Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Shadow and Light ❯ Chapter 4

Author's Notes:

Wow, I'm just on a writing rampage tonight. I hope this isn't a bad omen or something.

 

Warnings: see the first chapter.

 

Disclaimer: YESSS!!! I do own them! * scary lawyers come * I jest, I jest….

 

Chapter 4

 

Good and evil are not absolute, only relative. This Ryou An'arath had been taught from birth. He was taught never to judge from one side, to look at all angles, to see the larger picture.

 

But as the young man stood upon a hill overlooking a recent slaughter, only by the fiercest act of will did he control his emotions. The teenager could have easily thrown up; it was only the knowledge that he had the power to put the tormented souls of those slain to rest that kept him from crying out in fury and sorrow.

 

He had known the people whose blood now stained the earth black. They were gypsies, a traveling caravan that had been known for welcoming all strangers. He himself, as an orphan, had spent several years among them, until his former self had awakened and his memories of a time long-faded had returned. With that awakening, he had left them and gone on a long journey, wandering hither and yon, regaining lost knowledge and retrieving lost weapons.

 

Such as his ring. He unhooked his most beloved weapon from his hip and drew a finger across one of the golden diamonds upon it, his normally dark brown eyes black with suppressed emotions.

 

A single leap, boosted by his crimson soul-strength, brought him from the peak of the hill to the very center of the battlefield. As he stood in silence, his crimson aura writhing and twisting about him like a snake, the spirits began to gather about him, drawn as naturally to his presence as a predator is to its prey.

 

But Ryou was no prey. He lifted his head, and the beautiful fighter's eyes glittered with tears for the first time in a very long time. Slowly, he drew the ring back to throw. He paused, and power from his aura curled around the ring. He drew the ring back to his ear and aimed it straight for the high moon.

 

The weapon spiraled into the air until it was barely visible, and with it flew the ghosts as Ryou's spell opened a gate between the spirit realm and the threshold on which they stood.

 

Ryou watched them go, and spoke. “Though you are no longer here to listen to me speak these words, I still do so: I swear, upon my Millennium Ring, and upon that which you held the most sacred, the Balance that so many have forgotten, that I will avenge your lives. For every sorrow dealt this night, I shall deal back in equal and greater measure. You will not be forgotten, and I will take a new name for your sake.” He fell silent then, watching the last of the ghosts fade away into nothing.

 

The ring plummeted down through the air back into Ryou's waiting hand. His grip on the ring tightened until his fingertips turned white. “I am Ryou An'arath, the Dark Defender reborn,” he whispered. “And now...I will call myself the Arami's Vengeance.”

 

Good and evil are not absolute. As Ryou's eyes stared into the black night, he spat on the ground bitterly. If evil was not absolute, then those that had slaughtered his friends without mercy were so close to it as to make no difference.

 

 

“In the times after the Black Sorrow, many heroes fought for this land,” Bakura said to Yugi, staring into their campfire. Yugi's eyes were on the darkness surrounding them; it was his turn for the night watch, and he was using an old soldier's trick Bakura had taught him, not looking at the fire directly so as to not be blinded by its light.

 

Bakura idly tossed a twig into the fire. “They tried to return the realm to peace and unity.”

 

“Tried?” Yugi asked softly.

 

“They didn't succeed, at least not completely. They managed to briefly unite the people of this land to drive the monsters of Chaos out of the realm. But the corruption, the intrigue, the betrayals...it was too much for the realm to handle. Many of the heroes were betrayed by corrupt leaders, hunted down by those that believed the lies that had been spread. Still more fled for their lives to the Shrouded Isles, taking those that followed them with them. Others simply...faded into legend, and were never found.”

 

“Will you tell me their tale?” Yugi asked eagerly.

 

Bakura laughed. “Hell no! That would be impossible, considering the enormous number of mighty deeds that were done in that time. It was a world of Chaos, to be sure, but a world of courage, and magic, and heart...when people still had beliefs in ideals, when loyalties that were given in magical oaths could not be shattered...” Bakura's eyes darkened abruptly. “Enough. It grows late. Wake me the second hour after midnight, and I'll take the rest of the watch. Good night.” And with that, the shapeshifter lay down on the bedroll and closed his eyes.

 

Yugi had been traveling with Bakura some weeks now, and recognized the tone in Bakura's voice - it would be dangerous to pester the man now with pleas for tales. He merely murmured, “Good night,” and returned his full attention to their dark surroundings.

 

Yugi sat in the darkness, occasionally poking the fire to keep it going, at peace for the first time she could remember. Traveling with Bakura had been very educational, to say the least. He'd learned much about the people that lived outside of his narrow human world, and in doing so he'd learned something about himself as well. He was no longer the timid, shrinking thing Bakura had taken pity on in a tavern. He was stronger, though still quiet, and happy in the knowledge that he could survive independently if he had to, thanks to Bakura's teachings. He'd become quite devoted to the moody shapeshifter, and Bakura had grudgingly allowed the fact to become clear that he cared just as much for Yugi.

 

Yugi listened to the soft hooting of the owls and the rustling of small nocturnal creatures close by, and remembered what Bakura had told him:

 

“When you walk in places where none but animals live, pay attention. See your surroundings, smell the scents, but most of all - listen. Listen, and learn what sounds are normal. The wild things will warn you of danger with silence - but you must first know what noises they make when all is well.”

 

NO SOUND. Yugi reached slowly for the dagger Bakura had shown him how to use, hand shaking as he tried to be as noiseless as possible. He knew something was not right, could feel it as strongly as he knew that Bakura was truly asleep, and would not be awakened easily.

 

A rustle in the braches of the trees made his head snap around. He picked up a handful of dirt and let it trickle out of his palm back to the ground slowly. No wind.

 

He rose fluidly to his feet. If he could reach Bakura's sleeping roll before anything happened...

A throaty chuckle echoing out of the darkness made him freeze. “Don't try it,” a deep, purring voice advised her. “Let the shapeshifter rest while he can. He will need all the strength he can get soon enough.”

 

“Who are you?” Yugi whispered. “What do you mean?”

 

There came another chuckle. “Really, my dear, do you honestly expect me to give you my name?”

 

“No,” Yugi answered steadily, “but an explanation of why you've been tailing us for three weeks would be welcome.”

 

He caught a flare of startlement from the hidden visitor, followed by a warm, honest laugh. “So you felt my aura after all. I wondered.”

 

“I haven't mentioned your presence to Bakura because I don't feel any malice from you. But that could change,” Yugi warned softly.

 

There was another chuckle, and Yugi jerked back in shock as a tall figure dropped from the trees to land directly in front of him.

 

“Well, my lovely?” The seven-foot-tall demon smiled, showing pearly fangs. “What do you think of your...stalker?”

 

Yugi disliked his choice of words, and his grip on the dagger tightened.

 

The demon laughed softly, his pale violet eyes missing nothing. “No need for concern,” he purred. “I won't harm you.”

 

Yugi said nothing, not loosening his grip on the dagger, and thought, Bakura, please wake up! Demons are a little out of my league! The now sixteen-year-old human didn't know what to do.

 

The demon, reading his thoughts, laughed heartily. It was this that finally woke Bakura. The shapeshifter opened his eyes and sat up. There was an abrupt silence in the campsite as the beautiful man stared blankly at the demon.

 

Then comprehension struck Bakura, and he let out a long groan. “You!”

 

“Have you missed me?” the demon purred smugly.

 

Bakura snarled a phrase in a tongue Yugi did not recognize, and the demon laughed again.

 

“Really, my friend,” he said in a chiding tone. “Such language! And coming from a mare'-anoth, as well.”

 

Bakura stood up stalked across the campsite until he stood about a foot away from the demon. The male was fully a foot taller than him, and as he stared up at him his face darkened even more; Bakura made a habit of disliking men who were taller than him, which was unfortunate, considering there were many who could top his simply average height.

 

In a tone of definitely deceptive mildness, Bakura said, “It seems you've managed to track me down again, Marik. Very well, I will tolerate your presence for now. But if you ever call me a mare'-anoth again, so help me gods, I will transform into a demon to gain the power to kill you. Being stuck in that form for the rest of eternity will be worth being able to slowly disembowel you.”

 

Yugi had never heard Bakura speak in that extraordinarily mild, deadly tone. He stared at his guardian, dismayed, and stricken by the fact that the shapeshifter's eyes had turned a cold black.

 

Bakura saw Yugi's distress and called upon a strength he'd used only once before, and locked his fury in a place deep within him. The shapeshifter's eyes returned to the rusty brown they normally were when he was in human form, and the rigidity of his body eased. The demon observed the control he maintained, and looked at the human boy keenly, knowing full well that Bakura would not have bothered to maintain his temper if the human child had not been present.

 

Quietly, Bakura explained, “Marik has been an acquaintance of my clan for several centuries. In the last thirty years, he seems to have adopted a new hobby - annoying me. I've managed to lose him for five years, but now that he has found us, I'm afraid we're stuck with him.”

 

“It is so nice to know one is appreciated,” Marik remarked.

 

“I apologize for becoming so angry and startling you like that,” Bakura said to Yugi, ignoring Marik. “But...a mare'-anoth, among the shapeshifters, is...a position of power that I will never claim, if I can help it. I consider it a high insult that he addressed me as such. Please, do not ask me to explain what the title means. It is a part of my past that I would as soon forget.”

 

Yugi nodded slowly; Bakura rarely spoke with such courtesy, but when he did he was utterly serious. He looked at Marik. “So, is our group now three?”

 

Marik smiled and bowed low to the boy. “If you would be so kind.”

 

“We have no choice,” Bakura growled. “Now that you have thoroughly spoiled my night, which is no doubt what you intended to do to me from the first, we should try to get some rest. We are going to Androm,” he told the demon. “And if you insult my sylven friends, I won't rest until I've found out how to work that Curse of Black Monsters that I've heard about in certain tales, and cast it on you.”

 

“Your point is taken, mi'lord,” Marik said with another bow, this one mocking. However, as he looked up, Yugi saw the devilish mischief in his eyes and thought, Things are going to get a bit more interesting with him around. He purposely thought this quite loudly, and the demon grinned evilly at him. This time, he grinned back.

 

Marik sat cross-legged on the ground. “I'll take the rest of the watch,” he volunteered cheerfully.

 

“And leave us all to the goblins, no doubt,” Bakura said crossly. “I'll take the rest of the watch. That's the arrangement I had worked out with Yugi until you decided to show your ugly ass.”

 

“Touchy, aren't you?” Marik said cheerfully. “You really should let me take the watch. You'll need every bit of sleep you can get soon enough.”

 

“What's that supposed to mean?” Bakura snapped. But Marik had vanished again. The shapeshifter swore under his breath in common, the languages spoken by all of the peoples of the middle west and north, and said, “Whatever you do, Yugi, don't trust that bastard. He may act charming, but he's treacherous. All demons are.”

 

“Yes, Bakura,” Yugi answered steadily, but as he lay down to sleep he thought, I don't know. I rather like that charmer.

 

 

There were many sharp intakes of breath from women on the street as the damnably handsome sylven sauntered down the main walkingway of Androm. He raised a casual hand and brushed a lock of his wavy golden hair away from his eyes, knowing the gesture drew attention to the rings glinting on his fingers and enjoying the stares. His stride was long and purposeful, his posture the perfect straightness of one born to nobility. There was an air of assurance and power about him, though he suppressed his aura carefully, and the people on the street regarded him with respect.

 

Malik was relieved to be in Androm. He had many friends in this city, and had access to magical tools that would allow him to contact more. The Andra would not touch him easily here; besides, they had to track him here first, and that alone would take them months. Malik could get many things done in a few months.

 

The sylven was among the tallest of his kind, a little over six feet in height. His wavy golden hair hung to his shoulder blades, and was normally left loose. His eyes were slanted upwards at the outer corners like all of his kind, and deep violet in color. His locks parted gracefully over his highly pointed ears, accenting his high cheekbones and strong chin nicely, and he was well-built, though not overly muscular as some humans tended to become. He was clad in a plain brown pair of well-worn traveling trowsers and a tight-fitting white shirt with worn boots. A brown traveling cloak swirled around his shoulders, draped so that it hid anything that covered his upper chest. The cloak itself was quite long, reaching almost to the ground, and beautifully woven. A small gold hoop pierced the tip of his left ear, and amethyst drops dangled from both ears. He wore two rings on each hand, all of them made with gold and set with precious gems. One he particularly prized, as it was enspelled with a certain power.

 

He reached his destination and knocked sharply on the door. It was opened almost immediately, and he was admitted to a large, beautifully kept courtyard.

 

“Malik,” a husky voice, rusty with age, greeted him. “It has been a long time.”

 

Malik turned to face the venerable old mage and bowed lowed, open palms held out in the sylven gesture of complete and total respect. “Ladonel,” he greeted the ancient, smiling. “I see you still keep your love for gardening. Your flowers are the most beautiful I have ever seen.” And the far-traveled sylven spoke nothing less than complete truth.

 

The old one smiled, bending his head slightly in acknowledgement of the compliment. “I thank you. However, I hardly think that you would pay a visit to me if the only thing in your mind was a longing to admire my flowers.”

 

Malik sighed. “You are as perceptive as ever, my master. May I speak with you safely?”

 

The ancient elf raised an eyebrow. “Come with me.”

 

They entered the ancient's estate, a beautifully kept home whose servants were the very definition of discretion. As soon as they saw their master enter the house with a stranger and head for a certain room, they blocked away all memory of the encounter. Ladonel drew his guest into the magically shielded room and locked the door behind him.

 

“My servants will not try to disturb us,” he said quietly. “Here we are safe from all observation, even magical ones. This room is well-protected.”

 

Malik winced slightly under the sheer pressure of the magics and soul power shielding the room. Many of the spells were subtle, designed to make the observer think the room was something boringly ordinary, like a room in which laundry was kept. Others were invoked so that whatever was spoken within the room could not leave it.

 

“Yes, I feel the power of this place,” he said gratefully. “I thank you.”

 

Ladonel dismissed this with a wave of his hand. “Now, tell me your tale.”

 

Malik, knowing that this was probably the only sylven he could fully trust with everything he knew, gladly poured out his story - the dreams that had told him what he was, the discoveries of his new, dangerous powers, the realization on the part of the Andra of his existence, the long hunt through Terrestria, his escape, and the journey through the Mele'alar that he had taken to evade the questing magics of the Andra and reach Androm safely.

 

“Safely?” Ladonel asked dryly. “I would not call the Mele'alar safe.”

 

“I meant, the Andra will not soon track me to this place,” Malik explained.

 

“Do you think so?” Ladonel inquired, and Malik stiffened in alarm. “You forget, my young student. Name those you once called your `companions in hell on earth',” the ancient requested, referring to the early time that Malik had spent under Ladonel's tutelage.

Frowning, Malik ticked off the names of his former classmates on his fingers. “Mai Kazumaki - she's on the south border of An'Ra now, and happy to be there and out of the court politics. Hiroto Honda - fighting pirates in the Beloth Sea - he's been out of touch for a while. My sister Ishizu - she's off being reclusive in the Aragon Forest again. Jounouchi Katsuya - he's at Caer Relan with his sister Serenity - he's not left his sister's side in months.”

 

“Good. Now tell me, did you not think that the Andra would turn to them when they could not seek you out themselves?”

 

Malik went pale as he realized what would happen. Ladonel nodded grimly. “Robbed of their prey, they will seek out those that they know you were once close to, to gain what information they can, in any way they can. Your friends are in danger, Malik Ishtar.”

 

Malik swore in a mixture of elvish, common, and several human tongues. Ladonel shook his head. “Cursing the Andra will not help this situation, Mal,” he said softly, pointedly using a rare shortened version of Malik's name. The handsome sylven looked up, surprised at the rarely permitted familiarity, then comprehension dawned on his face.

 

“Who is here?” he asked softly.

 

Ladonel chuckled softly. “So you retain some of your senses. Very well, my boy. Follow me.”

 

They left the shielded room and walked down a richly carpeted hall to another room, this one intended for the public receiving of visitors. Sitting nervously on one couch was fairly young human boy, rather pretty with his crimson-and-gold hair and violet eyes. It was the other that caught Malik's attention.

 

“It's been a long time, Kura,” he said gravely to the shapeshifter.

 

Bakura rose to his feet and gripped Malik's forearm with the gravity of one warrior greeting another. Then he laughed, and embraced his old friend. “Long time, Mal,” he said affectionately to the sylven. Malik was one of the few the handsome shapeshifter gave his complete trust to, even if they hadn't seen each other in over fifteen years.

 

“Kura?” the human boy asked softly in a puzzled tone.

 

Bakura said in a careless tone, “Kura is Malik's name for me.” To Malik, he said, “This is Yugi, my...new protege'. I go by my full name now,” he added.

 

Malik nodded, taking the hint. “It is good to see you again, Bakura. So, you sought me out?”

 

“Yes,” he acknowledged. “Something happened to me recently, and from what your good master has told me -” he shot Ladonel a sly glance, “You might be able to explain something of it to me.” Malik nodded, curious, and Bakura told him of the vision of the shapeshifter spirit.

 

He let out a low whistle. “Great Meria,” he murmured. “We're just appearing everywhere, aren't we?” Ladonel chuckled.

 

“Explain,” Bakura said, irritated.

 

Malik sighed. “Sit down, Bakura. This is going to take a while.” He recounted his own story to him and Yugi, and explained about the reincarnations.

 

Bakura rubbed his temples. “I suspected as much,” he admitted. “So I'm a reincarnation.” He looked off into space. “Should I do anything about this?”

 

“That will reveal itself to you in due time,” Ladonel said. “I would advise young Malik to explain to you his current situation.”

 

Malik nodded, and explained the danger he knew his former schoolmates were in. “Will you help me get them together and warn them of the events that have occurred?”

 

“Yes, that would seem prudent,” he agreed. He glanced at Yugi. “Do you mind a little sidetracking?”

 

“No,” Yugi answered. “You should warn him about Marik, though.”

 

Bakura sighed. “And here I'd managed to forget about that pestilence.” He quickly explained about the demon. “He seems to regard me as something of a joke. If we travel with you, Mal, chances are you'll be stuck with him too.”

 

“And here I thought I'd managed to convince you of my utmost charm,” Marik's voice drawled, and the demon appeared out of midair.

 

Malik regarded him warily. “As long as you promise to do no mischief to those that travel with me, I do not care about your presence,” he informed Marik.

 

“Excellent,” the demon purred. He glanced at Yugi. “I managed to find that text you expressed an interest in.”

 

“Did you?” A delighted smile spread across the boy's face, and suddenly Malik understood why the demon had wished to please Yugi. “Thank you very much, Marik. I've wanted to read that story for quite some time.”

 

The demon bowed. “Your servant, mi'lord.” He glanced up. “When will you be leaving Androm?” He addressed the question to Malik, his pale violet eyes gleaming with interest as he studied the sylvan more closely, noticing resemblances between them. The elf was very handsome, and tall for his kind - the way Marik preferred his bed partners to be...

 

Malik glanced at Ladonel, suddenly aware of the demon's increased interest in himself. Mildly uncomfortable under Marik's stare, he said, “We will probable head for Caer Relan as soon as possible - that is the closest of our destinations. Would leaving two days hence suit you all?”

 

“That will do nicely,” Bakura said calmly. “If that is all, then I will take my leave of you all. I have been traveling for some time and would like to relax a little.”

 

Malik frowned. “I would not have asked your aid had I known -”

 

Bakura laughed. “There is too much wanderlust in me. You know that, Mal. Don't worry about my needing a rest.” The beautiful shapeshifter slid silently out of the room, shadowed by Yugi.

 

Malik stared at the demon. Marik grinned evilly when he saw the awareness in the lovely elf's eyes. “This is going to be a very interesting journey,” the demon promised him, and vanished.

 

“I can only imagine,” Malik muttered, and his old master smiled faintly. “Thank you, Ladonel. I owe you a debt.”

 

The mage dismissed that with a negligent gesture. “The only thing I ask in return is that when your adventure is over, you must come to me and tell me all your tale.”

 

Malik nodded. “You may count on that,” he promised, and left the room.

 

The ancient mage remained, gazing thoughtfully off into space. Oh, my young student, if you only knew what fate has in store for you...

 

Marik reappeared, regarding the mage. “Well?”

 

Ladonel raised an eyebrow. “What do you want?”

 

Marik folded his arms. “Don't play innocent with one of the Five,” the demon lord warned the mage in a dangerous tone. “You've seen the future, old elf. What of it?”

 

“One of the Five, are you?” Ladonel retained his calm, though cold involuntarily worked its way down his spine. The Five were the most powerful demons alive, ancients in their own right, having been alive since before the Great Sorrow. Demons were lawless, without government, but the Five, under extreme circumstances, could call all the demons together and command them by sheer force of strength.

 

Marik glared at the mage, his mask of charm completely dropped. “Old fool, do not test my patience. I am fond of the shapeshifter and the human in my own way, and I will not have them harmed. What did you see of the future?”

 

Ladonel stared at the mighty demon, whose power was so well hidden the ancient mage could not even feel a trace of its true strength. “Strange that a demon should possess that capacity.”

 

“To what?” Marik asked sharply.

 

“To care. To think of others,” Ladonel said slowly.

 

Marik shrugged. “Of the Five, I am the youngest. Perhaps it is youthful impulse on my part, perhaps not. However, it is my will that those two not be harmed.”

 

Ladonel continued to stare. “You know, don't you, of whom Aari is a reincarnation?”

 

“Yes,” Marik answered, and his tone was the harshest yet. “The past does not matter to me. It is useless to dwell on what was. It is the present that is always in flux. I have held the reins of control of the present far too long to be thwarted now. You will tell me, now, what you have seen of the future!” And the demon let a slight touch of his power slip out from under his powerful and immense shields.

 

Ladonel flinched in pain. “Enough. I foresaw great battles between those that were reincarnated from the Great Sorrow. The sylven usurpers will...be hard put to keep that which they have stolen. Many will fall, and many more will rise to powers that have long been denied them. Your shapeshifter friend will be among the greatest - but you knew that.”

 

“Yes, yes,” Marik snapped, crimson eyes burning. “But what of Yugi?”

 

Ladonel shook his head. “I have seen nothing of that little human.”

 

“Beware.” Marik's voice deepened ominously. “You will not lie to me, mage.”

 

Ladonel's head came up. “When I took my oath as a mage, I swore never to tell a falsehood. I have kept that oath through the centuries, even if others have not.” A slightly rueful look flickered across the mage's face. “In fact, it's gotten me into trouble every now and then. Twice every century or so.”

 

Marik frowned. “Yes, what I know of you fits that. Very well.” The demon abruptly vanished.