The prisoner tried to move. The rattling sound warned him and he ceased every movement, heaving a sigh. Shackles. But of course. The old man wasn’t senile or stupid. He tried to bark a short, dry laugh – his whole predicament was laughable. His throat hurt – how long had it been since he had anything to drink?
“Thirsty, brother dear?”
His dark-brown eyes flashed anger and hate. It was difficult to focus on the weak light dancing in front of him, but the silhouette was easy recognizable.
“Noa,” he rasped, and coughed. “What the hell..?”
“Tsk tsk, watch your language, brother dear.”
A click of a button, and a door opened, rattling. He refused to look at his visitor, but his body tensed up. He ignored his sore throat, his pounding headache and the bleeding of his chafed wrists; small abrasions from the tight and rusty shackles.
“I should’ve known the old man was old-fashioned. Rusty shackles?”
“You know father,” the other answered. “You just have to appreciate his odd sense of humor.”
“He’s not my father,” he barked. “Don’t you dare associate him with me!”
The slap to the face was to be expected. He spat out blood – it felt like his teeth had been forcefully rearranged in his jaw.
“Noa…”
“What is it, Seto?” Kaiba Noa straightened himself, studying his hand – hopefully it had hurt the prisoner as much as it hurt him, he thought bitterly. He had to be careful with his body, with this body. Gozaburo’s transfer procedure was painful and complicated, and healthy, young bodies weren’t out there for the picking. If he wanted to avoid transferring to another body, he would have to take it easy. He made a mental note to bring a stick or a club with him the next time instead.
“You’ve been playing around again, haven’t you?”
Noa shrugged. It looked silly coming down here in an old-fashioned, stinking cell – there were ‘comfortable’ confinement chambers located elsewhere in the Tower – but Gozaburo had insisted that the other had to be incarcerated here. He regretted his choice to dress up all in white – he didn’t want to have his suit smudged.
“Father’s work is interesting,” Noa said with a lazy drawl. “You know that. Don’t you miss playing around, Seto?”
“Where’s Mokuba?” the prisoner snarled in return. Even though Noa kept referring to him with his first name, he hated to be adressed as such, even if his surname was one of the most feared in this world. The name ‘Kaiba’ used to have a good meaning in this world, before Gozaburo attained his dreadful power. Kaiba Seto wasn’t prepared to acknowledge the man as his father anymore, if ever.
“Oh, he’s around, don’t be afraid. He’s still young, and plenty interesting to study.”
“Study? Bastard… you’ll pay for this!”
“Boring, Seto,” Noa yawned.
“Why did you come down here? Go away!”
Noa bend through his knees and grabbed the prisoner at the collar of his sweaty, stained shirt.
“I want your procedures,” he said. “I want the technical details and access to your virtual reality world.”
Kaiba smirked. “You still haven’t been able to crack the codes? I thought you were such a hardcore hacker.”
“I will figure out your codes,” Noa sneered and let go of the other, who fell back against the cold, hard wall. “I will get your procedures, and surpass our father. Not you, not Mokuba – but me!”
“Pathetic,” Kaiba snarled. He tried to move, but the shackles didn’t budge. He should’ve known that Gozaburo would take precautions, but this was ridiculous. “After all those years, you still strive to be daddy’s favorite son… and fail.”
Noa appeared to ignore him, and instead touched the cold, damp wall of the small cell. Besides a stack of hay to serve as a mattress, there wasn’t anything else in here but a reeking bucket and a small jug of water. With a look of disgust on his face, Noa seemed to want to tip the bucket over, but refrained at the last moment.
“The idea that I fail… huh… lose to you, is preposterous,” he snorted. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it against his nose. “You’re only a street rat, a good-for-nothing punk. It’s only due to your intelligence that you managed…”
“An intelligence that far surpasses yours,” Kaiba reminded him, and was prepared for another slap to his face, though it wasn’t as painful as the previous one. He hissed, his teeth still hurting.
“That might be,” Noa said and straightened himself again. “But I’m not the one rotting in a cell and praying for my life.”
“I don’t believe in God.”
“You shouldn’t believe in God either,” Noa said, almost amusedly, even giggling for a brief moment. “There’s only one, and that’s our father. He’s the one in charge here - not God.”
“Gozaburo is a fool,” he shot back. “He’s messing with powers far above his control. Sooner or later, he loses his control, if he already hasn’t lost it. No one can…”
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” Noa screamed, his eyes bugging out of his face, cheeks reddened in anger. He took a precious minute to recover from his outburst - losing his patience was a sign of weakness, and the other knew it too - and pressed his handkerchief compulsively against his nose, breathing loudly through his mouth.
“You can’t control the Pharaoh either,” he finally said, voice perfectly under control again.
“I’m not interested in him.”
“No, but you do want his power, don’t you?”
“Who doesn’t?” Kaiba answered dryly. “I love to have my own Gods so I could fry the hell out of you.”
“Funny. Very funny.” Noa kicked. He didn’t tip over the bucket, but the jug close to the prisoner, spilling the precious water. “Father has him perfectly under control, and…”
“Let me guess, by still using those two morons? You don’t know what they are thinking, they’re as unstable as plutonium, not to mention your precious Pharaoh - messing around with bodies, minds and souls is going to backfire, big time!”
Kaiba regretted the loss of water, his cracked lips reminding him painfully of his predicament. The thought however, that Gozaburo still had Marik and Bakura running around in the Tower, was unsettling. As he thought about it, he was surprised that Domino City was still in one piece. “Why don’t you undo these shackles, and we can talk.”
“I don’t want to talk to you,” Noa barked, conveniently ignoring the fact that he searched out Kaiba first. “As far as I’m concerned, you can just die here, but preferably after you’ve given me the codes to your files, and all the information I need to know. I’m not as patient as father, you know.”
“Stop referring to him as ‘father’,” Kaiba growled.
“Why? He’s my father… and supposedly yours.”
“Never.” Kaiba didn’t allow Noa to have the satisfaction of losing his calm composure, though he wanted nothing but to scream. Kaiba Gozaburo would never be his father, in every sense of the word. He and his younger brother Mokuba had been officially adopted, and bore the Kaiba surname. They were proud to call themselves Kaiba, until the name fell out of grace and was spoken with fear instead of respect. Kaiba himself couldn’t care less about his name at the moment. He shivered at the thought of Gozaburo losing control over his…creatures, losing control over the world. He was aware of the seven Sennen Items, though he wasn’t really sure of their power or significance; he only knew that people, including Gozaburo, were frantically searching for them. Everything had gone to hell since the man had gotten his hands on the programs for the virtual reality Kaiba had designed and developed… the sickening sweet irony, that he wanted to use that virtual reality for games. It was Gozaburo who had used it to rise in power, and turn this world towards the darkness.
Kaiba heaved another sigh, before lifting up his head to sneer at Noa, but he saw to his surprise that the other had left his cell. A bitter grimace marred his face. The water was soaking the hay he had no choice but to sit on, and it was close to his leg. Irritated, he shifted away from the growing puddle and lowered his head again. His arms felt cramped, his body being forced in the same position for… how long? How long had he been out of it? Gozaburo had his… odd sense of humor, indeed. Kaiba knew he wouldn’t survive more rounds of torture - and he had his little brother Mokuba to think about. The longer he was locked up in this cell, the more his ‘father’ could influence and manipulate Mokuba, could trick him and lie to him, that his brother had abandoned him… and then those… creatures. The Pharaoh, Marik and Bakura. No matter what Gozaburo or Noa were thinking, no one had control over them. They controlled themselves, and that was a very scary thought.
Kaiba gritted his teeth. He needed to get out of here, and fast.
It wasn’t often that Noa left his quarters, let alone visit his… brother in his cell. Face set in an ugly frown, most servants in the hallways hurried away from him as to not upset him even more. Kaiba Noa - he was the only one deserving that name, damnit - didn’t pay any attention to them. It was absurd in the first place that there were so many servants; Noa was convinced that they all plotted against him, laughed behind his back, that everyone knew how frustrated he was… it wasn’t fair.
On the other hand, he was glad that he didn’t have to do any of the menial, tedious, cleaning work and chores by himself; he wasn’t cut out for cleaning. Such jobs were unbecoming of Gozaburo’s son. The Kaiba Corp. building was freakishly tall and every floor disposed over numerous rooms, including bath rooms - he couldn’t imagine having to polish all the toilet seats and doorknobs. It was a good thing there were servants to do this work - but why had there to be so many? Didn’t his father know that they were a liability? Shivering, Noa took a turn to the right, to the elevators. Electricity was plenty available in the Tower, contrary to the people in the city. They only had electricity during certain hours of the day… if Gozaburo felt like it. A complacent smile replaced Noa’s grimace. More often than not, it felt great to be in absolute power - or, at least, to be the son of the one in absolute power.
Yes, that was what he was. The son. He was the only one, true son of Kaiba Gozaburo, and he would succeed him one day - and then, the world would know who Kaiba Noa was. He jabbed his finger at the button for the elevator. That day couldn’t be coming soon enough as far as he was concerned. Noa was working hard to establish his own camp - getting the right people on his side, to gain sympathy and support for his cause. He didn’t expect Gozaburo to willingly hand him every reign of power, just like that.
The elevator announced its arrival, a loud ‘ding’ resonating through the hallway. Noa stepped in and pushed the button for the right floor. It annoyed him that he had to press a different button now; he was the one to originally live at the top floor. Gozaburo forced him to give up his quarters in favor of the Pharaoh, remodeling the wonderful apartment with bulletproof windows for crying out loud, simply because he wanted to indulge his prized pet to have his beloved ‘view of the city’. Why the hell did he have to return from Africa anyway? For all that he cared, the Pharaoh could have died in the desert. Noa growled. To add insult to the injury, apart from the bulletproof glass, Gozaburo had had the room redecorated and renewed to mirror an Ancient Egyptian theme, complete with statues of long-forgotten Gods. Noa gnashed his teeth.
In his plans, the Pharaoh would be the first to be pulled from his pedestal, and Noa would reclaim his quarters, and look over the city from the top of the building, as the righteous ruler he was. This huge tower, where every generation of Kaiba had added their own floors to, was a landmark for his envisioned new world. Soon, only one Kaiba would really be able touch the sky and repaint it to his own vision - and Noa was very sure which Kaiba that was going to be.
Stepping out of the elevator, he bumped against a servant who was busy arranging a bouquet of flowers in a large, antique vase. The servant immediately started apologizing, and bowed so deep, bending through his knees, that his nose almost touched the ground. Noa made a dismissive gesture and walked away. Flowers - another stupid thing. Why in the world his father would allow something as silly as flowers to be in the building, was beyond Noa’s comprehension. There was a lot more he didn’t understand about the elderly man. He had favored Seto over him. An orphan, a street rat with an useless younger brother, covered in lice and scabs, with a big mouth, having the guts to ask Gozaburo for food and shelter in exchange for a game of chess.
The door opened automatically and Noa went inside. He relaxed considerably; he felt safe in his own quarters. However, the feelings of safety were overshadowed by his growing annoyance and irritation. Noa walked over to the bar and poured himself a firm drink. Four Roses Bourbon… one of the best whiskies this world had to offer. He sipped of his drink after adding a few ice cubes. His train of thought immediately reverted back to his father and Seto. Noa refused to refer to him as ‘Kaiba’ as people around here mostly did - calling him by his first name seemed to irritate him, and Noa would take any opportunity available to annoy his so-called brother.
The only thing he… sort of admired Seto for, was his nerve. He had nerves of steel, asking the man who would become leader of this world and soon to be over the entire universe, for a piece of bread for him and his brother. He has asked out loud too, so Gozaburo couldn’t ignore him. The rat had offered Gozaburo a game of chess with a simple bet: if he won, he would get some bread, if he lost… well, he wouldn’t get a thing.
Seto had won the chess game, and quite impressively too. Gozaburo had laughed, to everyone’s astonishment - everyone had assumed he would punish the orphan for his audacity, but Gozaburo had done exactly the opposite. He took him in, Noa’s gloomy thoughts spun around in his head. He took him in and placed him above me. Swirling the liquor around in the glass, he didn’t realize how his lips were clenched together in an ugly grimace. He was better off than Seto - he wasn’t the one shackled and in the dungeon - but he wasn’t so sure about his position. What if Gozaburo found someone else to replace him… again? Even Seto had fallen from grace. Anything was possible.
He could only make himself irreplaceable, inexpendable, if he managed to hack Seto’s laptop, and access his files and designs on his virtual reality project. Noa would never say out loud that the other was indeed smarter than him, but he had to grudgingly admit that Seto’s intelligence far surpassed his own. He knew passing Seto’s notes for his own would be futile. He would never be able to design and build such a virtual world as Seto had, and which Gozaburo had taken for his own research. Angry, he emptied his glass and put it back on the bar. He had to be careful, though. Not many were on his side.
Noa had approached certain people, but he wasn’t sure about their support. Not many proved to be steadfast or loyal in this world, not even for the promise of food or money. He had approached the Generals first, but that plan had backfired, badly. The first one who was close to swaying over to his side, Akunadin, had died of old age - rather suddenly and rather sour, considering the longevity of the Generals in the first place. The second one, Shada, had answered in so many riddles that Noa’s head had spun. It had taken him ages to try to figure out the meaning behind the man’s words, until he reached the conclusion that Shada had neither said yes nor no.
He hadn’t bothered to ask the woman. Isis scared him with that haughtily, disdainful look in her eyes, eyes that seemed to drill through his very soul; though they were nothing compared to the Pharaoh’s eyes. When Noa first had experienced those crimson red eyes resting upon him, he thought he was going to be burned alive, x-rayed to his core, wrung inside and out. Needless to say, he hadn’t bothered to ask the Pharaoh either.
Noa had given up to try to talk to the other, remaining Generals - Mahaado, Karim and Set. The irony didn’t escape him that there was a General with a name similar to his so-called brother, and, even worse, with exactly the same looks. Mahaado and Karim had this incredible loyalty to the Pharaoh, and Mahaado had even gone as far as to declare himself his “eternal servant”. Noa didn’t know the details, but he knew enough that he wouldn’t be able to convince those two as long as he didn’t have the Pharaoh convinced. Where that loyalty came from was a mystery to him, but it didn’t serve him - in the back of his mind, he wasn’t so sure if it served Gozaburo either - and as Noa feared that one of the Generals would blab to Gozaburo about it, he had ceased talking to them.
It was a good thing that, except for the Pharaoh, none of the Generals actually were often around. They had their own parts of world to conquer and search for… Items.
That always wanted to make him laugh. Gozaburo was so incredibly focused on these Sennen Items, that it was almost pathetic. He would never mention that in front of his father, though. Noa sat down on a sofa, a silver laptop in front of him on the coffee table, screen blinking with the infuriating ‘Password?’ message. Gozaburo wasted too much time - he should allow the Pharaoh to do his work outside of Domino City, Japan, and the whole world would be at his feet within five days. Noa folded his hands and supported his head. Why had Gozaburo confined that particular General to Domino City? He was the most powerful… and probably the most insane of them all. Noa had heard the screams, but wasn’t so sure if it was from the small Pharaoh or those two who always were around him.
He shook his head. He had considered, wondered and pondered about his father’s actions, and he had only reached the conclusion that the man was getting old. It was time for someone new on the scene - and he would do things differently. To hell with everything involving Gozaburo, Seto, the Pharaoh or any of the Generals! Noa would be the name on everyone’s lips, and respect and fear would befall him… the fear of his wrath, the fear of his almighty power.
The kitchen was smaller than the meeting room, but a lot warmer due to the hot stove. Central heating and plumbing, as well as ventilation and electricity were all a part of the underground complex – Jounouchi didn’t know exactly how it worked, but he was very grateful for it. He knew how electricity and heating for people living in the city was completely random and depending of Gozaburo’s good will. Yuugi knew of all the work that had been put into the basement and its utilities. He regretted that he wasn’t very handy himself. All he could do was changing a light bulb; fortunately, Honda was quite a technical genius.
A sturdy wooden table was the centerpiece of the kitchen, laden with plates, pots and pans, utensils, and a stack of paper napkins. Dinner had consisted of simple rice and beans; not exactly a hearty meal, but meat and fish were scarce and expensive. Yuugi was careful with their funds. He was more inclined to spend money on milk, fresh fruits and vegetables for the children than on sustainable food for the adults. For some reason, there was hardly a shortage of bread, which was quite cheap in comparison to other food.
Jounouchi knew Yuugi would skip meals if need be. This wasn’t the first time he had to remind him to eat, even going as far as to force him to drink some milk - it wasn’t only his genes that had kept his friend so short. Yuugi had objected, claiming that the children needed the milk more, but Jounouchi hadn’t listened to his protests. No matter how much Yuugi believed in restoring the world and bringing about a better future, what kind of future was it going to be if he weren’t there to enjoy it himself?
After dinner, the dishes were cleared and stored in a tall cupboard. Jounouchi consulted the list to see who was scheduled for the household chores; everyone pulled their own weight around here. Depending on the number of people and their other duties, the most chores were done without complaining. A few children scurried around in the kitchen, mouths dirty and fingers rubbing over the plates to get the last grain of rice. He shooed them out, a little brusquely; Jounouchi wasn’t known for his patience. Two other adults – he recognized them as ‘field agents’, people who actively searched through the city for the Items - bartered for a piece of fruit, but merely hung around here for the warmth.
“It’s almost transmission time,” Yuugi said, startling Jounouchi out of his thoughts. He had assumed his friend had dozed off, the way he was lying with his head on his arms, all but sprawled out on the kitchen table. He threw his drying cloth onto the sink.
“Yeah,” he answered. “Do you want me to set up the equipment?”
“Please.”
The common ‘living room’ was Jounouchi’s favorite place of the whole basement. Not only did it hold a plethora of furniture – origins mostly unknown – but also a lot of random objects that made it look cozy, as if everyone wanted to attribute to a nice, comfortable ‘family-like’ atmosphere.
Large pillows, cushions, two colorful carpets, children’s drawings on the wall, a few shelves stuffed with figurines and statuettes. Jounouchi rubbed in his hands as he entered the room, his eyes immediately darting towards his sister in the corner.
Shizuka was knitting, and quite fast. Her fingers had no difficulties keeping up a fast pace, the stitches forming row after row of fabric. The needles clacked together almost rhythmically; she was probably working on another scarf. She knitted mittens, hats and scarves for anyone who needed the warm gear; Shizuka never discerned between child or adult, rank or title.
The large metallic case against the north wall was the only object looking out of place. Jounouchi unlocked it and pulled off the lid to take out the transmission equipment. He had done this dozens of times before and quickly connected the speakers to the screen, the transmitter to the amplifier and the speakers, and rolled up the cables so no one would trip over them.
Members of the Resistance were located all over the world; they disposed over transmission equipment or used anything else that was available: a video camera, web cameras, the camera on their cell phones. The frequency changed regularly as to avoid enemy forces to pick up on it; Yuugi didn’t want to risk anyone being exposed. There weren’t enough people in active duty to begin with – losing even one could endanger the whole existence of the Resistance. At this time of day, only a few would contact them on a very special frequency. Their friends.
“I hope Otogi-san calls in,” Shizuka said out of the blue and Jounouchi almost dropped the amplifier. It wasn’t difficult to hear the… longing in her voice and it made him extremely jealous. Did she sound like that when she talked about him, too? Their bond as siblings was incredibly strong, but as soon as Otogi was involved, she seemed to forget all about him - her own brother. Growling a little, he said: “Well, he should be. We’re waiting long enough for any news of him as it is.”
“Jounouchi-kun, Otogi-kun is in the veritable lion’s den,” Yuugi said as he entered the living room. “He can’t just get up and leave to contact us. If anyone of Gozaburo’s servants catches him in the act…”
“Yeah,” Jounouchi muttered. Otogi was his friend too; and he was very well aware of his position. For the sake of the Resistance, and... for Shizuka’s sake as well, he hoped secretly that nothing would happen to Otogi. His information was too valuable; as Yuugi had said, he was in the veritable lion’s den. It had taken him some time, but Otogi had managed to work himself up from a simple servant to Gozaburo’s assistant, but his job was nothing too steady or secure. Undoubtedly, people were keeping a watchful eye on him, and track whatever he was doing. Still, the bits and pieces of information he had managed to give out, had always proven to be key intelligence, and far too valuable to be missed. As precarious as his position was, he was the only one – they needed him.
Yuugi pressed a few buttons, homing in on their frequency by turning the large knob on the front of the transmitter. The atmosphere crackled with interference, heavier than ever before.
“Is someone jamming..?” Jounouchi scratched the back of his head. Shizuka pulled her chair close. Isis had entered the living room silently, movements graceful. Why Yuugi allowed the former General of all people to attend these transmissions was another riddle to Jounouchi; he chalked that up to Yuugi’s goodhearted nature as well. Even though she was a captive, there was nothing prison-like about Isis; she made everyone feel like her servant, not her captor or guardian.
“I’m not sure, but there’s a lot of interference…”
“Gozaburo turning off electricity again?”
Yuugi clacked with his tongue, annoyed. The man was inclined to have electricity shut off at will; it would only take one command. The Kaiba Corp. tower was always illuminated, using more power and electricity than the whole city together, but the common people had to wait and pray if their lights would turn on – and stay on.
“Incoming video call,” he said excitedly when he noticed a few buttons flicker. “Jounouchi-kun, do you have the right frequency?”
“Just a sec… hold on… yeah, here we go!”
“Knock, knock..!” A male voice boomed through the speakers, even though the video wasn’t working yet.
“Honda-san!” Shizuka jumped from her chair, her knitting work falling to the ground. A few other Resistance members joined the group, curious as to hear any news.
“Hey Shizuka-chan, yes, it’s me!”
“Honda-kun,’ Yuugi smiled at him when finally the video stream was working, “it’s so good to see you!”
“Hey old buddy,” Jounouchi immediately added. “How’s it going?”
“We’re fine,” Honda said and tinkered with his own screen – the image improved substantially.
“Is Anzu with you?”
“Yes, but she went out for an errand. It’s dinner time around here. Time zones, remember?”
“Where are you now?”
“Southern Europe,” Honda replied. “We’re enjoying the sun and tapas here.” He winked, but he knew he couldn’t fool his friends. Yuugi had already seen his slightly nervous eye twitch, and tilted his head. He wouldn’t question Honda until he brought it up himself.
Jounouchi however, walked into it with both feet, and he started cussing Honda out, until Shizuka tapped him on the shoulder and admonished him for his language.
“I have some good news and some bad news,” Honda said, and left it to Yuugi to decide if there were any people around he didn’t want to overhear the news. Yuugi nodded in return, giving Honda the signal that he could talk freely. Honda couldn’t see everyone who was in the room; the connection remained a little spotty.
“I’ll start with the bad news,” he said, and heaved a sigh, raking his hand through his short, chestnut brown hair. “A General is here.”
“Which one?” Yuugi immediately asked.
“Karim,” Honda answered. “He arrived last week, together with an entourage of servants and a truckload of soldiers.”
“Soldiers?”
A short nod. “Elite Troops, but not all of them. They settled into some fancy buildings in the center of the city here - one day there was nothing to see, the second day there were barriers and gates.”
Yuugi shook his head. “What we feared…”
“Gozaburo wants to up the pressure,” Jounouchi said angrily. Apparently only the United States were still out of the man’s reach. He kept his Generals usually mobile, travelling around the world – if one settled down someplace, it could only mean that they were going to conquer or control the area or… he waited for Yuugi to ask.
“An Item, perhaps?”
“Not that I know of,” Honda said. “We’ve been searching around here, to no avail. As long as we don’t have actual leads on where the Items are… there is not much we can do.”
Jounouchi shot a sideward glance to Isis, but the woman calmly folded her arms, not responding in the least. The connection crackled with interference again, the image turning fuzzy.
“However,” Honda said cheerily. “I do have good news involving the Items. You never guess what I found!”
“The Holy Grail,” Jounouchi answered. “Come on, Honda!”
“All right, all right…” Honda turned away from the camera, rummaged through some paperwork off-screen and suddenly held up a faded color picture. “Look at what Mai managed to snap a picture of in Paris.”
“My brother!” Isis all but screamed, showing the most emotional outburst since a long time. She lunged for the screen, her fingers darting over it. "Brother…”
Yuugi squinted his eyes to look at the picture, amazed by Isis’ uncanny ability to recognize her brother from a spotty image like this.
“He’s somewhere in Paris,” he repeated.
“Holy fuck, that’s a crap end away from here,” Jounouchi said. The picture Honda held up was of two young men, roughly Yuugi’s and Jounouchi’s age. On the right side was Isis’ brother; Yuugi suddenly realized how she had described him into detail, but had not ever mentioned his name. The platinum blond hair was a strange contrast to his dark tan, and his eyes seemed to be some kind of violet. He was wearing a dark grey shirt and a sleeveless jacket, the picture cutting off at his waistline. One of his golden earrings had caught a shimmer of sunlight. The young man next to him was as pale as a ghost, with long, white hair framing his rather feminine face. He was wearing a woolly sweater and had tucked his hands into his sleeves. Was it really that cold in Paris?
“Has Mai managed to get into touch with him?”
“I’m not sure,” Honda answered and put the picture away, assuming everyone had had the chance to take a good look at it. If he was perturbed by Isis sudden appearance, he didn’t let it show.
“You have to save him,” Isis whispered. Her hands were clenching tightly at her robes. She stared at the screen, even though the picture was no longer
there. “You have to!”
“Look lady, we don’t have to do anything,” Jounouchi snapped. “If you want your brother to live instead of end up dead, we better leave him in Paris - if you want to bring him to the slaughter, why yes! Let’s go get him, and please do tell Gozaburo immediately that he’s on his way!”
She turned to Jounouchi, her eyes flashing with anger. “He’s my brother! You know what he possesses - if you won’t do it for me, do it for the retrieval of the Item!”
“Oh yes, about the Item,” Honda coughed. All eyes went back to the screen.
“Mai confirmed he has the Item with him, and apparently, his friend has one too.”
“He has? Which one, which one?” Yuugi was all but bouncing.
“The Ring,” Honda said, almost smugly.
“That would make our total four,” Jounouchi yelled. “Gozaburo could never keep up with that!”
Isis straightened herself again, regaining her composure. She rearranged the veil around her face and stared at the screen hypnotically.
“I’m the only one to speak to my brother about the Item,” she said. “It’s... a delicate subject between us.”
“We don’t have an exclusive hand in the matter, Isis-san,” Yuugi said. “If a General is in Southern Europe with every intention to comb it per Gozaburo’s orders and if he expands to the North…”
“He needs to get out of Paris, fast,” she snapped. “You can at least notify your contacts so they can pass that message on to him, can’t you?”
“We can do that.” Yuugi was calm, and his eyes expressed sympathy for the woman. Jounouchi snorted loudly. He wouldn’t have accepted such behavior – there was really nothing about this woman that didn’t grate his nerves.
“Honda-kun, please let Mai-san know to get in touch with him to pass the message,” Yuugi said. Honda nodded and was about to say something, when Isis interrupted him again: “Who is this Mai woman?”
“Mai is… pleasant on the eyes,” Honda answered, unbeknownst sharing an perfect similar leering grin with Jounouchi. They both knew exactly how pleasant. “She’s very… proficient in getting one’s attention.”
Isis’ eyes were blazing, but her voice was as cold as ice. “How are you going to contact him?”
“I’ll leave that to Mai, she knows best how to handle this,” Honda explained. Something called for his attention as he looked to the right, away from the screen, hand hovering over the off-button in case someone would enter the room. He suddenly laughed and smiled in relief.
“Yuugi, Anzu is finally here. Do you want to talk to her?”
“Yes, please,” Yuugi said and a faint blush colored his cheeks. It was cute to see him blush; Yuugi held Anzu with the greatest respect and regards in his heart. He had had a crush on her since the moment they met, but it wasn’t mutual, much to his grief. Jounouchi thought that Yuugi was one of the very few, if not the only one, to be extremely happy for the love of his life to have found love with one of his best friends.
Anzu appeared on the screen and greeted everyone, taking the time to exchange some girly gossip and chit-chat with Shizuka. When she was ready to talk to Yuugi, Jounouchi ushered everyone out of the living room. Shizuka protested half-heartedly, wanting to hear more gossip, and the formal General walked as if it had been her own choice to leave at that exact moment, not because he was all but pushing her to move. The conversation between Yuugi and Anzu took on a more private tone, and Jounouchi wanted his friend to have this little bit of privacy. Even though Anzu never had returned the feelings, that didn’t mean she didn’t keep a special, soft spot for Yuugi in her heart.
“Where are we going, onii-chan?”
“I’ll get you something to drink and then it’s time to go to bed,” Jounouchi said, deceptively chipper. It had to be far past ten, maybe eleven o’clock.
Shizuka muttered something under her breath and searched out her brother’s hand again. She had a cane, but barely used it. She knew her way around the basement so well that she was offended at the thought of using it.
Isis stood in the hallway as they passed her; she was on her way to her own room. It was nothing but a prison cell, holding only a bed, a small dresser and a cupboard. It certainly wasn’t as luxurious as Jounouchi supposed her quarters had been when she still was a General. Isis had never said anything about it or complained. He waited, as he thought she was going to say something to him – something snidely, possibly - and it took her a minute before a soft “Please save my brother” left her lips. He thought that her veil muffled the words. Did she really say “Please?”
For some reason, her soft-spoken plea weighed down on him as he guided Shizuka to the kitchen. He was a little annoyed with himself – he wasn’t as sympathetic and kind hearted as Yuugi, and to hell with stupid elusive brothers with mystical Items. To hell with Kaiba Gozaburo and his megalomaniac army and Elite Troops and Generals; to hell with everything. And to hell with this soft spot, that made him unable to deny a woman in distress anything.
He stood in the middle of a crater, gigantic smoke clouds darkening the sky. So much destruction, so much pain. This couldn’t be right. Was this justice? The Pharaoh looked down into the crater; he couldn’t see the bottom from where he was standing. Screams resonated in his ears, terrified screams of men, women, children… this wasn’t justice at all. Had many of them died? Died for nothing? He hadn’t found anything. He wanted his Puzzle. Where was his Puzzle?
A roaring sound tore through the sky. Osiris was close, but none of his blasts would hurt his Master. The Pharaoh looked around him - some of the houses were still on fire, the flames leaking from broken windows and destroyed doors. His face was set in stone as his eyes stared at the horizon, seeing the tall, red dragon dominating the skies, its gigantic wings causing winds to rise and fall unnaturally. Slowly, his eyes traveled down to the bottomless pit; it had only taken one of Osiris’ blasts to cause this much damage.
It still didn’t feel right. It kept nagging; it kept itching at the back of his mind. Something isn’t right. Annoyed, he rubbed over the chest plate of his armor; Gozaburo insisted he wore it all day. The Pharaoh was physcially not very strong and he could understand that Gozaburo didn’t want anything to happen to him. The heavy armor however, made him feel strangely sluggish, and it was hampering his movements. He got tired of wearing it, literally – he had complained to Gozaburo about the weight, and the man had promised him different, lighter armor. Still, it wasn’t as bad as going out on the streets unprotected, and he liked its dark purplish color.
“Pharaoh-sama,” a voice called out to him, “Pharaoh-sama, what are you doing?”
He turned around, though there was barely enough room to move. Bakura stood a few inches away from the edge of the crater, as not to fall in. Gozaburo would kill him if he’d let anything happen to the Pharaoh, but as far as Bakura could remember, he had always been close to the other. Somehow there was this… awareness in their minds that linked them together: Bakura, Marik, and the Pharaoh. Strange that the Pharaoh of all people didn’t have a name, at least not any first name they could address him with.
Bakura had never given it a second thought; Pharaoh-sama was just Pharaoh-sama to him. Why he tacked on the -sama honorific while he never used one for Gozaburo or anyone else for that matter, was another thing he had never given a second thought. It was just the way he was.
“I will be there soon,” the Pharaoh said. Bakura scowled. How was he going to cross the crater?
“There’s nothing to find here,” he hollered back. “You can call back your dragon now, Pharaoh-sama.”
He nodded, reaching up with his arm towards the sky.
“Osiris, to me!”
The dragon returned, its mighty body snaking through the air, moving directly towards the Pharaoh. For a moment, Bakura thought it was going to crash right into the crater, but it lowered one of its large paws and the Pharaoh grabbed it. Osiris roared once again and flapped it wings, lifting the Pharaoh up and transporting him to the edge of the crater without much trouble. As soon as he was dropped, a red light flashed and Osiris was gone, leaving the Pharaoh with a hurt, disturbed grimace on his face.
The moment the dragon disappeared, the Pharaoh heaved a heavy sigh and swayed on his feet, falling backwards. Marik was there to catch him - Bakura hadn’t noticed him approaching, but was glad for his quick reaction.
“We go back to the headquarters,” he commanded.
“Nothing to find, huh?”
“Just a waste of time,” Bakura said disdainfully, not showing his own annoyance. He wanted the Items just as everyone else, and though he had a lot of patience, this was getting ridiculous. How long would it take before he would find them all?
To make matters worse, Gozaburo was waiting for them when they returned. The man was standing in front of the Pharaoh’s quarters, tapping with his cane on the plush carpet, only to relax when he saw them approaching. He narrowed his eyes when seeing his first General slumped in their arms, obviously exhausted.
“How long?” he barked.
“It was Osiris this time,” Bakura answered. “He’ll be out for the rest of the afternoon.”
“Did you find anything?” Gozaburo demanded to know. “Why didn’t he bring out Ra?
“Pretty Golden God isn’t to be awoken for such plebs,” Marik snarled in return.
“You feel like you have some right to the God,” Gozaburo said, voice dangerously low. Marik tightened his grip on the Pharaoh, eliciting an annoyed grunt from him; Marik often didn’t know his own strength. Holding onto the Pharaoh however, was the only thing saving him from being punished by Gozaburo at the moment.
“On your way, Ishtar, I’ll talk to you later.” Gozaburo didn’t look at him a second time and stalked away, using his cane to make himself a path. As usual, Otogi jogged behind him, clipboard clenched in his arms.
“Your ass is toast,” Bakura said and showed Marik a sickly sweet grin. “Let’s bring Pharaoh-sama inside.”
The door slid open and they brought him inside, ignoring the luxury of his room, especially compared to their own quarters. Nobody lived on the upper floor but the Pharaoh, and Gozaburo hadn’t been extremely happy with his choice. The man had indulged him in his choice, and neither of the two knew why. It didn’t matter as they spend most of their time in here anyway, mostly the nights. They couldn’t care less for their own quarters on the lower levels.
Bakura stripped him of his armor while Marik pulled the covers back, grinning as he tugged at the perfectly clean and ironed sheets. Gozaburo indulged the Pharaoh in a lot of things, which was understandable; after all, he had found the Eye, the Scales and the Tauk for him. If it weren’t for that bitch Isis, they would still have the Tauk… Marik pursed his lips, as if he was berating himself mentally. He wasn’t allowed to say or to think bad things about any of the Generals, an order that had all but literally been drilled into his mind. With a brusque movement, he pulled the rest of the covers back.
A little slumped on the edge of the large bed, the Pharaoh allowed everything to happen to him, not embarrassed in the least with Bakura helping him undress. His eyes fluttered open sometimes, but almost immediately closed again due to sheer exhaustion. Bakura dumped the large shoulder pads on the floor and undid the buckles and straps for the rest of the chest plate. He wondered why he or Marik never had been offered any armor; not even the rest of the Generals wore such extravagant protection like the Pharaoh.
Marik muttered something under his breath while he lifted up the large pitcher of water on the bedside table to pour a cup. Bakura was just undoing the last plate of the armor when a stern voice spoke up.
“What happened to him?”
Both of them grunted loudly in annoyance, Marik putting the pitcher back on the table rather rowdy, glass hitting glass, and Bakura turned his back demonstratively, hands full with the armor.
“Mahaado,” Marik all but chirped. “We weren’t expecting you back so soon, pretty magician General.”
Bakura wanted to groan. Sometimes he didn’t know if Marik was really insane or just pretending to be insane. He had to answer Mahaado’s question though, as they owed complete obedience to any General, as per Gozaburo’s orders.
Bakura was immensely frustrated and maddened by that particular order, but he didn’t have any power to change it… yet. Even more frustrating was, except for total obedience, the Generals could report him for anything they wanted to, without questions asked - he could be punished if the General in question didn’t like the look on his face, or something similar trivial. He hated this, but schooled his face carefully in a strained, but neutral expression before slowly turning back to Mahaado.
Craning his neck a little, the other man was tall, Bakura was struck by the intense look in Mahaado’s eyes. This particular General was for some unknown reason very committed to the Pharaoh, and Bakura hadn’t figured out exactly how he could use that in his favor. Dressed in rather conspicuous, flowing robes instead of his usual attire, Mahaado towered over Bakura, his eyes frowned in an impatient scowl.
“What happened to the Pharaoh?” he repeated his question, his voice demanding.
“Pretty Pharaoh is tired,” Marik shot back. He held the cup with water in his hand, grip so tight that he could break it any moment. His gravity-defying hair seemed even spikier when confronted with someone he didn’t like - and Mahaado was high on that particular list.
“How come he is tired? Which God did he summon?”
“The red dragon of the skies,” Marik said. “Osiris.”
Mahaado released the breath he had been holding. He quickly stole a glance at the Pharaoh, who had crawled under the blankets on his own strength, tugging at the sheet to cover his body.
“Very well. That means he will not be resting for too long… I need to talk to him.”
Marik and Bakura stared blankly at the General, as if waiting for an order. Mahaado frowned at them, eyes narrowing to mere slits. They quickly bowed to him, reluctant and grumbling even louder than they already did. Besides total obedience, Gozaburo had ordered them perfect mannerism and behavior around any of the Generals, with the Pharaoh in particular. Mahaado ignored them - they weren’t sincere anyway.
He guessed he already had to praise the Gods that the two recognized him, as especially Marik was prone to forgetting. It had been a while since he had been called back to KaibaCorp., and he wasn’t wearing his armor. It was rather similar to the Pharaoh’s, bearing the same purplish colors, but there were some substantial differences. Mahaado relied far more on his magic, or heka, then on the strength and protection of his armor.
He was now simply in his robes - the robes of an unmistakable Priest, though Mahaado himself didn’t know exactly why he was wearing them. As almost all the other Generals, he couldn’t remember much of his life but being in the service of Kaiba Gozaburo. Nonetheless, these robes were his own, he was sure of it. When he was off-duty, Mahaado preferred wearing them over any other clothes available.
Marik stared at him in return, as usual his eyes radiating nothing but hate. It seemed that he hated everything he laid his eyes upon, except for the Pharaoh. Especially Marik was known for forgetting almost everything, but hate was the engine he was running on; hate for everything, deep rooted hate that send chills running down Mahaado’s spine. The magician-general didn’t hate Gozaburo for appointing this man to be so close to his… the Pharaoh, but he felt more than uncomfortable in his presence. Quickly, he turned to Bakura, but his eyes were cold and dark, also as usual, unreadable.
“If you will excuse us, oh mighty General,” Marik spoke. “I have to look up the old grouch.”
It took Mahaado less than two seconds to realize who Marik was referring to. Bakura showed a watery smile, but his eyes dared him to say something about it. Instead, he spoke up before Mahaado could.
“You get to babysit the Pharaoh. You like that, don’t you, Mahaado?”
Mahaado wanted to growl at the two. He didn’t like them at all, he despised them. How could the Pharaoh stand them, appreciate them being around?
Gozaburo had assigned them as some kind of bodyguards, caretakers - he didn’t know and he didn’t want to know. He immediately shook his head, knowing very well he was belying his own words. He did want to know.
“You are dismissed,” the General said, voice as calm and in control as ever. It was a little childish, but he took great satisfaction in the knowledge that Marik and Bakura were so low-ranked that they had to obey every command of a General. He watched them bow again to him, dismissing them from his mind as soon as they were gone, the door closing behind them.
Marik stuck out his tongue as soon as he was out the door.
“Bah, pretty magician General is going to fill pretty Pharaoh’s head with sweet words and smiles, and he’ll forget all about us.”
Bakura had to suppress a smirk. He should’ve known that Marik’s dislike for Mahaado stemmed from pure jealousy, but he had to agree with the other.
Whenever Mahaado was around, the Pharaoh seemed to forget about them, spending time with the other General as much as possible. There was something between them that surpassed any form of a relationship, and Bakura was curious to know what exactly. Knowledge was power, and he wasn’t going to take orders from Gozaburo or Generals forever.
“Don’t be like this,” he said sweetly, “it leaves us some free time to ourselves, doesn’t it?”
Marik scowled. He was bad at amusing himself, and his attempts to hang out with other people besides Bakura or the Pharaoh always ended up in a disaster. He had the attention span of a five year old, and if it wasn’t for his surprising strength, Bakura asked himself why Gozaburo had even bothered with the likes of Marik.
“Let’s get something to eat,” he suggested. It was of no use standing around here, for as long as the Pharaoh was occupied with Mahaado. Marik looked like he was going to shake with his fist, or at least say something very rude, when he suddenly noticed the young man standing at a distance in the hallway.
“What are you doing here?” he barked.
Otogi quickly bowed to him, clutching the clipboard to his chest. As Gozaburo’s assistant, he was of even lower rank than Marik and Bakura, simply because the man switched his assistants as someone else would do their clothing. Otogi felt the pressure weighing heavily on him, because he was the only insider in the Kaiba camp, and the Resistance relied - and survived - on the information he could provide them. It was far too important to stay here, and that was why Otogi fought tooth and nail to hold his position, and if that involved some ass-kissing or taking insults for granted, so be it.
He bowed to them again. “I’m sorry, but I’m here to remind Marik of his appointment with Gozaburo-daimyo.”
Marik groaned. “I hadn’t forgotten about that.”
He looked pitiful at Bakura. “I have to go now,” he announced dramatically. “Will you wait up for me?”
He even went as far as batting his eyes, and Bakura showed him simply a knowing grin in return. “I will wait up for you.” But not after I have researched some things of my own. As he watched Marik leave with Otogi, Bakura waited a minute before turning around, going straight to the elevators at the end of the hallway and pressing the button for another floor.
Mahaado immediately calmed down at the impressive, lush decoration of the Pharaoh’s quarters. It reminded him of… home, wherever that was. He couldn’t exactly put his finger on it, but these warm, sandy colors made him feel at ease, comfortable. The plush carpet was a little out of place, for some reason he remembered walking on tiled floors only. He stepped onto it, noticing his ankles sinking away in it; yes, definitely out of place. The bed, raised on a sculpted dais, was familiar to him. Mahaado frowned again.
He disliked it when something looked familiar, but he couldn’t place it.
Just like the other Generals, and the Pharaoh in particular, Mahaado had forgotten where he came from. He never questioned why he disposed over his powers either, it just came natural to him, as if it had always belonged to him. He had never known his life to be any different but in the service of Kaiba Gozaburo, but there were some… traditions and rules of his ancient past, maybe a long forgotten culture, that was fused with the very core of his soul.
His robes weren’t the only example; his belief in very different Gods than the current religions was another. Questions, so many questions… and it bothered him that he didn’t have an answer. Only one thing was absolutely certain to him - he was bound to the Pharaoh, and his unwavering loyalty was living proof.
He moved towards the bed, carefully avoiding to make any noise. The Pharaoh seemed to be asleep, as always drained when conjuring a God. And it was only Osiris this time. He took the sheet between his hands to straighten it, and the Pharaoh’s eyes fluttered, suddenly blinking at him. Mahaado immediately bowed his head.
“My apologies, I did not mean to wake you,” he said, keeping his voice low.
“It is all right,” the Pharaoh answered and shifted a little, moving restlessly with his arms.
“Pharaoh,” Mahaado spoke up. “You are tired. The last few weeks have been taxing on you. If it hadn’t been for Gozaburo forcing you to search all over for the Items…”
He made a dismissive gesture with his hand and tried to get up. Mahaado was faster and pushed him gently back into the pillows.
“No, my Pharaoh, you need to rest.”
“Mahaado,” he said, albeit softly, as if every draw of breath was exhausting him, “are you done in the North?”
The General shook his head. “Things go… as they go. Gozaburo called me back before I could finish my work there. I assume I can stay here for the time being.”
“You can stay? For how long?” The Pharaoh’s smile was the greatest gift to Mahaado; he realised he was brushing the Pharaoh’s hair and reluctantly withdrew his hand. He searched for a spot on the bed to sit on, and chose the foot end.
“My Pharaoh, I might have an idea where another one of the Items is.”
“My Puzzle? Did you find my Puzzle?” He immediately shot back up, his movement so brusque that it almost threw Mahaado off, renewed strength and vigor surging through him. Mahaado had to shake his head again, a look of regret crossing his face.
“I am so sorry to disappoint you, Great Pharaoh. Your Puzzle is the Item everyone is looking for, but it still manages to elude us…”
“We have to find it.” His shoulders slumped. “We have to! I feel incomplete without it...”
“I know. Do not worry, my… Great Pharaoh. We will find it, and it will be my greatest pleasure to hang it around your neck again. Now…” Showing a soft, but determined smile, Mahaado pushed him back into the pillows anew, “…you need to rest. You are exhausted.”
The Pharaoh grabbed his arm with surprising strength despite his blatant fatigue. “Mahaado,” he gritted through his teeth before lying back down again, “why… why is this exhausting me? The Gods answer my every call, it should not take this much effort.”
Mahaado pulled up the covers and took his time to rearrange the sheets, so he could think over his answer. “I am not sure, my Pharaoh. You are very powerful, but so are the Gods, and it takes your strength to make them obey you.”
“It feels wrong,” was all the Pharaoh could say before the rest of his strength was depleted. He reclined into the cushions, falling into a dreamless sleep.
Unable to keep himself from brushing away another few strands, Mahaado leaned into him and pressed a soft kiss on his brow.
“It is wrong,” he said. “You shouldn’t have any difficulties summoning the Gods. They are supposed to obey you without any problem. Rest now, it is so very difficult for you…”
Retreating from the bed, Mahaado looked to the right, noticing the tall stand with the Pharaoh’s armor on it. Mahaado frowned again. His Pharaoh should be protected by the very same Gods he commanded, there shouldn’t be any need for armor. He touched the headpiece, amazed by its weight. His own armor was so much lighter, how could Gozaburo make his most valued General suffer by carrying all of this? It reminded him of a crown, a heavy crown, symbol of all the duties and responsibilities any ruler would be burdened with. Only Gozaburo didn’t seem to care about responsibilities accompanying his power, only how to gain more power and how to exploit or suppress anyone who didn’t obey him.
“One day we will all truly wake up from this nightmare, my Pharaoh,” Mahaado said softly, not noticing how he switched between ‘my Pharaoh’ and ‘great Pharaoh’, “…and you will take your rightful place.” There had to be a rightful place for his Pharaoh, and if not, Mahaado would create one for him.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 3