know what will satisfy you until you tell me. Which will happen when, if, I succeed."
"I have already told you all that I am permitted to tell you," Osiris says, apologetically. "Will you begin?"
Seto sighs, reaches up to grasp his locket, and steps toward one of the thrones.
"Let's get this going."
He sits down.
Verse Three.
It was true that Domino City was the eye of a great storm of magic, but Turtle Game had never been a site of any particular note; even though Sugoroku Mutou and, eventually, his grandson would prove themselves central to any number of apocalyptic happenings, and what few people knew about such things often whispered their names, they'd never really seen magical trouble come directly into their home.
Seeing the spirit of the Millennium Ring throw everything he'd ever held back at them, all at once, felt like the other shoe was dropping.
It seemed less like Noa was avoiding the spirit's attempts to hit him, and more like the earth itself was moving such that Noa wasn't where he was supposed to be. He moved in ways that humans couldn't; he was too fast, too precise, too inexorable to be human.
When Noa sent a leg slamming against Ryo Bakura's midriff, they all heard ribs cracking. Ryo's body flew across the room and careened against the glass counter, and he shouldn't have been capable of standing back up; he was too broken.
He wasn't a person anymore.
But the spirit who Ryo called Bakari was nothing if not stubborn, and so he kept standing up.
He just kept . . . standing . . . up.
Noa stood in the center of Turtle Game, twitching with irritation and adrenaline, clenching and unclenching his fists. "Stop," he said. "Just stop. It's not worth it, and we both know it. Sit there like a good boy and wait your fucking turn."
Hacking up blood, Ryo Bakura stood up and swayed, keeping his feet only by dumb luck and invisible strings. He looked up at Noa, and it wasn't Bakari in those deep brown eyes.
". . . Why . . . ?"
Noa's face spasmed. "Don't you fucking dare try that shit with me. I like you, Ryo Bakura. I like you a great deal more than most of the people in this city. I'll still rip each and every bone out of your body and shove them down your throat if I have to."
The haggard face twisted into a grin; Ryo's teeth were red. "Oh-ho. I think I like you."
Ryo hunkered low and made to pounce.
Twisting his body in such a way that they all heard muscles ripping, tearing, popping, he changed course mid-leap away from Noa and straight for Mokuba. Somewhere, in another world entirely, the eldest Kaiba's hands clutched the arms of a stone throne hard enough to crack it.
Ryo stopped as solidly as if he'd struck a stone wall.
He looked up, dazed, and tried to work out just what interrupted him.
Noa wiped sweat from his brow and flashed a grin. "Nice moves, newbie," he said, breathing harshly.
Kisara, standing in front of a shadow with wings, tossed Ryo Bakura—and Bakari with him—aside like a limp doll. "All you all right, Mokuba?" she asked, without turning to look at the young Kaiba. When Mokuba grunted an affirmation, Kisara nodded and turned her attention back to her prey.
Both Bakari and Ryo Bakura were soundly unconscious.
Verse Four.
Noa gestured sharply. "All right. Yugi, you're up. I'm sure you can feel the magic in the air right now. I can, and I don't even believe in this nonsense. So, now's the time we take advantage of it. We need to get him out of harm's way, which means a muzzle. You got anything like that? Shackles, forced coma, whatever."
Yugi was pulling a deck of Magic & Wizards cards from his pocket. "Atem says he can help," he said.
Noa nodded. "Good." He pointed to Joey and Tristan. "You two, you're gonna help me clean up this place. We don't need anybody getting injured just trying to walk around." He turned to Téa next. "Go and check on the family, yeah? Make sure they're okay. Explain the situation. Let's go, people! We don't know how long Aniki and this asshole are gonna be out of commission—" whether Noa was talking about Bakari or Shadi, or both, was unclear "—so we need to be quick."
Everyone quickly jumped to attention and set about their tasks.
They didn't question Noa's leadership; if anything, they were relieved to have somebody who seemed to know what to do, and they weren't about to ignore that good fortune. Yugi, in particular, looked the most like Noa had actively saved him from an early death.
Mokuba helped Yugi get Ryo situated in one corner of the room and started tending to the open wounds on his arms, legs, and face with a first aid kit; he'd tucked it into the duffle bag he'd brought with him to the shop, when Kisara first told them what was happening, before any of it had seemed necessary.
They were all glad for it now.
"So," Mokuba said, "how's your day going?"
Yugi barked a laugh. "You know? Bit more exciting than I tend to like."
"Yeah. I think I get that."
Yugi was setting cards down on the floor, surrounding Ryo, like he was starting a séance. "If I didn't know any better," he said, "I'd think Noa was the head of your family. He's pretty good at delegating, you know?" He gesticulated randomly. "You know how people talk about the bystander effect? How nobody will do what needs doing because they always assume someone else will handle it? I'm not sure how much I believe that's true, but . . . I definitely think Noa had the right idea, giving us assignments and all."
"You don't mind?" Mokuba asked. "It's your house."
"Oh, please." Yugi waved dismissively. "Do I look like a leader of men? I don't mind in the slightest, no. This is just fine. I'm glad somebody has a mental checklist for what to do in a crisis like this, because I sure as hell don't."
Mokuba glanced over his shoulder; he saw Noa teaming up with Kisara to heft a heavy shelving unit outside, so that they could maneuver more easily inside. Kisara's muscles flexed as she worked, and the young Kaiba thought he wasn't surprised to find that this woman, tied to the Blue-Eyes White Dragon as she was, would be strong.
Kisara seemed surprised, though.
"Hey! Noa!" Mokuba called.
"What's up, kid?" came Noa's voice from just outside the shop's main entrance.
"Any extra holes? Just because you're a cyborg doesn't mean we can just let you walk around with open wounds. You have to be careful. Remember? Niisama warned you. He warns you all the time."
"I'm good, Mokuba," Noa insisted.
"He's lying, Mokuba," said Kisara.
Yugi laughed again. "Go on," he said, waving. "Atem and I have this under control. See to your brother."
Mokuba nodded as he hefted his duffle onto one shoulder.
"All right," he said. "Good luck, you guys."
END.