Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A hooded figure sat quietly, holding his breath, focused on a quietly ticking watch. Robberies weren’t normally his style. He'd been a notorious criminal once, but he typically didn't do any particularly dirty work himself, and all of that was long behind him anyway. He'd changed. He was sure he must have.

Yet here he was, locked in a bathroom stall on ground floor of the Museum of Egyptian Antiquities, hiding himself away as he waited for the museum to close.

He’d spent the day at the museum, taking in the hundreds of artefacts on display, wandering through dozens of spacious, well-lit rooms, bathed in warm golden light, all smelling a little like dust and wet stone. Statues, masks, ancient hieroglyphs — he’d poured over them, getting lost in the past, and quietly correcting some of the errors on the little plaques next to them. Honestly, he'd had a lot more fun today then he'd expected. He was usually not keen on spending time with ancient Egyptian artefacts specifically. It reminded him of times he’d much rather forget, memories he wished he didn't have. But he rarely went to Cairo, and being up close to so many ancient relics was undeniably awe-inspiring.

The artefacts back home in Luxor certainly inspired something, but awe wasn’t it.

As much as he’d enjoyed the museum during the day, he hadn’t come just to browse. There was something here that really didn’t belong in this museum, or any museum, for that matter. Sure, it was ancient, and Egyptian, and it was mysterious and shiny. In that sense, it was absolutely perfect for display in a museum such as this. But there was a problem with keeping it in a museum that had escaped the notice of the museum curators — it was far too dangerous. Or, more accurately, they were dangerous.

He was here for the Millennium Items. 

He had mixed feelings about the Millennium Items. They were like old friends, but the kind of old friend that you don’t like very much, and you only keep around because they’re useful, and because you’ve both been through so much shit together that they’re kind of your responsibility now. He’d been perfectly content to leave them buried deep in the earth, where they belonged, but someone had gone and excavated them, and they’d ended up behind a glass case. More than anything, he was skeptical about how secure they were. He doubted a glass case, some alarms, and some sprinklers, would be enough to keep someone from stealing them.

He was here to test that theory before someone else did. 

The museum shut at seven o'clock, and he was planning on making a move ten minutes after that. He sat cross-legged on a toilet seat, with the lid down, bouncing his foot as he eyed his watch. If he’d been stealing anything else, he would have waited until much later, into the next morning, but he felt confident. Nervous, but confident. After all, once he reached the Items, he wouldn't have any trouble. He stood up, peering through the crack in the side of the door to check no one else was in the bathroom. He opened the door and stepped out, taking a couple of seconds to fix his bangs, brushing them out of the way of his violet eyes. If he was going to steal the Millennium Items, he may as well look good doing it.

He opened the bathroom door, slipping carefully down the corridor, his eyes narrowing as he focused, leaning against the wall, taking a deep breath to calm himself. This was the only point where he might be vulnerable — when he was sneaking around without the Millennium Items on him. One he had them, he could use shadow magic to get away, but right now, if someone saw him, he couldn’t brainwash them, or make himself invisible with the Millennium Key. He was defenceless.

He peered out from behind the wall. The Millennium Items, being pretty and shiny, were the centrepiece of a new installation, hanging on the back wall of one of the main rooms. There was no doubt he’d set off an alarm or two once he got close to them, but that was fine. Once he was close, it would be too late. He took another moment or two to breathe, his heart pounding in his ears, before he moved quietly into the open, throwing a quick glance over each shoulder to check that he didn’t have company. Satisfied that he was alone for the time being, his gaze darted to the seven solid gold artefacts at the far end of the room, behind a sheet of glass. Hardly pausing, he strode towards them, activating his duel disk, which had been lying dormant on his right arm. He figured smashing the glass shouldn’t be too difficult — the type of glass used in museums was designed to be non-reflective, and to protect the artefacts from UV rays, rather than actually shielding the objects behind it from being taken by force. Finally reaching the Items, he drove the sharp point of the duel disk into the glass, jumping back as it shattered, his face lighting up slightly as it collapsed, almost as though it were made of porcelain.

Then the alarm sounded.

Clenching his jaw, he grabbed the Rod first, turning to face the guards streaming into the room, with guns. Very physical, visible guns. His heart was racing now, panic rising, palms sweating as he held the Rod out in front of him, hoping to every god he knew of that it would recognise him and do the magic thing. This had seemed like a great idea until everyone else had a gun.

“Put down—" 

He swallowed, tapping into the Millennium Rod’s shadow magic, sending out a telepathic message to the guards: No. Surrender now, or I’ll make you.

There were a couple of moments of silence. Then, at the back of the room, someone fired.

He swore under his breath, instinctively deflecting the bullet with the Rod, which emitted a flare of shadow magic as it absorbed the blow. He took a deep breath, concentrating, attempting to turn the guards into puppets en masse, feeling his energy drain and the Rod falter. Okay, so that’s not an option. Shit.

No one else had fired, probably because firing a gun in a room full of invaluable, irreplaceable, millennia-old objects was an objectively bad idea, although to be fair, unexpected telepathic messages would definitely freak a guy out. The intruder didn’t dare move, though. The guard at the front of the room, whose jacket was emblazoned with stripes and badges, raised her gun. “Put your hands up.”

He paused, then he did, appearing to comply. He held his breath — the guards didn’t realise that the Rod was a weapon. He wasn’t being asked to put it down. Fine by me.

As the guards’ leader began to approach, he activated the Rod’s powers again, controlling the leader alone, stopping her in her tracks, her eyes going blank. Something tugged at him, deep in his chest.

This is wrong. This isn't you. Not anymore.

He gritted his teeth, pushing the thought away. He walked into this knowing using the Rod's mind control powers would probably be necessary in order to get out. He was doing a good thing. Using the Rod shouldn't be a big deal. It wasn't a big deal.

He had the leader turn around, facing the others — those who were closest immediately noticed a difference, their posture growing stiffer, their faces confused. He used telepathy again. It was easier than yelling across the room, and more...convincing, too. I have complete control over her. Let me take these seven items and leave peacefully, and no one will get hurt.

 “Prove it! How can you control her!” One of them took a step forward, gun raised.

He hesitated, pushing down his guilt as he had the guards’ leader lifted her own gun to her head.

Take my word for it. Please. (I don’t want to hurt anyone.)

Everyone took a step back. Guns were lowered, eyes averted as he swiped the rest of the Millennium Items out of the display. 

Then, quietly, he left. Pushing back his hood, Marik Ishtar walked out of the museum.  He relinquished his control over the leader of the guards, and one by one, as he passed each of them, they forgot everything that had happened.

***

Underneath a star-spangled sky, a cow, a kite, and a falcon sat around a small pool in the middle of a desert. The cow’s long, gently curved horns glinted in the moonlight, her large, dark brown eyes deep as oceans. She stared into the pool. “Well.”

“Well,” the kite echoed,

There was silence for another few moments, then a cool breeze swept across the pool, causing the surface of the water to ripple and change. The falcon puffed out his feathers — there were scars down one side of his face, and the marks around his eyes were as black as kohl. He said a single word: “Fuck.”

The kite made a quiet churr of agreement, while the cow merely flicked her tail, saying, “We probably should have expected something like this, considering everything that happened last year.”

The falcon nodded, sighing. “The rest of the Ennead’s in shambles. Everyone suspects she was involved.”

The cow blinked at her, her eyes alight with mischief. “You speak of her with enough spite that you might as well be talking about your dear husband.”

The kite smiled slyly at the cow, fanning out her medium brown tail feathers, a note of humour in her voice as she spoke: “I certainly have...strong reservations about some of my husband's choices. She's no better, but also no worse. I only wish she would leave the mortal world alone. She causes nothing but trouble."

The cow’s ears twitched. “Still, she didn’t instigate all of this, did she?”

“No — I heard from Father that it was all thanks to a mortal. She just latched onto the opportunity and made things a little worse for all of us,” the falcon said irritably. 

The kite nodded. “The mortal had been plotting this for a long time, too.”

 “And what of the Items?” the cow asked.

“They’ve been excavated by some other mortals. They don’t fully understand what they’re capable of.”

The cow blinked thoughtfully. “And no one else has intervened?” 

The kite’s eyes widened, seeing that the cow was getting an idea. “No, you mustn’t-”

The pool bubbled. 

The falcon glared at the cow. “What did you do?”

The cow smiled. “Every action should have an equal opposite reaction. She acted first. I simply neutralised what she did. Surely one of us intervening is the best way to uphold Ma’at, to keep everything balanced?”

“You didn’t consult the council,” the kite said quietly, clearly torn.

 “Would’ve taken too long,” the cow replied, flicking her tail dismissively.

“But the Ennead—”

“—will get over it.”

The falcon didn’t look so sure. “None of us have actively intervened for centuries.”

The cow stared him down. “Things change.” 

“We don’t.”

“We do,” she insisted. “We used to change and reform ourselves with each tiny political shift, each whim of every King or Queen purporting to represent us. Now we barely move with the rise and fall of civilisations, barring having a supporting role in a trading card game. To be expected to remain still at a time like this would be insulting.”

The falcon narrowed his eyes. “Still, that was hasty.”

She stood her ground, swishing her tail. “I had to trust my instinct. None of us want this situation to get any more dire. We could lose this battle yet.”

 The two avians exchanged a glance. The kite spoke: “Surely not, all of us working together?”

The cow stood up, kicking up dust as she moved, shooting the pair of raptors an even, self-assured look as she glanced back over her shoulder. “Perhaps. But so far, I’m the only one doing any work.”

Chapter Text

Kioru Tadako was about to die.

He didn’t deserve to die. He was young — eighteen. He was kind, easy-going, friendly, and the kind of person who always saw the best in people. He really liked puppies. He had a puppy. He was a good duelist too, and, unlike most duelists, he was also a good loser. In any other situation, he would have been the hero; the guy who sacrificed himself for others, and tried to defend those who couldn’t defend themselves. He was, by all accounts, a paragon. He didn’t deserve to die. He’d just ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He’d ended up in a dueling stadium, opposite Yugi Mutou.

They’d both made it to the semi-finals of a regional competition — one that had been fairly low-profile, until Yugi had entered it. The crowd of over 6000 hyped teenagers and young adults roared, making his head reel and his heartbeat pound in his ears, but with a few deep breaths every so often, he was able to block it out. He’d never been in an arena this big before — he was only here because he was duelling Yugi, and he knew most of the crowd was supporting the King of Games, but some of them…some of those cheers were for him, for Tadako. His hands shook as he walked towards the centre of the arena, adrenaline rushing through him. He did what he could to expel his pent-up energy, channelling it into fiddling with the rubber band on his wrist and adjusting his shirt as Yugi Mutou emerged from the opposite side of the stadium. He swallowed, trying to force the heat rushing to his cheeks to not do that, thank you, he knew he had a bit of a crush on Mutou (and on some level what duelist didn't) but he needed to focus, and not think about his racing heart as Yugi strode calmly towards him, a warm smile on his face, ready to do the customary 'rock-paper-scissors' match to determine who would get the first move.

Tadako swallowed, taking a deep breath as he also walked up to the central platform. Wordlessly, they both extended their right fists, shaking them three times.

Two papers. (Tadako's hand shook slightly.)

They went again. Yugi might think I'm going to do paper again to throw him off, and if he does he'll pick scissors, so I'll pick rock-

Two rocks. (Yugi grinned, amused.)

They went again. I'll just do scissors, it's too obvious, he'll assume I'm going for something else-

Tadako picked scissors and Yugi picked rock.

"I'll go second," Yugi said quickly. “Oh, nice shirt, by the way!” He added, glancing at Tadako's graphic tee, which had the card art of ‘Book of Moon’ printed on the front.

Tadako swallowed, giving a small nod, his whole face growing warm. (God, he knew he was gay, but he hadn’t realised he was this gay.) “T-thank you!”

Yugi smiled softly at him once more, before they both walked back to their respective podiums. Tadako’s head was reeling. He should have been thinking about his strategy - about Yugi's strategy, and how to counter it. He should have been thinking about which cards he might draw, and which combinations would be effective. But right now, one thought dominated the rest:

Yugi Mutou likes my shirt. And he’s so cute. Holy shit. Is this even real.

It didn’t feel real. This was the semi-final of a regional tournament, which wouldn’t normally be a big deal, aside from the fact that he was dueling Yugi Mutou, who’d just come back from a tournament in Germany. Yugi Fricken Mutou.

Still, the media hype wasn’t just about Yugi. Tadako had also been a trailblazer of sorts in his region, rapidly seeing a lot of success over the course of a few months. He’d been named as one of Industrial Illusions’ five up-and-coming duellists of the year, so there were probably a few people who were eager to see how he’d do on a bigger stage, with more pressure, against a bigger foe. (Bigger in everything by stature, anyway.)

He was fairly sure he would lose, but he was going to make sure he lost with style. He might not beat Yugi, but he’d put up a good fight. And he would focus on the card game, rather than Yugi’s perfectly quaffed hair. His hair was distracting on a number of levels.

Then the duel began, and immediately he put his crush out of his mind, completely focused. He could pine later. He had a card game to lose.

Both duelists drew five cards, then examined their hands: Tadako had The Agent of Creation - Venus (4/1600/0), Solemn Wishes, Terraforming, Queen of Fate - Eternia (8/2400/2000), and Enemy Controller. Something inside him melted with relief. A decent hand, thank God…Eternia is powerful, but has some really specific summoning conditions — she needs to be tribute summoned with three Fairy type monsters…what if I just…

“I make my first move! First, I activate the spell card Terraforming!” he declared, placing the spell card face up on the field. “With this card, I can search for a field spell in my deck. I then activate the field spell, Sanctuary in the Sky! As long as this card is on the field, when a monster with the Fairy attribute participates in battle, the owner of that monster doesn’t take any damage from that battle.”

Tadako looked across the field, seeing Yugi incline his head, his eyes giving away nothing, though his demeanour was still friendly. Tadako grinned as he continued. “Then, I normal summon Agent of Creation - Venus, and activate it’s effect, paying 500 life points to special summon Mystical Shine Ball (4/500/500) in defence mode. Finally, I set two cards face-down, and end my turn,” he finished, setting Enemy Controller and Solemn Wishes. Yugi can only normal summon one monster next turn, so I’ll just hope he only ends up with one monster on the field. When he attacks, I’ll change his monster to defence mode with Enemy Controller, negating the attack. Then, on my next turn, I’ll special summon another Mystical Shine Ball with Venus, and tribute all three of my monsters to summon Eternia, and Solemn Wishes will means I can get back the life points I’m losing by activating Venus’s effect…

“My turn!”

Yugi drew a card, taking a moment to look at it, smiling softly as the crowd roared, then launching into his main phase. “I summon Magical Exemplar (4/1700/1400) in attack mode. Each time a spell card is activated, she gains two spell counters. I also set two card face down on the field. Magical Exemplar, attack Venus—”

“Not so fast!” Tadako interrupted. “I activate Enemy Controller, swapping Magical Exemplar to face up defence position—”

Yugi grinned. “Nice try, but I activate both of my face down cards!”

Tadako swallowed. Oh no.

“First, I activate Appropriate, a continuous trap card — as long as Appropriate is on the field, for every card that you draw outside of your draw phase, I also draw two cards! Second, I activate Dark Bribe — I can activate this card when you activate a spell or a trap. You draw one card—”

Tadako did, drawing Condemned Maiden (4/100/2000). Good — her defence stat is nice and high, I can use her to stall if I need to…

“—and I negate your trap. But, because of Appropriate, I also draw two cards,” Yugi said, adding two more cards to his hand. “With Enemy Controller negated, Venus is destroyed!”

Tadako narrowed his eyes as his monster evaporated from the field, swallowing. He couldn’t use her effect to get more Mystical Shine Balls onto the field, and summon Eternia. “Still, I don’t lose any Life Points, due to the effect of Sanctuary in the Sky.”

Yugi inclined his head. “True. I end my turn.”

“Wait! Before your end phase is complete, I activate a continuous trap, Solemn Wishes! Every time I draw a card, I gain 500 life points. Now that that’s done, it’s my turn — I draw!”

He turned his new card over to see what it was, his eyes flicking to his life points (8500 - 500 more than what he and Yugi had both started at) as Solemn Wishes activated, and the new card was Agent of Force - Mars (3/0/0). He smiled, and reached for Condemned Maiden (4/100/2000), the card he had drawn during Yugi’s turn. “I set a monster face down, then ends my turn.”

“Alright, I draw! I summon Silent Magician LV4 (4/1000/1000) in attack mode, and have her attack Mystical Shine Ball!”

Tadako gritted his teeth. Silent Magician was one of Yugi’s signature cards — he’d have to get her off the field as soon as possible. Yugi continued: “Then, Magical Exemplar (4/1700/0) attacks your face-down card!”

Tadako smiled. “Nice try, but the card you attacked was Condemned Maiden, who has 2000 defence points! She remains face up on the field, and you lose 300 life points.”

Yugi nodded, flinching as his life points fell. A flicker of concern, as well as something else that Tadako couldn’t quite place, passed over his features, but it disappeared as soon as Tadako noticed. “Alright. I end my turn.”

Tadako paused, then drew, adding Negate Attack to his hand, his Life Points now at 9000 thanks to Solemn Wishes. After examining his hand, he glanced over at the field, to see Silent Magician LV4 had gained 500 attack. “Huh?”

Yugi smiled. “Every time you draw a card, Silent Magician LV4 gains a spell counter, and each spell counter gives her an additional 500 attack. When she gains five spell counters, I can level her up.”

Tadako swallowed. “Okay. I set a card face down, and end my turn,” he said, setting Negate Attack.

“My turn — I draw!” Yugi took a few moments to examine the field, then look at his own hand, before ploughing on. “I activate Pot of Duality, allowing me to look at the top three cards on my deck, add one of them to my hand, and put the other to back in any order.” He did this, and then continued: “I normal summon Summoner Monk (4/800/1600), who is changed to defence position thanks to its effect. I then activate Summoner Monk’s effect, discarding a spell card from my hand, and special summoning Sacred Crane (4/1600/400) from my deck. Thanks to Sacred Crane’s effect, I draw one more card.” He looked at his card, and then considered the field -- neither of his monsters had attack stats high enough to take down Condemned Maiden, with 2000 defence points. Recognising this, he ended his turn.

Tadako took a deep breath. “I draw!” he declared adding Cestus of Dalga to his hand, gaining another 500 life points, though Silent Magician LV4’s stats rose to 4/2000/1000 at the same time.

The less experienced duelist’s eyes widened as he examined his hand, realising how good his cards were — The Agent of Force - Mars, and Cestus of Dalga. If Mars (3/0/0), whose attack and defence points were equal to the difference between his life points and Yugi’s, was equipped with the spell card Cestus of Dalga, which could only be equipped to Fairy monsters, and gave the equipped monster 500 more attack points, as well as granting the monster’s controller life points equal to the damage the equipped monster inflicted, then every time he gained life points through Cestus of Dalga’s effect, Mars’s attack points would rise even further. And combined with Solemn Wishes and Sanctuary in the Sky, that could be absolutely devastating .

Without hesitating any longer, he ploughed into his main phase. “I summon The Agent of Force - Mars (3/1800/1800), whose attack points are based on how much higher my Life Points are compared to yours! Then, I equip Mars with the spell card Cestus of Dalga, adding an additional 500 points to his attack, bringing it to 2300! Mars, attack Silent Magician LV4 (4/2000/1000)!”

Yugi gritted his teeth as his monster was destroyed, losing 300 life points. Tadako grinned as a cloud of virtual dust kicked up around them, hearing the distinctive beeping noise signalling Yugi’s life points dropping, and his own rising, thanks to Cestus of Dalga’s effect. As the dust cleared, Yugi stared at Mars, who’s attack and defence had risen. 2900/2400. “What the—?”

Tadako couldn’t help but be a little smug. “You lost 300 life points. Thanks to Cestus of Dalga, I gained 300 life points. Then, consequently, with another 800 points separating your life points from mine, Mars’s attack rose by 800 points!”

He could hear gasps and murmurs from the crowd; “No way!”

“It’s attack is nearly as high as the Blue Eyes White Dragon…”

“Is Yugi going to lose?”

Tadako took a deep breath, looking around, taking in the crowd’s excitement, realising he was grinning madly. He felt a thrill of excitement surge through his chest. Answer to that, Yugi! “With that, I end my turn!”

Yugi eyed Mars, and then smiled. “Bring it on, Kioru-kun! I draw!”

Tadako felt colour rush to his cheeks. HolyshitthekingofgamesjustcalledmekiorukunhowdoIeven-

“I activate Magical Exemplar’s effect — see, she’s been accumulating spell counters for a while now, meaning I can remove four spell counters, and special summon a Spellcaster-type monster from my graveyard, whose level is equal to the number of spell counters I removed. I special summon Silent Magician LV4 (4/1000/1000), then, I activate the spell card I just drew, Level Up!”

His eyes widened. Ohwaitshithe’sgoingtousethatonsilentmagicianisn’the-

“Do I need to explain, or is the card name self-explanatory?”

Tadako swallowed. “I think I’ve got it.”

Yugi smiled. “Alright! I send Silent Magician LV4 from the field to the graveyard, and special summon Silent Magician LV8 (8/3500/1000)!”

Tadako realised his heart was pounding, panic clouding his judgement. He glanced back a his side of the field, taking a deep breath, realising everything was fine. I still have Negate Attack, and Mars will gain 500 attack on my next draw phase. Then I can attack Sacred Crane, which will make the difference between our life points even larger…

Yugi continued: “Then, I set two cards face down, and activate the equip spell, Mage Power! A monster equipped with mage power gains 500 attack for every trap or spell card the user controls, regardless of whether it’s face-up or set — I control four spell or trap cards, meaning the equipped monster gains 2000 attack points!”

No! That means—

“I equip Mage Power to Silent Magician LV8 (5500/1000)!”

Tadako’s eyes widened as the white mage loomed over Mars. I still have Negate Attack, this is fine, this is fine…

“Now, Silent Magician, attack Mars (3/2900/2300)!”

“Wait! I activate my trap card, Negate Attack! Which means that…” Tadako trailed off, smiling sheepishly. “Y’know, probably pretty self explanatory.”

Yugi smiled, nodding, eyeing Mars, whose attack points were higher than either of his other monsters. “Alright. I end my turn.”

Tadako narrowed his eyes. “My turn — I draw!”

He balled his hands into fists, trying to stop them from shaking, taking another deep breath. You can do this Tadako. Stay calm.

He drew, gained 500 life points (bringing his total to 10300), checked that Mars’s attack and defence had also risen by 500 points, then looked at his new card: The Agent of Mystery - Earth (4/1000/800). Queen of Fate - Eternia was still in his hand, but he had no way to summon it. That’s okay. I can work with this.

“I normal summon The Agent of Mystery - Earth! While The Sanctuary in the Sky is on the field, I can add the monster card Master Hyperion from my deck to my hand.” Master Hyperion (8/2700/2100) was a good card, and easy to summon, with Venus in his graveyard. He eyed Yugi’s monsters. I just need to inflict some damage…

“Mars (3/3400/2900), attack Sacred Crane (4/1600/400)!”

Yugi revealed one of his face down cards. “Nice try, but I activate Waboku! This turn, I take no damage from your monsters, and my monsters cannot be destroyed!”

Tadako bit his lip. Shit! If I don’t get some damage in, Silent Magician will destroy Mars next turn.

The trap card, Waboku, was sent to the graveyard, and Silent Magician LV8’s attack fell to 5000 — which was good, but hardly solved his problem. Tadako anxiously examined the field, and his hand. He had no set cards - only Solemn Wishes, and the field spell, Sanctuary in the Sky, which meant that as long as he controlled Fairy-type monsters, he wouldn’t take any damage from battles involving them. That didn’t stop them from being destroyed. He gritted his teeth. There was nothing he could do. “I end my turn…”

“I draw!” As Yugi looked at his new card, a soft, fond smile appeared on his face. Then he became focused again, going on with his turn. “I activate one of my face down cards, Dark World Dealings! Each of us draw one card, and then discard one, but thanks to Appropriate, I draw an additional two.”

Tadako nodded, drawing a card, his life points rising to 10800, and Mars’s attack and defence rising to 3900/3400 as well. He looked at his new card. Spirit of the Breeze…that’ll be helpful, he thought. She has a good effect. He discarded Eternia - with no way to summon her, she wasn’t going to be very useful.

Yugi continued: “Then, I activate Magical Exemplar’s effect again, removing 8 spell counters from her, and summoning another Silent Magician LV8 (8/3500/1000) from the graveyard!”

What?! Shit, that must’ve been the card he just discarded…

“And finally, I tribute Sacred Crane and Magical Exemplar in order to summon Dark Magician!”

A few weeks earlier pt. 1:

no.

nonononononononono, oh no, oh osiris, I didn't ask for this

w h  y

Tadako couldn’t have possibly prepared himself for the roar of the crowd as Dark Magician (7/2500/2100) materialised on the field. He almost physically staggered, losing his balance slightly as it deafened him, but Yugi didn’t seem at all put off. He must’ve been used to it by now. As he adjusted to the increase in volume, it felt exhilarating — his heart rate increased, and he felt even more energetic and jittery than he had when the duel began. He grinned. So this is what a first class duel is really like!

“I also set two more cards face down, meaning I have four spell or trap cards in my control again! Moving on to my battle phase—“

Oh wait, yeah, that’s right, I’m fucked , he thought, grimacing.

“Silent Magician LV8, equipped with Mage Power (8/5500/1000), attack Mars (3/3900/3400)!”

Tadako bit his tongue, helpless as his monsters were destroyed. Yugi’s other Silent Magician (8/3500/1000) destroyed Earth (4/1000/800), and Dark Magician (7/2500/2100) destroyed Condemned Maiden (4/100/2000). Tadako’s side of the field is empty, except for Sanctuary in the Sky and Solemn Wishes. At least Yugi hasn’t used De-Spell or Mystical Space Typhoon or anything…

“I draw!” Tadako said, looking at his hand: he now had Master Hyperion (8/2700/2100), Spirit of the Breeze (3/0/1800), and The Agent of Miracles - Jupiter (4/1800/1000). His face lit up — he could work with this. That was the thing about this deck — he liked it because it was versatile.

“I normal summon The Agent of Miracles - Jupiter (4/1800/1000), and, by banishing The Agent of Creation - Venus from the graveyard, I can also special summon Master Hyperion (8/2700/2100)!” Both of whom have kick-ass effects , he added privately to himself.

“I activate Master Hyperion’s effect! Once per turn, I can banish one LIGHT Fairy-type monster from my graveyard, and then target one card on the field, destroying that target. Banishing Mystical Shine Ball, I target Silent Magician LV8, equipped with Mage Power!”

Yugi’s eyes widened with legitimate shock and concern, and the crowd roared. Tadako felt a little bad, but also not really. “And that’s not all! As long as Sanctuary in the Sky is on the field, I can activate the effect twice per turn! I banish The Agent of Force - Mars from my graveyard, and destroy your other Silent Magician!”

Adrenaline rushed through him as the two holograms disintegrated. Holy shit. I-I’m actually winning against the King of Games. For the moment anyway, but— wow. Wow.

“Then, I activate Jupiter’s effect! Once per turn, I can remove from play one Agent monster in my graveyard, and select one face-up LIGHT Fairy-Type monster I control, giving it an additional 800 attack points until the end phase — I remove The Agent of Mystery - Earth from play, and increase Master Hyperion’s attack points by 800. Now, Master Hyperion (8/3500/2100), attack Dark Magician (7/2500/2100)!”

Yugi staggered as Dark Magician was destroyed, but Tadako continued. “Now, Jupiter (4/1800/1000)! Attack Yugi’s life points directly!”

Yugi stumbled as he absorbed the attack, gritting his teeth. As his life points dropped, he took a couple of seconds to recover, looking at Tadako, his eyes confused, uncertain, almost carrying a hint of betrayal. Tadako blinked, unsure of what he’d done.

Yugi stood up slowly, everything about his posture different. He was suddenly wary, looking over his shoulder, as though he were looking for an out. The sudden shift in mood made the hair on Tadako’s neck rise slightly, chilling him to the bone. Something had happened when Yugi had taken damage. But Tadako didn’t know what.

But then Yugi’s fearful expression melted away. Tadako frowned. I guess I just imagined it…?

Yugi looked at his life points, which now sat at 4600, and then took a deep breath. “I draw!”

Tadako eyed him carefully. No, he hadn’t been imagining it. Everything about him was more serious, more grave, as though he was suddenly becoming aware a new set of stakes. Each movement was more careful, more rigid. Tadako swallowed hard. This wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right.

Yugi continued with his turn: “I summon Silent Paladin (4/500/1500) in attack mode. When this card is normal summoned, I can add one Silent Magician LV4 to my hand.”

There was silence for a few moments. Yugi and Tadako eyed each other, suddenly more serious. Tadako didn’t know why, yet Yugi seemed as if he knew too much. Yugi stared at Tadako, and Tadako wasn’t sure whether it was an apology or an accusation. Then, Yugi closed his eyes, taking one more deep breath. He murmured quietly, “I’m sure it was nothing…”

Tadako didn’t know who Yugi was trying to reassure.

Yugi went on: “Then, I activate one of my set card, Swords of Revealing Light, meaning your monsters can’t attack for three turns. Then I end my turn.”

Tadako gazed searchingly at Yugi, whose expression was now unreadable. Swords of Revealing Light was incredibly inconvenient, but it paled in significance compared to whatever had just happened with Yugi.

Focus on the duel. It probably was nothing. Yugi looks like he knows what’s going on, and he’s still duelling. I should too. I trust him.

He swallowed, taking a deep breath. “I-I draw!”

He added another card to his hand — The Agent of Wisdom - Mercury (4/0/1700) — and continued on with his move. His eyes brightened — with an Agent card now in his hand, he could activate Jupiter’s other effect, bringing back Mars. He hesitated for a moment — if something had happened, then continuing as though everything was normal probably wasn’t the smartest idea.

But nothing happened, so it’s fine , he told himself, pushing back his doubt.

“I summon Spirit of the Breeze (3/0/1800)! As long as this card remains in face-up attack position on my side of the field, I increase my life points by 1000 points during each of my standby phases. Next, I activate Hyperion’s effect, banishing Queen of Fate - Eternia from my graveyard, and destroying Silent Paladin! Then, as Sanctuary in the Sky is still on the field, I can activate Jupiter’s second effect! I can discard an Agent monster from my hand, and special summon one of my banished monsters!”

Yugi’s expression went from ‘ oh boy ’ to ‘ oh fuck ’.

“I discard The Agent of Wisdom - Mercury, and resurrect one of the monsters I’ve removed from play! Return, The Agent of Force - Mars!”

Level: 3. Attack: 7200. Defence: 7200.

The crowd went insane, roaring in Tadako’s ears. Yugi stared at the three star monster, legitimate fear on his face.

“Still, I can’t attack this turn,” Tadako continued, “thanks to Swords of Revealing Light. But with Solemn Wishes and Spirit on the Breeze both on the field, I’ll continue to gain life points, and Mars’s attack will continue to increase. So, I end my turn.”

Yugi gritted his teeth, new determination on his face. “I draw, then I summon Silent Magician LV4 (4/1000/1000)! Then, I tribute Silent Magician LV4 to special summon Silent Magician (4/1500/100), which can only be summoned by tributing another Spellcaster type monster. She has a variety of different effects, but I only intend to use one. Silent Magician (4/1500/100), attack Jupiter (4/1800/1000)!”

“What? Why?”

An odd look passed over Yugi’s features again as he took 300 points of damage (meaning Mars’s attack and defence rose to 7500), but he smiled once the damage calculation was done. “Because when Silent Magician is sent to the graveyard, I can special summon one Silent Magician LV8 from my hand or Deck!”

Tadako’s eyes widened with shock, then he remembered he had a monster with 7500 attack. He was fine. Everything was fine. Calm down.

“Silent Magician LV8 (8/3500/1000), destroy Master Hyperion (8/2700/2100)!”

Tadako’s shoulders slumped as his monster was sent to the graveyard. Guess I can’t abuse his effect anymore . “I don’t take any damage because of Sanctuary in the Sky.”

Yugi nodded. “True. I set a card face down, then end my turn.”

Tadako nodded, and drew, gaining 500 life points, and a new card, Hanewata (1/200/300) — if any of Yugi’s monsters dealt him any effect damage, he could discard Hanewata from his hand and make that 0. Nice. The duel then moved into the standby phase, where, Tadako’s life points rose another 1000 points thanks to Spirit of the Breeze’s effect. All up, his life points sat at 13300, and Mars’s attack and defence had reached 9000.

Looking at his cards, there wasn’t a lot that he could do — Hanewata was more useful in his hand then on the field, and he couldn’t attack. “I don’t have any moves to make. I end my turn.”

Swords of Revealing Light’s second turn was over.

Yugi nodded. “I draw, and then set a card face down. Now, Silent Magician LV8 (8/3500/100), attack Jupiter (4/1800/1000)!”

Jupiter disintegrated, and Tadako drew without taking any damage, thanks to Sanctuary in the Sky. He looked at his new card. Burial from a Different Dimension…would’ve been good if Jupiter or Hyperion were still on the field. Nevermind.

Then he looked over at Mars. 3/10500/105000. A deafening roar went up from the crowd: “ IT’S OVER NINE-THOUSAAAAAND!”

Tadako smiled, then laughed. Yugi looked slightly ill. Tadako nodded to him. “I still have no moves to make. I end my turn.”

As his end phase finished, Swords of Revealing Light disappeared from the field. He could attack on his next turn.

Yugi drew, and then smiled. “I normal summon Kuriboh (1/300/200), in face-up attack position!”

Tadako grinned. Of course Yugi summoned Kuriboh in face-up attack position. And of course Kuriboh got the loudest cheer yet, almost deafening him.

“Now, Kuriboh, attack Spirit of the Breeze (3/0/1800)!”

His monster disappeared from the field, but at this point it didn’t matter. Mars had 10500 attack points, Tadako had 14800 life points, Yugi had only 4300 life points, and Tadako was this close to beating the King of Games. Yugi ended his turn, and Tadako drew without hesitation. “It’s my turn — I draw!”

Splendid Venus (8/2800/2400), as well as another 500 life points, and 500 attack points to Mars. Splendid Venus was really nice card, but one he couldn’t summon right now. This didn’t really matter, though. He smiled, and moved straight to his battle phase. “It’s over, Yugi! Mars (3/11000/11000)! Attack Kuriboh (1/300/200)!”

“ No! I activate Magic Cylinder!”

Then things started to go wrong.

A few weeks earlier pt. 2:

wait what

wait

what???

...oh motherFU-

Tadako’s life points dropped by 11000 points all at once — Yugi’s trap card effectively redirected the attack onto him. His vision darkened around the edges, and he staggered backwards, losing his footing, everything spinning, feeling nauseous. He felt as though the life was literally being drained out of him, ripped from him with every beep of his duel disk. Suddenly he realised the ground was rushing towards him, and he outstretched his hands to catch himself, sweat beading on his forehead, feeling as though he was being cast into a dark void.

Then there was a voice — a light. “ Kioru! Kio- Tadako, can you hear me?”

He looked up, feeling as though he might throw up at any moment. Yugi was crouched in front of him, (at least, Tadako was pretty sure he was crouching, since everything was swaying a lot,) gazing at him anxiously, his striking red eyes round with concern. “Tadako, we can stop the duel. I’ll tell them to stop—”

“N-no,” he said weakly, chest heaving. “I—”

“Tadako—”

Tadako took a deep breath, steadying himself, then he placed his hand on Yugi’s shoulder, not really thinking, using the King of Games to prop himself up, back on his feet. “I want to see this through.”

Yugi stood up, and placed one hand on his shoulder. “No, Kioru, you don’t have to—”

“I—” he broke off, coughing. “No, I want to—”

“Listen to me, something’s wrong with this duel, you don’t know what you’re—”

“I end my turn!" He declared, taking a couple of steps back. He was feeling better with every passing second, his head clearing. “I’m fine!” It’s nothing. That was nothing. Maybe…it’s because I didn’t have breakfast this morning. Or maybe it’s part of this fancy stadium — some kind of extension of the holograms.

He knew he was making excuses. But he wasn’t going to surrender. He didn’t want Yugi to surrender, either. He wanted to duel the King of Games, and he wanted to finish it.

He looked at his life points. 4300. They were the same as Yugi’s. Meaning Mars’s stats were 3/0/0.

Yugi stood opposite him, his gaze unreadable. He looked conflicted, scared, confused; all of this he mostly masked, but it was there, just underneath the surface. He swallowed hard, looking away, at his cards. “I draw.”

Yugi looked at his new card for a very long time.

“I activate the card that I just drew — monster reborn.” His eyes shone with emotion, shock, and resolve. His voice was quiet, rapidly increasing in volume and intensity as he continued: “And I special summon a monster from my graveyard - Dark Magician (7/2500/2100)!”

Tadako’s heart skipped a beat as Dark Magician materialised for a second time. He could faintly hear the crowd cheering again, but it sounded muted, as though he was underwater. All he could hear properly was Yugi, and his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

“Kuriboh (1/300/200), attack Mars (3/0/0)!”

Mars disappeared from the field. R.I.P. , Tadako thought warily, still feeling as though he might throw up.

Yugi looked at Tadako for a long time, before continuing. “Now! Dark Magician (7/2500/2100), attack his life points directly!” (His voice was strong, and firm, but his eyes were bright with worry.)

Tadako grunted, losing his footing as he absorbed the impact, his visioning tunnelling again, nausea returning. His life points fell to 1800. He remained bent over for a few moments, his hands resting on his knees, everything turning — the stadium, and his stomach. After a few moments, the feeling receded, more quickly than it had the first time, and he stood back up, giving Yugi a weak thumbs up.

The look Yugi returned was one of pure anguish. He said quietly, his thick with emotion, “I’m sorry. I’ll fix this, I promise.”

Wait, what?

Yugi took a deep breath. “SILENT MAGICIAN LV8 (8/3500/1000), ATTACK HIS LIFE POINTS DIRECTLY! ”

Burning white light filled his vision Yugi’s monster charged her attack. A blazing white ball rushed towards him, and instinctively he lifted his arm in front of his face, trying to block the blow with his duel disk, but to no avail. The attack slammed into him, and he stumbled back, adrenaline rushing through his veins, heart thudding hard in his chest. He lost his balance, falling, and then, suddenly, he felt incredibly cold, as though his life was literally being drained from his veins. Fear consumed him, his ears ringing, chills wracking his body, and he clutched at his chest — not for his heart, but for his soul.

N-no, why —

The dark tunnel returned, devouring his entire being, and then he became limp, blacking out.

Permanently.

A few weeks earlier pt. 3:

…

…yES

“Kioru-san?”

A young girl, around fifteen, looked up as a dark figure entered the room. Her sleek black hair shone in the cold blue light, reaching past the small of her back. She looked as broken as she felt. “No.” Her voice was dull, hollow.

“Kioru—”

“NO!” she screeched, standing up, glaring at the other figure. “I saw what happened, I know what you’re going to tell me, and I don’t want to hear it! I—” she broke off, collapsing back into her chair, her breath coming in short, rough gasps, her vision blurring. “I don’t want to hear you say it. I—”

“Kio—”

“I know,” she repeated, almost angrily, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Y-you came in here looking all solemn and tense, you don’t w- want to tell me. And I don’t want to hear it. W-we both win.”

There was a long pause. Too long. The other figure nodded. “Okay. I’ll leave you alone to grie—”

“Don’t say it. Please."

The door closed with a dull kind of finality.

The girl clenched her fist, her shoulders shaking, letting out a ragged, broken breath. She hated this place. She hated this room. She'd been ushered in here by people she didn't know after Tadako collapsed, after she'd abandoned the friends she'd come with to try and reach him. Someone, sometime during that blur of panic and pain and shock, had asked her who she was and contacted their parents and brought her in here to wait for them.

But for now, she was alone.

She was alone, and her brother was dead.

Chapter Text

BZZZzzzzZZZZZZZZZZT

Everything was pitch dark, save for the harsh, cold, blue light radiating from Marik’s phone as a notification came in. The light from the face-up Samsung phone illuminated the ancient stone walls, revealing worn hieroglyphs, age-old carvings, and unlit torches. Marik was in the tombs. Home, he supposed, though he didn’t feel any fondness for the place. It was simply somewhere he could stay for free in the wake of the museum heist. He had nowhere better to go.

BZZZzzzzZZZZZZZZZZT

He jerked awake. His phone was making an unholy, godawful noise, vibrating on the hard stone floor. He winced — that noise, in this moment, was the closest humanity could ever get to knowing what hell was like. Even including his entire childhood.

BZZZzzzzZZZZZZZZZZT

Marik groaned as his phone went off a third time, sitting up stiffly. If someone was texting him, it would be Ishizu, Rishid, or Ryou, and he didn’t have any reason to expect a flood of messages like this from any of them unless something was wrong.

BZZZzzzzZZZZZZZZZZT

Wearily, he reached for his phone, swiping it off the floor, and then bringing his arm back under his doona, where it was warm, and just felt safer. He unlocked his phone, instantly regretting this decision as the light from the screen blinded him. He looked away, getting used to the sudden brightness, and then glanced back at it, checking the time, rubbing his eyes. 5:30am. What even…

He looked down at his notifications, freezing up.

EIGHTEEN YEAR OLD DUEL MONSTERS TOURNAMENT SEMI-FINALIST KIORU TADAKO DEAD FOLLOWING DUEL WITH YUGI MUTOU

Marik froze, his blood running cold. He suddenly became aware of his heart thudding hard in his chest, pounding against his sternum. He re-read the text a few times, realising it came from the News app. But— how…

He looked at the next one. DLC News: DUELING TRAGEDY: VIRTUAL REALITY TOO REAL FOR KIORU TADAKO

It’s not virtual reality, it’s a simulation, Marik thought numbly. That was all he could manage to think. More news stories continued to flood in.

International Card Watch: SENT TO THE GRAVEYARD: SEMI-FINALIST DIES PLAYING DUEL MONSTERS IN DOMINO CITY REGIONAL TOURNAMENT

Duel News Network: KIORU TADAKO’S LIFE POINTS HIT ZERO, PERMANENTLY: DM COMMUNITY IN SHOCK FOLLOWING TRAGEDY IN DOMINO CITY

Half a dozen messages from different news sources whose apps he’d downloaded, all telling him the same thing. He swiped his finger across the screen, unlocking his phone, tapping on the notification from Duel News Network, which was, in his opinion, the most reliable source for duel monsters related things. The article read:

‘Following an epic showdown between Yugi Mutou, the ‘King of Games’, and Kioru Tadako, one of Industrial Illusions’ five up-and-coming duelists for this year, Tadako lost not only the duel, but his life. The duel commenced at 11:30am in Domino City this morning, and ended just after 12:00pm. At this point, Kioru collapsed — he had already keeled over once during the duel, when taking 11000 points of damage.’

Marik’s eyes widened. 11000 points of damage. “What the fuck, Yugi…”

‘Doctors were on the scene already in case this first incident was due to a health condition, but when the duel ended, by the time they reached him, it was too late. The exact cause of Kioru’s death has not yet been identified — while doctors on the scene suspect the cause was cardiac arrest, an autopsy has not yet been conducted.

Yugi Mutou, immediately following the duel, left the scene quickly, very distressed. Duel News Network got the following statement from him when Kioru’s status was confirmed: “I’m not sure why this has happened — I- It’s horrible, and my sincerest sympathy goes to Kioru’s family. It was an honour to duel him.”

Mutou is expected to appear at a press conference tomorrow morning.’

Marik stared blankly at the screen, and then locked his phone, letting it fall onto the bed with a muffled plop. “Cardiac arrest, my ass…”

The duel had to have been a shadow game. There was no other plausible explanation. Yet all of the Millennium Items were with him, in Egypt, on a table, just a few feet away. He stared at them for a long time — all seven were untouched. It had been a week since he’d stolen them from the museum, and since then, everything had been quiet. He’d tried using the Rod a few times, and it still responded to him, for the most part — occasionally he would have to put in more effort than usual to get it to do what he wanted, and he hadn’t tried controlling a large group of people since the heist, but otherwise, everything with it was normal. He’d suspected that with a bit more practise, he’d be just as proficient with it as he had been two years ago.

But that wasn’t important right now.

He stood up, pacing, running his hands through his silky blonde hair. Someone was dead. Someone had died playing duel monsters, for the first time in— now that he thought about it, he didn’t recall that ever happening before. There had been a lot of close calls, but to his knowledge, no fatalities. And Kioru had been playing Yugi.

Could the Pharaoh — Atem — be back?

No. No, surely not — even if he was, his soul would, in all likelihood, be in the Millennium Puzzle, resting on the table beside him, and even then, why would Atem start a shadow game? Why now? And why with him — why Kioru Tadako?

It made more sense for Yugi to be the target of that kind of attack. Perhaps whoever started the shadow game thought Yugi would lose — but who had the means to do it? How could anyone have started a shadow game while Marik had all of the Millennium Items?

He froze, as one possibility came to him. Someone could’ve snuck in.

His heart racing, he lit a torch, glanced once at the items, and then hurtled down the corridor, racing towards the entrance to check for any signs that someone had just strolled into the tombs while he was asleep. Being underground, there was only one entrance, and no windows, and, as Marik knew far too well, there was a device near the door, like an alarm — if the doors opened, it would go off. If someone had come in, then the alarm wouldn’t be set properly. It had to be manually re-set each time it was sprung.

He sprinted through the maze of ancient stone, stopping suddenly at the entrance, a little short of breath. He held his torch closer to the alarm, scrutinising it for a few moments.

It’s still set. No one’s come in—

BZZZzzzzZZZZZZZZZZT — BZZZzzzzZZZZZZZZZZT — BZZZzzzzZZZZZZZZZZT

Marik frowned, placing the torch in a stand on the wall as his phone buzzed again, multiple times, in quick succession — it was a text this time, from Ryou.

From: Ryou Bakura (the soft one)

(5:38) Have you heard

(5:38) What time is it there

(5:38) It’s really early isn’t it

(5:38) Fuck

(5:39) Oh well, text me when your up

Marik replied immediately.

(5:39) Hey I’m up I heard

(5:39) *you’re

(5:39) MARIK

(5:39) OH MY GOD

(5:39) Did you watch the duel?

(5:39) Yeah, the squad was all there

(5:39) Do you think it was a shadow game???

(5:39) Definitely

(5:39) What else could it have been?

(5:39) ^ true

(5:39) I just

(5:39) Oh my god

(5:40) I was just making sure you knew

(5:40) Where are the Millennium Items?

(5:40) I’ve got them — I’ve had them all week

(5:40) WHAT

(5:40) MARIK

(5:40) WHY DIDN’T YOU MENTION THIS

(5:40) Ryou I'm sorry but like we hadn’t talked

(5:40) Honestly I just didn’t think to let you know

(5:40) I just wanted to keep them safe

(5:40) They were vulnerable before

(5:41) I haven’t done anything with them

(5:41) Okay

(5:41) I’m just checking no one broke into the tombs

(5:41) So far it doesn’t look like anyone else has used the items

(5:41) At least, no one else entered the tombs this morning

(5:41) How do you know????

(5:41) There’s an alarm thingy

(5:41) It hasn’t been set off so I’m pretty sure no one could have come in

(5:41) That’s good

(5:41) Btw where’s Yugi now?

(5:41) Talking to the DCPB

(5:41) Domino City Police Bureau

(5:41) They’re getting involved?

(5:42) They may not know about shadow magic, but because of Kioru’s life points hitting zero and his death coinciding they’re pretty sure it wasn’t just coincidence

(5:42) They probably suspect Yugi did something, since he was Kioru’s opponent, but they have no proof

(5:42) Yugi won’t tell them anything, right? About shadow games?

(5:42) I’m sure he won’t

(5:42) He can just tell them the truth — that he didn’t do anything, and he doesn’t know anything

(5:42) It’s still odd though…wait, if you were there, did it feel like a shadow game? Did things go all dark and void-y?

(5:42) No, it felt like a regular duel to everyone in the crowd. I can’t speak for Yugi though.

(5:42) Or Kioru

(5:42) I’m sorry, I really have to go now.

(5:42) That’s okay

(5:43) Let me know if you learn anything else

(5:43) Will do, see you

(5:43) See you

Normally he’d add a smiley face, but right now it didn’t seem appropriate.

Ryou was the only one of Yugi’s old group of friends that Marik regularly stayed in touch with. The others respected him, and saw him as an okay person now, but on the whole they kept their distance. However, Ryou’s talk of ghosts and spirits had piqued Marik’s interest, getting their friendship started a month or so after the Pharaoh’s soul returned to the afterlife. They weren’t the closest of friends, but they’d reached a point where conversation never ran dry or got awkward, which was quite an achievement, considering Marik had hardly interacted with people his age aside from Ishizu, and Ryou hadn’t gotten the opportunity to form meaningful connections and friendships with other people for most of his life, thanks to the Millennium Ring. If Ryou had to rank his friends for whatever reason, Marik was pretty sure Yugi and Co. would sit at the top, followed by him, but he was fine with that — after all, he had been the one who came up with a plan to stab his arm and get him hospitalised, back in the day. (They laughed about that, though Ryou would laugh somewhat nervously.)

Marik locked his phone, putting it back in his pocket, grabbing the torch back off the wall and pacing back down the corridor, dissatisfied. He suddenly found he had a burning desire to know what happened — why Kioru was dead, and who was to blame. It couldn’t be an accident. Marik had seen too much to believe that Kioru just happened to suffer a heart attack as his life points hit zero, which was undoubtedly what the story would be.

Kioru deserved better. He deserved the truth.

And Marik was among the only people truly qualified to look into this. No one else except for his family, the other faction of tomb keepers, and maybe Yugi, knew as much about shadow games, and the Millennium Items, as he did. If he didn’t investigate what had really happened to Kioru, who would? Not the DCPB — even if they were onto the fact that Kioru’s death wasn’t an accident, they still didn’t have a clue.

For the past two years, he’d been drifting from place to place, unsure of what to do with himself.

Maybe…maybe I can do this?

Twenty-four hours later, Marik was on a plane.

Ryou had managed to strike a deal with Mokuba Kaiba, of all people — Marik could stay in an empty office while he was in Japan, for free, as long as he was investigating into Kioru’s death. Mokuba had had a rough few months. With Seto in a coma (Marik suspected this was no ordinary coma, because of course it wasn’t, though Mokuba wouldn’t give anyone any details), Mokuba had been running KaibaCorp, which was either completely legal (unlikely), or KaibaCorp was powerful enough that no one could do anything about it. And the younger Kaiba brother had been doing a good job too, as far as Marik could tell — shareholders were happy, and the company continued to turn a formidable profit. But every time Marik had seen him in news stories and the like, Mokuba’s eyes seemed dull and tired. On the outside, he mostly looked like he was doing okay, like he was coping just fine, but Marik suspected that that wasn't necessarily the case. Mokuba has just a kid, doing his best to be brave, growing up far too quickly. Marik never thought he’d feel as though he had anything in common with a child billionaire, nevermind something that personal — the need to grow up too fast. For Mokuba’s sake, Marik hoped that Seto would be okay.

Boarding had been an ordeal and a half. This was his first time flying (every other time he’d gone to Japan he’d gone on a boat), and he had no idea what he was doing. He’d gotten up at around 1am in order to make sure he had plenty of time, then, once he’d arrived, he’d used the Rod to get a certain set of suspicious solid gold objects through security, and then spent a solid half hour trying to find the gate. He hadn’t thought that the airport would be particularly straightforward to navigate, but he also hadn’t expected a complete rabbit warren.

Once he’d found the gate (two newsagents and three new books later), everything had been much smoother. He’d pulled out the book that he’d been particularly keen to dig into; a collection of Norse myths, with one of those dust jackets that felt soft and clay-like at the same time. He was good with Egyptian mythology, but pretty rusty on everything else — it was something he’d been meaning to get to for a while.

Now, having boarded, he leaned his head against the side of the plane, staring out the window. Both of the seats next to him were empty, so he’d taken the window seat, and was willing to brainwash people in order to keep it, if necessary. Anxiety churned in his stomach, but he forced himself to push it down. Everything will be fine. Most planes don’t crash. This is okay.

He’d spent the rest of his time since deciding to go to Japan thinking, running potential Millennium Item users through his mind, trying to dissect how Tadako’s death — how his murder — could have happened. A dozen different scenarios had run through his mind. Some of them involved Pegasus. Some of them involved the Pharaoh. Some of them involved the more corrupted version of Bakura. But all of his half-baked theories fell apart if he thought about them for too long. At the end of the day, Marik had the items. No one had entered the tombs.

Nothing made sense.

He was pulled from his thoughts as the overhead speakers crackled, an announcement coming through. “Ladies and Gentlemen, if we could have your attention for a few minutes for the safety demonstration.”

Marik sat up straighter, peering over the seats in front of him as a flight attendant appeared in the middle of the aisle, her dark hair in a neat bun. As the plane’s engines began to hum, the pre-recorded announcement continued, while the flight attendant prepared for the demonstration. “Every aircraft is different, so we recommend that you listen carefully to the following instructions. Today, you’re flying on a Boeing 737.”

Most of the other passengers paid the announcement over loudspeaker little to no mind — some even looked bored, or exasperated. Marik glanced between them, bewildered, feeling that the whole thing sounded pretty serious. Even if they’ve flown before, it literally just said every aircraft was different? What if we crash and they don’t know what to do?

The announcement went on — the flight attendant seemed to pull a black strap out of nowhere, holding it up in the air, taut: “Before takeoff, please fasten your seatbelt by inserting clasp into the buckle, and then pulling the strap. You can undo seatbelt by lifting the flap. Please keep your seatbelt done up during take-off, landing, and whenever the seatbelt sign is on. We also recommend that you keep your seatbelt fastened whenever seated in case of turbulence or weather conditions.”

Marik sat up straight, leaning forward slightly, doing his best to take in all of this new information. He’d done his seatbelt already (it was fairly intuitive), but he hadn’t noticed the glowing seatbelt sign above him, which seemed pretty important. He swallowed, hoping he hadn’t missed anything else.

“If the air pressure inside the cabin changes, oxygen masks will drop from above you. Pull down firmly to activate the flow of oxygen. Put it over your mouth as quickly as possible, and then tighten the strap. Oxygen will flow without the bag inflating. Be sure to fit your own mask before helping others.”

Marik clenched his jaw. Slow down! How is this possible for anyone to remember?!

“You should also be sure to note that there is a lifejacket under your seat, or inside your armrest if you’re flying first class. Remove the lifejacket from the pouch by pulling the tag. Put the lifejacket over your head, pass the strap around your waist, clip at the front, and then tighten. On the lifejacket, you will find a red tag and a mouthpiece for inflation, as well as a light, and a whistle for attracting attention. Please do not inflate your lifejacket until you have left the aircraft.”

The engine began to hum softly. A higher-pitched whirring could be heard, presumably coming from propellors in the wings. His heart was thudding hard in his chest, but he forced himself to focus on the safety demonstration as the automated voice ploughed on:

“You should also be familiar with the brace position. Lean forwards, folding your arms on the back of the seat in front of you, and rest your head on your forearm, or, if you cannot reach the seat in front of you, lean forwards and hold your legs, tucking your chin to your chest.”

Marik glanced around him. I…are we supposed to practise? I feel like this is an important thing to get right but no one else is doing it…I guess we’ll just die?

“Be sure to know where your nearest exit is. This plane has eight exits, which the cabin crew will now point out to you. Remember that your nearest exit may be behind you. In the unlikely event that we need to leave the aircraft, the floor will be illuminated with lights directing you towards the exits.”

Damn right I’m going to know where the exits are. Even if no one else does. Holy Ra, if this plane crashes I’m going to be the only survivor…

“In the unlikely event of an emergency, the crew will operate escape slides and life rafts. If we do need to evacuate, please leave everything that you have brought onto the aircraft behind.”

Wait but this phone cost a fortune—

“It is a federal offence to smoke on this aircraft, including smoking e-cigarettes. This aircraft is fitted with smoke detectors, including in the bathrooms.”

Then the plane started to move. Something jolted in Marik’s stomach, but it wasn’t fear — it was excitement. Unable to help himself, he leaned forwards and looked out the window as the aircraft gilded along the runway, leaving the gate behind. He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. Oh my god we’re actually going to take off I’m going to be flying in the actual sky-

“We are now about to take off. Please ensure that your bags are either stowed in the overhead lockers, or under the seat in front of you, and be sure to turn all electronic devices to flight mode. Make sure that your seat is upright and your tray table is stowed. Thank you for flying with Egyptian Airlines, and we hope you have a safe and enjoyable flight.

Marik checked his seat was in the right position, smiling at the flight attendant as she disappeared down the aisle, heading towards the very back of the plane. He reached for the packet of toffee he’d bought in the newsagent earlier — Ryou had warned him that his ears might pop, but chewing something was supposed to help. His heart pounded as he unwrapped it, the plane rounding a corner. He pressed his head against the side of the plane, trying to look ahead. The runway stretched out in front of them, and Marik held his breath, his eyes widening.

Horus above we’re getting off the fucking ground—

Then the engine roared to life. A rush of adrenaline surged through his veins, and he suddenly felt lighter. The plane sped up, and he felt him being pushed back against the seat. Despite the layers of insulation on the plane’s hull, the sounds the engines, and the tiny wheels flying across the tarmac (he assumed that was what runways were made of), were almost deafening. It was almost like white noise, but the volume was turned up too high and he couldn’t find the volume button and turn it down again. He gritted his teeth — a lifetime of living underground had made him unaccustomed to loud noises. But despite that, his excitement far outweighed his discomfort. His eyes glowed as their surroundings rushed past, anticipation building in his chest.

Then they left the ground.

Marik felt shivers all over his arms and back as the plane began to lift. The noise became less intense, and the wheels finally left the ground, being pulled back into the plane’s hull with a gentle whirr. He leaned forward, staring out the window, spellbound as the airport got smaller and smaller. The plane turned, the left wing tilting towards the ground, and Marik gasped as the city opened out beneath them, almost pressing his face against the window. A sea of golden lights glittered against a dark, blue-tinted sky, forming an intricate network of streets and highways. The Nile split the city in two, a dark void breaking up the lights of the city, smoky light dancing on it’s surface. Cairo was bigger than he could have ever imagined, yet smaller with every passing second. It was beautiful.

He suppressed a sound of protest as the plane tilted the other way, the lights disappearing from view. He tried to look out of the windows on the other side of the plane, but the person on the opposite aisle seat was blocking his view. Disappointed, he sat back in his seat, trying to memorise what he’d seen, to savour this feeling of wonder.

He’d had a lot of firsts since he’d emerged from the tombs. This was by far his favourite — his first time on a plane.

His anxiety had completely vanished, replaced by a sense of freedom. Never before had he felt this far from the tombs which had been his prison for so long. They were underground, below the earth. He was high above them.

Night turned to dawn, and dawn turned to day, more quickly than he’d expected. He remembered from being on ships that sailors had to adjust their clocks for the changing time zone as they navigated the ocean, but it wasn’t nearly as disorienting as this. Marik was used to using the sky to tell the time, so to him, time seemed to accelerate as they flew East, into the sunrise. The computers showed the time in Cairo and the time in Osaka, but not the time that it technically was at that moment, which was even more disconcerting, because Marik could sort of tell, and neither of the times on the display matched.

Finally, he reached for his phone, and put in his headphones, unable to help staring at the clouds carpet of clouds outside his window in awe. They were the fluffier, softer, and whiter than he could have possibly imagined, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever see them again like this. He took a few photos, but his phone couldn’t come close to capturing the real thing. He wanted to drink it in as thoroughly as he could, hoping he never forgot what they looked like.

Marik wasn’t sure how much time passed before he felt a tap on his shoulder: “Hi, I’m sorry, but I think you’re sitting in my seat? 49A?”

Marik looked up suddenly, taking his headphones out of his ears — he looked up at the stranger, a tall young woman, with tanned skin, not unlike his own, as well as dark eyes, and long, thick, wavy black hair. She wore a black jumpsuit, the front of which was embroidered with a detailed lioness head. “I’m sorry?”

“You might have mixed up the seat numbers,” she repeated, looking neither annoyed nor apologetic. “49A is the window seat, not 49C.”

Marik blinked, then checked his ticket, which was tucked into his seat pocket. He already knew it said 49B, but the stranger didn’t need to know that. He feigned surprise, leaning forward to ‘move’ (see: grab the Rod from under his seat because the window seat was his and this person could deal with it). “Oh! Sorry, if you wanted me to move I’ll just—”

“No, it’s fine,” the stranger said smoothly, oozing confidence as she sat down in seat 49B, her movements fluid and graceful. “I don’t mind — I just thought I should let you know.”

Marik backtracked, surprised, sitting up again. “Oh, okay then.”

She smiled — arrogant, but not insincere, her eyes glinting. “What’s your name?”

Oh, so they were doing this. Conversation. He blinked. “Marik Ishtar.”

“Ishtar…” she mused, smiling again, as though she knew something he didn’t. “You can call me Astarte.”

Something about her response struck Marik as odd, but he couldn’t tell whether she was being cryptic or offering him a nickname. Both possibilities were unusual in this situation, but he didn’t think much of it. He smiled. “Hi.”

Her eyes glowed. “What are you doing in Osaka, then?”

He hesitated. Was talking to strangers on planes normal? He had no idea, but it was happening now. “I’m not going to Osaka, actually — as soon as the plane lands I’m catching a train to Domino City. It’s fairly small, you probably haven’t heard of it—”

“Oh, no, I’ve heard of Domino! That’s where Seto Kaiba hosts all of his Duel Monsters tournaments.”

“You know Kaiba?”

“I know of him,” she said, grinning with her eyes. “What are you doing there?”

Marik hesitated. “Have you heard about Kioru Tadako?”

The young woman’s eyes darkened. “Yes, I did. Are you going to Domino because of him?

“Mm. I’m curious about what happened to him,” he said carefully, his guard up, not divulging too much. The more he spoke to Astarte, the more he felt like he was staring into a fire — it was fascinating from a distance, but he was wary about getting too close. He didn’t have any good reason to trust her.

Astarte cocked her head to one side. “Did you know him?”

“No — I know other people who were involved, though.”

She smiled, almost sadly this time. “That’s right…”

Silence hung between them for a few moments. Marik narrowed his eyes, almost suspicious. What could she mean by that?

Before he could think about it for too long, Astarte spoke again: “So why are you investigating into Tadako’s death?”

Marik paused. “Because I don’t trust anyone else to do it properly.” The DCPB don’t know a thing about shadow games, and it should stay that way…

Astarte narrowed her eyes, her gaze becoming more intense, a kind of fire flaring in her dark eyes. “But why does it matter?”

Marik swallowed, suddenly feeling compelled to be perfectly truthful. The words came out of his mouth before he had a chance to think them through: “Tadako was innocent. He shouldn’t have died. If no one finds out the truth as to why, it…it just wouldn’t be right.”

Astarte considered this for a few moments, and then smiled — cocky, but not disingenuous. “Good talk, Ishtar,” she said, grinning to herself as though she’d made some kind of joke that Marik wasn’t in on, standing up and walking back down the aisle, leaving Marik staring after her, stunned.

It suddenly occurred to Marik that he hadn’t noticed her on the plane during take-off. And he’d never described his interest in Tadako’s death as an ‘investigation’.

Marik arrived in Domino City at 4:00pm the next day, less jet-lagged than he expected. He only had a small bag of luggage — he’d taken it all on the plane with him, in the overhead locker. A little weary, but still fairly alert, he strode into the lobby of KaibaCorp’s tower in the center of the city.

Fitting, since KaibaCorp is so central to how the city runs…

He was greeted by a young boy in a white suit, with a wild mass of black hair and holy shit that was Mokuba. Marik hardly recognised him. He felt a pang of sadness for the preteen (not just because he was a preteen, though that was also cause for pity), wondering whether the change in wardrobe was a part of him assuming his new responsibilities, with Seto out of action.

Mokuba didn’t offer him a handshake. Probably because the last time they’d seen each other, Marik hadn’t been the nicest person. Ryou must be more convincing than I give him credit for, if he persuaded Mokuba, he thought.

Marik finally broke the awkward, almost stony silence which had settled between them, clearing his throat. “Hey.”

Mokuba hesitated, eyeing him warily. “Just so you know, I don’t trust you, and I don’t like this whole situation. If you cause any damage while you’re here, that’ll be a personal cost for you to deal with.”

Marik smiled gently. I guess he’s filling Kaiba’s role in more ways than one… “Got it. No breaking anything. Look, I know-”

“Your room’s on level four. And Marik-” he broke off, looking Marik dead in the eye, though his gaze was bright with humour. “If I become some kind of hostage because of all of this, I’m blaming you.”

Marik grinned. “Understood.”

Accompanied by two security guards who were far more intimidating than what should be allowed, even when Marik had the Rod in his hand, they caught the elevator up to the fourth floor. Mokuba led the way down the corridor, towards room 414. He unlocked it, and then tossed Marik a key. “This one’s yours.”

Marik nodded, moving past Mokuba, pushing open the door, revealing a simple office. The room was well lit, and there was a simple wooden desk and a wheelie chair in the centre, with a state-of-the-art desktop computer sitting on it, a myriad of chords plugging into a powerboard underneath. One wall was lined with empty bookshelves and filing cabinets, and alongside the other was a mattress, made up with blankets, as well as a large cupboard. Some kind of palm plant sat near the large window, and there was a stool in the corner.

Marik smiled. It was completely unlike the tombs. “It’s perfect.”

Mokuba tried not to look too pleased with himself. “Good. There’s a bathroom at the end of the hall.”

“Great.”

As Marik pulled his suitcase inside, Mokuba moved back towards the doorway. Marik swallowed. “Hey, by the way…”

“Hm?” The raven-haired CEO-stand-in glanced over his shoulder.

Marik hesitated. “Why are you helping me?”

Mokuba turned away, breaking Marik’s gaze — Marik caught a flash of pain in Mokuba’s eyes before they disappeared from sight. He was silent for a few moments. Then he spoke, his voice heavy:

“Kioru Tadako was an older brother too.”

Chapter Text

The next morning, Marik woke up more exhausted than when he’d gone to sleep. Soft dawn light crept through the cracks in the blinds, rendering his nightlight redundant. Shaped like some kind of bird of prey, which Marik had always thought of as a falcon, it sat a few feet away from him, giving off a warm, comforting glow. He always became a little embarrassed when other people learned that he used a nightlight. But then, if they’d been through what he’d been through, they wouldn’t like sleeping in the dark either.

He stood up, opening the blinds. His room wasn’t very high up, but he still felt lighter somehow — the feeling of freedom from when he was on the plane lingered whenever he was close to the sky. Moreover, the view, while not as spectacular as it had been from the plane, wasn’t bad. The silver towers surrounding KaibaCorp’s headquarters shone in the golden morning light, and he could see the waterfront through the gaps between them. He gazed distractedly outside for a few moments more, leaning forwards, resting his hands on the windowsill, still feeling a bit spaced out. His surroundings had become so different so suddenly. In a good way, for sure, but still.

Marik yawned, stretching his arms above his head, feeling a few different things crack. Although he felt tired and disoriented, he didn’t feel as awful as he felt he probably should’ve after the long plane trip. His sleep schedule had always been irregular, especially in the tombs, where the sun was functionally absent, the distinction between day and night almost irrelevant. Down there, there was no guarantee that the sun would rise when it was supposed to.

Finally, with some fresh clothes, brushed hair, eyeliner sharp enough to stab someone with, and more than a few questions about how Mokuba thought he was supposed to shower, he headed out the door, all seven Millennium Items securely in his backpack. He still wasn’t sure about leaving them in his room — he didn’t know how many people would be able to unlock his door.

Ryou had invited him to a café called The Black Fawn, in the city center, so that they could catch up. According to Ryou, the café made the best herbal tea in Domino, even if it was a little pricey. Yugi was planning on coming too — it’d been a while since either of them had seen the other, and, of course, Marik had a few things to ask about Kioru, if Yugi was feeling up to it. But he would understand if Yugi didn’t want to talk about it yet.

Ryou had sent him directions earlier that morning, at around three am, which was worrying, but unsurprising. The Black Fawn was only half a dozen blocks away, so Marik had decided to walk, setting off at around quarter past nine. A thin blanket of snow had settled on the ground overnight — Marik had rugged up as much as he could, zipping up his parka, winding his scarf, a gift from Ishizu, around his nose and ears. He was still cold though, used to the scorching Egyptian sun. Although it had only been a few minutes, his fingers felt numb, his ears and nose felt almost painful, and he couldn’t feel his feet at all. He was going to have to find thicker socks. And a beanie. And gloves. And maybe even hand warmers.

The streets were busier than Marik remembered — he supposed it was close to peak hour, in the middle of the city, but it was surprising nonetheless. Important looking people in suits and pencil skirts surrounded him, rushing to work, coffee in one hand, phone in the other. Taxis lined the curb, each one disappearing as quickly as they’d appeared, ferrying people across the city. A few duelists were hanging around too, their duel disks strapped securely to their right arms, a silent challenge to anyone else who passed them. Marik took it all in, wide-eyed. He had a feeling he’d walked down this street before, but he couldn’t place when or why — everything was strangely familiar, yet completely foreign at the same time.

Ryou was leaning against wall outside the café when Marik approached, a warm coat zipped up to his chin. He smiled softly when he spotted the duelist, his eyes tired, but warm. “Hey, Marik,” he said quietly, understated as ever.

Marik felt something inside him light up when he saw his friend, despite the circumstances. He even felt himself cracking a smile. “Hey!”

He drew his freezing hands out of his pocket, pulling them back into his sleeves to protect them from the cold, outstretching his arms to offer Ryou a hug. Ryou smiled, allowing Marik to give him a quick squeeze, pulling away first, brushing his long white hair out of his eyes. “I hope finding this place wasn’t too hard. I wondered earlier if we should have gone someplace you already knew.”

Marik shook his head. "Everything I knew in Domino City's probably different now anyway. It's been a while."

“Yeah. I suppose a lot must have changed since you were here last."

“Yeah."

A heavy silence fell between them. They had so much to talk about, but Marik had no idea where to start. He swallowed, searching for something, anything to say. “I, uh... I guess with everything that’s been going on… are you holding up okay?”

Ryou blinked, and then gave him a wry smile. “I’ve seen worse. We both have.”

Marik sighed. "Yes, but are you okay?"

The snowy-haired teen rolled his eyes, almost reminding him of the other Bakura, although Ryou would be horrified if Marik said so. "Of course I am. Come on, let's go in."

Ryou led him inside, where, to Marik’s relief, it was much warmer. The tables and chairs were made of smooth, hard wood, circular lights hung overhead, and leafy green plants filled every corner and crevice. Light pop music played in the background, accompanied by the expected background noise — the clinking of glasses, the hissing of a coffee machine, and the quiet murmur of customers. Marik adjusted his backpack on his shoulders, taking in the new scents and sounds.

Ryou glanced back at him. “Did you want a coffee? Ridiculously strong, and with blasphemous amounts of cream and sugar?”

Marik grinned. “It's not blasphemy if we're not offending any gods.”

Ryou rolled his eyes, and headed up to the counter. "Alright, alright, but you're paying for it.”

Marik nodded, and picked a table near the window, which had mostly fogged up, what with all the snow outside. He yawned, resting his chin on his hand, staring through the glass at the shadowy shapes outside, only now realising how out of it he was. His limbs felt heavy, and he felt more than ready to place his head on the table and fall asleep then and there. Okay, so maybe I’m a little jet-lagged...

“Hey, Earth to Marik…”

Marik sat up suddenly as he heard Ryou behind him, whipping his head around. “Oh, hi…”

Ryou smiled softly. “Tired?”

“A little…”

Ryou nodded, shedding his jacket, sitting opposite the blonde duelist. “Was your trip okay?”

Marik straightened slightly, eyes lighting up. “Yeah, it was good! It was my first time on a plane, and the view was amazing!”

“You think you like flying, then?” He said, faintly amused.

“God, absolutely—”

He broke off, both of them looking around as the bell on the door tinkled. Yugi’s hair poked through the door, followed by the rest of him as he scanned the room for his friends, giving them a small smile and a little wave. He turned to close the door as quickly as he could, not wanting to let any more cold air in, his blonde bangs almost floating, tousled by the breeze outside. He approached their table, unwrapping his scarf from around his neck. The closer he got, the more Marik realised something was off about him — usually, he radiated friendliness, and had a quiet determination about him, but instead, everything about him seemed tired and dull. It was impossible to miss the dark bags under his eyes, nor his more-unkempt-than-usual hair, nor the way his shoulders were slightly hunched, making him seem even smaller. As he sat down, he smiled weakly at Marik, but it wasn’t his usual smile — even the smile he gave to strangers would usually reach his eyes. “Hey, Ryou-kun. Marik-kun.”

Marik felt something inside of him swell. He liked the ‘kun’ bit. “Hey. How’ve you—” He broke off, realising that Yugi obviously hadn't been great recently, rushing to fix his mistake. “Are you doing okay?”

“I mean…” he trailed off. “No. Someone's dead, and I feel like shit. But I could feel shittier, I guess.”

Marik swallowed. If that was the most positive spin Yugi Mutou could put on this situation, then it really was shit. “Yeah. Yeah, I get that."

Ryou made a quiet noise of agreement. "Same, but maybe we should talk about literally anything other than this until our drinks come?"

Yugi blinked at him in surprise, looking almost indignant. "Isn't that what Marik came here fore?"

"Yes, it is. But you could use a bit of distraction from everything." He placed a hand on Yugi's shoulder, eyes dark with worry. "You look like you've been through hell and back."

"But—"

"Yugi, you will take care of yourself, and we will talk about something else right now. Take your mind of everything, just for ten minutes."

The duelist smiled grimly. "Okay, fine. Thanks, Ryou."

“Why don't we catch Marik up on what everyone else is doing?”

“Yeah, okay...” He glanced at Marik, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. "As long as that's okay with you?"

Marik nodded, smiling, glad Ryou was taking care of Yugi — he sure as hell didn't know how to. "Yeah, of course."

He sat back in his chair, listening silently, letting Yugi and Ryou carry the conversation, running through what their friends had been doing as they waited for their drinks arrived. Although he still felt exhausted, to his credit, he paid full attention to what was happening at least 30% of the time. It wasn't that he didn't care that Anzu was visiting from America, where she was studying music theatre, it was that he didn't care about the little details, like who her roommate was, or how long her semesters were, but if it was good for Yugi to talk about it, (which Ryou seemed to think it was,) he could pretend to be interested. The conversation drifted from Anzu, to Honda, to Jonouchi, and eventually to Yugi himself — he was designing some kind of new game, which merged traditional trading cards with something like DnD, as far as Marik could tell. At least, Ryou was enthusiastic about it.

“I might even get a deal with KaibaCorp,” Yugi was saying, smiling slightly — a genuine one. “Imagine, working with the biggest gaming company in Japan...”

Ryou laughed, imitating Yugi. “Imagine, Kaiba swallowing his pride and actually working together with you...”

“Hey, that’s not fair — he and I duelled side by side last year," he said, giving Ryou a good-natured poke.

Ryou just grinned mischievously. “Wasn’t conscious, didn’t happen.”

“Ryou, that accounts for like, seventy percent of everything that’s happened for the past few years,” the duelist countered, laughing slightly.

Marik couldn’t help but feel as though he was missing something, but he remained silent. The coffee arrived — he took a long sip, feeling his mind begin to buzz as he took in the desperately-needed caffeine and sugar.

The duo’s laughs died away, and Yugi became more serious again. "Drinks are here, can we talk about Kioru now?"

Ryou nodded. "As long as you feel up to it."

The duelist swallowed. "I’m...fine. I feel a lot better, actually. But I hardly know what you mean to do, Marik," he said, glancing at him. "Why are you here?"

Marik hesitated. "I— I wanted to try and work out why Kioru— why that happened, two days ago. I mean, it's got to be shadow magic, hasn't it? So I probably stand some chance of working it all out."

Yugi frowned. "I mean, sure, but it's not your responsibility, you really don’t need to take this on—”

Marik shook his head. “It’s okay. I don’t know why, but I just…I feel like I do. I feel like someone needs to work out what’s going on, and no one else is really trying, so it’s been left up to me.”

Yugi paused, tilting his head slightly. “I guess you’d do a better job than the police. Do you have anything so far?”

“I mean, I don’t know much. I only know that Kioru…collapsed, when his life points hit zero, and that I had all of the Millennium Items at the time. But even so, I just...I can’t see how the Millennium Items could’ve not been involved,” he said, putting his mug down on the table. “Like, it doesn’t make sense, but everything being caused by a shadow game makes more sense than it being pure coincidence. It must’ve been a shadow game. I don’t see how either you or Kioru could have started one, without any of the Items. But there’s just— there isn’t another explanation, is there?”

Yugi's eyes narrowed. “Wait. You said you had all of the Millennium Items?”

“Yeah. Someone had excavated them all, back in Egypt, but they weren’t very safe where they were. I figured I know better than anyone how to look after them.”

Yugi didn’t quite look as if he believed him. He leaned forward, his wide-eyed gaze probing Marik. “But, all of them?”

“Including the Puzzle and the Ring?” Ryou added.

Marik blinked, wondering what was so odd about him having those two in particular. Of all the things that don’t quite add up about this whole situation… “Yeah, look, I’ll show you.”

He leaned over, reaching under his chair for his backpack, pulling out the Rod, then the Puzzle, then the Ring. Yugi shifted his chair slightly, blocking the view of any onlookers, and then reached for the Puzzle, carefully taking it in both hands, holding it close to his face, inspecting it. He smiled softly. “Yeah, that’s it. But who assembled it?”

Marik frowned. He hadn’t thought of that. “That’s how I found it. Either someone at the museum had a computer do it, or it was found like that, I guess.”

Yugi nodded, continuing to examine at the Puzzle thoughtfully. Ryou’s eyes had locked onto the Ring, his gaze unreadable. Marik took the Rod off the table, twirling it between his fingers. “So, why is it so odd to you both that I should have these?”

Ryou and Yugi exchanged a glance. Then Ryou said to Marik: “Did anyone catch you up on what happened back when Kaiba was releasing the new duel disk?”

“Ryou, if you didn’t do it, assume no one has.”

Ryou sighed. “Well, long story short, this guy called Diva, an old disciple of Shadi, had an eighth Millennium Item, the Dimension Cube—”

“Wait, eighth Millennium Item?” Marik echoed disbelievingly. I like to think I’d know about something like that already.

Ryou nodded. “Mm. Maybe it was created after the others, with the same Millennium Spellbook? We’re not sure. Whatever it was, Diva used it to try and destroy the human race as we know it, in order to create a more ‘perfect world’ or something—”

Marik stared at Ryou, stunned. How the fuck did I not know about humanity almost getting destroyed—

“—and also Kaiba was trying to excavate the Puzzle himself and bring back Atem at the same time. The end result was Atem reappearing and helping Yugi to stop Diva, only to disappear again, taking the Puzzle with him.”

“The Millennium Ring also got mixed up in everything, somehow,” Yugi added. “Diva got possessed by it before Kaiba and I fought him together. We thought it had been lost too.”

Marik blinked, his mind buzzing with questions. “Where’s this eighth Millennium Item now?”

“Kaiba ended up with it. Mokuba says that it’s safe, and that it certainly wasn’t touched before…” Yugi trailed off, his eyes darkening.

“Before Kioru,” Ryou said quietly, clarifying for Marik, casting Yugi a worried glance.

Marik nodded solemnly, still processing this new information. “Let me get this straight: you both thought that the Puzzle was in the afterlife with Atem, and the Ring had been destroyed?”

Yugi sighed. “Yup.”

Why would they reappear again?

Ryou continued to stare at the Ring. Marik had a feeling he didn’t even have to touch it to know that it wasn’t a fake — he’d noticed that Ryou had a strange kind of intuition surrounding the supernatural, and he was certain the Millennium Items weren’t exempt from that. Yugi glanced at Ryou. “Are you okay? You’ve been looking at that thing for a while.”

“You’ve been staring at the Puzzle,” Ryou retorted.

“Sure, but not as if it might bite my head off.”

Ryou smiled wryly. “I’ve just been working out whether it has a spirit in it. It doesn’t.”

Yugi blinked at him, but didn’t question this.

Marik suddenly stopped spinning the Rod, narrowing his eyes. “It doesn’t make any sense. Why would they appear again?”

“That was exactly what we were wondering,” Yugi said, handing the Puzzle back to Marik, his eyes a little wistful. “Maybe it’s relevant to…y’know.”

Marik grimaced. “I’m sure it is. How was your talk with the police?”

Yugi glanced down at the table, looking worried. “I don’t know. I talked to a junior investigator, Officer Tadeka, who was onto the fact that Kioru’s passing coinciding with the duel ending wasn’t just chance. I don’t think they’re going to leave all of this alone.”

Marik nodded. “But as long as they don’t know about the shadow games, everything will be fine, right?”

“Mm. I’m just concerned that Tadeka seemed willing to do a fair bit of digging,” Yugi replied, leaning back in his chair. “God knows, there are plenty of things he could uncover that weren’t supposed to be found. Things that could get all three of us into trouble.”

Marik swallowed, not meeting Yugi’s eyes, staring into his coffee. “Yeah.”

There was a long pause. Ryou also looked more than a little nervous.

Yugi broke the silence, which was becoming more than a little awkward: “Just so you know, Atem set a guy on fire once. A few guys, actually. So, um, I get it a little bit too.”

Ryou and Marik exchanged a glance. No, you don’t.

 Within an hour, Yugi had to leave. Marik offered to pay the tab, doing so through a little harmless brainwashing — that was how he’d gotten by when he first left the tombs, and not being able to do so in the past year had been more than a little problematic, but he’d managed, with a lot of help from Ishizu and Rishid. He didn’t tell Yugi and Ryou what he’d done though — they definitely wouldn’t have approved.

He pushed his hands deep into his pockets once he got outside, a gust of freezing wind blustering into him, blowing his hair front of his eyes. He shook it aside, and paced slowly down the chilly streets — it had started to snow again, large, fluffy flakes of it gently drifting to the ground. He smiled. He didn’t get the opportunity to see snow very often. It was pretty enough that he was willing to put up with the fact that his fingers would almost certainly lose all feeling in the next few minutes.

Still, Marik shivered as the cold wind seemed to cut through him. The footsteps of everyone around him crunched almost unnaturally loudly in the snow. The crowd was marginally thinner, but the streets were still buzzing with activity — cars sped down the main road, people wearing expensive-looking coats carried shopping bags as they continued to gaze into store windows, and the jarring, grating sounds of construction work could be heard a block away. Countless people passed him, not noticing him, not noticing each other. Nothing was particularly out of the ordinary, but the more he looked around, for some reason, Marik couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

Swallowing nervously, he continued on his way, back to the KaibaCorp building, so that he could lie down, and figure out what he was supposed to do with the rest of his day. Still, he felt on edge, and though he couldn’t think why, the feeling only grew. He quickened his pace, trying to push it back. You’re being ridiculous Marik. Why would—

Then, as he approached a corner, he felt someone’s gaze boring into him.

He stopped, turning in a slow, careful circle, scanning his surroundings, fists clenching automatically, the hair on the back of his neck rising. He knew not to ignore this feeling. And he especially wasn’t going to ignore it considering the events of the past two days. He gingerly removed his backpack and pulled out the Millennium Ring, holding it out in front of him. Where’s the person who’s watching me.

The Ring’s prongs twitched, then the one in the centre stuck outwards, pointing a bit to the right, down a dark alley.

Marik glowered at it, as though it was somehow the Ring’s fault that he was supposed to be heading down such an ominous alleyway, most likely devoid of anyone else. Great.

Marik turned in that direction, and the point of the prong stayed in place, as though the Ring was a compass, and whoever was watching Marik was north. Cautiously, ready to swap the Ring for the Rod at a moment’s notice, Marik slunk down the side street, his heart hammering against his ribcage. He called out, his voice steadier than he expected. “Hello?”

“Hey, asshole.”

Marik jumped, gripping the ring tighter, his eyes widening. His heart leapt to his throat, and his hands were shaking. Oh boy. I know that voice. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

He glanced quickly around, not seeing anyone. Then: “…Bakura?”

“You don’t have to sound so disappointed.”

Marik took a half-step back, confused, and more a little scared. Three thoughts, three questions, dominated his thoughts: what the fuck, how the fuck, and why the fuck. A wave of emotion assaulted him all at once, shaking to his core — shock, denial, distress, uneasiness, and somewhere deep down, joy. He tried to pretend that last one wasn’t there. He tried to convince himself that more than anything, he felt irritated. Irritated that Bakura, who should’ve been dead, had the nerve to show up now and make him feel all conflicted like this. Bakura, who was an old friend, but one that Marik wasn’t sure he could trust anymore. He glanced over his shoulder, searching for the source of the voice. “Bakura, where the hell are you?”

“Stop looking around so much and focus on the wall in front of you.”

Marik blinked, taking another step backwards, staring at the empty space. Sure enough, when he concentrated on the one spot, Bakura slowly materialised — first his white hair, then his striped shirt, moving slowly downward, although his feet never became fully visible. He looked more ghost than human, his spectral form flickering and wavering. There were bags under his eyes, his hair was disarranged and dishevelled, and his face looked slightly off colour. Marik stared at him, doing everything he could to pretend the urge to celebrate Bakura’s return wasn’t there. “You look like a mess.”

Bakura glowered back at him. “I think we’ve both got bigger problems than that.”

Marik nodded, eyeing Bakura warily, his mind racing. Even without the context of Kioru’s death, Bakura’s sudden reappearance was nothing if not suspicious. Hesitating, Marik grabbed the Millennium Rod out from the top of his backpack, pulling the sheath off the blade, letting its deadly tip show, glinting in the darkness, a silent threat. “You’re definitely going to have a problem or two if you don’t explain why you’re here.”

Bakura eyed the Rod. “Geez, you are still an asshole, aren’t you?”

“Maybe, but right now, that’s your problem, not mine.”

“Oh yeah? And why’s that?”

Marik glared at him, swallowing. “Because someone’s just died playing a card game, and if you’re here, it could’ve been your fault.”

Bakura stared at Marik for a moment, then looked away huffily. “If you were going to interrogate me, save it. You’d be wasting your time. I had nothing to do with Kioru’s death.”

“Prove it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m innocent until proven guilty, thank you very much—”

“‘Kura, you were never innocent.”

Bakura scowled at him. “Fuck off, and take just two seconds to think. Why the hell would I want anything with Kioru?”

Marik narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t. But maybe you’d’ve wanted to kill Yugi. Maybe you missed your target.”

Bakura looked exasperated now. “Are you stupid? It’s the Pharaoh I have a score to settle with. I don’t like Yugi, nor any of his friends, but I never wanted to kill them. They’re expendable, but not worth chasing after.”

Marik paused, considering this. He trusted Bakura about as far as he could throw him — which wasn’t very far, considering he didn’t appear to have a physical form. But he couldn’t deny that he was making a fair bit of sense. Nor could he deny the fact that he wanted to believe him. He bit his lip. “Alright. Let’s say I believe you. What’s going on with— with this,” he said, gesturing at Bakura’s ghost-like form.

Bakura’s gaze dropped. He pulled his right arm across his stomach, almost looking vulnerable. “I don’t really know. I don’t have a body — I think I’m just a spirit now. A fragment of a soul. I’ve only been back, if this even counts, for a few weeks. I’d love to know what’s going on here just as much as you would.”

Marik blinked, pushing back a pang of sympathy. Don’t feel sorry for him, damnit. You can’t trust him. “You don’t know why you’re here?”

Bakura shook his head. “No. I’ve been dead for months.” He lifted his gaze, staring at Marik. “Which is why I want to help you.”

Marik instinctively gripped the Rod more tightly, his eyebrows shooting upwards. “I’m sorry?”

Bakura gave him a long, careful look. “I’m powerless like this, Marik. My soul doesn’t rest in the Ring anymore, and without a physical form, I can’t do a whole lot except for lurking, spying, and watching. People generally can’t see me unless I show myself to them, and even then, it can be a struggle. I don’t like this any more than you do, and I want to know why I’m here more than anything. You’re right — Kioru’s death and my reappearance can’t have been a coincidence. I haven’t managed to work out what the connection is — I’ve been spending the past few days hanging around the site of the duel, and listening in on other people’s conversations. I’ve been trying to work out what happened with Kioru, and why I’m here, but…” he trailed off, taking in a deep breath, looking deeply uncomfortable. “I don’t think I can do it on my own.”

Marik bit his lip, considering this, his eyes widening. That was a big admission for Bakura to make. The breeze picked up a little, stirring his hair, snow swirling around them. Hope and apprehension swelled in his chest, simultaneously. “You want to work together? As partners?”

Bakura looked resigned, more than a little irked, and more defenceless than he would’ve wanted to. “If you must phrase it like that.”

Marik stared at him, hoping he looked more impartial than he felt. He hadn’t dared admit it to himself, but he’d missed Bakura. Not necessarily for who he was, (see: a homicidal sadist), but because of the role that he’d played — Bakura had been his first friend. The spirit had probably never thought of him like that, but when they’d been working together, Marik had felt a little less alone. The blonde-haired duelist stared at the ground. “The last time we were a team, I was a very different person,” he said quietly. “I’m not chasing vengeance this time. I’m just chasing answers.” I’m trying to do something good. I don’t know if you fit in with that.

Bakura narrowed his eyes. Although he left his rejection of his old ways unsaid, Bakura seemed to pick up on it regardless. “Figures. You were always soft. But if it’s answers you’re after as well, then I’ll put up with it — I tolerated you then, I’ll tolerate you now.”

Marik smiled sheepishly at him. “You are desperate.”

Bakura sighed almost aggressively, looking pained. “Yeah, I am.”

Marik continued to eye the spirit. Bakura seemed as sincere as he ever was. Marik knew Bakura was good at acting, good at lying, but deep down, Marik wanted this. He wanted to trust the spirit. Bakura had been there for Marik when no one else was — they’d both risked everything together. He was a dick, for sure, but they had a little bit more in common than just a goal.

Marik eyed him for a moment more, before finally outstretching his hand. “Alright. We’ll give this a shot.”

Bakura smiled, and took it.

His hand felt cold.

Chapter Text

It only took half a day for Marik and Bakura fall into a comfortable, familiar rhythm.

“Bakura, what the fuck have you done with my hairbrush?!”

“What the-?! Bloody hell Marik, I haven’t done anything with your hairbrush!”

“Then who moved it?! Because I swear to the Gods, I left it on top of that filing cabinet yesterday—”

“Why would you put your hairbrush on top of a filing cabinet—“

“Fuck off, I’ll do what I like with my hairbrush—”

“But of all places—”

“The only reason you should be concerned is it’s not there anymore, and you’re the only logical culprit!”

Marik ran his hand through his thick, scruffy blonde hair — slightly scruffier than usual, in the absence of his hairbrush. He was standing in the centre of the room, hands on his hips, shooting the spirit a dirty look. He’d scanned the whole room multiple times, which left only one possibility: Bakura had done something with it. “Do you think this is funny?”

Bakura stared at him, already 110% done with this conversation. “Marik, I don’t have a physical body, how the fuck could I have moved it—“

“Bakura, that’s bullshit,” Marik said, glaring daggers at him, folding his arms across his chest. “You were making Mokuba’s door swing open and shut last night and I had to try and explain it at 4am—”

“You can’t prove that was me! It could’ve been the wind!”

“Oh, and the Duel Monsters decks shuffling themselves was the wind too, was it?!”

Bakura leaned back against the desk, smirking, his hands held up in mock-surrender. “Oh, come on. It was funny.”

Marik felt a prick of irritation as the corner of his lip flicked upwards — he turned his face away from Bakura to hide it. His eyes fell on a tray of papers sitting on top of the work desk. He glowered at it, as though the inanimate object was to blame for all of this.“Fuck it, fine, it was funny, but do you want to get me kicked out!?”

“Marik, calm down, I was just messing around—”

“Just like you were with the hairbrush!”

“Oh, fuck off about that already—”

Marik turned around, glaring at Bakura so intensely that the spirit visibly flinched. “I’ll fuck off when you tell me where you’ve put it! Since it isn’t where I left it, and no one else could’ve come in, you’re the only other person who has access to it. You’re the only one who’s had the means, and the opportunity.”

Bakura swallowed, and raised an eyebrow at him. “Alright then, what’s my motive?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe you’d want to use it? After all, your hair is such a mess that—”

“Marik, if my hair is still a mess, then I haven’t used it, have I?!” the spirit snapped.

Marik opened his mouth, and then shut it again. “Touché. But you’re still a petty piece of shit, and that makes for a motive that’s equally viable.”

Bakura sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Marik, we’re working together . I can be petty, certainly, but not towards someone that I…someone that I’m tolerating because we have the same end goal. That would be counter-productive.”

“Oh, so you’re tolerating me now? If I remember correctly, you were the one begging me for help,” Marik said smugly.

Bakura glared at him. “Shut up, I don’t beg. You have a hairbrush to find, remember?”

Marik narrowed his eyes, pouting. “Don’t say that as if you have nothing to do with it.”

“That’s just it — I don’t.”

Marik sighed. This was getting him nowhere. His eyes scoured the room again, finally finding his backpack, which still held the Millennium Items. He grinned. “We’ll see about that, ‘Kura.”

“I— what?” The spirit eyed him warily, his gaze flicking between the Items and Marik.

Marik grinned. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything to you. Yet.” He unzipped the bag, reaching for the Millennium Ring, then holding it out in front of him. “Alright, Ring, who’s the culprit?”

Marik’s heart sank as the sharp prongs poked back over the top of the ring itself, directly at him.

Bakura watched the ring, his eyes glittering with amusement and triumph. “I’m glad that stupid Ring has at least a scrap of loyalty.”

Marik frowned, ignoring him. “But…but I left it on the filing cabinet…”

The Ring’s prongs quivered, and then pointed towards the windowsill. Marik blinked, walking over. “But I already checked—”

The prongs jolted to the left, now pointing at the thin cord hanging down from the top of the window. Marik pulled on it, opening the blinds properly. The hairbrush had been on the windowsill, sitting behind the blinds. “Oh.”

Bakura looked incredibly pleased with himself, smirking at Marik from across the room. Marik glared at him. “Shut up.”

“What? I didn’t say anything. Or should His Royal Highness, the Thief King, be gloating—”

Marik rolled his eyes, cuffing him over the back of the head with the hairbrush, grinning. “‘His Royal Highness’ can go fuck himself.”

Bakura eyed the duelist mischievously. “If I were really a king, who knows? Maybe I’d have people to do that for me.”

“Well you’re not, and you don’t, so there,” Marik huffed, swiping the hairbrush through his hair so quickly that finding it probably hadn’t been worth the effort. He dropped it down onto the bed, and threw his coat over his shoulders. “I’m heading out to Tadako’s funeral, just in case I learn something.”

Bakura frowned. “You weren’t invited, were you?”

“No, but it’s not a kokubetsu-shiki . That would’ve happened a few days ago, along with the cremation. Today there’s a western memorial service — they’re doing both, since Kioru’s mother was from the US.” He frowned at Bakura. “How come you know about how Japanese funerals work anyway?”

The spirit grinned, almost wolfishly. “I got to attend one, just after I met Ryou. Incidentally, I also caused it.”

Marik stared at Bakura for a few moments, trying to work out exactly what he meant. Then his eyes widened slightly, his blood running cold, gaze dropping. “You shouldn’t be so proud of that."

Bakura paused, sensing the sudden shift in atmosphere, realising he’d somehow touched a nerve. He spoke slowly, carefully, as though he was navigating a minefield, his voice a little less arrogant, a little more gentle. “What do you mean?”

Marik was silent, still, running the parallels through his mind. Ryou’s father and his father. Ryou’s darker half and his darker half. Ryou’s father’s funeral and his father’s funeral. “I’ve attended a funeral that I caused too, y’know,” he said slowly, quietly. “You shouldn’t be proud of it.”

Bakura was quiet for a long time, piecing things together. Then his eyes widened. “Oh. Sorry.”

Marik looked at him sullenly. “Really?”

Bakura swallowed, looking embarrassed, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m not sorry about what I did, but...I’m sorry I upset you.”

Marik’s gaze flicked to the floor again. “Yeah, well, I guess that’s something.”

The spirit nodded, having the decency to look a little bit remorseful. He folded his arms, glaring out the window. “If it makes you feel any better, as long as we’re working together, I won’t go to any more funerals that I caused. Seeing as you’ve changed since Battle City, I’ll…try not to create any more funerals to go to.”

Marik blinked, his eyes flicking over the spirit once more, wary, but pleasantly surprised. He smiled, his gaze softening. “Alright. Me too.”

Marik had only been to one funeral before.

It wasn’t a funeral that he liked to remember. Three people had attended, including himself. There had been no speeches, no flowers, no black umbrellas in the rain. No words of consolation. No remembering the happy times, because there had been none. No assurances that the soul of the deceased was in a better place.

There had only been anger.

Marik had believed that his father’s death was the will of the Pharaoh. As he, Ishizu, and Rishid had buried his father deep beneath the earth, where he had always felt he belonged, Marik’s heart had been rife with pure, unbridled rage. First it had been the will of the Pharaoh that Marik stay underground all his life. Then it had been the will of the Pharaoh for him to have hieroglyphs carved into his back with a hot knife. And finally, according to the turban-clad stranger who’d spoken to him and his sister, it had been the will of the Pharaoh for him to have to see his own father, his eyes lifeless, slumped against the wall, more blood outside of his body than in.

He and his siblings had stared at the spot where their father had been laid to rest, silently, for a long time. Ishizu read a sacred text which she thought their father would have wanted to have been read. Rishid carved a kind of gravestone for him, marked with hieroglyphs, bearing their father’s name, so that he might move onto the next life, his soul intact. But the funeral had been missing one thing.

Actual mourning.

There was a thick sense of melancholy and regret, certainly. Rishid regretted the fact that he’d never earned the man’s approval or respect. Ishizu regretted the fact that his death had been the consequence of her taking Marik outside of the tombs. Marik regretted the fact that he, despite being right there, couldn’t remember any of it. But none of them could truly, honestly say that they’d ever wished he hadn’t died that day.

After learning that he’d killed his own father, one year ago, Marik’s feelings regarding everything that had happened changed substantially. When Marik looked back on it now, he still didn’t mourn his father. But he wasn’t angry.

Instead, there was nothing but guilt.

Only guilt.

Regarding his father, his guilt came in two parts. First, understandably, he regretted being the one to kill him. He’d been the one to hold the rod, to drive it into his father’s flesh and to carve it to pieces. He’d been the one to slice and slice and slice and slice until his father’s blood was smeared across the walls, staining the floor red. He’d been the one to end up with blood on his hands, his clothes, his face. He’d been the one to play Lady Macbeth, scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing, feeling as though he’d never get all of the blood off.

But he also felt guilty about not regretting his father’s death itself, only regretting that it had been at his hands. Whenever he thought of his father, bile rose in his throat, not because of everything that he’d done when he was alive, and not even because Marik had stabbed him himself, but because Marik knew he could never feel truly sorry about it. He knew that somewhere out there, if his father had reached a place where his soul was safe, he was cursing him. He was cursing his son for not mourning him. He was cursing his son for not missing him. He was cursing his son for being selfish , only regretting his death because of his part of it.

Marik hated himself for that too.

Usually, he dealt with all of this by not thinking about it, by pushing it to the darkest corners of his mind, hoping it would go away, that someone else would deal with it.

It wasn’t until he attended the second funeral of his life that he realised that wasn’t always going to work.

If Hollywood was anything to go by, you'd think that funerals were always held when it was raining, when the sky was dark. But today, everything seemed unnaturally bright. The sky was blotted out by vast white clouds which seemed to glow from their insides, and sunlight bounced off the thick white snow which had settled on the ground. A slight wind stirred the air, and everything smelled cold and wet.

Marik arrived at the small park at 10am, a black trench coat protecting him from the cold, and a scarf concealing his face. White plastic chairs had been placed on the grass, with a narrow aisle down the middle. People dressed in black were milling around in small groups — Marik didn’t recognise any of them. A few of them wore duel disks, but most of them seemed like they were simply family and friends. He craned his neck, trying to spot Yugi. The other duelist had said the other day that he was planning on going to the memorial service, to pay his respects. Given his bright, eccentric hair, even taking into account his short stature, it was odd that Marik was struggling to find him in the crowd. He pulled out his phone, sending him a quick text.

(9:53) Hey Yugi, I’m at the memorial, you still coming?

There was no answer.

Marik pushed his hands into his pockets, suddenly feeling deeply uncomfortable — if Yugi wasn’t here, he wouldn’t know anyone.

He was alone with his thoughts.

He swallowed, his mouth feeling dry. Shaking hair out of his eyes, he made his way towards the seats, voices echoing through his mind.

“Who is that kid? I’ve never seen him before. Did he know Tadako?”

“I don’t know, but he knows something about Tadako’s death. He thinks it might’ve been murder.”

“Murder?! Tadako was playing a card game!”

“Mm, but the circumstances of his death were still very odd.”

“But why is he here? Surely he doesn’t suspect us of anything!?”

“I’m sure he doesn’t…”

“Death by card games, what next?! Soon they’ll be telling us those kids are being possessed by their own hatred…”

“Killing their fathers…”

“With no memory of it…”

“He doesn’t miss him…”

“He never mourned him…”

“He lives with that, every day…”

shut up shut up shut up shut up!

Marik flinched as he felt a sharp, stabbing pain, deep in his skull. He gritted his teeth, his vision darkening for a moment, before the feeling dissipated. He reached for the back of one of the chairs, trying to steady himself, trying to breathe, trying to clear his head, his hands shaking.

He felt like his father was watching him, like he was breathing down his neck. The eyes of everyone around him were his eyes, and they were filled with anger. Guilt burned in the back of his throat like acid.

Funerals were anger. Funerals were guilt.

Slowly, shakily, he let go of the chair in front of him and sat down, sinking into the hard plastic, sucking in a deep breath. You can do this. You can do this. You can’t fix the past. But you can do this.

He sat there, staring blankly ahead while people continued to mill around him.

“How come you deserve to be here when you—” shut up

“You cut his life short—” shut up

“Murderer—” shut up

“You killed—”   shUT UP

“Hey, are you okay?”

Marik looked up suddenly as another voice cut into his thoughts — a much more corporeal one. A tall young man — not as tall as Kaiba, but significantly taller than Marik — stood close to him, in front of the chair to his left. Whispy, dark bangs hung over his eyes, and a long black coat hung off his thin frame. Marik blinked at him, reality shifting back to normal. “I— yeah. I’m fine.”

The stranger smiled. “No you’re not.”

He sat down next to Marik without asking any further questions, resting his elbows on the backs of the chairs next to him, staring ahead at the podium in front of the chairs. Marik suddenly noticed the duel disk on his left arm. “You’re a duelist?”

The stranger glanced at him. “Yeah. Hiroki Hirata. And you’re…” he trailed off, hesitating. “You’re not Marik Ishtar, are you?”

Marik was unable to hide his surprise. “Yeah, I am. Do I— should I know you?”

Hiroki shook his head. “No. I just recognised you — I have a good memory for faces and names. I think I saw a picture of you in an article about the Battle City finals, in a magazine somewhere. Your hair was different, though. Poofy."

Marik swallowed hard, his blood feeling like ice in his veins. “Oh. Y-yeah, I…changed it. It’s nice to meet you,” Marik said awkwardly. “Did you…I guess you knew Kioru?”

Hiromi nodded, his gaze darkening. “Yeah. He and I were rivals.”

A single word blared through Marik’s mind: MOTIVE. He paused, then pushed it away. He opened his mouth to respond, but Hiroki got in first. “What about you?”

“Hm?”

“How did you know him?” Hiroki asked, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

Marik hesitated. “I— I never met him. I didn’t know him personally. I just wanted to figure out why he—”

“Yeah,” Hiroki said, a little too loudly, interrupting him. “Why he went like…that.”

“Mm.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. Hiroki eventually spoke again. “It’s made some people want to stop dueling, y’know. People are scared.”

Marik glanced at him. “Really?”

“Oh, for sure. They don’t know how or why this happened. They’re worried it could happen to them. But not me,” he said firmly, his grip on the chair tightening. “If there’s any way to honour Kioru, it’s by keeping on going. The next time I duel, I’m going to do it for him.”

Marik’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s brave of you.”

Hiroki smiled. “Yeah, well…he deserves it. And hey, if you wanted to ask me anything at all about him, y’know, since you’re looking into this, feel free. I don’t know what makes you think you can work it out, but I’ll do what I can to help.”

Marik considered this, eyeing Hiroki, smiling gratefully. “That would be fantastic. Thank you, Hiroki.”

“You’re welcome. But we probably shouldn’t discuss it here.” He pulled out his phone opening up his contacts, and then searching for his own name. He handed the phone to Marik. “My number.” He winked.

Marik’s eyebrows shot upwards, a hint of colour rising to his cheeks. “I— Oh, sure...”

He pulled his own phone out, adding Hiroki to his contacts. Hiroki took his phone back, a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “Let me know when you wanted to meet up, or if there’s anything at all I can do to help.”

Marik smiled back, giving a polite nod. “Of course—”

He broke off as they simultaneously noticed someone walking up to the podium. Hiroki leaned closer to Marik, whispering, “Kioru Sato, Tadako’s father.”

Marik nodded, biting his tongue as his anxiety began to grow again because funerals. His  foot bounced nervously, and he felt more sensitive to the cold, making his spine shudder, and the hair on the back of his neck rise. Kioru Sato was saying something, but Marik was so uneasy that he couldn’t absorb any of it. Hiroki, noticing Marik’s restlessness, glanced at him, his eyes concerned. “Are you okay?”

“N-not really,” Marik stammered, in a low voice. “Funerals stress me out a bit, that’s all.”

Hirata’s gaze softened, and he rested his foot against Marik’s as a comforting gesture, holding it still, offering a soft smile. Marik lowered his gaze, embarrassed, burying his nose in his scarf. I should be able to deal with my goddamn emotions on my own…

Most of the funeral was a blur — a few people made speeches, most of them members of Kioru’s immediate family. But as they went on, Marik’s anxiety only grew. His other leg started bouncing, and he began to feel sick, his vision blurring and swaying. I shouldn’t have come. This was a bad idea. I’m not going to one of these damn things again—

“…I’m Tadako’s younger sister.”

Marik’s looked up suddenly as a voice, a phrase, jerked him from his thoughts. Mokuba mentioned that…

He straightened his back to get a better look, the churning feeling in his stomach fading slightly. A young girl stared out at the small congregation, her dark eyes shining with grief. No older than fifteen, the sleeves of her charcoal grey jumper were pulled over her hands, and a black coat was draped over her shoulders. Her hair, dark and silky, was swept into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, though there was such negligible amount of hair in the ponytail itself that Marik hardly saw the point. She had a wad of palm cards held in her left hand, which was shaking. Her voice, although thick with emotion, was steady, but Marik couldn’t hear any of the words. Most of him still felt like he was at the bottom of a swimming pool, and he couldn’t swim; yet somehow he was able to latch onto the girl behind the podium.

Then he felt something warm against his back. He took in a sharp breath as he realised it was a Millennium Item.

Oh fuck, gods, this can’t be good—

Suddenly, his surroundings changed. A completely different scene materialised around him — the sky became dark, dotted with countless stars, the ground beneath him turned to sand, and everything else disappeared, replaced with wind and emptiness. A moment later, ancient sandstone built itself around him, becoming an elegant courtyard, filled with leafy green plants and worn paths, enclosed by a series of tall archways.

He glanced around frantically, trying to work out where he was, stopping dead as he saw Tadako’s sister still in front of him. Everyone else had disappeared, but she was still there. She was wearing different clothes, not looking at him, not seeing him.

Marik blinked. Wait, what the fuck—

And then, as quickly as the vision had taken shape, the world snapped back to normal.

“Marik?”

The duelist jumped, startled. He glanced at Hiroki, still next to him, and then the podium. Tadako’s sister was gone. He stared at the empty podium, his mind racing. Was that the Necklace doing that? Who is she? Was she—

“Marik, can you hear me?”

Marik felt a prick of irritation as he was forced to stop his train of thought. He glanced at Hiroki, feigning a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Hiroki eyed him skeptically through his silky dark bangs. “Are you sure? You blanked out for a solid half hour. Like, you were even less responsive than before.”

“Really?” Did half an hour pass just then?

“Yeah, but you seem fine now. Do you feel okay?”

“No worse than before,” he said, his head feeling oddly light. “Better, actually.”

Hiroki scrutinised him for a moment longer, and then nodded, satisfied. “Okay then, if you’re sure.”

Marik nodded. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me.” As he spoke, he felt the beginning of a headache coming on, but he pushed it back. “I guess I’ll see you later, if you were still okay with talking about Tadako?”

“Yeah, for sure. I’ll text you.”

The tomb keeper smiled. “That’d be great.”

Hiroki nodded, standing up, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Cool. See you then.”

“See you.”

Hiroki gave him a curt nod, and then strode away, coat billowing behind him.

Marik stood up too, his head reeling, both from confusion about what happened a few moments and/or half an hour ago, and because his headache was growing rapidly worse. He felt himself getting jittery again, struggling to keep his hands still, stomach turning. I need to leave. I need to get out.

He considered trying to find Tadako’s sister for a few moments because what the actual fuck, but decided against it. If that vision was the Necklace’s doing, everything would make itself clear in time. Or something. Either way, he couldn’t stand being here a moment longer. He could find her another time.

Gritting his teeth, the pain in his temple worsening, he moved away from the chairs, feeling unsteady on his feet. His eyes were screwed half-shut, and he wondered if, on top of everything else, he was getting a migraine as well. He left the park, rounding a corner, turning into a narrow street lined. That’d be about right. A migraine was only the start of what he deserved.

Fucking funerals.

And then everything suddenly got worse.

Marik let out a broken cry as he felt a stabbing pain in his forehead, as though there was some kind of sharp pressure all through the inside of his skull. He staggered backwards, just as shocked as he was in pain. What the—

He shrieked as it happened again. His breath began to come in ragged gasps, and he felt as though his chest was being constricted. His legs trembled, threatening to give way entirely. He sank to his knees, threading his fingers through his hair, gripping his head so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His temple throbbed with a slow, steady, agonising rhythm, his thoughts grinding to a complete halt. Spasms wracked his body. He curled into a ball, his elbows resting on the hard black ground, his eyes screwed shut as pain coarsed through him so strongly that it threatened to sweep him away. His head pounded. Voices, memories, ghosts of the past — they assaulted him like a volley of bullets, shattering his skull into pieces, breaking down his resolve. Tears spilled down his cheeks, never-ending. He screamed as he felt familiar, burning pain in his back, but it sounded distant. If the sounds of his own screams weren’t so familiar to him, he wouldn’t have known that scream was his own.

slice and slice and slice and slice—

Then the darkness behind his eyelids changed, fading. There was light near him — a sanctuary. He opened his eyes, suddenly pulled back to reality by a pair of bright, glaring lights, racing towards him. He heard a loud blaring noise which seemed to come from everywhere at once, and a rush of air seemed to cut through him. Everything went very slowly, but he couldn’t move. There was a yell — one that wasn’t his own. The light got closer.

Suddenly, Marik felt an arm around his waist, his own arm being thrown over someone’s shoulder. His vision spun as he was lifted upwards, his feet dragging along the ground as he was carried away from the lights speeding towards him and oh shit, that was a car.

His neck snapped around as he watched the car speed past, headlights glittering. Terror coursed through his veins, and he realised he was shaking violently. He took another moment to process who his rescuer was — someone shorter then himself, with inky black hair. He couldn’t see her face — he’d been thrown half over her shoulder. He saw a shoe, her shoe, in the middle of the road behind them, bent and crumpled, the sole collapsed, heel snapped, straps mangled. He swallowed, his heart leaping to his throat. Fuck. That could’ve been me.

He was set down, his back propped against the wall of the building on the opposite side of the street. His rescuer stepped back, crouching in front of him, letting him recover, dark eyes wide — the irises were so dark, they might as well have been black.

Marik stared at her, eyes widening as he suddenly recognised her. “T-Tadako’s sister?”

The other Kioru blinked, frowning. “Yeah, Akira. You…you were at the funeral.” She spoke slowly, a little breathless. “You were in the crowd.”

“I— yeah. Thank yo—”

Then, as quickly as the car had approached, the excruciating pain in his forehead returned. Unprepared, a shout of alarm escaped him, and he clutched his head, doubling over, his breath coming hard and fast. It was as though someone was taking a drill and boring it into his skull, from every possible direction.

“A-are you okay!?”

“No, I— aaah!”

Kioru reached for her phone. “Hold on, I’m going to call an ambulance.”

“Wha— NO—!”

Marik didn’t know what this was, but he knew he didn’t want to get anyone else involved. Panicking, he found the strength to pull his backpack off his shoulders, reaching for the Rod. Kioru didn’t look twice at it, lifting the phone to her ear. “Hi, I’ve come across someone—”

shut up shut up shut up shut up!

Marik gripped the rod tightly, taking a long, deep, shuddering breath, holding the rod out, screwing up his eyes, focusing every shred of his willpower into getting that phone out of Kioru’s hands. A yellow aura surrounded it, and it was torn out of her hands, flying briefly through the air before smashing against the wall. Kioru’s head whipped back towards him, her eyes wide with shock, full of questions. The Rod clattered to the ground, and the pain intensified — Marik curled into himself more, his head between his knees.

Kioru stared at the Rod, and then at Marik. “Okay then.”

Marik gritted his teeth, trying not to think about the consequences of so blatantly using the Rod in front of someone who knew nothing about anything, which wasn’t very hard, considering the fact that his head felt like it might explode at any moment. Kioru edged towards him, placing a hand on his back as his breath hitched, again and again and again and again. She watched him carefully, her eyes bright with concern and unease. “It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

Marik nodded, swallowing, meeting her gaze briefly before pain forced his eyes shut again. His senses were overloaded — everything was loud and bright and painful and looking at anything was too much.

Kioru was still unsettled, on edge, following what Marik had done with the Rod. Whenever anything made a noise, she would look around to make sure no one else was watching them, her eyes like a hawk’s. Her feet were braced against the pavement, ready to run at any moment. But she sat there, silently, waiting for Marik to recover. Something about her presence was calming. It banished the shadows threatening to creep up on him. The pain in his forehead lessened.

Marik stared at the road, his head throbbing, brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. The funeral had unlocked a door; the door to the room where he’d shoved all his anxiety, all his regrets. All his misgivings about his father — they’d bubbled up when he hadn’t been expecting them, hadn’t been prepared. He just needed to find the key to that door and lock it all up again, and everything would be fine.

Everything would be fine.

Except he’d dragged someone else into everything. Kioru Akira.

Kioru Akira, who he’d had some kind of vision about only minutes ago. He pinched the bridge of his nose, head spinning. Gods, what the fuck is going on…

She waited patiently while he got a hold of himself. The pain in his skull was still there, still sharp and fresh, but it wasn’t as intense. He could block it out, for the most part. He stared at the pavement, his breathing still ragged. “I…I think I’m okay now."

Kioru eyed him carefully. She removed his hand from her chest, letting go of his wrist. “Give me your phone.”

“I— what?”

“You broke mine, so I need to borrow yours.”

Marik looked at her, his eyes uncertain. “Promise me you’re not going to call anyone.”

“No, I— no. That’s not what I had in mind.”

He hesitated, and then reached into his pocket, handing it over, leaning backwards, resting his head against the wall and staring at the sky as the girl next to him typed something. The clouds were light, and fluffy. Serene.

Kioru handed the phone back to him. There was a gif on the screen — a circle, moving in and out. “Synchronise your breathing with this.”

Marik’s eyes widened slightly with surprise, his expression softening. He took the phone gratefully, holding it on both hands, making an effort to do as she said. He took a slow breath in, and then started coughing.

Kioru leaned back against the wall, glancing at him. “You still haven’t told me your name.” Her voice carried a hint of both wariness and worry.

“Y-yeah. It’s Marik,” he choked out, focusing on the gif.

Kioru was silent as Marik slowed his breathing down. Inhale, exhale.

What the fuck was that?

Inhale, exhale.

That hasn’t happened since…

Inhale, exhale.

Calm down. I-It was just the funeral. The funeral got you all…stressed out…

Inhale, exhale.

Satisfied that his breathing was steadier, and that he was calm, he turned to Kioru. “Thank you.”

Kioru nodded, looking away. “I-it was nothing.”

“Kioru, that car would’ve hit me,” he insisted. “You saved my life.”

Kioru glanced at him, looking self-conscious, speaking quickly. “Akira’s fine — after that, it wouldn’t be right to ask you to be formal. Besides, it really was nothing. I heard you screaming and came to see what was going on…I did what anyone else would’ve done, right? I couldn’t watch…not after…”

Her gaze clouded.

Oh.

There was a long pause. Marik wasn’t sure what he could say. Finally, Kioru— no, Akira spoke, her voice tight: “I couldn’t watch anyone else die, okay?”

Marik swallowed. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

Akira paused, and then shook her head as if to clear it, slumping back against the wall, looking almost exasperated. “It’s the only thing about this damn mess that makes sense,” she said quietly, her eyes dark, fixed on the pavement.

FUCKING MOOD. Screaming internally, Marik could only nod.

Nothing was making sense — the vision, Bakura’s reappearance, Tadako’s death. Although regarding that last thing, Akira was even more clueless than Marik was, not knowing about the Millennium Items. There were so many things he could tell her, things he could explain, things that would mean everything made even a little bit more sense. Things she would probably ask about anyway, given that he’d seen her use the Rod. Sure, it would create as many questions as it answered, but she deserved to know. Besides, if he’d seen her in that vision, she was probably connected to them somehow anyway. He picked the Rod up off the ground, turning it over in his hands. “I should probably explain…do you know what this is?”

Her eyes locked onto the Rod, her voice sharp. “No, I don’t.”

Marik hesitated. He knew he was either doing something right, or fucking up magnificently. Probably both. He took one last deep breath.

“Could you ever believe in magic?”

Chapter Text

“Tomorrow. 7am. Here.”

7am was earlier than Marik would have liked, but given that Akira had saved his life minutes earlier, Marik hadn’t really been in a position to complain.

The next morning, he left KaibaCorp when the sky was still gradient of soft, warm colour. Wrapped in every remotely warm piece of clothing that he owned, he caught the train at quarter past six. Resting his head against the window, he tried to strike a balance between looking out of it and watching his breath fog it up. He had all of the Items with him, although the more he thought about it, the more he wondered whether they had the potential to cause more problems than they solved.

He’d been up late, thinking about the vision he’d had during the funeral. All he could tell from it was that at some point, Kioru Akira either had been, or would be, in a courtyard in the desert. And, given that the Millennium Items were involved, this desert was probably somewhere in Egypt. But he couldn’t tell whether it was a vision of the past, or of the future, or why it was even significant. Why she was significant.

He also hadn’t quite made up his mind in terms of how much he would tell her. He would tell her about shadow magic and the Items, for sure, given that she’d already seen him use the Rod, and given that the vision suggested she probably had something to do with everything anyway. He would tell her about the possible connection to Tadako, since he was her brother — if he was telling her about shadow magic, it seemed right to tell her that too.

But he wouldn’t go into too much detail about Battle City. There were some things about Battle City that it would be better if no one talked about. Things that he didn’t want anyone else to know. The things that he did.

The thing he became.

When he arrived at the park, Akira was already there, sitting on one of the benches. She wore lighter colours today — her black coat had been swapped for a pastel hoodie, black jeans for pale blue, with ripped knees. Her face was obscured by the cowl of her hood, staring at her shoes, deep in thought.

He swallowed, anxiety rising in his stomach, not really looking forward to this conversation. But, just for a moment, all of that melted away when he realised she’d brought a dog.

The dog noticed Marik first — huge, white, and somewhat resembling a marshmallow, it got to its feet and started wagging its tail as soon as Marik approached, tongue lolling. Its black eyes shone with excitement, and Marik crouched down, grinning in kind. “Dog!”

The dog barked, tugging on its leash — Akira looked up, her eyes flickering with recognition, meeting his gaze with a small smile. “Hey, Marik.”

Marik hardly noticed her — he’d only seen dogs up close a few times, and had never actually touched one. And Akira’s dog was the most adorable thing he’d ever laid eyes on. Its pointed ears were pricked, its nose twitching as it trotted up to Marik, tailed by Akira. The duelist glanced at Akira, hardly able to contain himself, sure he was grinning inexplicably widely. “I-is it okay if I pat him?”

Akira smiled softly, bemused. “Yeah, sure. His name’s Momotarō, but he responds to just ‘Momo’.”

Marik beamed, kneeling down in front of Momo. “Heyyyy, Momo! Oh my gosh, you’re so cute. I—” Marik broke off, his hand hovering above Momo’s nose, unsure of where the best place to pat him was. Momo nudged Marik’s hand with his nose, and Marik laughed. “Heyyyy!”

“He really likes it behind his ears, just here,” Akira grinned, giving them a scratch. Right on cue, Momo leaned into her touch, throwing his weight against her leg.

Marik’s eyes widened, his mind racing to process how cute this dog was. He found himself using a tone of voice which both felt and sounded completely foreign to him, as though whatever was usually in his larynx had been replaced with sunshine and rainbows. “Do you want me to scratch your ears too, Momo? Do you? Do you?”

Momo looked at Marik as though he very obviously Did, wagging his tail.

Marik hesitated, then pushed his fingers into Momotarō’s thick fur. His eyes widened. Holy shit. It’s. So soft. Holy shit.

Momotarō wagged his tail furiously as Marik fondled his ears, warmth swelling in his chest, absolutely overwhelmed with the lightest, happiest feeling he could imagine. He glanced up at Akira, doing his best to act normally, as though petting a dog wasn’t the single greatest thing he’d ever done in his life. “So he’s your dog?”

Akira’s gaze went blank for a moment, before turning dark. “He…he is now.”

Marik blinked, frowning, at least 80% of his mental capacity still taken up with ‘DOG DOG DOG DOG DOG DOG DOG’. Then he realised. The light happy feeling died away, and he swallowed, looking anywhere but her eyes. “Oh, shit. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

Momo looked between them, sensing a change in the atmosphere. He nudged Marik’s hand, a silent request for more patting.

Only then did Marik notice how tired Akira looked. There were dark shadows under her eyes, and her posture was hunched and stiff. The duelist swallowed, feeling awkward — someone else making a mistake like that about almost any aspect of his childhood would shake him severely, but he wasn’t sure whether Akira was the same. He didn’t want to make anything worse, even though the nature of this entire conversation made that almost inevitable. “I um…do you want to sit down and talk?”

Akira nodded, turning away from him. “Mm. That would be good.”

She gave Momotarō’s leash a little tug, leading them back to the bench she’d been waiting on before. Sitting down heavily, she pulled a bar of chocolate out of her pocket, breaking it in half. “Want some?”

Marik blinked, taking it. “Yeah, thanks. Where’d you get it?.”

She ducked her gaze, glancing at the frozen ground. “Oh, I-I’ve always kept some on me as a comfort food since— hey, down Momo! This’ll make you sick!” she snapped, whisking the chocolate away from the dog.

Momo immediately looked at Marik hopefully, his eyes round. He plopped his head on Marik’s lap and looked up at him and holy shit, Marik knew puppy dog eyes were supposed to make you weak, but coming from an actual puppy dog, they were powerful. Still, he shook his head sadly, popping the rest of the chocolate in his mouth. “Sorry, Momo. You can’t have this.”

Akira nodded, giving Momotarō a quick pat behind his ears as if to say sorry. “Anyway, about yesterday…”

Marik swallowed. “Yeah. Yesterday.”

There was a short, slightly uncomfortable silence as Marik tried to work out where to start. Akira broke it, speaking incredibly quickly: “I— I’m sorry, I just have so many questions about so many things, and I don’t know if you want me to ask them, or if you want me to just shut up so you can explain everything in an order that makes sense, and like, I’ve been thinking about whatever magic you mentioned yesterday a lot, and I’m really sorry, I’-I’m rambling, and I’ve hardly slept. Sorry.”

Marik blinked. “Akira, slow down, it’s fi—”

“Wait, I mean, sorry, I don’t mean it’s your fault I haven’t slept! I was up thinking about yesterday, of course, but I haven’t slept properly since Tadako died, so—” She broke off, staring at nothing for a few moments, before continuing: “So I can’t really blame you. My sleep schedule isn’t your fault, not your responsibility, forget I said anything. And I’m sorry I had to go yesterday — I was worried that my parents were looking for me, and they were probably worried since I wasn’t picking up the phone, and all of us have been really fragile since Tadako, and I didn’t want them to panic. I probably seemed all calm and tough yesterday, but I’m really not. I mean, you can probably see that now. I’m kind of a mess—”

“Akira.” Marik placed one hand on her shoulder — she’d shrunk down into her hoodie, making herself as small as possible. “It’s okay.”

Akira looked at him, something in her eyes almost fearful. Panicking. She swallowed, taking a deep breath, gently removing Marik’s hand. She rolled her shoulders to release the tension in them. “Right. Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for.”

“I— okay.” Akira bowed her head, folding her hands in her lap, her voice hard. “I just— it’s been a rough few days.”

Marik nodded. “Did you still want to talk about everything now? Since you’re a bit—”

She met his eye, her gaze suddenly turning almost icy. “Yes. Why, do you think I couldn’t handle it at the moment?”

Marik’s eyes widened, taken by surprise by her sudden harshness. “No, no, not at all. I just wasn’t sure if you needed a few moments to breathe.” Like yesterday.

Akira paused, her gaze softening. “Right. Sure. Sorry I snapped at you.”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

Akira was still for a minute or so. Momotarō lay down and rested his head on his paws, still wagging his tail. Finally, she looked back at Marik. “So…what was up with that gold stick?” Her voice shook slightly, as though deep down, she already knew she was getting into some serious shit.

Marik swallowed, suddenly feeling nervous, praying to every god he knew of that telling her everything was the right decision. “It’s called the Millennium Rod. It’s one of the seven Millennium Items.”

Akira raised an eyebrow at him. “The Millennium Items?”

“Yeah.”

“That sounds like something out of some trashy fantasy novel,” she said wryly.

“Wrong way around. I bet trashy fantasy novel magic is unconsciously stealing from the real stuff, if you go back far enough.”

“Hm. I guess so.”

Marik shrugged. “Anyway, the Millennium Items. There are seven of them, and they come from Ancient Egypt. With them, their wielders could harness shadow magic in order to play shadow games, either to prove one’s strength, or to bring about some kind of justice. The loser of the shadow game was usually dealt some kind of penalty game.”

“Penalty game?”

“A supernatural punishment, usually involving a coma. Or death.”

“Oh.”

Marik smiled grimly. “Yeah. Eventually, the soul of an ancient pharaoh, Atem, became trapped in one of these Items, the Millennium Puzzle. For thousands of years, the seven Items were protected by a group of people called Tomb Keepers, who waited for the pharaoh’s return.” He glanced at her, leaning forward. “Sorry, this is kind of a lot all at once.”

“Yeah. Kind of.” The teenager leaned back in her seat, her eyes dark with unease. There was a long pause, then:

“But if the pharaoh’s soul was trapped, how would he ever be able to return?”

“Have you heard of the Book of the Dead?”

Akira’s shoulders tensed slightly, almost imperceptibly. “It sounds vaguely familiar.”

“It’s a book, thousands of years old, about the Ancient Egyptians’ idea of the afterlife, which goes into all sorts of things, like the different gods that were associated with death, and the underworld, and the nature of the soul. Long story short, if something went wrong with all the proper burial rituals, the soul of the deceased would go through something called the ‘second death’, where a part of their soul would disappear, and then be reborn 3000 years later. So the Tomb Keepers waited for those 3000 years to be up.”

“Then…has the pharaoh come back yet?”

Marik nodded. “Yeah, he did. Only three or four years ago.”

“Wait, what? That recently?”

“Uh-huh.”

“But…did you have all the Millennium Items back then too? If his soul was in this Puzzle thing, were you there when—”

“I didn’t have the Puzzle when it happened. Yugi Mutou did.”

Akira’s eyes widened. “What? But…what does that mean? Did Yugi meet the Pharaoh?”

Marik smiled. “He did more than meet the pharaoh. He and Yugi shared a mental link, and even a body. Through the Puzzle, Atem could use Yugi as his vessel.”

Akira frowned, looking a bit unsure about the idea. “You’re telling me Atem possessed Yugi?”

“Yeah.”

“…You’re awfully calm about it.”

Marik nodded. “I mean, I grew up around all of this — the Items, and shadow magic.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah. I was a Tomb Keeper.”

Akira’s gaze snapped towards him, turning so sharply Marik swore he heard her neck crack. Her eyes were wide with something like awe. “Oh, shit. Wow.”

Marik ducked his head slightly, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “It’s not a big deal, really. It was just the lineage I was born into.”

“Yeah, but, I don’t know…that’s kind of cool? To be protecting all of this magic and secrets?”

Cool is…definitely not the word, but okay. “I-In a way, I guess,” he choked out. Anything to avoid going into what being a Tomb Keeper had truly been like.

Akira, sensing his discomfort, looked at him curiously for a moment, before dropping the subject. She paused, before saying, “Can you tell me more about the pharaoh? Did you ever meet him?”

“Hm?”

“I-I don’t know, if you were a Tomb Keeper, and this happened in your lifetime, then you probably met him, right? Do you know what he was like?”

Marik blinked. She wasn’t wrong, even if there was more to it than that. “I mean…yeah, I did meet him. He…”

He was everything I’m not.

“He was everything you’d expect a pharaoh to be. Honourable. Proud. Protective of people he cared about, to a fault.”

Akira frowned. “In that he’d die for them?”

“Yeah, and that he’d kill you if you so much as laid a finger on them.”

“Oh. But he’s not still here?”

Marik shook his head. “No — when he returned, with his soul in the Puzzle, he had no memories of who he was before. Once he got those memories back, and learned his name, he was able to pass through to the Egyptian afterlife, where he belonged.”

Akira’s eyes narrowed, dark with confusion as she stared intently into the trees. “You mean he wanted to die? If he had the option to stay, why wouldn’t he take it?”

Marik blinked, surprised. “I hadn’t thought about that before. I suppose he had friends from his first life who were waiting for him in the afterlife. People he cared about who were already there.”

“Still…” She stared across the park for a few moments more, before blinking the thought away. She looked back at Marik, saying, “Also, with the Millennium Items, what else do they do? Because you did something with the Rod yesterday, but that wasn’t a shadow game, was it?”

“No, you’re right, it wasn’t. But aside from starting shadow games, they all do something different — something closer to what most people might think of as magic. There’s the Key, which lets its owner see inside a person’s soul room, which is like the manifestation of their Ka, their personality. Whoever owns the Key can even ‘redecorate’ the soul room, as it were, changing their personality, or bending them to their will.”

Akira swallowed. “That’s...concerning.”

“Yep. Then there’s the Scales, which weighs people’s souls against something called the feather of Ma’at — the heavier the soul, the more evil there is in a person.” Whatever evil means objectively, anyway.

Akira nodded mutely. Marik went on: “The fourth one is the Ring, which allows the user to move people’s souls between different objects, and can act as a compass, pointing the owner towards whatever they’re looking for.” Also, it used to literally contain the soul of Satan. And an one other even bigger asshole.

“There’s the Eye, which allows the wielder to read minds, and seal people’s souls in different objects, and the Necklace, which shows the user visions of the future and the past.” He moved on from that one as quickly as he could, just in case Akira asked any questions which could relate to his vision from yesterday. “And the one you saw yesterday is the Millennium Rod, which lets you control people’s minds, and levitate things.”

Akira blinked, her eyes round. “Yikes.”

Marik laughed. “Yeah, that’s a pretty good summary. That’s why we keep them hidden — all of the items are so powerful that even one of them falling into the wrong hands could be disastrous.”

She nodded, frowning. “And the Puzzle? What else does it do?”

Marik hesitated. “I’m not sure, actually. The Tomb Keepers didn’t have it for centuries. If we ever knew, that knowledge was lost a long time ago. And Yugi never mentioned anything to me.”

Akira nodded. After a few moments, she frowned, saying, “You said you could use the last one to do mind control?”

“Yeah?”

“Then why tell me any of this? Why not just make me forget I saw anything?”

Marik swallowed, meeting her gaze. He couldn’t tell her the whole truth, about the Necklace, and the vision. Not when he didn’t know what it meant.

Also, telling her might spook her even more. He pinched the bridge of his nose. There was the other reason. It was the only way he could think of approach this, but he’d be on very thin ice.

“Marik?”

Just do it. Quickly. Like a band-aid.

“Because I think they had something to do with Tadako’s death.”

Akira froze. Her eyes darkened, narrowing, and she shrunk into her hoodie. Even without the presence of the Rod in his backpack, Marik would’ve been able to feel her mind working, trying to connect dots, trying to make sense of it all. Her voice wavered slightly as she choked out a reply: “H-how?”

Marik hesitated. “They…well, it wouldn’t be the first time the Millennium Items interfered with a Duel Monster’s match.”

She took in a sharp breath. “Okay. Go on.”

“Do you remember the Battle City tournament held by Seto Kaiba, two years ago?”

“Mm. Tadako thought about participating, but hated the ante rule,” she said quietly. “He didn’t want to lose the cards he loved, nor did he want to take them from anyone else.”

Marik nodded. “It’s probably just as well. In that tournament, four of the eight finalists had Millennium Items, and…well, things got messy. Half of the finalists were hospitalised at one point or another, but it was able to be kept quiet because the whole thing took place on the blimp.”

“But they’re just card games,” she said, almost angrily, staring into the empty air. “Why are— why were people getting hurt?”

“Because the Items were being used to start shadow games. The penalty games were what put people’s lives in danger.”

“And you think that’s what happened to Tadako. A penalty game…”

Marik nodded.

Akira was silent, almost glaring into the trees. She took a deep breath, and then pinched the bridge of her nose. “What the hell is this, some kind of a shit-for-brains joke?”

I wish.

Akira sighed. “Sorry, I just—”

“No, don’t apologise. It’s…a lot.”

She nodded, her shoulders slackening slightly. Then, suddenly, she sat up straighter. “Wait.”

“Hm?”

She turned to face him. “You were one of the Battle City finalists.”

“I—”

“Tadako mentioned it. He was doing research on how Yugi had dueled against other opponents, and what kind of strategy he used. He tried to look into Battle City, since he knew Yugi won, but the only thing he could find out about your duel with him was your name. Is…did that have something to do with the Millennium Items? What exactly happened?”

Marik swallowed nervously. FUCK. THIS IS NOT WHERE THIS CONVERSATION WAS SUPPOSED TO GO. NOT THAT DUEL. NOT HIM. NOPE. MAKE AN EXCUSE. CREATE A DIVERSION.

“Kaiba was careful to keep exactly what happened during Battle City under wraps, because with all the shadow games, no one would participate in KaibaCorp tournaments if they thought they might get hurt. So that’s why Tadako probably couldn’t find anything on it,” he said quickly. Also I super don’t don’t don’t want to talk about everything else that was wrong with that duel, please don’t ask some kind of follow-up—

“But…what exactly was Kaiba trying to hide?”

FUCK.

He swallowed, searching for anything to say except for ‘my psychotic other self, whose favourite hobby is stabbing people to death’. “I mean, people were getting injured—”

“Marik.”

Marik turned his head away, refusing to look at her. No. No. We’re not going there. He swallowed. “I— I can’t tell you. It was hidden for a reason.”

“But—”

“If I told you it all has nothing to do with Tadako, would you be satisfied?” he snapped, his voice cracking.

Akira flinched. There was a long pause. Then, quietly: “I guess.”

“…Thank you,” he said stiffly.

“Don’t mention it. I…I’m just trying to make sense of all of this. The Millennium Items. Shadow games. Tadako…”

“Yeah. Of course. I just…I don’t like to think about what happened with me during Battle City.”

She nodded, her eyes round with concern, but didn’t press the subject. “Sure. I’m sorry I asked. Really.”

“Don’t worry about it. You didn’t know.”

“Can I ask one thing, though?”

“I can’t promise you’ll get an answer.”

“Okay, it’s just, no one actually died in Battle City, did they?”

Marik swallowed. There was that one person. But Akira didn’t need to know about him. He was gone now. “…No, but there were a few close calls.”

The teenager nodded, swallowing. “Right. Okay.” She glanced at him, smiling softly. “That’s good, at least. From what I can tell, the people who were part that tournament must’ve be alright.”

Marik laughed awkwardly. AHAHAHA nOPE. ALL OF US ARE TRAUMATISED PIECES OF TRASH AND BELONG IN THE GARBAGE CAN. “Um…maybe?”

Akira grinned, elbowing him in the ribs. “It’s a compliment, stupid. I’m saying I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“Oh. Thanks?”

“You’re welcome,” she laughed, her dark eyes shining. She sat back in her seat, glancing at him. “By the way, did you um…did you maybe have the Millennium Items with you?”

Marik blinked. “Yeah, actually. You wanted to see them?”

She nodded sheepishly. “Mm, if that’s okay.”

Marik glanced around, checking no one else was there to see them, then removed his backpack and unzipped it. The Millennium Items glittered in the sunlight — he took out the Rod, since it was on the top, and then reached for anything but the Necklace. Usually, it would be the safest one to show someone else, but given the vision yesterday, he didn’t want to take any chances with it. He grabbed the Key instead, passing it to Akira. “There you go. That’s one of them.”

Akira took it, holding it delicately, as though it might break in her hands. “It’s heavier than it looks.”

“Yeah. It’s made of solid gold.”

“Shit,” she said, her eyes widening. “I guess that’s one more reason why you’d want Tomb Keepers to protect them.”

Marik nodded, turning the Rod over in his hands, making sure to hold it so that his hand covered the top of the blade’s sheath, so that Akira wouldn’t realise the Rod had two parts to it. He didn’t feel like explaining that one.

“Can I see the Puzzle too?”

“Hm?”

Akira smiled apologetically. “I mean, it held the soul of a Pharaoh, and that’s pretty cool, right? I-I don’t know, I’m just curious about it, if that’s okay…”

“No, no, it’s fine! Here—” He reached back into the backpack, giving Momotarō a quick pat with his free hand, pulling the Puzzle out.

Akira took it carefully, holding it in both hands. “It doesn’t have any souls in it now, though, does it?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Marik grinned.

“How can you tell?”

“Well, you can’t,” Marik admitted. “Not just by holding it, and not even by putting it on, since if some kind of spirit was in there, it could choose not to show itself, unless you force it somehow. But there’s no reason why there would be one there now.”

Akira nodded, eyeing the Puzzle curiously. “Mm. I don’t know, it feels like it has so much…energy, I guess?”

Marik blinked, impressed. “You can feel that?”

“I-I don’t know, maybe? I mean, maybe you’d get that feeling holding any ancient object, or maybe it’s just awe--”

“No, no, they do radiate a kind of energy,” Marik said. “I’ve always thought it feels the same as shadow magic, but weaker. Not everyone can feel it though.”

Akira frowned. “I don’t know. If that’s the case, I’m probably imagining it. It is faint.” She placed the Puzzle in her lap, her eyes narrowed, thinking again. “So, with Tadako…”

“Yeah?”

“If only people with a Millennium Item can start shadow games, and the duel between Tadako and Yugi really was a shadow game, wouldn’t it just be a matter of working out who had which Items at the time of the duel? Whoever had the Items when the duel happened must have done it, right?”

Marik swallowed. “I had all seven Millennium Items when the duel happened. And I still do.”

She blinked. “Oh, right, sorry. Wait, then how could—”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t know how someone else could have started a shadow game without them, but there was an incident a year ago involving a so-called eighth Millennium Item, so there could be more. Or someone might have found a way to start a shadow game through some other means.”

Akira frowned, tracing the edges of the Puzzle pieces with her thumb. “What incident last year?”

Marik paused. “I don’t know that much about it, to be honest. I wasn’t in Japan at the time, when it happened. Yugi would be a better person to ask.”

She nodded, deep in thought. “Was that when KaibaCorp released its new duel disk? Mutou and Kaiba dueled, but there was some kind of blackout across Domino City, but no one knew exactly what hap—”

She broke off suddenly, flinching away from something invisible, her eyes wide, slightly glazed over. Marik adjusted his grip on the Rod. “Akira?”

The young girl was completely still for a few more moments. Then she blinked, pitching forwards slightly, her breathing coming quickly.

Marik frowned. “Are you okay?”

Akira hesitated, looking at the Puzzle, and then at him, her eyes wide with alarm. “Fine,” she said shakily.

“What just happened?”

“N-Nothing, I don’t think.” She handed the Puzzle back to him, not quite meeting his eye.

Marik narrowed his eyes skeptically. “Are you sure?”

“Yep.”

Marik hesitated — he knew she wasn’t telling him something, but he didn’t want to accuse her of lying. “Alright. But if something—”

“It’s fine. It’s nothing.”

Marik bit his lip, saying nothing.

Akira swallowed. “Right. Well…” she trailed off, her gaze sincere, solemn. “Thank you for telling me about all of this. Really. I know it’s a big deal.”

Marik shrugged, pushing his hands into his pockets, putting whatever had just happened aside. “I couldn’t not tell you. You deserve some answers.”

Besides, if anything happened to Ishizu or Rishid, I’d…I’d want to know why...

“I really appreciate it. But I just have one more question…”

“Yeah?”

“Why were you at the funeral yesterday?”

Marik blinked, only just realising he hadn’t explained that. “Oh! Well, I’m actually hoping to work out exactly what happened a few days ago. How the duel became a shadow game. Who was behind that.”

Akira’s eyes widened, bright with something like hope. “Really? You’ll tell me if you find anything, won’t you?”

Marik nodded. “Yeah, of course! I’d ask for your phone number, but…” he trailed off, looking guilty. It was his fault Akira didn’t have a phone at the moment.

“Oh, right, don’t worry about that. Here, my number should be the same once I get a new phone, I’ll write it down for you…”

After typing her phone number into Marik’s notes, Akira gave Momotarō’s leash a gentle tug, signalling to the dog that they were about to leave. Marik gave Momo one last pat, and Akira nodded politely to Marik, smiling, although her eyes were filled with unease. “It was good to talk you you. Thank you, again, for everything. I guess I’ll see you again soon?”

An image of a young girl in a courtyard flashed in his mind, and he nodded. “Yeah. I’m sure you will.”

Takeda Satoshi sat in a large office chair, his feet resting on the edge of the seat, his chin on his knees as he stared at his computer, the blueness of his eyes intensified by the blue light. He’d been in this position for hours, and he was beginning to feel stiff, his back a little sore, but he hardly noticed. He was focused on one thing.

Yugi Mutou.

He hadn’t been on the police force for long, but it had been long enough for him to pick up on a certain inside joke that had pervaded the force for years. Four years ago, there had been a string of incidents that no one could explain. Murders, arson, and other hospitalisations. And every time, this kid with ridiculous hair had been nearby. Impossible to miss on the security footage, Mutou seemed to have made a habit of hanging out around the places where these incidents occurred, up to a day before they happened. Every time the investigators failed to find any rhyme or reason behind what exactly had happened and why, once they were sure they’d reached a dead end, they would joke that the kid with the hair did it, and then go out for drinks.

And now, the kid with the hair was at the centre of another murder.

From the moment he heard about the case, Takeda had been suspicious of Mutou, hair notwithstanding. Surely it wasn’t just coincidence that Kioru Tadako had died the moment he lost the duel. But surely it wasn’t also a coincidence that Mutou, given his proximity to these unsolved cases from four years ago, had been opposite Tadako in the dueling stadium?

So he’d gone back, and he’d studied the footage from the unsolved cases carefully. He’d been shocked to find there were almost no gaps in the footage — somehow, perhaps by coincidence, KaibaCorp’s cameras always seemed to be trained on Mutou at every possible moment, except for when the incidents actually occurred. (He had half a mind to query KaibaCorp about this, but given Seto Kaiba’s current rumoured condition, he wasn’t sure he’d get very far.) He’d gone over Inspector Nakamura’s notes from that time, trying to find patterns, connections, clues, but so far, it had amounted to nothing, only confirming that Mutou was always present before everything went wrong.

Just like Tadako…

He took in a sharp breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. Don’t think. Don’t think about him. It’ll only make it hurt more—

“Takeda? You’re still here—“

“AAH!”

The young detective jumped as someone else entered the room, dropping a pen he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. He spun around in his chair, to see Ushio, another new recruit, coming in with two mugs of coffee. The other police officer was part of a different division of the force, but since they’d started at the same time, the pair had formed a kind of alliance that wasn’t quite a friendship, but was more than being mere acquaintances. Somewhat resembling both a tree and a boulder, Ushio was a head and a half taller than Takeda, twice as broad, four times as strong, and an intimidating figure no matter how you looked at it. And aside from that, Takeda had grown used to the silence of the offices late at night, and hadn’t been expecting someone else to come in. “Jesus Christ, Ushio! You scared me!”

Ushio smirked. “No kidding. I can’t believe you’re still here though — everyone else went home hours ago. What’re you doing, anyway?”

“I could say the same about you,” Takeda retorted.

Ushio sighed, looking put out. “My boss asked me to stay behind and clean up all the mess in the lobby — some idiots decided to have a duel in there, holograms and all. In a space as small as that, I don’t know what they expected to happen.”

Takeda frowned. “Surely the holograms didn’t make a mess? They don’t have any physical substance.”

“No, but the duelists got a little bit too excited. Started yelling and jumping around.”

“Aah.”

Ushio shrugged, setting the second cup of coffee down next to Takeda. “Anyway, that’s yours.”

“With—”

“Yes, with six sugars, you heathen,” Ushio laughed, clapping him on the back so hard Takeda felt his heart leap to his throat.

“T-thanks, Ushio…”

He picked up the coffee, and Ushio pulled up a chair next to him, seeing Mutou’s face on the screen. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “So, you’ve got the Kioru case, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m part of the team.”

Ushio nodded, leaning in closer, examining the image. “Yugi seems younger there…”

Takeda blinked in surprise at Ushio calling Mutou ‘Yugi’. “Yeah, that’s right. How would you know?”

“Oh, he and I were in High School together.”

Takeda cocked his head to one side. “All through High School?”

“Just about, yeah.”

“…This might seem a little odd, but can I ask you about some stuff?”

Ushio eyed him warily. “Depends on what it is you’re asking.”

“Nothing personal, don’t worry. But do you remember a chain of odd occurrences happening around your school four years ago?”

Ushio paused, then his gaze darkened, and he laughed. “Define ‘remember’. I remember people talking about everything that happened, but there are some gaps in my memory personally.”

Takeda frowned. “What?”

Ushio smirked, leaning back in his chair, sipping his own coffee. “What do you know about these ‘occurrences’?”

“Oh, um— there was an escaped criminal who got set on fire, but no one in the restaurant where it happened could see exactly how. There was another fire near some docks, where three people were severely burned, but no one could discern the cause. Another fire was started when a barbecue grill exploded, hospitalising yet another student. A series of people slipped into a coma for no apparent reason, including a gym teacher at Domino High. And an archaeologist who’d been digging up the tomb of Horemheb died as well, and this was all in a matter of weeks,” he said.

Ushio blinked. “I guess that’s most of the ones that would have reached the police. But I was caught up in all of that too.”

“Wha— you were?!”

“Yeah, right at the start. Apparently I started hallucinating right outside the school. It was just as all of this was beginning, and it lasted around two weeks, I think.”

“Was Yugi Mutou involved?” Takeda asked, sitting up straighter. “I mean— did anything about him seem odd to you around that time?”

Ushio shook his head. “I’m sorry — like I said, I don’t actually remember. The day before, and the weeks after I was hallucinating, are a complete blank for me.”

Tadeka slumped back in his chair, disappointed. “That’s too bad. I’m wondering whether these instances from four years ago could be connected to Ta— Kioru’s case.”

“Really? Why?”

“Because Mutou was always there! It’s a meme in my department because his hair’s so ridiculous. You can’t miss him in the security footage — every single time something happened, he was there right before it did. But it’s as if all the cameras go haywire as soon as whatever happened actually starts playing out.”

Ushio nodded, looking thoughtful. “Actually…I do remember one thing.”

“Hm?”

“Before all those odd things occurred, Yugi didn’t wear that stupid pendant thing around his neck. It always looked ridiculously heavy, so I never knew why he bothered. But it also looked as if it might’ve been made of solid gold or something, so maybe he thought if it was always on him it wouldn’t get stolen.” He waved a hand dismissively, taking another sip out of his mug. “It was probably really old too. At any rate, I don’t remember him wearing it before all of that.”

“Hm…” Takeda frowned. “I’ll think about that. Thanks, Ushio.”

“No worries,” he replied, standing up, just about tripling in height as he did. “I’m heading home. You don’t want a lift, do you?”

“No, I’m staying here.”

“Alright, well, don’t work yourself to death,” the taller man said, making for the door.

Takeda spun around in his chair, smiling wryly. “Is that a challenge?”

Ushio rolled his eyes, grunting in farewell.

Takeda waited until he closed the door, and then opened up the still of Mutou again, properly noticing the strange pendant around his neck for the first time – he’d never seen anything like it before, but he recognised the eye on the front as something vaguely Egyptian.

They eye of Anubis. Or Horus. Ra. One of them.

He zoomed in, trying to get a better look at the pendant, his eyebrows shooting upwards as he noticed cracks all through it – regular, even cracks. Like puzzle pieces.

Fitting…

The pendant was a puzzle which he was more than willing to solve. Mutou was a puzzle. Tadako was a puzzle…

Taking a sip of his coffee, he narrowed his eyes and opened a new tab.

I will find out who killed you, Tadako. I’ll find out who they are, and I’ll bring them to justice. I promise.

Chapter Text

When Marik got back to the KaibaCorp office, Bakura was waiting. “You’ve been a while.”

The duelist glanced over at Bakura as he came in, a couple of bags of groceries in his arms — although he had access to the staff kitchen while he was staying here, it wasn’t exactly set up for someone who was living there full-time. He shrugged, setting the shopping down. “I was meeting with someone.”

“Who?”

Marik hesitated — he’d told Bakura a bit about Akira the previous night, but he hadn’t fully explained that he was meeting with her today. He hadn’t fully explained a lot of things, really. “I-I saw Akira again. The girl who saved me after the funeral.”

Bakura frowned. “Her? What for?”

Marik swallowed nervously. “I told her about the Items.”

The spirit’s eyes widened, his hair almost seeming to become spikier than usual. “You what?”

He sighed, plopping himself down on the mattress on the floor, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We arranged to meet up yesterday, once the funeral was over. There was no way to avoid it, since she saw me use the Rod. Besides, there was also that vision I had about her, with the Necklace.”

“So you told her about the Items?!”

“Look, Bakura, I don’t think it’s done any harm—”

“Hasn’t done any harm?! Marik, these are the Millennium Items. They’ve killed someone.”

Marik frowned at him. He hadn’t expected Bakura to be pleased, but he hadn’t expected him to react this badly either. “Since when did you care that someone’s died?”

The spirit glared. “Don’t you dare try and suggest I’ve gone soft. I only meant they’re dangerous. What if she used that information against you?”

Marik bit his lip. “Well, I couldn’t not tell her. Not after that vision.”

There was a beat. Bakura finally, nodded grudgingly, relaxing slightly. “I suppose that’s true. What did you tell her about exactly?”

“What they are, what they do, a bit about their origins, a bit about Atem.” Marik noticed Bakura stiffened when he said the word ‘origins’, and quickly added, “Not that bit about their origins, though.”

Bakura nodded, turning his head away, apparently embarrassed that Marik had seen him react, gritting his teeth. “Right. And you told her all of that, just because of a vision of her in the desert?”

Marik swallowed. It didn’t sound like such a good idea, when you put it like that. “Y-yeah, pretty much. Why, do you think I shouldn’t’ve?”

Bakura paused, staring out the window, looking thoughtful. “Not necessarily. I’m just not sure why you trust her so much.”

The duelist swallowed. “I…that’s fair. I can’t say I’m sure telling her everything was the right thing either, but…at the very least, I owe her, too. I could’ve been hit by that car yesterday.”

“That doesn’t mean it automatically follows that you should trust her.”

Marik nodded. “I know.”

There was a brief pause. Then Bakura asked, almost stiffly: “Are you okay?”

“What?”

“After yesterday. When you had that panic attack, or whatever.”

“O-oh, yeah, I’m fine. I haven’t been thinking about it. I—”

He broke off as his phone rang, buzzing in his pocket. He frowned, giving it a cursory glance. It was Ryou. He picked up. “Hello?”

“Marik, Yugi’s been arrested.”

Marik went completely still — Bakura caught his eye, his gaze turning dark as he realised there was a problem. Marik tightened his grip on the phone. “What? For Tadako’s murder?”

“Tadako?”

“Kioru.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, for that.”

“They can do that?”

Ryou’s tone, although still worried, was also laced with sarcasm. “The police? Arresting someone? Boy, now that you mention it, I’m not sure if they can do that—”

“Alright, alright, I get it. I mean— surely they’d need some kind of evidence before arresting someone?” Besides, if they were going to do that, what took them so long? It’s been days…

“I don’t know — maybe they’ve found something? I—I don’t know. But Marik, I need to ask you a favour.”

“Yeah?”

“Jonouchi and Honda got all confrontational with the police, and now they won’t talk to any of us, since Anzu and I were with them. I… we’ve all heard stories about how badly they treat people they think have broken the law. Do you think you could find out what’s going on over there?”

Marik nodded, glancing at Bakura, feeling the beginnings of a smirk coming on. This could be fun. “Gladly.”

The police station was roughly fifteen minutes downtown from KaibaCorp; however, Marik and Bakura caught a bus, tripling the trip’s length. It was cold and wet — Marik’s sleeves were pulled over his hands, his hood drawn over his head, his toes freezing. Bakura, the wispy bastard, didn’t seem bothered.

They walked into a spacious lobby. Almost deserted, the room had a high ceiling, a polished floor, and was dotted with benches and pot plants. A young woman with short hair sat behind the main desk, while two others stood near the door, speaking in low voices.

“Well, he’s got a lot of nerve if he thinks I can make a case against Mutou based on that, especially as I’m only here for a few months…”

Marik stopped, frozen. They were talking about Yugi. Surely that’s a bit too convenient?

He pulled out his phone, doing his best to look absorbed in staring at the lock screen as he made his way over to a bench near the pair, subtly taking a closer look at them — the man who’d just spoken, wore an expensive-looking wine-red suit, and a frilly cravat so ostentatious he couldn’t not notice it. Though he looked young enough, his hair was completely silver, with long bangs hanging in front of his eyes; not unlike Marik’s own, although they were certainly neater. He didn’t look much like a policeman.

The other man was taller, dark-haired, and broader in the shoulders, wearing a long green coat which seemed worse for wear. “Yeah, no one would argue with you there, pal. Officer Takeda seems pretty convinced, at any rate.”

“Has he been able to get anything out of Mutou so far?” The silver-haired one asked, his head tilted slightly to one side. His eyes were fixed on the man in the coat, glaring intensely, as if he was trying to burn a hole right through him.

The other man seemed unfazed. “Nothing that he was hoping to hear, although he claims that’s a matter of ‘yet’.”

The silver-haired one’s brow furrowed. “What was he hoping to hear?”

“Hoo boy, that’s a long story. It goes back years…”

Marik glanced at Bakura, wondering what the spirit thought about all of this. Bakura held up one finger, as if to shush him, even though the question was silent. “Just listen…”

“…There was a certain series of ‘incidents’ a few years ago — unsolved cases — which Takeda thinks Mutou could also be tied to.”

The silver-haired one raised an eyebrow. “Also involving Duel Monsters?”

“No — if they had involved duel monsters, he might have convinced a few more people about his theory. But a bunch of super weird stuff happened, and no one could explain why, or who was to blame for it. I think you were…not here.”

“…Aah. Go on.”

Marik and Bakura exchanged a glance. Bakura shrugged.

The taller man coughed awkwardly. “Y-yeah, anyway, y’know how Mutou’s hair is really spiky?”

The other one flinched, his eyes narrowing. “Yes?”

“Well, that makes him impossible to miss in the security footage. He’s always there, prior to whatever happened next — a fire, a murder, whatever. But he was never caught doing anything wrong.”

Marik glanced at Bakura, unlocking his phone. He typed something, and then angled the screen towards the spirit: ‘Do you know what that’s about?’

Bakura peered over at the message. “I’m not certain, but I think I can guess. Let’s say Atem had a… fun time, when he first started possessing Yugi.”

Marik began to type something else, but the man in the suit spoke again, looking thoughtful. “And Takeda thinks Kioru’s death was one coincidence too many…”

“Bingo.”

The silver-haired one considered this for a moment, before glancing out the window, into the rain. “Well, if he can’t even convince his colleagues, there’s no way I’m going be able to convince a judge—”

A judge?

“— so until there’s some evidence that’s more conclusive than a ‘string of coincidences’, I can’t be asked to invest my resources in this case.”

Bakura nudged Marik. “So the one in red’s a prosecutor.”

Marik gave Bakura quizzical look. Prosecutor?

Bakura pinched the bridge of his nose. “A lawyer, Marik. The kind who tries to get people convicted of whatever crime they’ve been accused of. Maybe if you weren’t so good at avoiding the law, you’d have run into one by now.”

Marik swallowed, ducking his head, feeling as though that was something he probably should have known. Maybe he would have if he hadn’t lived underground for so long.

The one in the green coat was nodding. “Of course not. I think Takeda’ll be glad you heard him out, though.”

"Yes, well, anyway, about that paperwork I gave you last week on the Yamasato case..."

"Right! I have it here..."

Marik tuned the conversation out as it moved on from Yugi, leaning against a pillar near the door. What now? Do I just go up to them?

Bakura glanced at him. "It sounds like that Takeda guy knows something."

Marik cocked his head to the side slightly, a silent question. Go on?

The spirit shrugged. "It sounds like he's the one who wants to have Yugi charged for murder. He must have a reason for it. I don't know what he knows, but..." he trailed off, his expression darkening slightly. "If it's to do with the Items, that could be dangerous."

Marik nodded — that hadn't even occurred to him. If the police knew anything about the Items, that would be a massive problem. I guess we'd have to talk to Takeda to find out how much he knows...

He glanced at the service desk. There was an older woman sitting there at a computer, but he didn't like the idea of making an official appointment. That would mean leaving a trail, and giving the police information about himself, both things he'd made a habit of avoiding all his life.

He looked back at the prosecutor in the flashy suit. But if one of them let me in...maybe I can get around all of that.

He met Bakura's eye, giving him a confident nod, gesturing towards the two men with a subtle flick of his hair. I have a plan. Trust me.

Bakura blinked. "Go for it."

Marik nodded, taking a deep breath, fighting back nerves as he strode towards them. His footsteps echoed on the hard floor, and around the edges of the room — the pair looked up as he approached. He put on a nervous-but-friendly expression that felt much more forced than it looked, offering his hand. “Um, excuse me? My name's Marik Ishtar, I was wondering if you had a moment?”

The prosecutor just glared at him, one eyebrow rising slightly. The one in the long coat smiled at him though, taking his hand, shaking it vigorously. “Hey pal, what can we do for you?”

Marik smiled, pushing away his discomfort at how easy it was for him to put on the friendly but hollow facade that had once been Namu. “I’m a friend of Yugi Mutou. I just heard he’s been arrested.”

The lawyer continued to glare at him, completely unreadable, while the one in the coat eyed him warily. “I’m Detective Itonokogiri, and this is Prosecutor Mitsurugi. Didn’t I have to chase you and your other friends out of here before?”

“O-oh, I’m not one of them,” Marik said hastily. “I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

The detective laughed — a deep, booming laugh that almost echoed through the lobby. “If you don’t want to cause any trouble, then you’re definitely not one of them! Alright pal, what do you want?”

“I was hoping to talk to whoever arrested Yugi.”

The lawyer — Mitsurugi — raised an eyebrow at him. “Whatever for?”

Marik swallowed, wilting slightly under the intensity of that glare. It was like Bakura’s constant glaring, but he was used to that. “I just wanted to ask why he was arrested. And how long he’ll be detained for.” That doesn't seem like too much to ask, and it might help Ryou and the others if they know that much.

“Oh, we can tell you that, no problem!” Itonokogiri said warmly. “See, he was arrested because of what happened the other day, with that poor Kioru kid—”

“But what took so long?” Marik said, with an almost accusatory edge to his tone. “That was days ago, but I heard Yugi wasn’t arrested until this morning.”

“Well, that’s because there was only one detective on the force who thought he was worth arresting — Takeda Satoshi. He’s a junior, so it took a few days for him to convince someone to issue him with a warrant.”

Marik nodded, feeling the tension that had been knotting up in his stomach release. So only one person, Takeda Satoshi, thinks Yugi’s guilty, and he doesn’t have a very high rank… “And how long will you keep him here for?”

Itonokogiri glanced at Mitsurugi, who folded his arms, tapping his finger on his forearm. “Usually, he’d be kept for up to 23 days before being charged — three days, plus two ten-day extensions. But since I won’t be taking Takeda’s case without any evidence, if Takeda hasn’t got anything useful out of Mutou in the next 72 hours, no extensions will be granted, and he’ll be released.”

The duelist smiled, nodding again, his mind racing. If Yugi was forced to so much as drop a hint about shadow games, or the Items, one thing might lead to another, Takeda might get enough evidence, and Mitsurugi might take the case. Marik had heard about the 99% conviction rate across Japan, and he wasn’t going to let Yugi get wrapped up in all of that if he could help it. But It was highly unlikely he’d be allowed to see Yugi. He had to talk to Takeda, and try and get a sense of what he knew.

Maybe if I used the Rod and asked how to get to Takeda’s office…

His eyes darted across the tops of the walls — cameras everywhere. He wouldn’t be able to Millennium Rod his way out of this one. Damn…

“Was that all, Mr Ishtar?”

Marik almost jumped as he heard Mitsurugi speak again, feeling his veins turn to ice at the words ‘Mr Ishtar’. He’d never been called that before — he’d only ever heard it in address to his father, and instantly, he decided he hated it. “N-no, that wasn’t all…”

The prosecutor eyed him curiously. “Well?”

“…Did you say Takeda Satoshi was the one who arrested Yugi?”

“Yes.”

Marik swallowed. “I still want to talk to him. I…”

Fuck. Why would they let me see him? What could I possibly want with him?

“I have…evidence for him?”

Bakura and Mitsurugi both made an identical expression — disbelief, surprise, and something else Marik couldn’t quite place — saying in unison, “What evidence?”

Marik swallowed nervously. “I’d rather discuss that with your colleague, Takeda, if he’s the one handling this investigation. If that’s okay.”

Itonokogiri blinked. “I can always pass on whatever it is you want to say.”

Marik shook his head, trying not to look desperate. The idea that this Takeda person might know about the items nagged at him more and more. “Thank you, but if it’s not too much trouble, I’d prefer to tell Takeda himself.”

“But—“

To Marik’s surprise, Mitsurugi placed a hand on Itonokogiri’s shoulder. “No, Itonokogiri, I think we should go and get Takeda.”

Itonokogiri frowned. “You do?”

“I do.” He met Marik’s eye, giving him an almost knowing look. Marik stiffened, certain that the prosecutor was could see right through him. Mitsurugi smirked. “If Marik Ishtar has evidence, I’m sure Takeda would like to see it.”

Marik felt his stomach drop. Oh gods, he’s onto me, he knows I’m bluffing—

Itonokogiri just blinked. “I s’pose so. Let’s go then…”

Marik blinked, dumbfounded, as Mitsurugi led Itonokogiri away, towards the stairs. He heaved a sigh of relief, glad to have a moment of peace to think, to work out what the fuck he was going to do next, only to hear a voice beside him: “Marik, you dumb fuck.”

Marik jumped, having almost forgotten Bakura was there. He glared at him. “Yeah, I know. Gods, what do I say now?!”

“To me, nothing. You shouldn’t be able to see me, remember?”

“Right. Fuck.”

“Marik, shut up. ”

Right. Fuck.

He sat down on the nearest bench, thinking. Evidence…shit, what evidence do I have!?

He couldn’t give Takeda any evidence that might actually help get Yugi convicted for something which couldn’t have been his fault — even if Yugi choosing to finish the duel was a necessary part of Kioru’s death, he couldn’t have started the shadow game, therefore he wasn’t the main problem. While there was little doubt that Tadako died as a consequence of the duel, and that Yugi had been the one to end that duel, there was a missing link in Takeda’s theory: the link between Yugi finishing the duel, and Kioru’s death.

So if he were to learn about the Items…

Marik shuddered. That wouldn't end well for Yugi, and it almost certainly wouldn't end well for him either. Telling Takeda anything remotely related to the Items was definitely out.

“Is there something you can tell him that he probably already knows, but you wouldn't necessarily know he knows it?” Bakura said suddenly. “I’m not sure what, but…”

Great, so ‘Kura doesn't have any ideas either…

Marik bit his tongue, staring at a leafy green pot plant across the room, as if it might give him an answer. And then it came to him.

He was a duelist — he’d duelled Yugi before. He might not have any useful evidence per se, (at least, none that he could give to the police,) but he could be useful anyway. He could offer to point out anything odd about the duel, anything different to when he duelled Yugi himself. I don't see how that could lead to conclusive evidence about Yugi’s “guilt”…and it could be a useful exercise for my investigation anyway.

He glanced at Bakura, giving him a subtle thumbs up. The spirit nodded. “Good. Don’t screw up.”

Almost on cue, the elevator doors opened, and Itonokogiri emerged. “Alright pal, he's waiting for you on the fourth floor.”

Marik nodded, getting into the elevator himself, followed by Bakura. Bakura glanced at him. “So, what is this “evidence” you supposedly have?”

“It’s not evidence that I’ve come to see him about, strictly speaking. But I could help him analyse the duel, as someone who’s good at duel monsters, and has duelled Yugi before, which could theoretically give rise to some kind of evidence?”

The spirit’s pride wouldn't allow him to look impressed, but he did look relieved.

The elevator doors opened, revealing a well-lit room, filled with people working in large cubicles. The sounds of tapping keys and shuffling papers blanketed the room in a kind of white noise, and the air smelled faintly of coffee and shoe polish. A woman working in the cubicle closest to the door turned around, gave him a once-over, and then called out, “Takeda, it's for you.”

On the other side of the room, a young man, probably only just in his twenties, peered over the top of his cubicle. He stood up, holding a binder folder in his arms, walking over. More slightly built than Marik would have expected for a police officer, he had inky black hair, and almost startling blue eyes. What was even more noticeable, however, was the dark circles underneath them. “Marik Ishtar, was it?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I was hoping to talk to you about Yugi.”

“Sure. Would you mind if we talk in one of the interrogation rooms?” he said, a little apologetically, but firmly.

Marik stiffened. “Um—”

“Just so that I can record the conversation,” he added, adjusting his grip on the binder. “You never know if testimonies like this will useful down the track. Unless you have some kind of problem with this conversation being recorded?”

Marik swallowed. That last part sounded almost like a threat. “I— I guess that would be fine.”

“Good.”

Takeda led Marik down yet another corridor. Bakura stayed close to Marik as if he were his shadow — a tense, alert, and extremely uncomfortable shadow, his eyes darting around as though looking for an escape. He caught Marik's eye, grimacing. “Be careful.”

Marik gave him a small nod in acknowledgement, wondering just what he’d gotten himself into.

The room was colder than Marik had expected — he was suddenly glad he hadn't shed his jacket in the lobby. Takeda directed him towards the table in the centre. If he’d watched more detective movies, he’d have thought this room had come straight out of one of those.

Both of them sat down, while Bakura melted into the corner of the room, his arms drawn across his chest. Marik put his backpack on the floor beside him. Takeda looked across the table at Marik, a small quirk at the corner of his lip. “So, you’re a duelist?”

“Y-yeah, I am. How did you know?”

“When Detective Itonokogiri told me your name, I was curious,” the detective replied easily. “I did a quick Google search. Apparently you’re quite good.”

Marik swallowed awkwardly, briefly feeling as though that last bit shouldn’t be taken out of context. “I guess you could say that.”

“And you’re Yugi’s friend?”

Marik nodded mutely.

“Yet you’re not just here to assure me he’d never kill anyone in the hopes that I’ll let him go,” Takeda said, leaning forwards slightly. “Detective Itonokogiri said you had evidence for me.”

Marik paused, working out how he would put this. “I mean…evidence might not be quite the right word. I have an offer to make you.”

Takeda blinked. “What kind of offer?”

“Before I befriended Yugi, I was his rival. We were both finalists in the KaibaCorp Battle City tournament, two years ago. I know how Duel Monsters works, and I know enough about Yugi’s strategies that if there was anything odd about the duel where Kioru died, I could tell you.”

Takeda nodded, thinking this over, leaning back in his chair. “Interesting. Well, I appreciate the offer, but I think I’m going to have to decline.”

Marik’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected to be shut down so quickly. After all that, he’s just going to ask me to leave? “Wha— why?”

“You said you were a friend of Mutou. That being the case, you don’t want him getting convicted. You’re not unbiased – you’re coming here with an agenda. You want me to think he’s innocent, so that I let him go. Therefore, I can’t trust anything you say about the duel.”

Marik’s eyes widened, caught off guard. Of course. Why didn’t I think of that? “I—”

“I won’t allow myself to be misled like that. So, if that’s all you had to say—”

“Hold on a second!” Marik said quickly, cutting him off. He wasn’t ready to leave just yet – not until he knew how much Takeda knew about the Items. He bit his lip, thinking fast. “I’m offering you information that you can’t get from anyone else. The only other person who knows as much about Yugi’s duelling strategy as I do, aside from those in his close circle of friends, is Seto Kaiba, who no one’s able to talk to right now. When I duelled him, the stakes were high for me. I did my research, and then I watched him duel multiple times in the same tournament before he reached me. And I’ve been watching his duels since then.”

Takeda paused, his eyes bright and alert, considering this. “The stakes were high for you? What do you mean?”

Marik froze. He couldn’t tell Takeda the truth here. The truth was that he’d been on a crusade for vengeance against the ancient spirit possessing Yugi, and that was why he’d studied Yugi’s duels so closely, even if technically most of his trauma was his father’s fault, with more hindsight. “I— I mean— It’s a long story. And a bit personal. And I don’t see how it’s relevant.”

The detective’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

“R-really, it goes back to way before that tournament, and it didn’t have anything to do with Yugi, technically!” he stammered. Fuck. This was the last thing he’d wanted to get into — he wasn’t sure where he’d even start, if he was going to talk to anyone about it, ever. It was the last thing he wanted to discuss, that he wanted to even think about. He swallowed nervously, getting an idea. He couldn’t believe he was saying this, but if this didn’t make Takeda lose interest, he really was fucked.

“I mean…it kind of boils down to, er, ‘daddy issues’.”

Silence. Dead silence, for a handful of seconds that felt like lifetimes.

Then, in the corner of the room, Bakura absolutely lost it, doubling over with laughter.

Takeda blinked. “Oh, sure. Right. I guess that’s not relevant, then…”

Marik felt his shoulders slump with relief. He had no idea what he would have done if Takeda had asked him to go into that. Thank the fucking gods…

“…but none of that changes the fact that you have an ulterior motive in coming here. Regardless of how much you know about Mutou as a duelist, you intend to tell me there was nothing odd about the duel, and therefore insinuate that Yugi didn't do anything.”

Marik bit back a hiss of annoyance as he tried to block out the sound of Bakura taking a deep breath, getting a hold of himself, before cracking up again. He swallowed, focusing on Takeda. Worry wormed its way into his gut as he tried to think of something to say. The detective could be a much bigger problem than he’d bargained for. Even if he didn’t know about the Items, he was reading Marik like a book. And if he could read Yugi just as easily, if he could get Yugi to say something he didn’t mean to, getting the evidence he needed to charge him with murder might not be that difficult.

Marik had to be careful, for both of their sakes.

He took a deep breath. Takeda thought he was here to lie about the duel in order to protect Yugi. Surely it wouldn’t be hard to convince him otherwise? Then Marik could spend more time with him to work out what he already knew? He blinked in mock confusion, putting the old Namu charade back on. “But if I think Yugi’s innocent, why would I lie to you? If I just tell the truth, and do my best to explain what might have been happening with Yugi’s strategy in the duel, then Yugi should be released, right? I would only lie to you about the duel to make Yugi look innocent if I thought he’d done something wrong.”

“Is that right?” Takeda said, his eyes glinting, not missing a beat. “You’re saying the truth will become evident eventually, and Yugi will end up being innocent, without anyone trying to mislead me?”

Marik frowned, a little unsettled. Takeda seemed ready for that. Something was wrong. “Well…yes?”

The detective smirked. “If that’s the case, I don’t think I want you to leave just yet.”

Marik bit his tongue. He felt like he should feel relieved, but he didn’t. Takeda seemed completely in control, and he didn’t like it. “You don’t?”

“No. Marik Ishtar, if you thought this “truth” of yours would reveal itself, and Mutou would be proven innocent in the end, why would you come? If you truly believed Mutou had done nothing wrong, you wouldn’t have. You came because you’re worried about something.” Takeda stood up, and placed his hands on the table, leaning closer to Marik. “You might have asked to speak with me on the false pretence of giving me evidence, but that’s exactly what you’ve done. It wouldn’t satisfy a court, but you coming here is all the evidence I need. You’re worried about Mutou not being discharged without you intervening, and helping me examine the duel. That proves that Mutou has something to hide.”

Marik felt panic beginning to set in. This isn’t what he’d meant to do at all. He clenched his fists under the table, forcing himself not to react. Okay, so he’s fast. I can be faster. This is fine. “I—I’m not—”

“You’re here to try and distract me. By looking at this duel, you’re making sure my attention is away from whatever it is you think might prove Mutou played a role in Tadako’s death after all.”

Marik narrowed his eyes, pushing his anxiety down, squashing it. He needed to think. Takeda might have overestimated how far ahead he’d been thinking, but he wasn’t exactly wrong. Even though his main reason for wanting to talk to Takeda was just wanting to find out what he knew, him not learning about the Items was even more important. Marik couldn't afford to let him think like that for long.

But…he just called Tadako by his first name, didn’t he? That must mean something.

He stood up, mirroring Takeda, refusing to be stood over. “You sound very sure about that.”

“Yes,” he said, glaring.

Marik glared back. There was a fire burning in his gut now. If this Takeda thought he could outsmart him, he had another thing coming. It was clear to both of them that neither was planning on cooperating with the other. This was a different kind of duel — a contest of wits. The setting of an interrogation room was fitting. Except, unlike most interrogations, Marik was also planning on getting information out of Takeda too. Before he left this room, he would work out exactly how much Takeda knew about Yugi, and the Items. He glanced once at Bakura, who watched from the corner of the room, then consciously ignored him. He couldn’t afford to be distracted if he was going to try and outwit Takeda.

Hopefully Takeda would screw up first. Hopefully. He took a deep breath, centring himself. “Or, I’m really just telling the truth. I just want to help my friend, and I was worried that if I didn’t pitch in and help with his investigation, you wouldn’t have enough information to pull everything together.” That was true enough — that was why he was doing his own investigation. Even if he was deliberately keeping aspects of what he knew from the police as well.

Takeda raised an eyebrow, looking unconvinced. “But I’ve already got access to the best possible person to tell me the truth about Yugi’s strategy – Yugi himself. He can tell me what he was thinking better than you could, even with your specialised knowledge.”

Marik’s eyes widened. “But—”

“And yet you still want to talk to me. And don’t tell me you were just worried about Yugi, because I know Prosecutor Mitsurugi told you how long Mutou could be detained for. You wanted something else from me.”

Marik gritted his teeth, thinking fast. Takeda was always a few steps ahead of him. It was all he could do to deflect his accusations, but with any luck that was all he’d have to do for Takeda to reveal what he knew. He met the detective’s eye. “Yeah, because I wanted to know more than just when he’s allowed to leave. I’ve heard how ruthless police interrogations can be in Japan, and so have Yugi’s other friends. We were all anxious about how he was coping with the verbal abuse and manipulation. Maybe I wanted to talk to you in order to try and get some sense of how you’ve been treating him, or to find out whether he had a lawyer.” Not really what I’m here for, but anyway, it’s half a truth. Ryou would be worried about all that, so there’s no reason why I wouldn’t be.

Takeda shook his head, beginning to pace, circling the table. “Except you didn’t ask me about that.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to tell me outright, so I wouldn’t ask outright,” Marik countered, turning to face him. “I was hoping I’d learn something by talking to you, discussing the duel.”

“Why the duel specifically?” Takeda pressed. “Why talk to me about that?”

“It’s the only excuse I had to meet with you. I don’t have any other evidence I could possibly present.” Then it came to him: a way to test the waters, in terms of how much Takeda knew about the Items. “After all, I was in Egypt on the night of the murder.”

Takeda’s eyes glowed. “Egypt?”

Fuck. He knows something. Marik swallowed. “Yes.”

“And why were you in Egypt?”

Marik panicked for a moment, suddenly wondering whether Takeda could possibly connect the dots between him being in Egypt, and the robbery from the museum in Cairo. No…no, that was a full week before Kioru’s murder, on the other side of the world. Unless he already knows a thing or two about the Items, there’s no way he would have paid any attention to that. He bit his tongue, doing his very best to look unaffected, unimpressed. “Why was I in Egypt?”

“Yes.”

“Because I’m Egyptian. I live there. I have for most of my life.”

“…Oh.” Takeda paused, glancing at the door, thinking.

Marik smirked, finally feeling like his head was above water. “As for why I came out to Japan—”

“Wait!” Takeda said suddenly, slamming his hands on the table. “Do you realise what you said a second ago?!”

Marik froze, feeling himself sinking again. “Um—”

“You said, ‘I was in Egypt on the night of the murder’.”

Oh, FUCK.

Marik swallowed. “So what if I think it was murder? You also realise it can’t have been a coincidence. I just don’t think Yugi could be responsible.”

“Why?”

“Because I trust him.” The words came out of his mouth before he’d even thought about them, but they were true. That, and without the Puzzle, he couldn’t have done anything…

Takeda’s eyes narrowed. “How can you be so sure?”

Marik hesitated. The main reason was the fact that he’d the Items, but he had to direct the conversation as far away from them as possible. “How can I be sure I trust him?” he echoed. “Because he’s my friend, maybe?”

“But what if he was hiding something from you?” Takeda leaned in closer, his voice rising a little. “How can you know Yugi’s not guilty of anything when you think Tadako’s death was murder, and he was clearly involved somehow?”

Marik’s breath caught in his throat, unable to find a good reply. He didn’t have any good evidence that Yugi wasn’t involved unless he brought the Items into this.

But Takeda just used Tadako’s first name again…

Marik swallowed, meeting the detective’s eye. Hopefully he was right about this. Hopefully he was interpreting this right – if Takeda was using Tadako’s first name automatically, rather than just ‘Kioru’, he probably knew Tadako well. He looked as though they would have been a similar age. They were probably friends, or something. Probably.

“You trusted Tadako, didn’t you?” he said carefully, gauging Takeda’s reaction. “Surely you’d believe in him if he and Yugi’s positions were swapped?”

Takeda’s expression shifted immediately. He froze, shocked, growing pale, staring at the floor behind Marik. He took a deep, shaky breath. “How did you know that? How did you know I—I knew him?”

Marik swallowed. I guess I hit a nerve. “You used his first name. A few times.”

Takeda blinked, some of the tension in his shoulders seeming to release, although he still didn’t quite Marik’s eye. “Right. And you figured he was a friend of mine.” He straightened, seeming to shake off whatever had just come over him. “That was a bold assumption.”

In any other situation, Marik might have laughed at the irony of that. He could only just bring himself to grimace a little. “You’re one to talk. Haven’t you been the one making endless assumptions about everything I think and know?”

“Mm. The difference being that my assumptions are usually correct. Moving on,” he said suddenly, too loudly, too harshly, too sharply, leaving absolutely no room for negotiation, making Marik’s anxiety shoot through the roof again, stomach churning. “I’d like you to take a look at this for me…”

Marik stiffened, instantly suspecting that he probably would not like to take a look at whatever was in the folder Takeda was picking up off the table, for fear of accidentally revealing something he shouldn’t, but at least Marik seemed to have convinced him about trusting Yugi. The detective pulled out a picture of Yugi. It looked like it was from before Marik knew him — he seemed younger, and his bangs weren't as sharp. Sure enough, though, the puzzle was hanging around his neck. Takeda placed his finger on it, looking at Marik. “Do you know what this is?”

Marik felt himself growing tense. This confirmed, at the very least, that Takeda didn’t know what the Puzzle was. And he wasn’t about to learn anymore. “No.”

“Can you tell me anything about it? Anything at all?”

No fucking way. He frowned, feigning confusion. “Why, should I be supposed to?”

Takeda leaned in closer. “Just checking: you know absolutely nothing about this object?”

Marik met his eye, glaring. “Nothing.”

Takeda grinned. “Liar.”

Marik bit his tongue. “But—”

“You said you duelled Yugi two years ago, during the Battle City tournament. Yugi had this then.”

Fuck. “R-really? I didn't notice.”

Takeda looked unimpressed. “I don't know, it looks pretty noticeable to me.”

“I— I’m not very observant—”

Takeda’s eyes narrowed into slits. “You don’t recognise an object your friend wore for years? What’s more, you also said you’d lived in Egypt for most of your life, and you didn't recognise the Eye of Horus?”

Marik swallowed. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. All he could do now was play dumb. “The…eye of what?”

Takeda glared at him. He knew Marik knew that he knew that Marik must know who Horus was, and if an expression could say ‘fuck you’, he was screaming it. “You are hiding something about that pendant, Marik Ishtar. And I will find out what it is.”

Marik met his gaze evenly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Takeda swallowed, his eyes darting around the room, as though searching for something, anything to latch onto, to try and dig deeper. His eyes fell on the backpack at Marik’s feet. “Well…would you mind showing me what's in that bag of yours?”

It was the bag holding the Millennium Items.

Marik froze, hearing Bakura suck in a breath behind him.

Oh, fuuuuck.

This was, by far, the worst thing that could have possibly happened. The game was up. If he refused to let Takeda look in the backpack, he’d only seem more suspicious, and, being on the police force, Takeda probably had permission to search it anyway. And if he opened it up…

Marik felt something heavy settle in his chest. He’d have to use the Rod. He nodded calmly. “Yeah, of course.”

Hands shaking, he knelt down, and unzipped his backpack, with his back to Takeda. The Rod was sitting on top.

He knew this was being recorded — he didn’t know if it was audio, or video, but either way, when Takeda watched it back, something would seem out of step. But this was his only option now. Deftly, swiftly, he pulled the Millennium Rod out of the backpack and rounded on Takeda, whose eyes widened. “Is that—”

Stop talking. Give in to me.

The Rod began to glow faintly, and Takeda’s eyes glazed over, his arms dropping to his sides. Marik felt a twinge of guilt, but he pushed it away. I’ve got no other choice.

First: reveal to me everything you know about the Millennium Items.

Marik closed his eyes as Takeda’s knowledge washed over him, learning in an instant what the detective knew. He knew Yugi got the Puzzle immediately before a series of unexplainable incidents happened three years ago, but he didn't know what the Puzzle was called. He knew what the Eye of Horus was, and therefore knew the items’ origin — Egypt. And he knew that Yugi was oddly defensive when asked about them.

Good. He hasn't given up anything yet.

Second: reveal to me everything about Yugi’s arrest and interrogation.

More information — images, scenes — were copied from one mind to the other. Yugi was arrested at 9:30 this morning, and he didn't have a lawyer. He was doing fine at the moment, but psychological intimidation and sleep-deprivation were definitely on the agenda. No surprise there, but Marik had faith in Yugi. Anything Takeda intended to throw at him couldn't be worse than all the shadow magic Yugi had endured before.

He turned his attention back to Takeda. There was no point in making him forget their entire conversation, since it was all recorded. But if he could cover up the fact that he had the items, that would be enough.

You will forget the last minute of our conversation completely. Instead, you will remember asking me what’s in my backpack, and you will remember opening it, and finding two bags of groceries. Out of leads, you remember letting me go. You won’t share the recording of this conversation with anyone. Two minutes after I leave, or when someone else enters this room, you will be free of my control.

With that, he lowered the Rod, and the glowing stopped. Bakura finally spoke: “Bloody hell.”

Marik nodded mutely, returning the Rod to his backpack. He didn’t remember feeling quite this drained after using the Rod two years ago — not physically drained, but emotionally. He glanced back at Takeda, feeling heavy. When he was helpless like this, it seemed unfair to leave him in the dark about everything. He seemed to know Tadako. He didn’t seem like a bad person. He just wanted to know the truth. In that way, maybe he wasn’t so different to him, or Akira.

But the circumstances were all wrong. Whatever the truth was about Tadako, he couldn’t let Takeda know about the items. That might lead to Yugi being accountable for Atem’s actions, Ryou being accountable for Bakura’s, and Marik being accountable for…well. It depended on how you looked at it. But while he wasn’t sure if he and the other Marik were one and the same, accepting the consequences of his actions was a different thing entirely.

Pushing these thoughts away, he returned the Millennium Rod to his backpack, glanced around the room once, and then left.

Chapter Text

That night, Marik hardly slept.

He couldn't shake the feeling that talking to Takeda would end up being a mistake. Sure, he’d gotten the information that he wanted. But if Takeda had managed to get what he wanted out of Marik too, then it couldn’t have been worth it.

He stared at the ceiling, replaying what he could remember in his mind, over and over. Takeda would be able to listen to that conversation, and maybe even watch what happened, as many times as he liked. Sure, there would be a gap in Takeda’s memory, but before long, he’d realise that what he remembered couldn’t have really happened. He would remember inspecting Marik’s bag, but there would be a minute or so of complete silence on the recording — if he was as always as quick as he’d been with Marik earlier, he’d already know something was up.

As long as he doesn’t learn about the Items…

He signed, trying to recall the conversation again, worried that he’d slipped up. Even if Takeda hadn't quite worked out what was up with the Items just yet, he was scarily, scarily close. And he had Yugi. It was as though Marik and Yugi were walking on a knife’s edge, except they couldn't see each other, and Takeda was lying in wait, ready to throw them both off balance.

Marik rolled over, trying to push these thoughts out of his mind. Making overly dramatic metaphors out of the situation only made everything seem worse. Unable to sleep, he stared across the room, at the filing cabinets, counting the stripes of dim blue light coming in from outside. The office felt like a liminal space at night, as though reality was somehow out of step, in an eerie sort of way; but a good eerie. Empty, quiet, and dark, aside form the night-light, the room was oddly peaceful.

Bakura hadn't made any comment about the night-light since he’d arrived.

“Hey, ‘Kura?”

Bakura, who’d been sitting on the other side of the room, opened his eyes. He didn't seem to need sleep, in this form. (Then again, he hadn't maintained much of a sleep schedule with a body either.) “Don't call me that,” he said, eyes flashing dangerously.

Marik ignored the spirit’s reaction, propping himself up onto his elbow. “Do you think Yugi’ll say anything? To Takeda?”

Bakura paused, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Not intentionally. Takeda won’t be able to ‘break’ him, if that's what you mean. But given that he’s so perceptive, he might be able to glean something from whatever Yugi says. Or doesn’t say.”

“Yeah.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Gods, we’re so fucked.”

“You think so?”

Marik sat up, looking at him, surprised that there wasn’t even a hint of sarcasm in Bakura’s words. “Well, yeah. Takeda’s smart. He’s this close to working out what the Items are, and he has Yugi.”

Bakura tipped his head to one side. “Maybe, but it’s simple, what he does. He makes assumptions based on the facts that he has, he tries to get into the heads of the people he’s assuming things about, and then tries to get them to say things which will prove him right. That’s how he worked out you were hiding something. But what he’s missing now is the Puzzle’s name. As long as he doesn’t know the “Millennium” part, he can’t research the Items further. And I don’t see how he could work that out without Yugi telling him outright.”

Marik bit his lip. “I guess not. But if we assume that he’ll work out that some kind of magic from Egypt lets me alter his memory…”

Bakura raised an eyebrow. “You think he’ll accept that magic exists that easily?”

Marik blinked. He forgot, sometimes, that magic wasn’t as normal to everyone else as it was to him. “Oh, right. I guess not?”

“Mm. It’s more likely he’ll conclude that there was something off about the recording. Or that he just remembered it wrong.”

Marik frowned, unconvinced. “Maybe he would usually…but not combined with Tadako’s death. I think he realises that there’s something bigger going on here.”

The spirit nodded, sitting back, staring at the clock on top of the bookshelf. It was one o’clock. “You called him Tadako again.”

“Hm?”

“Kioru.”

“Oh, yeah. Right. I think it’s because Akira called him that so much.”

He nodded. “Have you had any more visions, since the funeral?”

Marik shook his head. “No. To be honest, I’ve kind of been avoiding touching the necklace. I know the visions could be useful, but…” he trailed off, trying to find the right words. “I…I had a bad experience with the Necklace once. And besides, I’m not good at using it. Not like Ishizu.”

Bakura shot him a sceptical look. “Was she really that good at using it in the first place? Her vision about her duel with Kaiba was wrong.”

He shrugged. “Well, she’s better than me. She can call on specific moments in time, specific things which she wants to see, and she’s better at working out what it all means. Anyway, there’s already so much that doesn’t make any sense, and nothing the Necklace has shown me has ever been clear, or straightforward. I don’t think it would be helpful for me to try and use it again.”

Bakura frowned. “If it's alright for me to ask, what was this…’bad experience’? It wasn't recent, was it?”

Marik swallowed, going very still. Yes, he had used the Necklace before now, but he’d been trying not to think about it. Panic knotted in his stomach, rising in his throat. His voice shook. “N-no. Just after Battle City, I was holding it, and it…it took me by surprise.”

The spirit glanced at him, brow furrowed, sensing his distress. “You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to.”

“N-no, I just…” he trailed off, the corners of his vision darkening, head swimming. No, nonononono, don’t go there, blockitoutblockitoutblockitoutblockitout, please—

He couldn’t stop it. The vision came rushing back. Suddenly, he was in the tombs, but he wasn’t himself. He was The Other Him. Flames from torches danced at the edges of his vision. The Millennium Rod’s golden edges glinted in the darkness. Shadow magic, thick, crushing, made it difficult to breathe. But worst of all, was the rush of adrenaline he felt, both his and not his. The feeling of pure elation, the feeling of power, of freedom, as he laughed , chilling Marik to his very core—

“Marik!”

Marik stiffened as Bakura’s voice cut through his thoughts. He was shaking violently, and the spirit was next to him, with one hand on his shoulder. The vision was gone. The tombs were gone. The Other Him was gone.

He felt his doona being draped over his shoulders, only just alert enough to realise that Bakura was making it float. Guess being a ghost has its perks.

Bakura sat down next to him, silently. Marik took a deep breath, still caught off guard by how everything still hurt. All his stress about Takeda wasn’t helping either. “Sorry—”

“Don’t apologise. You don’t have to tell me what you saw.”

Marik wrapped the blanket around himself properly, staring at the wall. “I-it’s fine. It was a vision of the past. It was of when I killed my father, I think, but—” He broke off, taking a deep breath. “I— I can’t remember much of it. My mind blocks it out for me, most of the time. I’d almost forgotten about it, to be honest — the vision, that is...”

He trailed off, and there was silence. Then Bakura said, almost drily: “Ha. Then I guess I can remember enough of my trauma for both of us. I wouldn’t’ve been able to block any of it out, even if I wanted to.” He swallowed, staring at the floor. “I remember every detail.”

Marik nodded, grimacing. “What do you reckon’s worse? Remembering, or not knowing?”

“Oh, not knowing, for sure. That way it’s left up to your imagination, isn’t it?”

“Mm.”

Marik wasn’t entirely sure how long they sat there.

Bakura turned up the nightlight.

Marik tried not to let his imagination wander.

BZZZzzzzZZZZZZZZZZT

He was jolted awake by the sound of his phone buzzing, grating against the wooden desk which it sat on, not for the first time that week. He groaned quietly as he realised he’d fallen asleep in an awkward position, and woken up feeling absolutely disgusting. His neck was sore, his head throbbed, everything seemed far too bright, and he felt queasy. I guess that’s what I get for not sleeping properly…

Bakura hadn’t moved. He frowned at the duelist. “You look awful.”

“Thanks,” he muttered, sitting up, reaching for the phone. Despite the fact that daylight was already coming in through the cracks in the blinds, the light from his phone was almost blinding. He felt like he might throw up just looking into the harsh light, nevermind reading the words on the screen, so he tossed his phone on his bed. I’ll deal with that later…

The spirit glanced at him, his eyes unsympathetic. “That’s probably important, you know.”

Marik grunted, feeling too gross to dignify that with a response. He couldn’t help but feel a sting of disappointment — Bakura had almost been kind to him hours ago. The duelist had never been able to get a good read on him, and the more time he spent with the spirit, the more Marik realised that Bakura was just like that. He was unpredictable, and the extent to which he was being an asshole didn’t seem to correlate with anything.

He stood up, opening the blinds, waiting for his grogginess to dissipate. He caught a glimpse of his reflection, pale against the blue sky outside — his hair stuck up in all the wrong places and nope nope nope , fixing that immediately. He threaded his fingers through it a few times, but it refused to lie flat, probably because it needed to be washed. He’d gotten himself a gym membership (not entirely legally, but then again, surely there was nothing in the law about not using the power of the primordial darkness to get out of paying a few thousand yen?) so that he could shower, but kept on forgetting to bring shampoo and conditioner. While KaibaCorp’s location was useful, Marik’s office wasn’t exactly designed to be lived in.

Giving up on making his hair sit the way it should, he swept it back into a bun and called it a day. At least he didn’t look like him .

His phone buzzed a second, signalling that it had been two minutes since he got the text. He sighed, picking the phone up off the table.

Kioru Akira

(8:13) Hey Marik! Sorry to bother you so early, but I’ve been trying to think about what I can do to help, and I’ve put some of Tadako’s stuff in a box for you to borrow, if you want? I don't know if it will help but I wasn't sure what else I could do. Let me know if you want to meet somewhere to get it from me! — Akira.

Marik blinked, typing a quick reply.

(8:16) All g, what kind of stuff?

(8:19) his deck/a folder of other cards, and anything I could find of his which might be a bit related to Egypt or magic

(8:19) There wasn't very much of that though

Marik’s smile softened. He wasn't sure what he could do with that, but it sounded like she was trying really hard. He didn't want her to think any work she’d done was useless.

(8:20) that could be helpful. Are you far from the commercial district?

(8:21) I can meet you there!

Bakura glanced over Marik’s shoulder. “You’re going to humour her, then?”

“Hey, who knows, maybe what she has could be helpful. If Tadako had any connection to the items—”

“Then Akira probably would have known something about them already.” Bakura smirked at him. “You’re just being soft.”

Marik saw his smirk, and raised him an eye roll. “Nothing wrong with that.”

An hour later, Marik waited outside the KaibaCorp building. He’d gotten a bit more used to the cold by now, and was trying to make the best of it — although his fingers were so freezing he both couldn't feel them and felt them ache slightly, and his nose refused to stop running, at least the crisp air was refreshing, and the freshly fallen snow was nice. He thrust his hands deeper into the pockets of his overcoat, exhaling slowly, watching his breath fog up the air in front of him.

“Marik!”

He looked up, seeing Akira push her way through the crowd of people on their way to the office. She looked awfully out of place among the smartly-dressed business-people around her, her short, dark hair windswept and dishevelled, an oversized down coat hanging from her shoulders. Holding a cardboard box close to her chest, she smiled at Marik once she realised he’d seen her, pushing herself up onto her toes, trying to see over the crowd, waving. “Marik!”

Marik grinned back, glancing at Bakura as the spirit materialised next to him, looking about as cheerful as he usually did.

Akira didn't see him at all, weaving through the throng of people, giving Marik another warm smile as she reached the pair of them. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Marik said. “No dog today?”

Akira shook her head. “No, he’s had his walk.”

Marik shrugged, caught slightly off guard by how deeply his disappointment cut through him. Maybe he should get a dog, or something. He really shouldn't be missing Akira's this much. "Oh, right. Er, did you want some tea, or something? I’m staying at KaibaCorp at the moment, so I’m sure we could raid a staff kitchen.”

She frowned. “You’re…staying at KaibaCorp?”

“Yeah, in an empty office. I wouldn't recommend it.”

Akira nodded, blinking slowly. It certainly wasn’t the strangest thing Marik had told her in the past few days — it didn't even come close. “Alright then. Tea sounds great.”

They went inside, both of them pausing just inside the door to appreciate the warmth. Bakura tapped Marik on the shoulder. “I’ll wait upstairs,” he murmured. “Watching you two make small talk couldn't be less interesting.”

Marik acknowledged him with a subtle nod, and the spirit vanished.

They made their way up to the staff room, and Marik put on the kettle. Akira leaned against the island bench in the centre of the room, gazing out the window. “By the way…”

“Hm?”

She glanced at him. “I don't think I ever thanked you properly.”

The duelist frowned, reaching into the cupboard for some teabags. “What for?”

“Well, everything, I guess. Looking into what happened to Tadako, telling me about the Millennium Items…” she trailed off, smiling at him. “Without you I wouldn’t have any idea what could have happened. I really appreciate it.”

Marik blinked. He didn’t mention that he only did it because he’d seen an image of her in a vision. “No worries.”

Silence filled the room aside from the sound of the slowly boiling kettle. Akira leaned against a bench, gazing out the window while Marik stared at the empty mugs, struggling to think of something to say. Although he’d had more experiences with death than someone his age normally would, those experiences weren’t exactly normal. He had no idea what he should say. The answer to ‘are you okay’ was painfully obvious. He wasn’t sure Akira would want to open up to him about how exactly she was coping, anyway. He swallowed. “I hope you’re...managing?”

Akira sighed, looking down at the floor, her short hair falling across her face. "Thanks. I—I think I am. I’ve got good friends looking after me." She glanced over at him, offering a weak smile. "And I've got the fact that magic exists to distract me. Murder magic that killed my brother, but still.”

Marik clapped one hand other his mouth, suppressing a laugh, a choking noise in the back of his throat. “Murder magic?”

”Am I wrong?” she said a little indignantly, smile broadening.

”I— no, but oh my gods—“

She grinned. “That’s what it’s called from now on. My brother’s dead, I make the rules.”

Marik snorted. Humour hadn’t been his choice of coping strategy, but he definitely wasn’t about to criticise it, nor was he in a place to. Not when his own had been vengeance and alter egos. “Right. But seriously, I hope I didn’t drag you into all of this, it's probably a lot to take in—"

"No, don’t  apologise," she said quickly, her eyes growing more serious. "I'm glad I know. I'm glad you told me."

He blinked. "Really?"

She nodded. "Mm-hm. I know it's all a bit messed up, and dangerous, but it's better than not knowing. Better than having no other option than to convince myself that Tadako dying the way he did was just a coincidence. I’m glad you didn’t leave me in the dark.”

Marik sucked in a breath, something inside him melting. He’d been vaguely aware that part of his decision to tell her about shadow magic had been motivated by not wanting to keep the truth from her. But he’d never really thought about the parallels to his own situation, to the very significant death in his life which he hadn’t known the truth about for years. He’d never heard someone refer to that feeling as being in the dark about something, but something about it hit home. 

But more than that, he’d managed to prevent that for someone else. He’d actually done something good.

He smiled, warmth and pride spreading through his chest, more than Akira knew. “Of course.”

Akira nodded, staring into space a little. “Can I ask something else?”

”Yeah, go ahead.”

“Is it...common for people to die because of the Millennium Items?” She tried to keep her tone light, but something in her voice sounded stiff and forced. 

Marik swallowed. Talking about this is harder than she wants to admit... “That depends on how you measure it. It's not like a large number of people die because of them, but out of the people who do know about them or have been involved with them, the rate's probably fairly high—”

He broke off as the kettle beeped — Akira frowned. "So it's rare for someone who doesn't know about them to die like Tadako did? Could it happen again?"

Marik shook his head. "I doubt it. Yes, it's possible for someone with no connection to the Items to get hurt because of them, but it doesn't happen much. Usually, if that does happen, it's because they've crossed someone with an Item who's mad enough about it to start a shadow game with them," he said, pouring the hot water into the mugs. "What happened to Tadako was really strange. Which is part of why I want to work out what happened."

Akira paused, frowning as he handed her one of the mugs. "Mm. Strange is one word for it."

Marik nodded, grimacing, reaching for the milk.

“What was the rest of the reason?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, if that's just part of the reason, why else are you trying to work out why my brother died?”

Marik paused, thinking about it. Honestly, it had been a snap decision, based largely on instinct — he’d been in Egypt, without much of a purpose, and it wouldn't have been right if no one ever knew the truth.

Afar again, he hadn't known the truth about a very significant murder in his life for a very long time. That probably played into it somehow.

He pulled his teabag around the edge of his mug in a slow circle. “I…I don't know. I wasn't sure anyone else could do it, and it felt like the right thing to do.”

Akira looked almost relieved. “So that's it, then? You just wanted to do the right thing?”

There was a beat — Marik's eyes widened, his breath hitching. Something in his chest suddenly felt tighter, warmer, right at his centre, almost like a stab, but also absolutely nothing like a stab because he knew what a stab felt like.

Was that true? Was that also part of what was motivating him, deep down? Was he really trying to do the right thing?

He swallowed, thinking the idea through. On the face of it, it seemed true enough. He definitely didn’t have an ulterior motive — he wouldn’t gain anything particular once he learned the truth. But after so many years of chasing significantly less honourable ideals and outcomes, acting on instinct, on blind ambition, and a need for vengeance…had his instincts changed? He certainly hadn’t thought this through any more than his decision to get his vengeance on the Pharaoh, and yet this decision had such a different character.

Everything that he’d said at the end of Battle City about renouncing darkness, and continuing on a path of light…was he actually doing it?

Marik didn’t realise he’d waited too long to respond until Akira started talking again, slightly too quickly, sounding embarrassed. “Sorry, that was probably a really weird thing to say, I just— I just wasn’t sure if you had some other ulterior motive. But if you’re just doing it because it feels like the right thing to do, then—” she broke off, swallowing, tucking her hair behind one ear. “Then that’s great. That’s really great.”

Marik blinked, only half listening. “O-oh. Great.”

Akira looked away, ducking her head awkwardly, removing her teabag from her mug, placing it carefully on the edge of the sink. She took a long sip, letting out a sigh, closing her eyes. “God, I needed that. Thank you.”

Marik took a deep breath, making a conscious effort to pull himself out of his thoughts. He could work through his identity crisis another time — right now, he had to try and hold a conversation. He swallowed. “Did you have any other questions?”

She smiled wryly into her mug. “So many. I don’t think you know the answers, but I hope you find them. I hope I can help.” She had one more sip of tea, before glancing at the cardboard box she brought with her, sitting on the table. “Should I show you what's in there?”

“Sure. Maybe not here though, it’s probably not very private. I'm staying in an office down the corridor."

Akira frowned. "Is there a reason you didn't stay in a hotel or something?"

He shrugged, picking up Akira's mug for her so that she could carry the box. "One of Yugi's friends was able to convince Mokuba Kaiba to let me do this for free, since I can't really afford anything else."

Her frown deepened with concern. "...If it's okay for me to ask, how did you afford to fly over here then?"

Marik stiffened. "I, er... I might have used the Millennium Rod to convince all the airport staff I came across that one of my duel monsters cards was a valid airline ticket, but the barcode was faulty."

Now there was a different kind of concern on her face. She took a deep breath, not meeting his eye. "Right. Okay. Totally normal things."

Neither of them said much as Marik led the way down the corridor.

He opened the door, almost forgetting that Bakura would be there too. Leaning against the filing cabinets, he knowledge Marik with a nod, eyeing Akira carefully, waiting to see if she would react to him. She didn't. She couldn't see him. Which, Marik supposed, was a good thing. At the very least, it was normal, and predictable, and a fantastic change from literally everything else that had happened recently.

Akira had wandered around the other side of the wooden desk in the centre of the room, looking around the room. “So, you’re living here at the moment?”

“Yeah. I don’t know how much longer it’ll be, but it’s comfortable enough.” More comfortable than the tombs, anyway.

Akira nodded, placing her tea on the table, followed by the cardboard box. “Did you want me to go through what’s in here?”

He blinked. “Yeah, sure, as long as you’re up to—”

He broke off, suddenly becoming tense. He had no idea why, but he suddenly had a bad feeling. He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise, adrenaline racing through his veins. Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong—

“Marik?”

He said nothing, glancing at Bakura, who frowned at him, one eyebrow raised quizzically.

Great. Bakura doesn't feel it. Great great great great great.

He scanned the room, searching for anything that was out of place. Nothing’s missing, and this doesn't feel like shadow magic—

Then he felt a kind of tug, as though his attention was being drawn towards the left side of the room. His eyes fell on the Puzzle, sitting beside his backpack, the eye on the front glowing ever so slightly. He picked it up, but the sense of foreboding didn't lessen. Then, somehow, he understood.

This is a warning. The Puzzle’s trying to warn me about something—

Then a dark shadow appeared outside the window, quickly growing larger. He tensed, preparing to dodge it. “Akira, get down!”

The young girl’s eyes widened, and she instantly obeyed, slipping under the table. As she did, a third person burst through the window feet-first, shattering the glass. Marik leapt back, almost knocking over the shelves by the door in the process, gritting his teeth as hot tea splashed onto his shoulder. He placed the Puzzle on the floor and grabbed the Rod.  

Thanks, Puzzle. Didn't know you could do that.

The intruder landed on the table, their face obscured— they wore a large hoodie, and had a murky brown scarf wrapped around their mouth and nose. The only features Marik could make out were dark, olive skin and thick, almost fluffy ginger hair, which stuck out from under the hood, and was swept to one side. They glared at Marik, with slanted, dark brown eyes. “ You.”

Marik stilled, swallowing. He had no idea who this person was, or why they were here, but if they came in through the window and hid their face, he figured they weren't good news. “Yes?”

The intruder glared at him for a few moments more, and then glanced around the room. “You…you have all of them…” Her voice had a rough edge to it, and was somewhat muffled by her scarf, but was distinctly feminine.

Marik’s grip on the Rod tightened. “All of what?”

“The Items. You murderer .”

Marik started, feeling something tighten in his chest, his mouth going dry. He was vaguely aware of the sound of his mug shattering as he dropped it, tea spilling onto the floor.

A thousand questions ran through his mind, while a thousand denials died on his lips.

The intruder stared at him. “Well? Do you deny it?”

Murderer.

She wasn't wrong. As much as he hated it, she wasn't wrong.

He was a murderer.

He clenched his jaw as shame, guilt, pain, all of it, coursed through him, settling in his veins like ice. He’d been a murderer since he was eleven . He knew that there was an argument to be made that he wasn't responsible for either his father's death, nor his other self’s fate, but he wouldn't hear it. Whatever his other self did, he should be responsible for it. It was his fault the other Marik existed at all. It was his fault for allowing his other self to take over, for lacking the strength to stop him, for not being able to manage his own pain and anger. He should have been able to stop it. He should have been able to stop him — to stop himself.

Regarding everything the other Marik did, he was absolutely, unequivocally guilty.

His hands shook. His throat tightened. He could almost feel his father’s eyes on him, daring him to lie, daring him to hide who he was. What he’d done. Underneath the table, Akira stared at him, her eyes round. Marik swallowed, meeting the intruder’s eyes, his voice trembling.

“No.”

The intruder narrowed her eyes, and before even a second passed, she drew a knife, and leapt at him with a shout. Marik reacted instantly, dodging, adrenaline surging through his veins. His fighting ability wasn't unparalleled by any means, but he'd spent enough time with shady figures while running the Rare Hunters to be able to hold his own, with the help of a bit of magic. He unsheathed the Rod, casting the short blade’s case aside. The intruder attacked again — Marik deflected the attack with his own blade, and then rushed forwards in an attempt to knock her off balance. She stepped to the side, driving the knife towards his shoulder. He ducked, and grabbed her wrist, pushing her back against the wall. He held the Rod up near her throat, breathing heavily.

“Who are you. And what do you want.”

The girl gritted her teeth, twisting her hand away with almost practised ease. “You disgust me. I don't owe you any explanations!”

She shoved him, and he stumbled, his thighs hitting the edge of the table. Her blade flashed as it rushed towards him, and he spun the Rod in his hands, catching the knife between the round ball and one of its wings. He didn't know what the fuck was going on here, but he was sure as hell going to find out. He tapped into the Rod’s magic, bringing the intruder under his control. I’ll ask you again. Who are you, and what do you want?

Her glare intensified, a far too familiar golden eye appearing on her forehead.

What?!

She pulled back, and then lunged again, her dark eyes smouldering with rage. “You killed Tadako, you bastard!”

“I… what?!”

He ducked, his mind racing. Okay, so maybe he killed his father, and even tried to kill Yugi, and Jonouchi, and plenty of others that he didn't want to think about, but he did not kill Tadako, and he wasn't going to get himself injured, or killed, or, Gods forbid, let anything happen to Akira, all because his assailant thought he’d done something which he didn't do.

“I didn't kill Tadako!” he insisted, blocking the blow with another wave of the Rod, gritting his teeth. “If you’d just stop—”

“Liar! You had all the items — it must have been you!”

“Well, it wasn’t!”

“Was!”

“Was — not!” Marik grunted, catching her blade with the wings of the Rod again, and twisting it out of her hand. It clattered to the floor, sliding under the table, towards Akira. He spun the Rod once more, and held the blade to her throat a second time.

“Now talk .”

The intruder was silent, glancing around the room once more. Her gaze fell on Bakura, and lingered there. Then she looked back at Marik, her eyes alight with something like humour.

“Make me.”

Marik’s eyes widened — she was taunting him. She knew that he couldn’t — that the Rod hadn’t affected her, and she was mocking him for it with a knife to her throat.

Either he was sorely underestimating her, or she had serious guts. Probably both.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she raised one hand, cutting across him. “I know you don't plan on killing me,” she said calmly, gently lowering Marik’s blade, something in her eyes conflicted. “That much is obvious from the way you fight. Besides, you want to know who I am.”

Fuck, she's smart too. He narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps.”

The intruder nodded, her eyes darkening. After a long beat, she said, “You really didn't kill Tadako?”

Marik nodded.

“Well. This is awkward,” she said, folding her arms in front of her. “Who are you then? And why did you have—” she broke off, her eyes going wide. She was still for a few moments. She blinked at Marik. “Huh. Nevermind.”

What? What the fuck?

Carefully, slowly, she put the knife away, before rounding on Bakura. “And you. Who the fuck are you?”

“Me?” Akira said, still under the table.

“No. Him.”

The spirit stood stock still, his eyes round. She shouldn’t be able to see him. Bakura looked at Marik, then at the intruder, then at Marik again, confused, and concerned. Marik shrugged, mirroring his expression, internally screaming.

Bakura stared at the intruder for a few more beats, before finally speaking: “Huh?”

Marik took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. Nice one, Bakura. Real smooth. Real intimidating.

The intruder stared at them for a few moments more, before allowing her posture to relax, slipping back towards the window like a shadow. “Well then. I’m gonna bounce.”

Marik’s head snapped towards her. “Wait, I—”

She silenced him with a glare. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon, Marik Ishtar.”

With that, she stepped towards the window, reaching for a sturdy-looking rope hanging down from above. She gave it a sharp tug, and hoisted herself over the windowsill, swinging out of Marik’s sight. Akira emerged from under the table and raced to the window, leaning out — soon enough, they heard a clang. “There's scaffolding,” Akira breathed, her eyes round. “There's repairs being done to the outside of the building...she got up using the scaffolding.”

Marik nodded, still too confused and shaken to be even remotely relieved. He stared out the window, processing what had just happened. Who was that? He'd never heard of anyone with the stranger’s description, yet she knew all about the items, and his mind control didn't work on her.

Could she have killed Tadako?

No, surely not — she’d accused him of killing Tadako. But maybe if she knows something—

“Marik?”

“Hm?” He glanced at Akira, expecting her to look just as baffled as he felt. But instead, the look in her eyes was dark, and intense.  

“Why didn't you deny it when she accused you of murder?”

Oh, fuck. That.

Marik’s throat went dry as he wilted under Akira’s glare. “I—”

“Y-you were telling the truth. You’ve taken someone else’s life,” she said slowly, running one hand through her hair. “And I trusted you—”

Marik’s grimaced, taking a step towards her. “Akira, let me—”

“Get away from me!” Her voice was halfway between a snap and a yell, her eyes narrowed, looking around the room. Her eyes fell on the Puzzle, and she snatched it up, holding it by its rope, hanging between her and Marik. “Or else I’ll—”

“Akira, please, listen—”

“Stop it! You—” she broke off, taking a long, rattling breath. Marik realised she was on the verge of tears. “You’ve—” she could hardly choke out the word, trailing off, covering her mouth with her free hand, her eyes round as she stared at him disbelievingly. “You’ve killed someone.”

He nodded mutely, unable to speak.

“Was it an accident?” She said suddenly, almost hopefully. “Is it just…was it an accident you blame yourself for?”

Marik bit his tongue, shaking his head.

“O-okay, that's fine. Was it…was it self-defence? It was self-defence, wasn't it?” she said shakily, her words coming faster now, desperate, pleading. “Because then—”

“Akira, it wasn't self-defence,” he said, his voice breaking. He hated this. He absolutely hated this. But he wasn't going to lie to her. “It wasn't an accident. It was...murder.”

The word ‘murder’ seemed to cut through the space between them, severing the beginnings of any kind of trust that had started to form between them. The room suddenly felt colder.

When Akira spoke again, her voice seemed sharper. “Who? When?! God, how— how many —” she broke off, her eyes round, slightly glazed over. “Was there more than one?”

Marik bit his lip. His father made one. Did the other him make two? “I— it’s complicated—”

“How can it be complicated?!”

”I don’t know if the second one counts—”

Her eyes widened. “So there was more than one person? When was this?”

He swallowed thickly. “Once, seven years ago. And the second time, two years ago.”

Akira blinked, her eyebrows furrowing further. Then her gaze snapped back to the duelist, her eyes uncertain. “Two years ago?”

He nodded.

“During the Battle City tournament?”

Marik frowned, wondering what the significance of that was. “Y-yeah—”

Oh wait, shit.

He suddenly recalled their conversation from two days ago.

“No one actually died in Battle City, did they?”

“…No, but there were a few close calls.”

She continued to stare at him, her eyes dark, first with pain, and then, slowly, anger. “You’ve been hiding it from me. This whole time.”

He swallowed. “I—”

“And I thought you wanted to help. I thought I might start to trust you!" Her voice cracked, but she continued. “You were going to find the truth, and fix everything, but this whole time, you've been hiding the fact that you've killed someone—”

“Akira—”

“A-and you, you said people got hurt playing duel monsters during Battle City, and Kaiba needed to cover it up—"

“Akira—”

She stared at him, shocked. "Did Kaiba cover up a shadow game where you killed someone?"

"Yes, kind of, but it's compli—"

Her eyes grew round. “You killed someone in the same way Tadako died—"

“Akira, no, slow down, please ,” he pleaded, reaching for the Rod. If I could just calm her down slightly—

“No! Don't you dare try and make me forget this!” she snapped, voice rising. “Is that what you were getting the Rod out for?!”

“Akira, no , I just need a chance to explain—”  

“Stop! Just, stop it!” she said, backing away further, towards the door, eyes shining with the beginnings of tears. “I wish I hadn't found you after Tadako's memorial!"

Marik’s eyes widened. “Akira—”

“I wish I hadn’t thanked you for looking into Tadako’s death! I wish…” she broke off, gasping thickly — the Puzzle, still hanging between them, swayed back and forth. “I wish I hadn’t trusted you!”

Marik stared at her, his eyes round, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. No. No, no, no…

Then Akira looked at the Puzzle, hanging between them, and then looked at him, her eyes still brimming with emotion, but filled with determination. “I’m finding the truth myself.”

Marik’s eyes widened. “Akira—”

“ I-I can't trust you. I clearly can't trust you,” she said, her voice hollow. “So I’m taking this, and trying to find out what happened to my brother myself.”

“But you don't know how to use the Puzzle!” Marik protested, his instinct to stop her from taking the Item overriding his shock and guilt and hurt. “Akira, that thing’s dangerous—”

“I fucking know that, Marik,” she said in a low, dangerous voice. “You think I didn’t get the memo after my own brother’s death?”

“No, that's not what I—”

“Leave me alone, Marik. I need— I need time to think.”

There was a long pause — Marik swallowed the panic rising in his throat. “Okay. Okay, that's fair, you need time to think, just— just give me the Puzzle. Then you can go, scream at me, do anything you like—”

Akira silenced him with a cold glare. “I don't need your permission to do any of those.”

Then, Puzzle in hand, she slammed the door without another word.

Chapter Text

Marik wasn't sure how long he stared at the door. 

He wasn't sure whether he should be panicking, or confused, or hurting, or any combination of the three. He’d just been accused of murder, the Puzzle was gone, and Akira hated him; perhaps justifiably so.

The calm, rational part of his mind was telling him to focus on getting the puzzle back, or working out who the intruder from earlier was. It was the part of him that reminded him of Ishizu — the voice of reason, gently telling him how he should move forward.

But the rest of him was too shaken to listen. He felt fragile, on the point of breaking, something knotting in his chest, his heart racing, unable to do anything aside from continuing to stare at the door.

Bakura broke the silence: “Well, that’s just bollocks.”

Marik pulled his eyes away from the door, finding the strength to glare at him instead. He’d rather take out his feelings out on Bakura than start crying, the latter of which he was closer to than he’d like to admit. “Jeez, Bakura, what the fuck tipped you off?”

The spirit looked so unimpressed it was vaguely intimidating. “Marik, you need to get the Puzzle back. We can deal with everything else later.”

Marik took a deep breath, pinched the bridge of his nose and took a few paces back, resting against the table. “Bakura, just— just shut up.”

Bakura blinked, taken aback. “Marik—" 

“I know, Bakura. I just— I can’t do this right now. I can’t.”

There was a heavy silence. Bakura looked offended, crossing his arms, but said nothing. Marik sat down, taking a deep breath, cupping his face his hands. Fuck. How the fuck did everything get worse. 

“You can talk to me if you want,” Bakura finally said, albeit a little crabbily. “If you wanted to get some feelings out.”

Marik smiled wryly to himself. “No thanks. I’ve just been accused of murder by two different people, so I’m not sure I want to vent to someone who’d think that’s some kind of achievement.”

Bakura made an amused noise in the back of his throat. “Touché. But hey, Marik? If you’re not going to go after Akira, at least go for a walk.”

The blonde glanced over at him, frowning. “A walk?”

“Yeah. Something to get rid of all this nervous energy,” he said, gesturing towards him with a wave of his hand. “Besides, the fresh air ought to be good for you. It’s better than holing yourself up here.”

“You think?”

Bakura nodded. “Trust me, Marik.”

Marik finally met his eye, just managing a smirk. “Never. But I will find a coffee shop or something.”

The spirit looked encouraged enough by that. “Good. If you don’t mind, I’m going to try and think of some kind of plan. A whole lot’s just happened, so we should try and think through our next move." 

Marik swallowed, feeling slightly guilty that he wasn’t in much of a state to help at the moment, because guilt was exactly the thing he needed mixed in with all of these other feelings. “Y-yeah, that would be really good, actually. Thank you.”

Bakura looked away, tensing up, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to respond, like he'd never been shown gratitude before. Maybe he hadn't. “Yes, well, it’s better than just sitting here. And I don’t plan on leaving, so feel free to leave the Items behind.”

The duelist nodded. “Then I’ll just take the Rod.”

He stood up, sliding the Rod through one of the belt loops on his jeans, then left with one last farewell to Bakura. As soon as he shut the door, he closed his eyes, breathing slowly. In, out.

Gods, I need a drink. 

He laughed hollowly at himself. Alcohol might calm him a little, but knew not to act on that instinct. A few years trespassing in the minds of criminals had given him glimpses of how things ended if one started a habit like that. No, he would not go and do that, that was not self-care. 

The coffee shop where he’d met up with Ryou and Yugi before was the closest one that he knew of, but it felt strange going back there knowing that Yugi was under arrest at the police bureau, so he chose a different direction, and let himself get lost in his thoughts.

What had shaken him more than anything was Akira’s reaction. She’d seemed wounded by the revelation that he’d taken someone’s life, and that he’d hidden it. In an instant, her impression of him went from someone who might have been her friend, to a killer. As though she’d just discovered Marik’s true self.

And Marik couldn’t help but feel that that wasn’t entirely wrong.

He swallowed, feeling a lump beginning to form in his throat. He’d tried so hard to distance himself from who he’d been before, but that just wasn’t possible. He would always be that person. The person who killed his father, who used his brother, who started an international crime syndicate, who swore vengeance on the Pharaoh and everyone who held him dear. He couldn’t run from it, and apparently, he couldn’t hide it either.

Akira didn't even know half of what he'd done. And he wouldn't ask her to forgive him for any of it.

Then again, even if he’d done plenty of shit things Akira didn’t know about, he did wonder whether things would be this bad if she knew the circumstances around those two murders. He’d said flat out that it was murder by way of being honest, but while that was true, there was a lot of nuance that he hadn’t been able to explain.

He knew that technically, he hadn’t really been himself when he’d killed his father. One could argue that the person who killed his father was a different entity to him entirely, and therefore Marik was innocent; but even if that was the case, Marik felt responsible for the other him. It was his fault there was another Marik, because he didn’t know how to handle his trauma. It was his fault that he’d let him become that powerful. He should have been able to control him — even when he was finally defeated, it wasn’t because of any strength that Marik possessed, it was thanks to the Pharaoh, and the mechanics of a fucking trading card game. Even if he hadn’t been fully in control of his own mind, the blood was literally on his hands, and he was responsible for the other Marik’s existence. Any attempt to excuse him from that guilt was unacceptable to him.

And as for getting rid of the other Marik, even if he’d had help, that was entirely on him, but holy fuck was it for the better. He had absolutely no misgivings about that one.

He sighed. Maybe if I’d been able to explain…

He was pulled from his thoughts as he noticed a chalk sign on the sidewalk. He frowned, taking a few moments to read it — he was good with spoken Japanese, but reading could be somewhat slower, beyond the typical words found on duel monsters cards.

'We are selling hot milk tea inside…’

Marik looked to his left, seeing an ‘open’ sign on the door of the café. Hardly thinking about it, he pushed the door open.

It was warmer inside, and it smelled faintly of tea, and baking. It felt oddly comforting. 

The barista gave him a smile and a nod as he came in, his hair pulled back into a bun. “Hey, can I help you at all?”

Marik didn't even consider the rest of the menu. “A hot milk tea with pearls, thanks.”

The barista nodded, they exchanged a bit of small talk about the cold outside, and Marik took a seat near the window. He stared into space, still processing what had just happened.

So the Puzzle’s gone and Akira hates me. I just had a knife fight with a girl who wasn't affected by the Rod, and who seemed to know Tadako. Yugi’s still being interrogated by Takeda. There's still no good reason why Bakura should be here.

He felt like the dog sitting in a room on fire. This is fine.

There was a blast of cold air as the door was opened again, and Marik suddenly wondered whether he should have sat further inside. He glanced briefly at the person who came in — a tall young woman, with long, dusky black hair, and tanned skin. 

She seemed awfully familiar.

She glanced at him, and he quickly averted his gaze, staring at his tea. Gods, where do I know her from? She’s from Egypt, surely?

But he was sure he’d seen her recently. He subtly placed one hand on the Rod, trying to get into her head, just a little bit, to work out who she was.

Nothing happened.

Oh Gods, please not this again.

He desperately tried again, closing his eyes, focusing entirely on the Rod. There was no resistance when he tried it on anyone else in the room. But he couldn't get to her. 

He took a deep breath, trying to fight down panic. Okay, so the Rod didn't affect the stranger from before, and now this woman.

This is fine. This is fine.

He wondered whether he should approach her. After all, that's what any normal person without a Millennium Item would do. But given that she was unaffected by the Rod, that might not be wise.

He looked over at her again, desperately trying to remember where he’d seen her before as she ordered a coffee. She glanced over her shoulder, looking straight at him, with dark, discerning eyes.

The plane.

She’d sat next to him on the plane. They’d talked about something — the investigation, maybe, before he’d really known what he was getting into. Honestly, he still wasn’t sure he really knew, but anyway.

Oh fuck what was her name—  

“Ishtar!” She grinned at him, a hint of smugness in her eyes, her voice rough, but warm. 

Marik frowned, swallowing. Right, she called me that.

The woman exchanged a few more brief words with the barista, before crossing the room and pulling up a chair next to him. Marik leaned away from her warily, one hand still on the Rod, glancing around. There were other people in the café — a group of highschoolers, a trio of old ladies, and a young woman on her phone. He didn’t want to make a scene if there wasn’t any danger, but if he did need to use magic to defend himself, well, that was what brainwashing was for. 

“Hey, what’re you looking so jumpy for?” she said, smirking.

Marik glanced at her, trying to shove back his fear. “I’m not jumpy.”

 “You sure? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

He swallowed, not breaking her gaze. That was a possibility. “Now that you mention it, that’s what I’m wondering.” 

The woman blinked, frowning, leaning back in her seat. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

Marik paused. She seemed genuine. So she’s probably not some kind of ghost, then. “Who are you, exactly?”

She smiled. “I said you could call me Astarte.”

Marik nodded — that was familiar, as was the cryptic wording.

They fell silent as the barista came over with his bubble tea and her coffee. Astarte gave him a warm smile, and a generous tip, which she seemed to produce out of nowhere. Wordlessly, she took a swig of her coffee as though it were beer or ale, unfazed by its temperature. “So,” she said, placing her mug back on the table. “I can see you’re more suspicious of me than last time we met.”

Marik swallowed, hesitating, then reaching for his tea. “I’ve had a weird day.” 

“Mm. And you’ve realised that Rod of yours doesn't affect me too, haven't you?”

He nodded.

Astarte narrowed her eyes, her face suddenly becoming serious, any hint of playfulness gone. “Alright. What happened with the Items this morning?”

Marik felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. Alright, she knows things, she’s serious, and I’m at a disadvantage.

This is fine.

Still, he pushed down his panic. Astarte might be a threat, but she seemed like she knew more than he did, and he needed some kind of lead about literally anything. At the very least, he had no idea what she was talking about in terms of the Items this morning. “What?" 

She continued to stare at him with piercing eyes. “You didn't feel it? There was a flare in their energy — all seven at once.”

Marik frowned, his mind racing. He hadn't noticed anything like that. “Their…energy?”

“Well, yeah. What else would bring Hamasaki straight to KaibaCorp like that?”

Marik’s eyebrows shot upwards. He didn't know what the fuck was going on, but a name was something he could use. “Hamasaki?" 

Astarte looked panicked for a moment, but recovered quickly, plastering on an easy, nonchalant smile. “Yeah, but I wasn't supposed to say that. Not supposed to be helping you.”

Why?! Who are you?!

“I suppose it makes sense though, that you didn't feel it,” she added, talking almost to herself. “That would mean you had nothing to do with it. So it must have been caused by…” She trailed off, her face becoming serious again. “Oh no.”

“Astarte—”

“I’m done here.” She stood up, draining the rest of her mug, then slamming it heavily down on the table, standing up. “Later, Ishtar.”

A rush of indignance surged through him as he got to his feet too. Astarte might have been done, but he wasn't. “Hang on a second — what are you talking about?! What did I not notice this morning?!”

Astarte narrowed her eyes coolly. “I told you I wasn't supposed to be helping you.”

“But— but that's part of it too, who are you, and why can't you—”

“Ishtar,” she said, her voice low, taking one step toward him, a warning. Her wild dark hair fanned out behind her almost like a lion’s mane. “That's enough.”

Marik swallowed, refusing to break eye contact. Then he took a single step backwards, giving her a clear path to the door, grudgingly admitting defeat.

She could be stronger than I am, and I don't want to put these people in any danger. I’ll follow her and catch her when there are fewer people around.

Astarte smirked, making her way over to the door, glancing over her shoulder one last time at Marik as she closed it.

He drank the rest of his tea.

Five…four…three…two…one…

Go.

He got to his feet, leaving the last few pearls in the bottom of his cup, running out the door, giving the barista a quick nod. As he stepped out onto the street, he quickly looked left and right, searching for Astarte. His pulse quickened, and he felt a rush of relief, as he spotted her at the end of the street, walking further away from KaibaCorp, an inch or so taller than most of the people around her.

He wrapped his coat more tightly around himself, and slipped carefully between the small bunches of people using the path, moving just a touch more quickly than they were, never taking his eyes off Astarte. Just quickly enough to ensure he didn't lose her, but not quick enough to draw attention to himself.

Astarte continued in the same direction, never leaving the thick crowd. Then, she began to peel off towards the gutter, and when she reached the middle of the street, she glanced once in both directions, before stepping out into the road. 

T-that’s jaywalking!

Marik quickened his pace, glancing around for some way to follow her without drawing attention to it — there were pedestrian lanes at both ends of the road, but waiting for the right lights to turn green would take too long. Shit!

Astarte glanced over her shoulder, not looking at all surprised to see him, wearing that same, confident smirk. Marik stared at her, trying to work out some way to get to her, or at least arrange to talk to her again.

A bus passed between them, and he stared at his own reflection for a few moments.

Then she was gone.

Marik stared at the empty sidewalk for a few moments in disbelief. How did she—?

He glanced around to try and find any sign of her, but she’d completely vanished. He swallowed, feeling unease begin to settle in his stomach.

Who exactly was she? How does she know things? Where did she go?

He placed one hand on the Rod, reaching out to Bakura telepathically.

Hey, Bakura? I think there’s something else you might want to factor into this plan of yours.

Akira wasn’t sure how long she stared at the door.

Back pressed to the other side of the corridor, she clutched the rope attached to Millennium Puzzle in one hand, her mind moving at a million miles an hour, yet without forming a single coherent thought. If any part of her was keeping up, it was her heartbeat, pounding in her ears far more quickly than it should. Her initial rush of anger was beginning dissolve, leaving her feeling emotional and fragile, her adrenaline fading.

She’d been ready to trust Marik completely, to help him find the truth about her brother. He’d been her only hope of making sense of what had happened. But he’d killed people, and he’d hidden that from her.

Leave. Run away. Forget him.

He’s hurt you.

You can work this out for yourself. You trusted him. You were stupid. You hardly knew him. But it’s done now.

What business did he have with your family anyway? You should go.

Why are you still here?

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. She needed a few minutes to breathe.

After Tadako’s death, she’d sworn to do everything she could to prevent anything like that from happening again. She hadn’t quite worked out just how she’d do that, or how far she was willing to go, but she sure as hell wasn’t about to align herself with someone who’d killed two people. More intensely than ever, right now, she hated death, and anyone who was responsible for it. And Marik was no exception.

The knife — the one belonging to Marik's attacker — weighed heavy in her coat pocket. She'd grabbed it in a moment of panic, after the other girl dropped it. She had absolutely no intention of using it, though. As soon as she got home, she would get rid of it as safely as possible.

She froze as she heard Marik’s muffled voice on the other side of the door, unable to hear the words. She instinctively tightened her grip on the rope, realising she should leave, quickly — she didn’t want him to open the door and find her still here. She didn’t want to see him again.

Looping the Millennium Puzzle around her neck, (it was cumbersome to hold, and the rope seemed to be a good length for that), she caught the elevator down to the ground floor, and stepped out onto the freezing street, numbly making her way over to the nearest bus stop.

As she walked, she turned the Puzzle over in her hands, examining it carefully. Being honest, she wasn’t sure exactly what she’d been thinking when she’d taken it from Marik — first she’d picked it up to use in self-defence (not that she knew how to use it for that), then she’d kept it, because surely it was better if she had it, rather than leaving it in the hands of a murderer.

It was incredibly clear to her how badly that could turn out.

And anyway, since she was now looking into her brother’s death herself, if Yugi Mutou had duelled Tadako, and he had some kind of link with the Puzzle, then maybe the Puzzle was key to whatever had happened? Not that she’d been thinking that far ahead, but it had worked out well.

There was more to it than that though. Being honest with herself, she’d been drawn to the Puzzle from the start. It seemed so much more mysterious than the others, since Marik didn't seem to know exactly what it did aside from starting shadow games, and used to house the soul of an ancient pharaoh.

That, combined with the fact that when she’d held it before, something had happened. She’d been partway through a sentence, and she’d seen something — a flash of gold, and an obscured, silhouetted figure. The more fanciful side of her had wondered if something in the Puzzle had been trying to reach out to her.

She smiled — the rational side knew she was being completely delusional, and probably just got the sun in her eyes.

She reached the bus shelter, shivering slightly, still feeling tense and restless. Using her sleeve, she wiped away the fog on the glass covering the timetable, scanning it for her bus number. It would be a fifteen minute wait before her bus arrived. Sighing, she sat down on the plastic seat, and pulled out her phone and headphones. She’d taken to listening to new genres of music since last week — music that didn’t remind her of anything. (Of her brother.) She put on the soundtrack for an American film she knew nothing about, and watched the snow.

The bus eventually pulled up, and she moved towards the back out of habit. She removed the Puzzle from around her neck, resting it in her lap, the shortness of her hair still surprising her as she slipped the rope over her head — a week ago, it had been long, reaching halfway down her back. Now, it only reached her shoulders. That had been a sudden decision too. 

She hadn’t been thinking a lot of things through lately.

Hissing softly, the bus left the stop, seamlessly joining the rest of the traffic. She stared out the window, at the people on the sidewalk — there weren’t as many, now that most of them had gone into work. A young woman in dressier clothes talking into a phone, a tray of takeaway cups in one hand. A beggar and his dog, camped outside, near a supermarket. Another girl with dyed hair and a duel disk strapped to her arm, leaning against the entrance to a café. Then, as they rounded a corner:

Marik? 

She took in a sharp breath, quickly turning her head to check that it really was him — the sandy-haired duelist —  no, murderer — was standing on the side of the road, looking at the other side of the street, his eyes round with something like disbelief. 

She swallowed, looking away as the bus hurtled onward. She didn’t care. She didn’t plan on seeing him again. She would start thinking about something else, any second now.

Any second.

It suddenly occurred to her that maybe she should have asked a few more questions about the murders he’d committed. He’d seemed like such a good person. He was going to the trouble of finding out the truth about the death of someone he didn’t even know, and had almost nothing to do with, just because he felt it was the right thing to do. 

She looked down, at the Puzzle. That had always seemed too good to be true.

She shifted in her seat, unable to relax. Some part of her was still anxious, and restless, as though in some corner of her mind, something was holding its breath.

The more she noticed it, the worse it got.

As the bus pulled into her street, she almost forgot she needed to get off. She only realised her stop was nearing when a stranger — a tall woman with long hair — brushed against her as she moved down the aisle. Looping the Puzzle around her wrist, she hastily got to her feet and hurried after her, giving the driver a small, polite bow, before tapping her bus card and stepping out onto the street. 

She got halfway down the street when she heard someone call her name. “Kioru!” 

Akira frowned, turning around. A young woman — the same woman from the bus — stood on the corner of the street. She blinked at her. “Hello?”

The woman gazed back at her, her eyes dark and steady. She had the same tanned skin as Marik. “You have the Puzzle.”

Akira’s eyes widened, and she took in a sharp breath, instinctively tightening her grip on the rope the Puzzle was suspended from. “Who are you?”

The woman said nothing, walking slowly and deliberately towards her — Akira took a half-step back, ready to run if she needed to. She had no idea what was happening, but she didn't like the fact that she'd been followed to her home by someone she’d never met, but knew her name, and knew about the Items. She glanced once at the Puzzle, and then slipped it around her neck, trying to remain calm. “Who are you?” she repeated, her voice rising.

The woman, now only a few feet away, stopped suddenly. She eyed Akira for a few moments, then smirked. “It depends who you ask.”

“Wha—”

“Look, you can make this easy, or make this hard,” she said suddenly. “I’ll put it bluntly. If I let you keep the Puzzle, it's going to cause problems. Not your fault, but that's just how it is. So either you can give it to me, or I’ll take it by force. So what’s it going to be?”

Akira’s mouth went dry. What?

“And, trust me on this, I really wouldn't mind doing this the hard way if you want to make me,” she added, smirking.

What?!

She stood there, rooted to the spot, her heart racing, lost for words.

Give up the Millennium Puzzle?

No. No way. Unless she chose to associate with Marik again, the Puzzle was her only way of finding out anything else about her brother’s death. Even if she didn't know how she’d do it yet, she wasn't going to give up her only chance at trying. 

Besides, if she just handed it over, there was no telling what might happen to it after that. Who might use it. Who else might get hurt.

Who might die the way Tadako did.

And if she had any kind of wish, it was to prevent that. Her wish was to save people.

“I— I’m not giving you the Puzzle!"

The woman looked surprised. Her voice grew low, and dangerous. “What?”

Akira took a deep breath, standing up straighter. “I don't want to give it up,” she repeated. “I don't know exactly what’s happening, or who you are, so I have no idea if I can trust you. And if I gave you the Puzzle now, and people got hurt because of it, I couldn't live with that.”

“What—”

“What's more,” Akira continued, speaking very quickly, her voice slowly rising in pitch, “Even if I’ve ended up with the Puzzle kind of by accident, I also want to see what it does and whether I can use it. And I want to use it to find out what happened to my brother.” She swallowed. “So I guess I’m choosing to do this the hard way.”

The woman stared at her — the look of confidence that had been on her face before was gone, her resolve dampened, her eyes dark. She glanced down at the pavement. “I’m really sorry about your brother, kiddo”.

Akira’s eyes widened. “I— how did you know I—”

She met Akira’s eyes again, smiling sadly. “I know a lot of things. And I’m sorry I have to do this." 

Her heart pounded in her chest. “Wait, do what—”

The woman closed her eyes, and after a moment, a golden haze appeared around her fingertips. The shining gold particles, almost like sand, twisted and curled and multiplied, slowly taking on form, making two hooked swords.

Akira took a half-step back, clenching her fists, acutely aware of the fact that this woman might just kill her. Her heart thudded against her sternum, beating faster than she’d ever noticed it beating before, as if it was trying to make up for something. Her throat went dry.

If I die now it’ll break my parents.

All three of them — her, her Mum, and her Dad — were already struggling as it was. She knew she had to die sometime, but the timing was awful. Maybe her family’s reaction to her own death shouldn’t have been her first priority, but she was so intimately familiar with being the one who was left behind, and the feeling was still so raw, it was all she could bring herself to think about.

She gritted her teeth, denial washing over her, this was not happening, she could still talk or run or fight her way out of this, but the practised ease with which the woman spun the swords in her hands almost made her heart grow still on its own. Every step she took towards her felt like a tolling bell, her limbs freezing up, her lips parted with the beginning of a protest or bargain she couldn’t find the words for.

Her assailant finally stopped a few feet in front of her, . “It’s funny, I usually get a kick out of this. I don’t know that I will this time.”

Akira closed her eyes, suddenly feeling strangely still.

I guess I’m dying then.

Okay.

Then, she felt her senses beginning to slip away. Panic rose in her throat as she realised that probably shouldn’t be happening, at least not before getting stabbed. She didn’t feel any pain anywhere, she was pretty sure she hadn’t even been touched — she fought to open her eyes but was met with only more darkness, feeling as though she was floating in empty space.

Then, cutting through the silence, she heard a muffled, fading voice, disturbingly like her own, if a little deeper.

“Would you like to play a game?”

Chapter Text

Astarte leaned against the wall of a temple, a glass of red wine in one hand. She took a small sip, sighing contentedly as raw energy flowed through her veins. It was her way of licking figurative wounds. “Whew. I needed that.”

A voice came from the other side of the altar. “Are you alright?”

“Psh, I’m fine. I’m a god, for fuck’s sake, it takes more than a shadow game to get rid of me. You don't need to worry.”

“But you—”

“I'm fine .”

There was a pause. “I was going to say you’re relying on me. Isn't that still right?”

Astarte was silent. She took another swig of the wine.

“Astarte .”

“Yes, yes. Yes.”

“And if you’re relying on me, then I should worry about you sometimes.”

“Sure. Yes.”

There was a long silence. The other person spoke again. “So you think getting the girl involved was Hathor’s move?”

“Yeah.” Astarte glared into her glass. “And I’m sure she’s stronger than she looks, even on her own, knowing Hathor. If only we’d realised it earlier.”

There was a heavy silence. Then the other person spoke again.

“I’m going to get some more booze.”

“And you're sure you’re fine?”

Marik smiled grimly, glancing at Bakura. He’d just arrived back at KaibaCorp, and told the spirit everything that happened with Astarte in the café. “Yeah, I’m much better. Astarte distracted me.” Time to bottle up all that anxiety from before and never think about it ever again. Self care~

The spirit nodded. “Yeah, sure. It sounds like there’s a lot going on that we don’t know about.”

Marik frowned, thinking deeply. “That’s…probably an understatement. But hey, at least we got a name? Astarte said that person who attacked me before was called Hamasaki.”

Bakura sighed. “True, but it’s a fairly common family name. We’d need more than that to find her again.”

Marik grimaced. “…Yeah. I sent Akira a text on my way back, asking if she recognised it, but she hasn’t responded.”

The spirit raised an eyebrow. “You really thought she would? After she yelled at you and ran away?”

“No, not really. But there's no harm in trying.”

Bakura paused, tipping his head slightly to one side. “That's true. But are you sure you want to prioritise going after Hamasaki over getting the Puzzle back?”

Marik sighed. “No. But we have a lead on Hamasaki, and Akira might just need some time. Besides, it's not like she’s in any danger — she doesn't know how to use the Puzzle, let alone start a shadow game or anything.”

The spirit eyed him thoughtfully for a few moments, then shrugged. “If you say so.”

Marik said nothing, glancing at the cups of cold, half-drunken tea on the desk. Being honest, he wasn't sure that leaving Akira alone with the Puzzle was a good idea. But unless he forcibly took it from her, he didn't have much of a choice. He was kind of hoping that if he gave Akira a couple of days, all of this would blow over — he’d be able to explain what happened with those murders properly, Akira would return the Puzzle, and everything would be okay.

Pursuing Hamasaki was the only thing he could think of in the meantime.

“We could just use the Ring,” he said suddenly, thinking aloud, glancing at Bakura. “It’s just like a compass, right? It points at whatever you’re looking for?”

Bakura raised an eyebrow at Marik. “If you want to openly hold a conspicuous magic gold artefact out in front of you while you walk aimlessly around the city for gods know how long, then be my guest. But I don’t think we should use the items so openly.”

After a moment’s thought, Marik made a quiet noise of agreement, sitting down in the ergonomic chair behind the office desk and pulling out his phone, as if that might give him an idea. He opened up his contacts, absently scrolling through them to see if he could get in touch with anyone else who might know about this Hamasaki person. He didn’t expect to — he didn’t have many names in his contacts. He paused as his eyes landed on one that was oddly unfamiliar.

Hirata Hiroki.

He frowned. He knew he’d heard that name somewhere before, but he had no idea where, and there was no photo.

“Hey, Bakura, do you remember the name ‘Hirata Hiroki’?”

The spirit frowned, staring intently at Marik’s deck, floating just above the table as it shuffled itself, not taking his eyes off it. “No. Why?”

“It’s in my contacts, but I can’t remember who it is. If they’re from Japan, then I must have come across them recently. The only people whose numbers I saved from battle city are Yugi’s friends.” Crossing his legs in the chair, he sent Hirata a text.

(12:15) Hi Hirata, I’ve got your number in my phone but I’ve forgotten who you are, maybe? — Marik Ishtar

(12:16) Oh! I met you at Kioru Tadako’s funeral :)

(12:16) hslkjh bad use of a smiley face

(12:16) but that’s where you know me from

Marik’s eyes widened. Oh, right, I guess I accidentally blocked out that entire day because of the trauma with my Dad. …Self care.

(12:18) Oh my gosh I remember now, sorry about that

(12:18) All good dude, you seemed super out of it

(12:18) You said you were trying to work out what happened to Tadako?? How’s that going

Marik almost laughed. He felt like responding with “badly” was both an understatement, and not the kind of reassurement that a friend of Tadako’s would want. He decided to dodge the question altogether.

(12:18) Actually, you might be able to help me — is the name Hamasaki familiar to you at all?

(12:18) Yeah, it is actually, let me think

(12:19) You mean Taylor?

(12:19) Ginger hair?

(12:19) Yeah, she died it recently! She was Tadako’s girlfriend

(12:19) *DYED HJFLK

Marik blinked, his eyes going round. For some reason, he hadn’t been expecting anything like that. “Holy shit, Bakura.”

He looked over — the deck of cards fell onto the table in a heap as his concentration wavered. “What?”

“Read this.”

He angled the phone towards Bakura, and the spirit leaned closer, his eyebrows shooting upwards. “Good work.”

Marik’s lip quirked up slightly as he typed a reply.

(12:20) You wouldn’t happen to have her phone number or something, would you?

(12:20) Hmmm no phone number but she’s on twitter

(12:20) You wanted to talk to her?

(12:21) Yeah, if that’s possible

(12:21) I’ll shoot her a message now :)

Marik placed the phone on the table, glancing at Bakura. “Well, that’s progress.”

The spirit nodded, returning to the cards. “Yeah, sure.”

Marik yawned, stretching. Being honest, as much as the events of the morning had put him on edge, they’d also made him more than a little tired. He glanced at Bakura. “What’re you trying to do with those cards, anyway?”

“You’ll see. Actually—” he broke off, his eyes following the cards as they floated back to the table in a neat pile. Or maybe the cards were following his eyes. “Pick up that top card, will you?”

He blinked, reaching over. “What, this one?”

“Yeah. See if it’s Fire Princess.”

Marik frowned. “It’s Ghost Knight of Jackal.”

The spirit glowered at the deck. “Nevermind.”

The card struggled in his grip for a moment — Marik opened his fingers, and it flew back to the deck. He blinked at Bakura. “How long have you been able to do that, anyway? Levitating things, I mean.”

“Since I came back. Probably a ghost thing. Only works with really light stuff.”

“Huh.”

Bakura shrugged, shuffling Ghost Knight of Jackal back into the deck, and then glancing at Marik. “I hadn’t realised you’d taken Hinotama out of your deck.”

Marik swallowed, suddenly feeling uneasy. Hinotama…was definitely no longer his favourite card. It wasn’t even something that reminded him of him — it reminded him of an older version of the him who was actually him, who he didn’t particularly like anymore. “I…took a lot of cards out of my deck,” he said slowly.

“True, but that one was, I don’t know… iconic.”

Marik smiled wryly. “I’d say Winged Dragon of Ra was more iconic. I was kind of forced to take it out too.”

Bakura shrugged. “Anyway. The new ones suit you. Might even suit you better, actually.”

“Maybe. I haven’t had much of a chance to use them—”

He broke off as he heard his phone buzz, and two messages appeared on his home screen, from an unknown number.

(12:26) Hey fam its Taylor I’m free this avo, you down for ramen? ;)

(12:26) Oh yeah and bring the spooky ghost guy too

“So,” Marik said, sitting across the table from Taylor, who wore the same hoodie as she had that morning. “You jumped through my window, accused me of murder, tried to kill me, and then called me ‘fam’.”

Taylor sipped on her soft drink, looking at Marik. “That just about sums it up, yeah.”

It was odd. Sitting with her in a small, dark, fairly cheap café, it was easy to forget just how much of a threat she’d been this morning. They’d found a table in the corner with four seats — Bakura sat to Marik’s right, looking uncomfortable. Taylor seemed completely at ease, although Marik hadn't missed the fact that she’d chosen to sit at the edge of the table, where she had an escape route — it was something he’d noticed Bakura doing before. Without the hood and scarf obscuring her face, he could make out her features much more easily. Like Hirata had said, her hair had been dyed a pale, almost pastel ginger colour — it was short, thick, and almost looked fluffy, having been swept to one side, but she also had an undercut on the left side of her head, and there, her roots were clearly dark. Her bright hazel eyes had a distinct slant to them, and her features were all sharp and angular. A single gold earring hung from her left ear, where it wasn’t obscured by her hair.

Marik was entirely unsure of what to make of her.

He sat holding the Rod under the table, resting it in his lap, but if Taylor had realised, she didn’t show any sign. He swallowed. “You’ve got a lot I think you could explain.”

“Like what?”

Marik opened his mouth to speak, but Bakura cut in, looking royally pissed. “Like why the Rod doesn’t have any effect on you. How you know about the Millennium Items. Why you can see me. What you know.”

Taylor nodded. “Sure, I can do that. But I want something out of it.”

Marik and Bakura exchanged a wary glance. Marik frowned at her. “Like what?”

She shrugged, crossing her ankle over her knee. “Dunno. Something interesting. Or just money. What’ve you got?”

Marik bit his lip — they had the Items, and that was about it. “How much money are we talking?”

“Hmm, 20 000 yen is a nice round number, don’t you think?”

Marik winced. That was a lot, but they didn’t have much bargaining power. “You must have some pretty good information, for that kind of price.”

“Of course,” she said, smirking slightly. “This is stuff only I can tell you.”

Bakura narrowed his eyes, a little suspicious. “What kind of stuff, exactly?”

“What you were just asking. How I found you, and my connection to the Items.”

“What about your relationship with Tadako?” Marik added.

Taylor blinked. “You’re interested in Tadako?”

“Yeah. I’m trying to work out why he died.”

She nodded, a slight quirk at the corner of her lips. “‘Why’, rather than ‘how’? I guess you think it must’ve been a shadow game too then, huh?”

Marik nodded. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Mm. So, how’s 20 000 yen sounding?”

Marik and Bakura exchanged a glance. Marik didn’t even need to use the Rod for them to mutually agree, yeah, we can steal that much money without anyone noticing . “Deal,” Marik said. “And I’ll pay for the meal, too,” he added, with absolutely no intention of actually paying for the meal. He had the Rod with him, so he might as well use it.

She grinned. “Nice. I like you two.”

“Good,” Bakura said shortly. “Now start talking. How did you find us this morning, and why did you think Marik had killed Tadako?”

Taylor sighed, pushing her hands into the pocket of her hoodie, lowering her voice. “Well, I kind of suspected Tadako died because of a shadow game too, and you had all of the Items, so I jumped to conclusions. It was the only thing that made sense. And as for finding you, that’s, er, a little complicated.” She glanced around, making sure no one was listening, and then leaned in slightly. “I have a connection with the Scales. It’s been in my family for a generation before me, given to my mother by a priest named Shadi—”

“Shadi?” the pair of them said in unison, before glancing at each other, confused. “ You know Shadi?”

Bakura blinked, frowning. “I’m surprised you do.”

Marik shrugged, feeling slightly shaken. Being suddenly reminded of Shadi — of that day — was unnerving. “We’ll talk about it later,” he said slowly, glancing back at Taylor. “Go on.”

Taylor blinked, looking slightly amused and bewildered. “Yeah, well, Shadi gave the Scales to my mother years ago. It responds to me the same way that it does to her. She left it to me when she died, but long story short, my asshole brother was a stupid asshole, and the family lost it.”

Bakura looked thoughtful. “And your mother got the Scales at least ten years ago, I assume?”

Taylor paused, frowning slightly. “I mean, yeah, but it was way more than that. She’s had them since before I was born. Why?”

“Nothing. Go on.”

She swallowed nervously. “I haven’t seen the Scales since I was younger, but I’ve felt its energy multiple times, and twice recently — once yesterday morning, and once this morning. And I used that feeling to track you.”

Marik frowned. “You could use its ‘energy’ to track me?” The same energy Astarte was talking about?

“Yeah. Well, not to track you, but to track the Scales — you just happened to be nearby. Couldn’t you do that if someone was using the Rod but it was far away from you?”

“I…I don’t think so?”

Bakura glanced at him. “Are you sure? Because that’s definitely a thing. Ryou was able to retrieve the Ring after Honda threw it out a window one time, because I was making it give off energy for him to sense.”

Marik shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I guess I’ve never had to track the Rod down like that.” Although I can think of multiple instances where I maybe should have felt something.

Bakura didn’t respond, deep in thought. “But for Taylor to sense the Scales, something must have set them off. Usually it would be someone using them, but no one’s touched them.”

Taylor frowned. “Wait, really? I assumed someone had.”

They both glanced at Marik, who just shook his head, feeling incredibly confused. One more thing to add to the list of things that make absolutely no sense.

After a few more moments of silence, Taylor shrugged. “Anyway. Whatever’s been causing them to act up, that’s how I found you. And my connection with them is probably why I can see you, too,” she added, nodding to Bakura.

Marik nodded, surprised at how open she was being. We are paying her, I guess . “And what about your relationship with Tadako?”

To Marik’s surprise, Taylor grinned. “I guess you heard about that from Hirata? He told you I was Tadako’s girlfriend?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, he’s not gonna be up to speed on that. I’m gay.”

Marik blinked, surprised, though he probably wouldn’t have been if he hadn’t been told she’d been dating a guy already. The hair was a bit of a clue, now that he thought about it. “Oh, cool. So—”

He broke off as Bakura tapped him on the arm, smirking, then mouthing the words ‘Millennium Gaydar’.

The duelist took in a deep breath as he was assaulted with flashbacks to Battle City, but he refused to indulge the spirit. That was a stupid in-joke, they were not talking about this now—

“Is everything okay?” Taylor was glancing between them nervously.

Marik cleared his throat, giving her an apologetic smile. “Yeah, sorry, that's fine. He’s just being a bastard. So, Er— If you’re gay, why did Hiroki think you were dating Tadako?”

Taylor shrugged. “Well, he was right, for a time. I wasn’t sure how accepting my family would be once I fully realised I liked girls. I, er, I kind of freaked out, actually. The only person I knew who wasn’t straight was Tadako — we were in the same grade in school, and shared a couple of classes, and he was very openly bi,” she said, laughing fondly. “And since he wasn’t dating anyone already, I asked him for help out of the blue, if he would fake date me, as if just because I’d suddenly realised it, everyone else would too, and I wanted to hide.” She took another sip of her soft drink, and then smiled slowly. “And he actually said yes, because he was a selfless idiot like that. We “dated” for about six months.”

Marik nodded. “And he was bi — do you know if he liked you? Y’know, that way?”

“Nah, I don’t think so. We mostly played video games. He was an amazing friend though,” she said, looking wistful, adding casually, “Which was why I was so ready to murder you. Seriously, ask anyone — he was a great guy. That’s why this whole thing is so strange. He didn’t really have any enemies.”

As Marik began to reply, a waitress came over with their ramen. Both of them made a start on their food, while Bakura glanced at Taylor, saying, “Did you ever tell Tadako about the scales?”

Taylor shook her head as she finished her mouthful, wiping the corner of her mouth with her hand. “No. By that point, I hadn’t seen them for a year.”

“When did you lose them?”

“Around August, four years ago.”

Bakura frowned. “If you've sensed people using them since then, why didn't you try and track them down?”

Taylor gave him a wry kind of smile. “I would have if I could, but I was halfway across the world. I grew up in Japan, but I lived in California for six years. I only came back to Domino a couple of years ago.”

Marik nodded. “And that was after KaibaCorp hosted the Battle City tournament?”

Taylor frowned. “I guess so? It sounds familiar, but if it was duel monsters, it could just be because Tadako talked about it.”

Marik nodded — Battle City had been such a big deal at the time, there was no way she could have forgotten if she’d been in Domino. And then the Items all went back over to Egypt. She must’ve just missed them.

Taylor had returned to her ramen, apparently unconcerned. As Marik took a mouthful of his own, Bakura asked, “Why did you agree to meet with us today?”

Taylor shrugged. “I mean, I was curious as to why you were in Japan again, if it wasn't because you'd killed Tadako. Anyone who suddenly shows up with seven Millennium Items is bound to be interesting.”

Marik nodded — Bakura glanced at him, looking concerned.

Marik had another mouthful of ramen, activating the Rod, sitting in his lap. What's up?

Again , Bakura replied silently. She said you were in Japan “again” — should she know that?

Shit, good point.

Marik had some more of the ramen, brow furrowed, glancing at Taylor. Maybe I can find out whether she knows about Yugi’s history with the Puzzle, and Atem.. . “Did you know Yugi at all?”

Taylor shook her head. “No, I haven't met him. Why do you ask?”

“I just— he’d be the most logical person to suspect, right? If you think it was a shadow game?”

“Yeah, but he didn't have an Item.”

Marik nodded — that would make sense for her to say whether she knew about the Items’ recent history or not. Come on, give me something. “Still, it's unlikely that he’s not connected to this somehow, don't you think?”

“Mm. Especially since a shadow game is usually started by one of the two participants. But neither of them had the means as far as you know, right?”

“Yeah, right.” Fuck, that didn't tell me anything.

Bakura glanced at Taylor. “Were you trying to work out what happened to Tadako too?”

Taylor shook her head. “Honestly? Not really. It hadn't occurred to me that the Items might be involved until yesterday. I wasn't expecting to find all seven in the one place this morning, either. I was kind of thinking on the spot when I accused you of doing it, actually.”

Marik grimaced. “You convinced yourself pretty quickly.”

“Yeah, well, it sounded like you were openly admitting it, too.” She took another mouthful, and then looked up at Marik again, saying as clearly as she could through a mouthful of ramen, “By the way, if it wasn't Tadako, who did you kill?”

“That— that’s not your business. And it's not relevant to any of this.”

Taylor paused, swallowing. “Did they deserve it?”

Marik nodded.

“Alright, none of my business then.”

The duelist blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, I mean, you seem like a pretty decent, reasonable person,” she said, twirling some more noodles on her fork. “So I’ll take your word for it.”

Marik nodded, his shoulders relaxing. If only talking to Akira about that had been that simple…

Bakura glanced at Marik for a moment, sensing his relief, and then looked back at Taylor. “Did you have any other questions for us?”

“Yeah, just the one. What exactly are you?” she said, gesturing towards Bakura.

Bakura looked away, looking tense. “I don't really know. A ghost, I guess.”

“Yeah, but why? How?”

“I don't know ,” he repeated, a sharpness to his voice, still not meeting her gaze. “But I’m working on it.”

“Hm. Alright.” Taylor lifted her bowl, drinking the remainder of the soup, and then stood up. “I’ll get the meal. Consider it thanks for not trying the Rod on me again.”

Marik stood up too. “No, you don't have to, I was going to get a takeaway box as well, so—”

“I’ll get that too, don't worry,” she said, a slight quirk to her lip. “It's not like this stuff’s expensive.”

Marik nodded, slowly sitting down again. “Alright, if you’re sure.” I guess it’s better for my conscience if I don't brainwash the staff, anyway.

Taylor nodded, and headed up to the till, pulling a wallet out of the pocket of her hoodie. Marik glanced at Bakura. “Do you think any of that could be helpful?”

Bakura still looked vaguely disgruntled. “I suppose so. If it's true. But according to Taylor, Tadako didn't know a thing about the Items, so what does it matter if she used to have one?"

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Hm. Anyway, how’d you know Shadi?”

Marik swallowed. “He was, er, there , when my dad died. Something he said was what made me want to destroy the Pharaoh so badly. At least that was part of it.”

Bakura was staring at him, his frown deepening. “How long ago was that again?”

“Eight years ago, just before Christmas.”

The spirit looked confused for a moment. He stared at the table, deep in thought. “Weird.”

“Why?”

“I— I thought I killed him about a year before that.”

It took a moment or two for this to sink in. Then Marik’s eyes widened. “Wait what—”

“Hey guys!” Taylor said cheerfully, heading back over to the table, placing a plastic bag next to Marik, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “You ready to go?”

Marik and Bakura exchanged a glance. Shadi was something they would have to work out later. The duelist nodded to Taylor, standing up. “Yeah, I think so. We could walk you over to your bus stop or something, if you wanted to talk about anything else?”

“Nah, no need. I’m meeting up with my girlfriend a couple of blocks away.”

Marik smiled. “You’ve got a girlfriend now? You’re fully out?”

Taylor nodded, opening the door for them. “Sure am, since the family, er, isn't a problem anymore.” She swallowed, adding, before Marik or Bakura could say anything, “Her name’s Misato, and if you drag her into any of this, I’ll actually stab you next time.”

Marik frowned, not missing the way she’d taken the attention off that comment about her family. “Yeah, sure. Noted.” Her mother was given the scales, but she’s dead, the rest of her family…potentially still homophobic. Poor thing.

They stepped outside — Taylor put her hood up as all three of them were buffeted by a cold gust of wind. “Well, see you later, Marik. Bakura.”

Marik opened his mouth to respond, but Bakura cut across him, a sharp edge to his tone. “ Wait.”

They both glanced him, confused. Marik almost subconsciously placed one hand on the Rod, which hung at his belt. “Is something wrong?”

Bakura didn’t look at him — he was glaring at Taylor with enough intensity to make anyone want to shrivel up. “You’re hiding something still.”

Marik glanced between them. Did I miss something?

Taylor frowned. “I—”

Bakura cut her off, narrowing his eyes into slits. “You never asked for my name, and I never told you. Yes, you asked who I was this morning, but you left before I said anything. How did you learn my name between then and now?”

Taylor bit her lip, glancing around nervously. She swallowed, rubbing the back of her neck. “A-are you sure—”

“Yes, I’m sure no one mentioned it,” Bakura snapped. “And frankly, although I don’t know how involved with the Items your family was beyond keeping the Scales, you seem to know more than you should about their recent history, though you’ve tried not to give that away. So what gives.”

Taylor nodded, biting her lip, looking away for a moment. “Honestly?”

“Honestly,” Bakura repeated.

Taylor paused, thinking. “That’s…worth much more than 20 000 yen.”

Marik stepped forward, between Bakura and Taylor. He didn’t want a fight — not when he could easily produce any money they needed, so long as he could brainwash someone wearing a nice-looking suit into writing the cheque. “How much?”

“The Scales.”

His eyes widened. “What?”

“The Scales. If I tell you that, if I tell you anything else, you’ve got to give me the Scales first,” she said slowly, almost carefully, her eyes flicking between the spirit and the duelist, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“No way,” Marik said sharply, not even pausing to consult Bakura. “I— we can’t do that.”

“Why not? It’s not like you’re using them. I could help you work out what’s causing those energy flares in the Items.”

“I—”

“You wouldn't keep the Necklace from your sister, would you?” she pressed, a more aggressive edge to her voice.

Marik’s eyes widened. “You do know about things—”

“Maybe, but look, I—” she broke off, a kind of bitterness in her voice which was also accompanied by panic. “I can't tell you why unless you give me the Scales first, but I swear I haven't lied to you. And I haven't withheld anything about the last few days. We’re not enemies, Marik—”

“We don't know that,” Bakura spat. “Why should we trust you if we know you’re hiding something from us?”

“I wouldn't have to hide it if I had the scales, so— aagh!” She broke off suddenly, clutching her forehead.

Marik suddenly felt a strong pang of dread, combined with sympathy. He tentatively placed one hand on her shoulder, tightening his grip on the Rod. “Taylor—”

“Nngh,” she grunted, gently pushing his hand away, taking a step back, keeping her eyes closed, taking deep breaths. Then after a long exhale, she lowered her hands, and straightened, shaking her hair out of her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“But—”

“I’m fine. You’re not giving me the Scales, so— so I can't tell you what that was.”

Marik nodded, unsure. “Yeah…yeah, I suppose so.” We’re still not handing over the Scales, so I guess that’s how it’s got to be.

After a long pause, Taylor swallowed, glancing at the ground. “Well, it was worth a shot. I guess I’ll see you around then?”

“Yeah. Once your story starts fitting in with some other things, I’ll get the money to you,” Marik said carefully. “Thank you for telling us what you could.”

She grimaced. “It’s nothing. If you think there's anything else I can do, let me know. And you can ask me anything about Tadako.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Taylor nodded, beginning to leave. Bakura continued to glare at her silently. Marik hesitated, then called out, “Hey, Taylor?”

“Hm?”

“Good luck with whatever that was.”

She smiled wryly at him. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Then she turned her back on them, pushing her hands into her pockets, and made her way down the street, deeper into the city, without looking back.

Marik didn't even look at Bakura, staring after her. “That was another personality, wasn't it.”

The spirit nodded. “Definitely.”

“Cool.”

They stood there in silence for a moment, contemplating how they’d both managed to get into this mess. Marik peered inside the bag of takeaway ramen. Shit, I didn’t ask Taylor to get something vegetarian.

Before it could fully occur to Marik that both of them had taken the possibility of there being another Taylor a bit too well, he shivered, and pulled his coat around himself. “Let’s get out of the cold, yeah?”

Bakura nodded, still glaring at nothing in particular. “Sure.”

Marik led the way back to KaibaCorp, about fifteen minutes away. He glanced at the spirit. “That could have been worse, I guess.”

“Mm. Still, whatever she’s hiding bothers me. Whoever she’s hiding.”

“Yeah. Well, who knows, maybe it’s not relevant. Even if Taylor knew Tadako, she doesn’t seem connected to his death.”

Bakura nodded. “You’re probably right there. But I just—” He broke off, his eyes flicking to the pavement in front of them. “I wonder whether it’s relevant to why the fuck I’m not dead.”

Marik blinked. Being honest, he’d kind of forgotten that Bakura was thinking about that too. He’d sort of assumed that once they worked out what was happening with Tadako, everything would come together. “It could all be connected,” he said slowly, watching his breath fog up the air in front of him. “At least, that’s what I was hoping. It’ll work out.”

Bakura just grimaced, his voice laced with bitterness. “Yeah. I sure hope it does.”

The duelist glanced at him, his gaze softening. “I’m sure we’ll work it all out eventually.”

“Yes, well. I think I’m done playing detectives for the moment.”

“I don’t know, I think it’s kinda fun,” Marik grinned, hoping to lift the mood a bit. “Like being on some murder mystery TV show.”

“Psh, and this is the premise of the first episode? Tadako’s death?”

Marik paused, thinking about it. “Maybe, but it’s too long for one episode. Maybe working this out would be the whole first season.”

The spirit's lip quirked slightly. “Sounds like a stupid show. Too many card games. And bloody long.”

“Nah, I can totally see it!” He wrapped one arm around Bakura’s shoulder, stretching one hand out in front of them. “Marik Ishtar, the mysterious, off-the-beaten-track crime investigator with a dark past, and Bakura, his even more mysterious ghost sidekick. We could call it, er—” He broke off, frowning.

Bakura looked bemused. “What should we call it?”

“I don’t know, but for some reason, ‘Goncrete Giraffes’ just popped into my head.”

He frowned. “Concrete what?”

“Yeah, I don’t know either. Nevermind.”

They walked in silence for a few moments, before Marik suddenly said, “You know what, there’s literally nothing stopping me from brainwashing a bunch of people at Netflix and—”

“Marik, no—”

The spirit broke off as they heard a crash, followed by rather excessive cursing. A few cobs of corn rolled onto the footpath, from around the next corner. Marik glanced at Bakura. “We’d better see if anyone needs help.”

Bakura didn’t roll his eyes, but the look he gave Marik had the same energy.

Marik quickened his pace slightly, rounding the corner, to see a street food stand which had completely tipped over. The sign next to it said ‘Tomorokoshi’, and as far as he could tell, it looked like grilled corn.

A tall, burly man was gathering up a white tarp which had been knocked to the ground, muttering under his breath. Marik gave him a wave. “Want a hand?”

The man glanced in his direction — he had wrinkled eyes and a scruffy beard. “Yeah, thanks kid.”

I’m— I’m nineteen— whatever.

He helped the foodseller find the corners of the tarp and fold it into a large square, then got down onto his knees and helped him pick up the ruined corn cobs. “So what happened here?”

“Bloody cat got under my feet. Lost m’balance and knocked everything over.”

Marik straightened slightly, instantly becoming more attentive. “A cat?”

“Yeah, she’s always hanging around, begging for scraps. Sweet little thing,” he said, his brow creasing with worry. “Hope she’s alright.”

“You think she might be hurt?” he said, trying not to sound too hopeful — if there was a chance the cat was hurt, he had a reason to go looking for it. He’d never actually seen a cat up close before.

The man looked unsure as he picked a laminated piece of paper off the ground, shaking snow off it. “Possibly. Not so hurt that she couldn't run off, but I could have trodden on her.”  He paused for a moment, thinking, and then glanced at Marik. “You wouldn't mind looking for her, would you? Just to make sure she’s okay?”

Marik blinked. His request was so perfect, he almost wondered whether he could've subconsciously used the Rod. “Me?”

“Yeah. I’ll cook up some more of this corn and give it to you free of charge if you can find her.”

He nodded, grinning. “Deal.”

The foodseller gave him a grateful look. “Good on you. I’ll be here for another few hours, but you don't go to the trouble of looking for her for that long. I think she went that way,” he added, gesturing down a nearby alley.

“Sure,” Marik said. “I’ll be right back. I’m sure she's fine.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be waiting here,” he said, sounding tired, but not ungrateful, dismissing him with a wave of his hand.

Marik nodded, glancing at Bakura, who looked exasperated, but not surprised. He went in the direction the man indicated, the spirit falling into place alongside him. “Marik, surely the last thing we need right now is a fucking side quest .”

“Shut up, there's a cat involved, therefore it's self care.”

“Self care?” Bakura echoed.

“Yeah, self care. Haven't you heard that phrase before?”

“…no. I’ve been dead for two years, remember?”

“Oh. Well, it's basically looking after yourself and doing things that make you happy. Taking care of yourself. Self care.”

Bakura made an amused noise in the back of his throat. “And that sounds like something I would have heard of?”

Marik grinned. “Alright, good point.”

The alleyway was lined with bins, filled with what looked like waste from nearby restaurants and cafés. He glanced at Bakura. “Do you think this is the direction he meant?”

The spirit nodded. “Probably. It’s an ideal spot for anything searching for scraps.”

As he spoke, a shuffling noise came from behind one of the bins, further down the alleyway. Marik turned, staring in the direction of the noise, gasping softly as a small shape with round yellow eyes appeared.

Oh my gods it’s mine now I want to protect it and see it grow up strong and healthy and tell Rishid and Ishizu about it—

Bakura glanced at him as the cat leapt out of the bin, landing neatly in the middle of the footpath, its sand-coloured coat peppered with black flecks. “Alright, maybe we should approach it quietly—”

Marik hardly heard him, his attention completely on the cat. “Hey, kitty kitty kitty!” he cooed, crouching down, so that he didn’t seem so big and threatening.

The cat seemed to hesitate, taking half a step back, one ear angled to the side. Marik placed the bag of takeaway ramen on the ground, opened up his box, and pulled out a strip of what looked like it could be pork (it was some kind of meat, he wasn't going to have it anyway), tossing it down the alleyway towards the cat. The cat flinched away as it landed on the ground near it, and then carefully padded over to it, whiskers twitching. It tentatively crouched to sniff the meat, ears pricked up with interest, taking a small bite, followed by a quick series of larger ones, before looking expectantly at Marik, raising its tail.

Bakura glanced between them. “Right, we’ve found the cat, it's not injured, we can get some free corn and go.”

“Aww, but ‘Kura, we can’t just leave her here.”

Bakura paused, frowning, his eyes widening as it slowly dawned on him what Marik was implying. “No, Marik, no —”

“And she’s soooo cute—”

“Oh my Gods, Marik, you can't just adopt a cat off the street.”

“It’s fine, we’ll just adopt her a little bit.”

“That— that's not how that works— ”

Marik ignored him, throwing another piece of probably-pork toward the cat. It looked young, as far as he could tell — although it had the build of an adult cat, it seemed undersized. The cat took it, and when Marik held out a third piece, it padded tentatively towards him, stopping and sitting down a few feet away. He smiled, tossing it another piece of meat — it flew just past the cat’s head, and it spun around, crouching to lick it up, its back turned.

Marik smiled fondly at it, sitting down on the pavement. Bakura crouched next to him, looking unimpressed. “This is a bad idea.”

He grinned. “I don’t know, ‘Kura. I think we’ve both had worse.”

“Ngh. Touché.” The spirit sat down, giving in. “I can’t stop you. You’re lucky she’s this tame.”

“Yeah. You don’t think she’s already got a family or something, do you?”

Bakura shook his head. “I doubt it. We’re nowhere near the suburbs, she hangs around the corn stand for food, and she’s looking pretty skinny.”

“True.”

The cat was looking at Marik again, its tail twitching back and forth. Marik smiled, and threw some more meat in its direction. Bakura looked surprised. “You’re not going to try and have it get closer? You could leave the food on the ground near us.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to force it. It needs some time to get used to me, and it might if we just sit here for a while.”

The spirit blinked. “Yeah, sure. When did you get so good with cats, exactly?”

Marik ducked his head, feeling a little embarrassed. “I mean, I’m not, really. I grew up with a pet snake, so I had to always try and make sure it wasn’t fearful of me, because that’s when they lash out. And when I was a kid, after, uh, y’know , when I was plotting to get revenge on the Pharaoh, I didn’t have any kind of plan for after that. But I knew I wanted a cat, and when I was thirteen, Rishid found some books on them for me. I poured over them for hours,” he said quietly, smiling.

Bakura was silent for a few moments. Marik glanced at him — he was looking away, the tiniest quirk at the corner of his lip. Marik grinned, elbowing him in the ribs. “Oh my gods, Bakura, you’re smiling .”

Marik could have sworn the spirit’s complexion darkened slightly, before hiding his face behind his mess of white hair, facing the wall. “Sh-shut up. It sounds like a nice memory.”

“Yeah, it is,” he agreed. “You got any?”

There was a pause. Then: “We had a cat.”

Marik sat up straighter, looking over at him, more excited than he should have been by the mental image of a tiny Bakura with a fluffy kitty. “Really?! What did she look like? What was her name?”

Bakura stifled a laugh, attempting to continue to glare at nothing in particular as though his pride depended on it. “ He was called Pnew.”

Marik grinned. “Like the old Egyptian word for ‘rat’?”

“Yeah. He wasn’t really ours — he just lived in Kul Elna, getting food from a handful of different families.” Bakura smiled a little again, slightly wistfully. “I liked him, though. He ran off when… y’know .”

Marik felt himself smiling too, glancing back at the cat in the alleyway. He didn’t call Bakura out for smiling again. He needed to do it more often, and he didn’t want to ruin it. “Well, I’m glad he was safe.”

“Yeah, me too. Wow, that…sure was hundreds of years ago, though.”

Marik grinned. “Yeah, you old fart.”

“I swear to the gods, Ishtar, I will tear out your oesophagus and shove it up your ass.”

Marik made a noise in the back of his throat, trying to stifle both fear and laughter. He grinned. “Yeah, sure, try not to put your back out though.”

“I mean it, Marik, do not push me,” Bakura said, smirking, not quite meeting his eye, clearly trying to sound threatening, but unable to keep a hint of a laugh out of his tone. “You’re just jealous that I’m wiser than you.”

“High wisdom, low intelligence,” Marik teased.

Bakura rounded on him, looking both amused, impressed, and offended. “Did you just try and roast me with a tabletop RPG pun?”

Marik grinned.  “I don’t know, make an insight check.”

“Fine, fine! You got me. I hate you. Fuck off.” The spirit refused to look at Marik, but he was smiling.

Marik grinned, feeling far more triumphant than he should have. Especially given that Bakura was definitely already working out how he’d get him back. At least listening to Ryou talk about D&D was finally good for something.

He turned his attention back to the cat — it was still hanging around a few feet away from them, eyeing the box of ramen, looking almost hopeful. As Marik reached inside the box to give it some more, Bakura just gazed at it, looking content. Marik held out the thin piece of meat in front of him for a few moments, but the cat wouldn’t come any closer, simply sitting down, wrapping its tail around its paws, watching him hawkishly. Marik smiled, tossing it the meat.

I’ll come back tomorrow and see if you’re any friendlier, kitty.

Bakura suddenly spoke up. “We could call her Sekhmet. After that one cat goddess of war.”

Marik grinned. “I like it.” Then he hesitated, glancing in Bakura's direction. “Seriously though, do you really want to keep her too? You should probably have some kind of say, since you’ll have to put up with her as long as you’re with me.”

The spirit stiffened, and then looked away. “I mean, it's a dumb idea, but I can’t stop you.”

Marik took a moment to work out the spirit’s response, and then grinned, only just stopping himself from rolling his eyes. Of course Bakura wouldn't want to admit that he liked the cat, since he seemed to equate fondness for other living creatures with weakness. Proud bastard. “True, but that doesn’t answer my question.”

He swallowed. “Well. She is cute.”

“Bakuraaaaa—”

“Yes, fine, I want to keep her, now leave me alone!” he said, giving in, hiding his face with his hair, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like ‘you are so going to the fucking shadow realm’.

Marik just grinned, feeling yet another disproportionate amount of triumph. He threw some more food to Sekhmet.

They sat in silence for a minute or so as snow began to fall, settling on Marik’s hair and shoulders, while it passed right through Bakura. Soon enough, though, Marik started shivering. Bakura glanced at him. “You should probably get home before you get too cold. We’ll talk to the corn guy on the way back.”

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that. And we’ll come back again tomorrow?”

Bakura nodded. “Sure.”

Marik smiled smugly to himself, standing up and dusting himself off as Sekhmet skittered back a few feet, startled by Marik’s sudden movement and size. The duelist, smiled, tossing her the last piece of soupy meat from the ramen. “See you, Sekhmet. We’ll be back.”

Sekhmet, crouched down to eat the food, paying him no mind. As Marik adjusted his coat, Bakura shuffled awkwardly. “By the way, uh, Marik?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m glad you’re here. It’s not so bad, not being alone all the time.” He said it quickly, as if he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, not quite meeting Marik’s eye. “Thank you for letting me hang around.”

Marik blinked, surprised. That was probably the most sentimental thing anyone could expect from the spirit. “Aww. Thanks ‘Kura. You’re okay company too.”

“Yeah, well. I’ll take it back if you call me that,” he muttered, glowering at nothing in particular.

“No you won’t,” Marik grinned.

“Fuck you. Look, it’s— it’s nothing to do with you specifically, I just— it can be nice having someone .”

The duelist nodded. “Yeah, fair enough. But if there is anything you like about me, you can say it,” he grinned, wondering just how far he could push his luck.

Bakura paused, looking thoughtful. “Well, I suppose we do complement each other.”

“Yeah, how?”

“You’ve got high intelligence, low wisdom.” Before Marik could protest, he continued, smirking: “You know at least three languages, but failed to notice the darker personality you shared your mind with for five years.”

Marik was silent for a few moments. Bakura winced. “Sorry, was that too much, or—”

Then Marik laughed. He doubled over, grinning at the pavement, resting his hands on his knees as he took a few moments to collect himself. “Sorry — I mean, it’s awful, you’re awful, I just—” He broke off again, covering his mouth, eyes shining with amusement, forcing himself to take a deep breath. He couldn’t bring himself to feel insulted or traumatised. He grinned at Bakura. “It’s funny when you say it like that.”

The spirit looked relieved, his lip quirked ever so slightly upwards. “Of course it is.”

Marik shook his head, taking a deep breath, still smirking. High intelligence, low wisdom. I’ll cop that.

Glancing one last time at Sekhmet, he pushed his hands into his pockets, the smile on his face refusing to fade. He still wasn’t sure how he’d managed to make a friend out of Bakura — the same Bakura who’d been actively gunning for people who Marik had come to care about, and who would happily kill people, without a second thought. Bakura, who would probably abandon him as soon as it suited him.

Bakura, who didn’t show his vaguely sensitive side to anyone except Marik.

He smiled. Bakura might not be the most noble person. No, that was an understatement — he was awful. And Marik would always have a hard time trusting him completely.

But these little moments of peace made him want to.

These little moments of peace were what made Marik count him as a friend.

Chapter Text

When Akira woke up, everything was dark.

Instantly, she felt awake. Panic, adrenaline, something, defogged her mind as her eyes flew open. She took a few moments to take in her surroundings, breathing rapidly, unable to shake a feeling of apprehension. Her memories were foggy, but she definitely had a sense that she’d just been in considerable danger. 

But everything was quiet and still. Familiar bedsheets shifted against her arms. She could hear the faint hum of her printer. Someone had left her blinds open — there was more light than usual, from the street outside.

It suddenly struck her that everything could have been a quickly fading dream. 

Hope soared in her chest, and she almost wanted to run to her brother’s room, like a child seeking comfort after a terrible nightmare. She began to sit up, pushing her hair out of her face, (it seemed more messed up than usual, but then again so did everything else,) her stomach doing a flip as something pulled on her neck, weighing her down. She glanced down, just making out the Millennium Puzzle in the half-light.

She bit her tongue, eyes darkening as disappointment settled in her gut like a stone. No dream, then.

Tadako was still dead. Of course he was. It had been stupid to hope otherwise.

She fell back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling, fending off the thoughts of Tadako that now threatened to swamp her, trying to recall the previous day. She remembered being at the KaibaCorp headquarters, in Marik’s office. She remembered him fighting someone who’d called him a murderer. She remembered him avoiding her gaze, unable to deny it. She’d cut her ties with Marik, and run off with the Millennium Puzzle. 

Then a woman with two glowing swords had tried to attack her and take the Puzzle. After that she remembered nothing.

…Maybe that last part was a dream after all. It makes even less sense than everything else.

She slowly adjusted her position, sitting up properly as she considered the possibility that all of that had actually just happened. It seemed highly unlikely that she’d faced this woman and then lived . She’d clearly been ready to kill her, and seemed to have done it before. And Akira had no idea how to fight anyone — given that she’d forgotten that running very fast in the opposite direction was an option, there hadn’t been any other way out.

Also, the whole sword thing didn’t line up with anything Marik had said. She might not remember perfectly what all seven of the Millennium Items were, but she was pretty sure she’d remember if he’d mentioned a sword.

Hmph. It wouldn’t be the only thing he didn’t mention.

Then again, as strange as it all was, nothing else explained the lost time after she got off the bus. Something definitely happened. Whether or not she’d been attacked by a woman with magic swords, she’d ended up in bed, safe, but with no memory of the previous afternoon.

What time is it?

She hesitated, before turning on the lamp at her bedside, squinting for a few moments at the harsh light before glancing around for her phone. It was lying on her desk, across the room. She quickly darted out from under the covers, snatching it up and then retreating back to the warmth of the bed. A sheet of paper her phone had been sitting on fluttered to the floor. Akira watched it fall, blinking, and then unlocked her phone. 

3:04am. February 17. One day after meeting with Marik.

She took a deep breath. At least she hadn’t lost any more time than that. Putting the phone back down, she then reached for the paper, wincing as one of the corners of the Puzzle jabbed her in the stomach. Her fingers found the edge of the page, and she turned it over, seeing unfamiliar handwriting, and a message written almost entirely in hiragana. She blinked, suddenly curious.

Seeing her name at the top, her curiosity turned to dread.

‘Kioru Akira,

Before that woman could attack you, I challenged her to a shadow game and won. You and the Puzzle should both be safe now.

We’ll talk properly soon.’

The letter ended with a strange, ancient looking character that she was sure she shouldn’t know how to read, but for some reason she could. She knew it was a name, but she wasn’t certain on how she should pronounce it. Its meaning was something like “completion”.

How the hell do I know that?

Carefully, stomach churning, she folded the note into a little square and stowed it away in a draw, turning out the light and pulling the covers over herself to block out the light from the window. Maybe it would all make sense after she got some more rest. Or maybe she’d just hide in bed and never leave.

Burying her face in her pillow, she wished, not for the first time, that the clock could turn back just a few days.

She would trade all the dark magic in the world for her brother in an instant.

Marik woke up the next morning to the sound of the office phone ringing.

He blinked blearily, rolling over, staring at the desk in the middle of the room as the shrill tone drilled into his brain. The phone continued to ring as he slowly processed what the noise was. Nnngh . It's probably not for me. Someone must’ve called it by mistake…

The ringing stopped. Then, a few moments later, it started again, just as jarring as before. He groaned.

“Marik, shut that thing up.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

He forced his heavy limbs to move, dragging himself to his feet and making a beeline for the office chair. He flopped into it, picking up the phone, half-sprawled across the desk. “…Hello?”

“ISHTAR?! Is that you?!”

He jumped, pulling the phone away from his ear, suddenly feeling significantly more awake. The voice was vaguely familiar, but difficult to make out over the phone. “Who…who is it?”

“It's Kaiba ,” the voice growled, at a marginally more reasonable volume.

Marik blinked slowly, a vague sense of confusion washing over him before his mind caught up with what was going on, gears turning slowly. Kaiba. That couldn’t be right. Seto Kaiba was in a coma. “But—”

“I’ve woken up, and I have questions. Like what the hell you’re doing sleeping in one of my offices, who’s dead, and where is Atem?”

Marik opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Apparently, he was talking to Kaiba. Apparently, Kaiba was conscious. He frowned. “Weren’t you in a coma—”

“ Answer the damn questions, Marik.”

He blinked, feeling as though Kaiba ought to be doing the same thing, although he was too sluggish to argue. “Sorry, what…what were they again?”

There was a long sigh. “Why are you using KaibaCorp as a hotel room, what’s the deal with that card game where somebody died, and where the hell is Atem?”

Marik frowned. “… Atem? I thought—”

“ Just hurry up and answer, Marik.”

“But I don't—”

“ Now , or get out of my damn office.”

Marik swallowed. Bakura had moved a little closer, listening in — the volume of the phone made it easy enough to eavesdrop. Marik barely suppressed a yawn, picking himself up off the desk and leaning back in the chair. “A duelist called Kioru Tadako died about a week ago after he lost to Yugi — immediately after, once he’d lost all his life points. I’m here to work out why, and Mokuba said I could stay.”

There was a brief pause as Marik strained to hear Kaiba mutter something to himself, but he couldn’t quite catch it. There was a slight crackle in the line before Kaiba spoke again, something in his voice slightly dangerous: “And Atem? Why the fuck is he not dead anymore?”

He frowned. “I—I’m pretty sure he’s still—”

“He’s not dead,” Kaiba hissed, impatient. “I was going to duel him in the afterlife, and then he disappeared. So where the fuck is he?”

Marik blinked a few times. He wasn't sure if he should even ask. Kaiba paid Atem a visit beyond the veil in order to duel him. Sure. I guess. He leaned even further back into the chair, staring at the ceiling. “Kaiba, if Atem isn't dead, this is the first I’m hearing of it.”

There was silence for a few moments. Then Kaiba huffed, and a loud clattering noise just about deafened Marik before the line went dead.

Slowly, Marik placed the phone down on the desk. Kaiba wasn't in a coma, and he was convinced that Atem wasn't dead. 

Sure. That might as well be how his day started.

Bakura was oddly quiet. He moved away from the desk, beginning to pace. Marik ignored him, still reeling from whatever the fuck that was, thinking aloud. “Maybe…maybe Ryou knows what he’s on about?”

The spirit stilled for a moment. “ Ryou?”

“He mentioned something about Kaiba excavating the Puzzle a year ago. Could be relevant.”

“…Hmph.” He continued to pace.

“And Kaiba did talk about dueling Atem in the afterlife? I didn’t mishear that?”

Bakura grunted. “Yeah, that’s what he said.”

“Do you know anything about that?”

“No. My soul didn’t get much of an afterlife, so I hardly know what Atem was up to,” he said quietly, unable to disguise his bitterness.

“…Oh. Sorry.”

Bakura said nothing, beginning another lap of the room.

Marik frowned, still staring at the ceiling. “Do you think this could be relevant to Tadako? I mean, surely Atem isn’t alive, right? That would— that would be impossible . He was gone from the Puzzle. He moved on . I guess we don’t know what exactly happened with him and the Puzzle and Kaiba last year, but I thought Ryou said he was still dead. We would know if he wasn’t dead. And the idea of him suddenly coming back is just— it doesn’t make sense.”

The spirit was unusually quiet. Marik glanced over at him, surprised to see genuine concern written all over his face now, everything about him tense. He sat up, frowning. “‘Kura? Are you okay?”

Bakura stopped pacing. He gave Marik a long, hard look. “Yeah. I mean, it’s not like anyone else has suddenly come back from the dead recently.”

There was a long pause. Then Marik’s eyes widened, and something like fear stabbed through the pit of his stomach.

“Oh, FUCK—”

It took all of five minutes for him to get his shit together, pull his hair back, and start calling Akira.

He and Bakura had agreed that if Atem was back, his soul was probably in the Puzzle again. While it was true that Bakura’s soul hasn't returned attached to the Ring, parts of his soul had been fragmented and scattered when he died anyway. What's more, the fact that he hadn't got an afterlife meant that his soul had been completely destroyed, so perhaps the Bakura that was here now was a blank slate, of sorts, not attached to anything in particular. They could speculate for hours as to why Bakura had appeared completely separate from the Ring, but no matter which way you looked at it, his connection to the Ring wasn’t as strong as Atem’s connection tothe Puzzle. 

That, and if Atem’s soul wasn't in the Puzzle, then they’d have no idea how else to find him, so they had no choice but to run with this theory for as long as they could possibly justify it. 

Not that their plan to track down the Puzzle was anything special. Right now it consisted of “call Akira until she picks up”. Not the best plan they’d ever come up with, and honestly, that was saying quite a bit. It’s main flaw was that it was pretty unlikely Akira would pick up at all — the last time she’d seen Marik, she’d found out he’d killed people, yelled at him, taken the Puzzle, and run. He hardly expected her to return his calls.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” He paced back and forth, fiddling with the Rod in one hand while he held his phone in the other. How long had Atem been back for? Presumably Kaiba had needed some time to recover from being in a coma for the better part of six months. But that would mean that if Atem had been in the Puzzle for a while, Marik had had it for weeks and hadn’t noticed.

Then again, given his track record with noticing the presence of people's darker halves, that was perfectly believable. (He cringed at the thought.)

Or, Atem had only come back after Akira got the Puzzle. Which would mean that in that time, Kaiba had woken up, learned vaguely about the Tadako situation, also found out that Marik was living in one of his offices, and called him. Although honestly, Kaiba was definitely enough of an unstoppable force for him to believe that too.

He bit his lip, stomach churning. He didn't like this at all.

“You could try using the Ring,” Bakura said suddenly. “If Akira’s still not picking up.”

Marik stopped pacing, glancing at the spirit warily. “Didn't you say that was a bad idea before? Because it's so conspicuous?”

Bakura glanced over at the Ring, which stuck slightly out of the top of Marik’s backpack. “I don't think we have much of a choice if we want to make progress.”

Marik nodded, reaching for it — like the Puzzle, there was still a cord through the hole at the top, from when it was hanging on the museum display in Cairo. Holding the object itself, manoeuvring his hands out of the way of the spikes that hung from it, it felt smooth, but almost unnaturally cold.

As he moved to hold the cord and loop it over his neck, Bakura suddenly stiffened. “Wait, don’t put it on.”

Marik frowned at him. “What? How else am I supposed to use it?”

The spirit swallowed, something close to real fear on his face. “You can just hold it. I just…trust me when I say there could be some weird shit in there. Dark shit.”

He blinked. “Dark shit?”

“Yeah. Like, ‘burn your soul and body from the inside and leave you looking like a stick of charcoal’ or ‘corrupt your soul and make you want to murder everything’ dark shit,” he said, his voice low. “And we both know how the latter one goes with you.”

Marik stiffened. “The Ring can do that?”

Bakura sighed, thinking. “Well. Kind of. While I was in the Ring, I was the one who could wield that power. And a part of Zorc’s power was locked in the Ring as well. But I always had this sense that there was…something else. Something older. Before I got my hands on it, there was some kind of darkness that even one of the Pharaoh’s priests, Mahad, had to manage.” He glanced at Marik, his expression grim. “I just wouldn't risk it. There’s some line that you cross when you put it on, and I don’t think you should cross it.”

Marik nodded, his eyes wide, not sure what shook him more — the fact that the object in his hands was capable of all of that, capable of corrupting his soul and creating something like him again, or the fact that Ryou had worn it for three fucking years. He swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah, that's a good idea.”

Carefully, he held the Ring again, trying to recall how he’d seen Bakura using it before. The spikes were pointed away from him, while he held it out in front of his chest. He took a deep breath, and then focused on the Ring.

Tell me where Akira is.

He stiffened as energy began to radiate from the Ring, as intense as it was sudden. There was a sense of darkness there, but it wasn’t overwhelming, so he continued to hold on to it, holding his breath as the spikes began to rise, angling themselves slightly to his right. His expression lit up, and he carefully began to turn, watching with satisfaction as the Ring’s spikes stayed fixed on the same point. “Nice. That narrows it down, I guess.”

Bakura nodded. “Yes. But we don’t know how far away she is. We can’t exactly wander around following that thing until—”

He broke off as Marik held up one hand, his attention suddenly snapping back to the Ring. He could have sworn he felt something shift.

Bakura glanced at him. “Is everything okay?”

“I don’t know. I just felt something in the Ring change.”

The spirit frowned, leaning closer, watching the spikes carefully. “Oh. They’re moving.”

Marik blinked, peering more carefully at the Ring as well. They looked mostly static to him, but when he compared the position of the centre spike to a spot on the floor, he realised it was moving, turning towards the left, at a pace similar to the hour hand on a clock. “Huh. I’m surprised you noticed that just by sight.”

“Yes, well. It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve used this thing. And since you’re standing still, she must be moving. The prongs will follow her unless you want to search for something else.”

He nodded, staring at the Ring thoughtfully. “And there's no way of knowing whether she’s moving closer or further away, is there?”

“No. If we knew the speed she was travelling, that might narrow it down, but there’s no way of telling whether or not she’s even on foot,” he muttered. “It’s a bloody pain.”

Marik nodded absent-mindedly, feeling as though he was beginning to get an idea. He’d never formally taken maths classes, but he’d had to teach himself more than a few things when he left the tombs and realised how much knowledge he was missing out on, and that was when he hadn't had much access to the internet. “But, if you focused on something stationary…”

Bakura glanced up at him, frowning. “Then the Ring still doesn't tell you how far away it is because it's an annoying piece of shit, what's your point?”

Marik smiled smugly. “We could figure it out. It would just take a bit of extra work.”

The spirit frowned, looking confused for a moment. Then he blinked, eyes widening. “Are you suggesting we do fucking maths ? We don’t know shit about maths.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

Bakura opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Marik grinned, putting the Ring down, and beginning to rifle through the drawers of the office for some paper, pencils, a ruler, and tape.

If there was ever going to be a maths problem more unlikely than Johnny and his nineteen bottles of dish soap, this would be it.

After an hour of walking around with the Ring hidden inside his coat and marking the changes in the direction it was pointing, as well as attempting to work out what equations he was supposed to use while Bakura entertained himself by making trading cards fly around the room (whizzing them past Marik’s face whenever it looked like he was trying to concentrate), Marik was confident that he’d worked out roughly where Akira lived. Her house was (probably) in one of the suburban parts of Domino City, around half an hour away via bus, and while he didn't have the exact address, that would be easier to work out with the Ring once they were closer. He explained the route to Bakura as they walked to the closest bus station. The spirit seemed as indifferent as ever.

It was just as cold outside as it had been previously, although the layer of snow which had settled on the ground the day before had turned mostly to slush. A few inches of proper snow remained on the edges of the footpaths, but the rest of it was half-melted, greyish, and riddled with footprints. Melted water trickled down the gutters, building up in puddles whenever there was a dip in the road. Marik kept his hands in his pockets, tucking his nose into his scarf as they walked towards the bus interchange, anxiety simmering in the pit of his stomach as he tried not to think about the conversation he’d be forced to have when they found Akira again. He was probably going to have to tell her what had really happened when he said he’d killed people. And even though she seemed to have assumed worse, even if he wanted to correct her assumptions, talking about the past was still the last thing he wanted to do. He didn't want to think about it, even if it might redeem him a little in her eyes. He was almost glad to have the whole Atem situation to take his mind off it.

The bus finally pulled up — it was fairly full, without an empty pair of seats for both him and Bakura. Carefully, Marik placed one hand on the Rod, and focused on a teenager sitting alone towards the back of the bus.

You feel as though you know the woman across from you from somewhere, and you ought to say hi.

She sat up suddenly, looking startled, glancing at a middle-aged woman on the opposite side of the bus. She frowned for a moment, blinking, before slowly getting up, smiling at the woman. “Oh, hi, I didn’t see you there before! How are you?”

Marik then shifted his attention towards the older woman. Her face is familiar, but you can't place why.

The woman began to stammer a confused reply as the teen sat down next to her, and Marik took her old seat. Bakura glanced at him, one eyebrow raised quizzically. Marik met his eye. “What?”

“That sure was convenient.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, it was.”

The bus pulled back out onto the road, and the pair of women proceeded to have an incredibly awkward conversation, both of them unable to remember each other's names but feeling as though they must know each other from somewhere, with no escape until they arrived at their stop. Marik grinned, letting himself enjoy this, just for a little bit, before his anxiety inevitably took over again. He might not be a crime boss anymore, and he might not think much of murder, but he could still be a little evil.

The bus took them out of the city centre, down into the suburbs — Domino seemed to be very poorly planned, with the city’s busy hub morphing into disorganised sprawl alarmingly quickly once they left the main road. Trees and flower-boxes lined the wide footpaths, which were mostly empty by now. The houses tended to be smaller, though, and more crowded together. Marik suddenly realised he hadn’t been out of the main city before — during the Battle City tournament, that was where the duelists had gathered. And all of this was completely unlike Egypt too, where everything was either empty desert, or chaotic, overcrowded streets. This was the first time he’d seen any normal suburbia.

He couldn’t decide whether he liked it. Something about it was too normal. Too calm.

He was jerked from his thoughts as his scarf suddenly flew up and hit him in the face. “M—Mmf?!” He made a small noise in protest, pulling the scarf down, seeing Bakura’s proud, wolfish grin. He glowered at him. “Was that really necessary?”

“Not really,” he said, smirking. “But we’re getting close. Our stop’s on the screen.”

Marik huffed. Bastard.

As they passed the stop before Akira’s house, Marik reached over and hit the stop button — the teen he’d brainwashed reached for it at the same time, looking relieved. The bus pulled into the stop, and Marik gave the bus driver one last nod before stepping back out into the cold, tucking his nose into his scarf. Bakura trailed close behind, giving the street a cursory glance as the teen went on her way, ducking into one of the houses across the road. Bakura glanced at Marik. “Ring?”

“Ring.”

Marik pulled the Ring out of his backpack, focusing on the location of Akira’s house once more. The needle swung around to the left. Marik looked at Bakura. “I guess we follow it? Even if Akira’s not home, we could wait—”

He broke off, tightening his grip on the Ring as he felt something pressing against his back grow warm — unthinkingly, he braced himself against a tree, remembering the other vision at the funeral. The Necklace, shit—!

His vision flashed white, and a hazy image appeared — Akira, in a police interrogation room, still wearing the Puzzle, opposite a young police officer, with soft dark hair, swept forward.

Takeda?!

And then the vision was gone.

“Marik?” Bakura was frowning at him.

Marik took a deep breath, his mind racing. The Necklace had just shown him Akira, wearing the Puzzle, being interrogated by Takeda . Who already thought the Puzzle was important. Who still had Yugi.

Fuck .

But he didn’t know when that was — whether it was in the past, or the future, or now—

“Marik? Are we going?” Bakura cut into his thoughts, frowning, managing to look both impatient and concerned.

Marik rounded on him. “How far away from here is the police station?”

“Wha—”

“How far away is the police station ,” he repeated, a dangerous edge to his voice.

Bakura straightened slightly, his eyes narrowing, instantly more alert. “From here? I’d guess around two hours on foot. We were closer when we were at KaibaCorp.”

Marik nodded, letting out a long breath, thanking the Gods for Bakura’s uncanny sense of direction. His old habit of having his guard up constantly, noticing everything, made him good at remembering places, and distances, and backstreets to escape through if things went wrong. Not that that changed the fact that the police station was now miles away, but at least they knew where they were, and they could always check the direction with the Ring. He tightened his grip on the Ring again, focusing on it.

Show me where the police station is.

It swung all the way around to the left now, adjusting so that it pointed behind him when he turned to follow it. He took a deep breath, afraid of the answer but asking anyway.

Show me where Akira is?

The needle swung to the right, but it was moving steadily back around.

He felt his shoulders relax as relief washed through him. They still had time. Maybe. “We have to go. We have to try and beat her there.”

“Marik, what—”

He cut him off, fixing him with an intense stare. “I had a vision. The Necklace gave me a vision, Takeda was interrogating Akira, and we have to go .”

Bakura’s expression instantly became more alarmed. “A vision? Is that happening now?”

“No. No, I just checked, and Akira’s not at the poilce station yet, but she could be on her way.”

Bakura scowled, glancing down the road. “Well, the bus going back the other way left as we were arriving, and you said before that they only come every half hour. It would be faster than walking, but still not ideal.”

Marik wasn't listening — he scanned the driveways of the houses around them, until he found the kind of vehicle he was after. Black, sleek, with a powerful looking engine, and plenty of exposed body components.

He grinned, eyes lighting up. “We don't need to wait for the next bus.”

Bakura frowned at him. “Marik, I just said…” he trailed off, following Marik’s gaze. “Oh.”

Marik smirked. “Really, ‘Kura, I thought stealing a vehicle would have occurred to you before me.”  

The spirit glowered at him. “Me too. Don’t you dare mention it again. Anyway, I thought you were done with crime and stuff.”

Wordlessly, he unzipped one of the pockets of his backpack and rummaged inside. Then he pulled out a short piece of wire, smirking. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Bakura just sighed, looking extremely tired, giving the other duelist a semi-affectionate eye roll when he thought he wasn't looking.

Taking a deep breath in, Marik crouched down in front of the motorcycle, getting to work.

Hang on, Akira, I’m coming. Please, Gods, don't let her incriminate anyone in the meantime.

“…You weren't at the memorial.”

Takeda tensed up, gripping the steering wheel a little more tightly, meeting her eye through the rear view mirror. Akira was sitting in the back of the police car, a mixture of concern and curiosity in her eyes. She’d always had that look about her when she was around him, but now, the concern seemed to be heightened. And while he appreciated the concern, he would rather not talk about it.

He’d got Akira into the police car to take her to the station, and ask her about the pendant, which he'd seen around her neck on some security footage. All day, he’d had an AI searching through every type of footage the police had access to for signs of the pendant, and it had turned up in the last place Takeda had expected; in live CCTV footage, around Akira’s neck. 

He just wanted to talk about that, when they reached the station. He didn't want to talk about the memorial service, because that would involve more feelings than he was prepared to feel at the moment. 

Not that she wasn't right to ask why he hadn't come. She knew how close he'd been to Tadako. But as much as he wished he could have come, he knew that as long as what really happened to Tadako remained unknown, he wouldn't get any real closure. And he couldn't think of anything worse than enduring stares from strangers who didn't know why he was there, or lying to said strangers about how he knew him should they approach him. Tadako would understand that.

Would understand? Would have understood? Ngh…

Either way, talking to Akira about any of that was even less appealing than going to the memorial had been.

“I was busy. Working on Tadako’s case,” he said finally, carefully. That wasn't a lie, anyway — he’d arrested Mutou that morning.

Akira nodded, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. “R-right. Whatever helps you cope, I guess,” she said quietly, grimacing.

He bit back a sharp reply — ‘bold of you to assume I’m coping ’ — swallowing. Akira would know as well as anyone how difficult it was to cope at the moment. “Yeah. Something like that.”

They lapsed into silence. Takeda tried to focus on the road in an attempt to shake some uncomfortable feeling he couldn’t quite name — apprehension, maybe. It was one thing to investigate into Tadako’s death and talk about it with his colleagues while being able to put his feelings and his grief aside, hidden, but it was another thing entirely to be discussing Tadako’s death with his sister, who had a closeness to Tadako that everyone else at the police station lacked. It was harder to compartmentalise his theory about what happened, and keep it separate from his grief while he was with someone who must share that feeling. It all felt far more personal, and something about that scared him.

So, to distract himself, he thought about the case. Tadako’s sister, along with the pendant , which almost certainly had some of the answers that he was looking for, were only a few feet away — at the thought, he instantly felt more relaxed, beginning to smile. A day ago, the idea of even laying eyes on the pendant had been unthinkable. Theories and speculation as to what the pendant might be able to do and what its role was ran through his mind, as they had been all morning. He’d accepted about twelve hours ago that magic of some kind was probably real, and probably involved. If the pendant was a magic item, that would explain a few things. He still hadn’t mentioned magic in any kind of official police report, though. That felt like crossing a line, and he wasn’t sleep deprived enough to do something that reckless. Yet.

Either way, Akira had the pendant. If she could tell him anything about it, that would be a huge breakthrough. Then maybe I’ll be able to persuade the Prosecutor—

“So, what is it that you need to ask me about that we can’t just do at home?” Akira said suddenly.

Takeda almost jumped, pulled abruptly from his thoughts. It took a moment for him to register the question. “Oh, er. It’s not that. I just like to have a recording, so I can check things later.”

“Oh.” She seemed surprised. “I mean, I’m just not sure what I’d know about Tadako that you don’t, aside from little details.”

He blinked. “You’ve known him your whole life. There must be some things.”

“Yeah, but he liked you, and he was an open book. He didn’t hide anything from people, except…” she trailed off, shrugging, smiling at him a little sheepishly. “Y’know.”

Takeda swallowed, nodding. “Yeah. Right. Which is why I’m not actually bringing you in to talk about him.”

“Oh.” Akira paused, surprised, growing a little tense. “Then…what do you need me for?”

Did she really not know how the pendant was important? Or was she just playing dumb? Takeda blinked, and then glanced back at the road. “...Something else. We’ll talk about it when we get there. I guess I’m hoping you can fill in some of the gaps that Mutou refuses to,” he said carefully.

For a long moment, Akira was silent. Takeda frowned, glancing in the rear-view mirror to check that she was alright. Something about her seemed suddenly different, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Her posture was stiffer, jaw tight as she pulled her hair back as well as she could, it being so short. She met Takeda’s eye, her gaze more intense than he’d ever seen it. “What about Mutou?”

Takeda blinked. He wasn't sure why Akira was that interested in Mutou, but that reaction combined with her having that pendant was a sure sign that he was definitely on to something . “What do you mean? You know him?” He looked back at the road, keeping his tone light.

Akira swallowed, looking uncomfortable. “No. Do…do you?”

“You could say that. He's under arrest, and I’ve been interrogating him for the past day or so.”

Glancing back at the teenager, he tensed up as he saw her expression, her eyes narrowed, fists balled, as she glared out the window with barely disguised fury. “For Tadako’s murder?” she said quietly, her voice more controlled than he expected.

Takeda nodded, his skin prickling, unable to shake the feeling that something was off — maybe he was just unnerved by Akira’s sudden anger, but the air felt thicker. He swallowed, pushing down his anxiety, summoning his best deadpan. “No, we arrested Mutou for tax fraud, and I just thought I’d bring you along to the station to have a chat. Yes , for Tadako’s murder.” It took every ounce of his fibre to stop his voice from breaking as he finished that last sentence.

Akira swallowed. “Right.”

They drove on in an awkward, heavy silence, but soon enough, Takeda’s racing thoughts distracted him from it. Something seemed undeniably off about Akira now — he might not have known her well before, but he was sure that when he’d encountered her previously, she’d been more mild and soft-spoken, with a kind of warmth about her. But now her eyes had a  fire in them, a burning anger that seemed to be connected to Mutou. As far as he knew, however, she shouldn't have any prior connection to him, aside from the link between him and her brother’s death. Besides, Mutou had insisted that he’d had nothing to do with Tadako, or anyone who knew him, which was one of the few things that had completely checked out.

His eyes darted to the pendant for a moment, before returning to the road. That must be the connection. Mutou had had it during battle city, and Akira suddenly had it now. It must mean something.

The only question was what.

Suddenly Akira spoke again, her voice low, with an almost dark quality. “And…do you seriously think that just because Yugi was the one dueling Tadako when he died, it's somehow his fault? You really believe that it's that simple?”

Yugi .

Akira had no reason to call Mutou ‘Yugi’ .

Takeda narrowed his eyes. “No. I don't think this is simple at all.”

Carefully, Marik put the wire into the two parallel ports connected to the ignition, hearing the bike click on. Getting to his feet, he swung his leg over the seat, grinning as he gave the bike an experimental rev, relishing the familiar feeling of the leather seat, and the slight bounce as the suspension mechanism dipped under his weight. He reached for his phone, opening a map and working out where he was going as rain began to fall from the sky, light and misty at first, before turning to freezing sleet. He hunched over the screen, trying to shield it from the wet as he oriented himself and memorised the route, quickly losing feeling in his fingers as cold slush settled on his hands, melting on his skin. As soon as he had his bearings, he returned the phone to his bag, glancing at Bakura. “You can follow me at any speed, right? Or do you need to sit on the back?”

Bakura glared at him. “I can keep up.”

Marik nodded, gave the engine a couple more revs (just for fun), and then drove out onto the road, helmet be damned. He'd rather brainwash law enforcement out of arresting him for some minor driving offence than let Takeda work out what the deal was with the Millennium Puzzle. The police station was only twenty minutes away by road, but with every passing second, Marik grew more and more worried. God, what if she’s said something wrong already. What if she's saying it now. What if I’m too late, what if Takeda was already onto me, what if the Rod doesn't work again—

He was forced to concentrate on the road as he drove out onto the main street, barely legally weaving through the traffic. Bakura floated alongside him, almost impossible to make out through the sleet and exhaust smog, but somehow easier to spot in the reflections of car windows and puddles in the gutters.

He came to a stop a block away from the station, pulling into an alley. He glanced around behind one of the bins, wondering for a moment whether Sekhmet wandered this far. She didn’t seem to be around.

I’ll have to go back to that spot from yesterday later.

Putting the cat out of his mind, he pulled the Ring out from inside his coat, holding it gingerly. The spikes swung, the outermost ones clinking against each other. He adjusted his grip, and then took a deep breath in.

Show me where Akira is .

The spikes suddenly became erect, pointing directly towards the police station. Marik bit his tongue.

Bakura, beginning to look more corporeal again, stared at them. “That’s where Akira is?”

“Yeah. The police station.”

He nodded, meeting Marik’s eye, his gaze steady. “Okay. What do you want to do?”

The duelist paused, glancing around the alleyway. It wasn’t such a bad spot to hide while he used the Rod. “I’ll stay here and use the rod on Takeda. Can you keep an eye out?”

Bakura nodded, smirking. “ Can I keep an eye out? Can I, the King of Thieves, stealer of souls—”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, just—” Marik broke off, taking a deep breath. “Fuck. Okay. Thanks.”

The spirit rolled his eyes, turning to face the main street. “Hide somewhere in that alley. If I shout, run. I’ll buy some time for you to sort your shit out by making the light fittings in the police station swing or something.”

Marik made a noise in his throat that could have been a laugh, but he was far too tense for that. “I—that’s a terrible plan, ‘Kura—”

“Do you have a better one?”

“Er—”

“Then fuck off and get that Rod working.”

Marik swallowed, unable to think of a good retort, and growing more anxious by the second. He quickly checked the street to make sure no one was watching him, before slipping into the alleyway, pulling up the hood of his coat. Nestling himself between a couple of bins, he held the Rod in both hands, and then closed his eyes, concentrating, tapping into the Rod’s power, reaching outwards.

First, he glimpsed into the minds of people immediately around him. Bakura’s was moving almost too fast for him, running through what they'd do if things went wrong, with the option of killing Takeda currently at the forefront. Marik took a deep breath, blocking him out, skin prickling uneasily. Gods, don't let it come to that. Takeda’s one hell of a problem, but I’m not going to kill him. Gods no.

He carefully searched and then discarded the surface thoughts of strangers, taking a little bit of time to get used to using the Rod like this again. At the very least, it was reassuring that it was working, after the encounters with both Taylor and Astarte. It seemed like the fact that it didn't work on them had more to do with them than it did with him. He hadn't decided yet whether or not that was a good thing.

Then he tried to shift the Rod over to Takeda.

Nothing.

His eyes flew open, shocked at the sudden feeling of rejection, as though something had repelled him. He became aware of the coldness in his hands again, frowning as he pulled his sleeves over them, shivering. 

There shouldn't be any issue. He'd used the Rod on Takeda before. He’d used the Rod to target people at a distance before. A feeling of dread began to pool in his stomach as he closed his eyes, trying again, holding his breath.

Please, gods, let this work.

Still nothing.

He gripped the Rod more tightly, panic and frustration slowly setting in. If he could just get into Takeda's head, he could know what was going on. If he needed to, he could control him, make him forget anything that needed forgetting, make him free Yugi and abandon this whole thing.

I should have done that when I had the chance. I was worried I’d arouse more suspicion, but at least it would have prevented this.

He tried again, resting his forehead on his knees, his face centimetres away from the Rod, its golden glow illuminating his features. But still no luck. Pushing down the panic rising in his stomach, he took a few moments to try and get a feel for whatever was obstructing him. It was different to the last couple of times the Rod hadn't worked. Before, it had simply felt like the Rod didn't have any effect. Now, its effects should be working, but they were being blocked, as though by some kind of protective force or shield.

The Puzzle, he realised, his breath catching in his throat, his eyes flying open. The Puzzle used to protect Yugi like that.

The Puzzle’s ability to protect its user from harm and magic wasn't something he’d discovered until he tried to use the Rod on Yugi earlier on in the Battle City tournament. When he’d been preparing the duel at the docks, his original plan had been to brainwash Yugi (and/or Atem, it hadn’t really mattered,) into walking to the docks, and shackling him, so that the battle ground for his duel against Jonouchi was the first thing he saw when he regained awareness, disorienting him as much as possible. But the Puzzle had stopped him, blocking the Rod’s magic — it had had a distinct energy, a perfect balance of light and dark, and a sense that it was as old as the Gods, which he supposed the magic behind all of the Items was.

This felt the same.

He took a deep breath, considering how this could possibly begin to make even one iota of sense. Could the Puzzle be responding to being so close to Yugi? Can that activate its powers?

Maybe that wasn't impossible — Yugi’s connection to the Puzzle was strong, and it wouldn't be the first time a Millennium Item had reached out to its wearer. The Ring had for Ryou, apparently. But then again, that might have had something to do with the spirit inside.

And Atem might be inside the Puzzle. Maybe he’s calling out to Yugi somehow.

Except that it was Takeda who he couldn't use the Rod on.

Another wave of panic gripped him as he realised what the implication of that was — Takeda must be using the Puzzle. There must have been more to him than Marik had realised. What if he’d been playing dumb about the Items the whole time? What if this was all part of some plan for him to get his hands on them? What if—

“Marik? How’re you going?”

Marik jumped as he heard Bakura next to him, jolting him from his thoughts. “Not good. I can use the Rod on everyone around us, but it’s not working on Takeda. I think the Puzzle’s repelling me, which means Takeda must have it.” He glanced up at Bakura, his eyes wide, voice quiet. “Which would be really, really bad.”

The spirit frowned. “Wait, go back. What’s this about the Puzzle?”

“One of its abilities is to protect whoever’s using it from the other Items. I—I’d forgotten, but if that’s happening, then someone must be using it.”

Bakura swallowed, grimacing. “Are you sure that’s what it is? It’s not a problem with the Rod?”

“I’m positive,” he said. “I know what this feels like.”

“Meaning someone’s using the Puzzle,” Bakura confirmed, and Marik nodded. The spirit narrowed his eyes, concentrating, gears turning. “You said we’re here because the Necklace showed you that Akira was with Takeda at the police station. Did Takeda have the Puzzle in your vision?”

Marik shook his head, feeling himself relax slightly, daring to feel a sliver of hope again. Akira had still had the Puzzle in the vision. But we don’t know whether or not that’s already happened. We could be too late. “No, but—”

“Try using the Rod on Akira.”

Marik hesitated, then nodded, closing his eyes, adjusting his grip on the Rod. It was now slick with water, as what had previously been hazy, icy sleet turned to drizzling rain. He focused again, reaching for Akira.

He was blocked by the same force.

He glanced at Bakura, his forehead creased with worry. “Nothing.”

“The Puzzle’s protecting her too?”

“I guess so,” he said, his mind racing. He didn’t know what that meant — he didn’t know what any of this might mean, but if he couldn’t get to Takeda or Akira, he was both in the dark in terms of what was happening, and unable to stop it. 

He felt his chest beginning to turn itself in knots, and he tightened his grip on the Rod, gritting his teeth. Why would the Necklace give him a vision like that if there was nothing he could do? A feeling of powerlessness swept over him, and he bit his lip as he got to his feet, steadying himself against the wall, suppressing a shiver. No. He refused to feel powerless. He’d spent something like a week without being in control of his own body, and even then he’d managed to get shit done. “If we can’t find out what’s going from here, we have to go in there.”

Bakura frowned. “What? Marik, this is a police station you’re talking about. You can’t just wander in there and do what you like. Especially if the Rod isn’t working on people inside.”

“But I can’t just wait here not knowing,” he insisted. “Takeda might have the Puzzle, or Akira might be telling him about it, and— and we can’t just do nothing—”

The spirit stepped in front of him, placing his hands on his shoulders, gazing at him intently. “Marik, listen to me. Let me finish. I’ll go in. I’ll find out what’s going on, I’ll find whoever’s using the Puzzle, and no one will see me. But you have to stay here. Okay?”

He felt something in his stomach clench — it made sense, it was the best plan they had, but he was dreading being left here on his own, waiting, not knowing. He hated being in the dark, figuratively as much as literally. He swallowed. “Promise me you’ll be quick.”

“I will. It’s not like I’m able to do much more than look, anyway.” The spirit smirked. “Although I suppose could also make the lights flicker on and off.”

He sighed, trying to relax, taking a deep breath. “Yeah, right. Okay.”

Bakura studied him, frowning. “Are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “I’m just worried.”

The spirit grimaced. “Yeah, well. I’ll be back.”

And then he vanished.

Marik let out a long sigh, leaning back against the wall, staring up at the top of the building on the opposite side of the street, through the rain. It was grimy, with dust and mud and bird shit. Everything could be going horrifically wrong, and there was nothing to do but wait , staring at bird shit . Anxiety gnawed at his stomach, his heart racing.

He hated this.

He wasn’t sure why not being in control of things got to him so much. He didn’t know if it always had. Maybe it was why he’d been drawn to the Rod. Or maybe it was because every time he relinquished his control, that’s when people got hurt. That’s when he got hurt. He’d had no control when his father had subjected him to the lifestyle and rituals and tomb keepers. He’d had no control when his father was killed. He’d had no control during the Battle City finals, when Mai was in a coma, and he’d barely had enough power to stop the other him from killing Rishid.

Get off your high horse, Marik. You were ready to kill Jonouchi and Anzu, and you treated Rishid like shit.

He huffed, scowling. Even when he did have control, he still managed to fuck everything up.

Slowly, warily, he put away the Rod and slunk out from between the bins, wandering back to the main street, so he at least wasn’t lurking in the dark alley. He adjusted his coat, and then leaned against a telephone pole, trying not to draw any attention to himself. If he folded his arms, he could almost pretend that his hands weren’t shaking. That didn’t fix the clench of his jaw or the tightness in his chest, but it was something. There was nothing else he could do.

So he stood in the rain, confused and anxious, glaring at nothing in particular. 

And he waited.

Chapter Text

Atem was feeling a lot of things. He was tired. He was worried. And he was extremely pissed off about Yugi being in fucking jail.

But even more than that, he was still really, really confused.

“Nngh—!”

Atem staggered as he felt a sudden wave of darkness slamming into him. He sank to his knees, bracing himself against the pale sandstone at the top of the stairs leading up to his throne, clutching at the fine dirt as the wind seemed to pick up, as if it was trying to carry him away. His projection of the Dark Magician Girl turned her head to glance back at him, concerned.

What…what the hell…

He’d been mid-duel with Kaiba, who’d somehow managed to cross into the fucking afterlife in order to get a rematch. Some kind of dark, interdimensional energy had been [yeeting out of him] since the duel began, but if it had any effect on his life force, Kaiba didn't show it. Either that, or his life points simply mattered more to him.

Everything had been going fine. Atem wasn't convinced that it was legal to have as many dragons in one’s deck as Kaiba did, (and seriously, how did he manage to keep on summoning as many as he did each turn?) but otherwise, nothing about the duel had seemed out of the ordinary.

Yet here he was, suddenly so overwhelmed by shadow magic that he felt he might cough up a lung.

“That's right, Pharaoh! Kneel before my Blue-Eyes Alternative Ultimate Dragon!”

Still, he found just enough energy to lift his head and glare at his rival. Is he really so arrogant to think that a king of Egypt would bow to his fucking hologram? “Fucking— cut it out, Kaiba!”

“Hah! Are you scared, Atem?” he taunted, smirking almost maniacally. “You should be. After all, my Blue Eyes Alternative Ultimate Dragon’s first effect makes it immune to your card effects, meaning your Dark Magician Girl the Dragon Knight’s quick effect can't destroy it. What's more, my dragon has 4500 attack points compared to your magician’s measly 2600 — without being able to activate her effect, I’m afraid she’s powerless.”

“Kaiba—”

“But that's not all! Prepare to say goodbye to all of your pesky magicians, Atem, when I activate this—”

“Kaiba, can't you see that something’s wrong?!” Atem snapped, chest heaving with the effort of yelling across the courtyard. Another wave of shadow magic wracked his body, and he saw a bead of his own sweat drop onto the ground in front of him. It struck him as odd that he’d hardly felt it against his own skin.

Kaiba stopped mid-sentence, frowning. “What’re you playing at?”

Atem gritted his teeth, unable to reply, feeling everything begin to go numb. His heart leapt to his throat as he realised he could see through his hand, staring at his handprint in the sand below.

He was fading away. Something was forcing him out of the afterlife, and he didn't know who, how, or where he was going.

Fuck.

Although he knew he must be disappearing, and he could hardly feel the ground under his feet, he found the strength to stand, staring evenly at the other duelist. “This duel ends here, Kaiba! Hopefully we can finish it another time—” he broke off, coughing, doubling over, staggering as he fought to remain on his feet.

Kaiba blinked, and then simply smirked. “No, Pharaoh, you’re right. This duel does end here. It’s over for you. I activate my set card—”

Oh my gods, he didn't hear me. He doesn't get it.

Hardly registering what Kaiba was doing, (he could still chain Dark Magician Girl the Dragon Knight’s effect anyway, as long as it wasn't targeting Blue Eyes Alternative Ultimate Dragon, but then again Kaiba should know that and probably had a plan,) he braced himself against a column as darkness filled the edges of his vision. He murmured a quick prayer to the Egyptian gods that he wasn't being sent anywhere too horrible, that he’d be able to return here again, that everything would be okay.

Also, he prayed that Kaiba would take this well. That would take nothing less than divine intervention.

He took a deep breath as his vision clouded completely, and everything — sound, touch, even the sensation of his own breathing — fell away, and he vanished from the afterlife completely.

When he regained consciousness, he was lying on a hard, stone floor. His eyes flew open, and he struggled to his feet, realising he recognised this place. It was still riddled with stairways and doors that shifted and moved, but now they had a clear order and pattern — his instinct now told him he should be able to comprehend where they led to and what they meant. Everything was gilded in intricate gold, and the cavern in the centre was smaller. There were even a few pot plants.

But the smell was the same — dark and dusty.

He was definitely in his soul room.

As the realisation sank in, he felt his pulse begin to race. Panic cut through the fuzziness that came with suddenly being plunged in and out of unconsciousness. He took a step backward, even though he knew there was nowhere to run, no way to leave.

No.

Nonononononononono, oh no, oh Osiris, I didn't ask for this.

He wasn't supposed to be here. This wasn't where he belonged. Did this mean he was back in the realm of the living? Or was he somewhere else? Could there be any other reason why he was in his soul room? What the fuck was going on?

Has something happened to Yugi?

Logically, he knew there was no reason why him being here and Yugi being in danger must be connected. It was just one of many possibilities.

Still, his gut told him otherwise.

He began to pace. This couldn't be happening. He’d been duelling Kaiba moments ago. Kaiba couldn’t have caused this, could he? No, Kaiba wouldn't use shadow magic if it appeared to him in the form of a dragon promising that he’d win a duel against his greatest rival in a public match.

Actually, no, Kaiba would absolutely do that. But it would take nothing less than those specific circumstances.

Still, even when Diva and Kaiba had been messing with the Items, and hell, the fabric of space-time itself, Atem had stayed dead. He’d been able to intervene because of ‘something something “Millennium Puzzle” something “dimensional rift” something something “the bond between him and Yugi”’ (Isis and Mahad had tried to explain it, but they didn't seem to have much more of a grasp on what exactly happened than he did), but he’d never returned to his soul room like this. At least, not since he was last in the Puzzle, trapped, unable to reach the afterlife.

He glared up at one of the useless, ridiculous, upside-down stairways. Why couldn't everyone just stop messing with shadow magic. Just once. He’d sealed his soul away for thousands of years to prevent that. He’d taken the Puzzle with him, back to the afterlife, to prevent that. He was supposed to be dead, and the Items were supposed to be buried, destroyed, or disappeared. But nooo, someone just had to fuck around with shadow magic again, and they had the audacity to send him back here.

He let out a long, ragged sigh, running his hands through his hair, barely holding in the urge to scream. He began to look around his soul room, methodically working out what all the extra doors and rooms were. A lot of them were still traps. Some of them were little windows to his memories in Egypt, but none of them revealed anything close to the entire memory world, or the afterlife.

After around half an hour of this, he came across a door which showed him something completely unfamiliar. On the other side, it was almost pitch dark, aside from the glint of dim light hitting metal. Cautiously, he peered outside, breathing in stale air, hearing a faint, metallic clinking sound.

As he stepped out, he heard the door close firmly behind him. His heart pounded as he spun to reach for the handle, before everything around him warped and shifted, and after a split second he was thrust into a dark blurriness, unable to find anything solid to hold onto.

He surrenders himself to the sensation of falling.

And falling.

And falling...