Young Blood by Mooguri Klaine

Author's Notes: SEASON'S GREETINGS, EVERYONE! A tad late for it, but what the heck! Whee! I made it! I started working on this while I was being bullied into guzzling some alcoholic drinks, and in the midst of that soaring and dizzying feeling, I wrote at the back of my English subject handouts before I passed out (good thing I didn't throw up while everyone was swimming in their own regurgitated dinners), and then finally waking up more than twelve hours later with the biggest hangover I had in ages… Damn brothers and sisters! XD Oh but I love them so much! ::huggles my siblings::

A BIG THANKS for finding Chapter Nine a nice installment, despite me saying it was no good! Grr… Now that I have pushed it out of the way, I guess the next ones to come will reveal more of the plot. I hope you still remember some characters from the previous chapters, as they will be having a comeback to clear some of the issues. Like who was responsible for Atem's awakening, for instance. Or the mysterious Mai and her so-called answers for the sovereign's questions. Or Bakura's version of truth. Or what's in that book Ishizu gave to Seto. Or about Sekheth. And many other nasty details. XD So dust off those previous episodes of mine, because I'm about to link the past, the present, and the future! ::laughs evilly::

To Aoi Rakuen: You reviewed all nine chapters! ::huggles::

To Yit-Ha: ::bows down repeatedly:: Oh yeah, this story should be moving a lot faster! I apologize for my slow updates as well as my slow progress! T.T

To Shinigami's Minion: Thanks for finding this story interesting and gripping! Hehe, there's more to come, of course! XD

To Ahja Reyn: Sexual tension? Oh yeah, last chapter's had a nice, perverse effect on the readers! Don't worry, what you're feeling is just natural! ::wink:: Your fic's still in my watchlist, and it was just a pain that I don't have the ample time to review!! Eep, gomen ne!

To silverdragongurl: HOORAY FOR BAKURA!! And a dirty mind, like Nachzes would say, is truly a blessing!

To Sylivia Viridian: ::pats her shoulder:: 'Tis okay. Yaoi stories in those fandoms tend to really put me off of the genre. But heck, yaoi was just too big an influence to let go!! XD

To Nachzes-Black Rider: ::smiles and glomps:: Action shall come soon! … I hope… ::sweatdrops::

To shadowsofchaos61: Yep, Atem deserted Bakura. And there's a reason for all this! More to come! I've read your story, but I haven't reviewed it! Sorry! I will attend to that ASAP!

To Elusia: Yep, the title seemed puzzling, even to me at first. I named it because I had no other titles in mind… ::sweatdrops:: And woohoo, thanks for assessing Seto and Ishizu's conversation in the previous chappy! I was waiting for someone to do that! ::thumbs up::

Disclaimer: YGO is a joint legal venture of a large consortium of companies, in which Kazuki Takahashi reigns supreme as the creator and thus receives royalties from cards, toys, and other merchandise I am dying to have and acquire. Not mine at all, dammit.

Warning: You'd better love YGO, yaoi, Seto/Yami, and Mooguri Klaine if you're in this page.

Rating: R, for violence, obsession, language use, and other worldly demons. More mature themes to come.

Summary: A Prince. A lover. A past. A thirst for blood. Enter a new alternate reality where the fearsome Prince of the Night walks, and begins a search for the man he had left behind after a long slumber, and in turn, hurls himself in a conflict woven out of love, hate, passion, and death. Will all events lead him to his lost romance? Read and review! XD

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Chapter Ten: Roses

Two weeks have passed since Seto had a strange encounter with a mysterious person. Cloaked and enshrouded with a surreal amount of enigma, the young man came with the night, silent; eyes as red as wine innocently watching every move from the puzzled businessman. He would've felt disturbed, perhaps he was, but he couldn't bring himself to hate the quiet visitor. There was no reason to.

It was as if the young man intended to stay inconspicuous and as unobtrusive as possible – preferring to sit out in the balcony than anything else.

Once, Seto barely contained himself from the riveting and nagging thought that kept on springing in his head. He asked,

"Why are you here?"

Small, shy lips curled up in a little smile and answered, "Because I want to know you all over again, Sekheth."

This left Seto in a bigger conundrum than before, for two reasons:

The name 'Sekheth'. Who is this Sekheth person that people kept mistaking him for? Once, the writer Isis called him by that name. Chance? Perhaps. Then this stranger had uttered the same. Chance still? It might've been coincidence. And if it shall occur for the third time, what now?

But if that was enough, the lines, "know you all over again" elicited suspicion albeit curiosity from Seto. Had he met this person before? Certainly not. And yet the stranger seemed to speak as if they actually did. But where? When?

More questions stemmed and flowed from one, each as befuddling and confusing than the last.

And then there was the book Isis had left in his office. How could bounded pieces of paper help him "find his soul"? Seto knew he was pretty much adept at doing a lot of things, even if left alone. Surely he didn't need any outside force acting on him. Plus, the last thing he needed was to find a metaphysical concept he never cared for in the first place. He hasn't dare touched a single page of it until now.

And although Seto may not understand it himself, he continues to bring a steaming cup of tea for the houseguest in the balcony, in which the latter receives it with much gratitude, like a child receiving a rare treat. And the whole room would fall silent again, and the man would resume to watching him. Then Seto would wake in the morning the following day and find him gone. Only the teacup would serve as a reminder of his presence. Night after night, the same process goes on in the Kaiba mansion.

Then a week ago, the visitor did something that greatly surprised the brunet man, just as he did when he was first kissed unceremoniously some time ago.

"What's this?" Seto asked at the rose the stranger held in front of him.

"A rose, Sekheth. You used to like them." Soft, red eyes twinkled happily in reply, along with a faint blush from the young man.

Seto thought that the guy was losing it. The rose, if anything, was in a color that made it remotely look like a rose – the petals were in ebony black, looking much like a small hole of darkness when seen from afar. Plus there was the fact that he never really harbored a particular liking towards flowers. And to top it all off, Seto was receiving roses when he wasn't supposed to in the first place.

But instead of him telling off the youth for giving him things he shouldn't have, Seto blurted out something else that surprised him even more.

"I don't like black."

Exactly why he had uttered so he could only guess. The guest's cheery face dropped a little, a little frown marked the pale visage. He looked at the rose morosely before smiling yet again.

"Then I shall bring you a different color until I figured out which one you like, Sekheth."

Since then, he was bringing a new color of rose each time he visits. Pink ones. Orange ones. Violet ones. And even the classic red-colored rose. Just as Seto found this habit rather amusing albeit disturbing, he was slowly growing accustomed of the silent company, and of the visitor's strange ways. Little by little, he would engage the other in simple conversation. Shy and timid, the other man would answer uncertainly, but it took a little while at getting used to – the stranger looked as if he was still having trouble speaking the language.

And yet as the nights drew on, the cups of tea kept on coming, along with those oddly colored roses.

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Hell shall come quick. And it did, for those who have met the doom delivered painstakingly and slowly, ensuring all kinds of pain until one by one, they fell to their knees, dying. For a period of fourteen nights, the bloodbath continued without an end in sight. Shocking numbers of violent deaths only left more puzzling speculations that led to numerous dead-ends, leaving the town's law enforcers and investigators wildly searching for any clue that would surface. The city has befallen to a mass murderer on the loose.

Recent reports concluded that there are now two perpetrators.

Bakura watched amusingly as the last of the preys were slaughtered, the gleam of the Scepter in his hand, murderous, masked with the tint of blood. Putting his hands together in a burst of one-man applause, he cried joyfully, "Excellent job, Marik!"

Soulful lavender eyes were gone, only to be replaced by cold pools of mixing hues of scarlet and purple. Sandy blond hair stood out in tweaks and ominous spikes, the pale face curling up in a sinister sneer.

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Ishizu waited. She has always waited. In fact, she has spent all her life waiting. And yet how could two weeks of silence proved to be too long for her? She was starting to get impatient and nervous at the businessman's lack of response. Even the Necklace found her no sense of consolation; it had grown silent these past days, when it should've been doing its job of warning the priestess.

Bit by bit, she was starting to despair.

She watched Karimu for most of the time spent in waiting. Of all the Pharaoh's priests, Karimu was the only one who carried a tangible and fascinating talent – to paint. Three thousand years ago, the skilled artist painted on the walls of Kemet, immortalizing the everyday lives of his people – both secular and the religious – and inexorably capturing fine details no other court painter could ever match.

Centuries hurried past them, and so did his techniques and art style. He had inherited a lot of influence from the Western artists, yet still marveled at the mystic ways of the East. More than a hundred paintings later, Karimu was more than an art genius.

Such was the ingenuity and skill that he was able to produce his finest obra maestra – his work of art.

The painting of the Pharaoh. (1)

And now the priestess stood behind the artist at work, noticing the uncanny ease of the former's pale hands that slowly dip the brush into a swirl of color, bringing up the hand expertly before the canvas, and with painstaking accuracy, slide the instrument against its medium. No magic could outweigh the single phenomenon of hues battling before finally merging into one color, distinct and new to the sight.

Shada was also with them, staring calmly at the ensuing scene. He was the priest known to be as "the lover of silence", and this title was aptly suited for him. And yet what his mouth could not have done, his mind had considerably compensated, for his silence comes with an insurmountable wellspring of knowledge. Shada was one of the Empire's greatest minds, his words of advise always treated in high esteem. It was from him that many children were educated and taught of the ways of the world, long before Socrates and other Greek milestones had thought of the Academy.

And then there was Mahado, most loyal subject to serve Pharaoh Atem. He was rightly honored as the sovereign's trusted servant, blindly following whatever Egypt's Horus had ordained. In Mahado, the young ruler found a friend that stood by his side at all times, and a protector that would readily die when circumstances called for such situation.

To Ishizu, he would always be her husband and lifelong companion. Lovers they both were when they met scores of millennia back, and they still remained together, even in their lifetime service to the boy king. Mahado was perhaps the most dynamic and ever-changing of among all of them, for he had dedicated much of his life as a doctor. He attempted to reconcile sorcery and the natural, and strove hard to cure the greatest and most principal weakness of the Children of the Night: fear of the sun. He had journeyed far and mastered all prevailing precursor of the natural sciences. But it was not his primary drive for doing so. In his search, he had discovered a lot of things, and amidst all of the people he healed and helped, he could still not help his wife.

Ishizu cannot bear a child.

It was due to an accident that brought about an untimely miscarriage that pushed Mahado to fulfilling his goal: that one day, they would have a child of their own.

But it was Ishizu who ultimately decided not to. Painful it might have been for the priestess to say this to her better half, she had her mind set already. All her life she had served Atem, and for her, she treated the young child as her own. It was a dark time for both of them. Yet in their hearts they knew that to embrace immortality, certain sacrifices had to be made.

The Keeper of the Sacred Ring stood, alert and wary, watching as the artifact glowed on his hand, the little trinkets pointed to a certain direction as one. The Ring could detect other Sacred Items' presence in the immediate vicinity.

Someone was coming.

"Marik?" he asked mildly. Ishizu looked up.

"My brother is back?" she asked, her heart soaring in her chest. The worry she has been harboring for a while now dissipated considerably. His brother was safe. She approached the door quickly, more than oblige to meet the return of young Marik, but a hand stopped her pace.

"I'll go check," Mahado said, a hint of wariness in his low voice. "I sense a different aura. Something's not right."

"What –" Before she could say or do anything, the other priest had closed the door before her. Karimu and Shada had abandoned what they were doing and stood beside Ishizu, who fell unnaturally silent. The Necklace shone for a moment, and the reaction was instantaneous to its bearer.

"Mahado!" she gasped fearfully as she flung her hands to open the door, dashing out of it and into the long hallway, her cloak fluttering behind. Hurried footsteps behind her meant that the other priests followed her flight. The silence around them was not one bit comforting – it was still and empty, heavy with dread and danger.

There was indeed something wrong.

It was as if the silence could last forever, but it ended so abruptly that all three priests stopped dead in their tracks.

Only Ishizu's scream could rival the resounding explosion that reverberated in the mansion.

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Bakura couldn't help himself from smiling these past days. So many good things happened to him, and all to his favor, it seems. More than a thousand years he had fallen silent, choosing not to attract too much attention to himself, yet this silence was short-lived. Deep in his gut, he felt that he needed to surface out of his shell. He had a far better purpose these days.

He clapped approvingly as he watched the flames engulfed the mansion of the First Brood, red and orange swirled ominously, licking through its roof, its solid walls, its high windows…

And amidst the blazing inferno that raged on in the peaceful countryside, a shadow emerged out from it, walking solemnly away as if nothing transpired.

Rubbing his hands eagerly, Bakura asked happily, "So what have you got for me, tomb keeper?"

Marik held three items, two of which he threw at Bakura's feet. A faint jingle echoed in the wood, as the white-haired vampire bent low to pick up his new trophies.

"The Sacred Ring," Bakura breathed, tracing his fingers to the round contours that defined the item. "Is this the one that tracks the other Items?"

A blank nod replied.

"And what's this?" Bakura now held up a walnut-sized golden ball against the light, noticing the imperious Eye carved in the middle. "The Sacred Eye…" He chuckled with feeling while he pocketed another newfound treasure.

Marik approached him and offered him the third item. Bakura's mirthless brown eyes twinkled.

"Excellent."

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'I wonder what's eating my brother these days…'

In the limousine, Mokuba stole a glance at his side, where his brother sat unusually quiet, when he should've been in the middle of a heated argument with an employee on the phone, or fervently lecturing his little sibling about studies and responsibilities. There was none of those coming from the older Kaiba at the moment. At first, it delighted Mokuba considerably, for he was saved from the seemingly endless barrage of litanies that never failed to come at him. But the silence from Seto continued on for days, and the little one was starting to get worried. And that's not the end of it.

Lately, Mokuba has been noticing traces of sleeplessness in Seto, as evidenced by dark lines under his now-limpid blue eyes. True, Kaiba Corporation's CEO had a lot to work on, but the younger Kaiba was certain that the former was still getting enough sleep amidst the demanding work schedule. But now, it was as if his brother hardly slept at all. Stress was starting to take its toll on the otherwise-young Seto, that was apparent, yet there was more into it.

'What's bothering big brother?'

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"No!" Ishizu cried as she laid her eyes on to the lifeless form of Mahado, strength and power drained and gone in the midst of the terrible fire that was threatening to engulf them. She knelt on the ashen floor, not caring if her immaculate robes got stained nor if the groaning structure of the house would fall on her. She was unable to stop her sobs as she held the other priest, tears rolling down her face, and unto the pale face of Mahado.

There was not a moment to spare.

Her Necklace glimmered, along with her hands glowing a serene blue. 'Heal,' she ordered her thoughts, forcing her powers to repair the damage that was dealt upon on the other. She watched as bit by bit the magic starting its reparative effect on Mahado, mending broken bones, fixing damaged arteries and muscles, closing opened wounds.

Mahado would soon wake.

Yet Ishizu feared another thing: the man had lost so much blood in the struggle. Her healing powers could only do so little. Mahado's emerald eyes opened up, bringing along a raspy laborious breathing, poor and ailing. Ishizu's heart throbbed in panic.

There was no choice; Mahado needed blood. She made a decision.

She brought the other vampire to a sitting position, while her hand tugged hard to remove the Sacred Necklace from her neck, tossing it aside. She unclasped her fastened cloak, and fumbled for her garment's buttons. She slid a part of it off her, exposing her fragile neck.

Ishizu winced as sharp fangs dug unto her flesh, siphoning the blood off her body. She shuddered warily, feeling her consciousness slipping away from her, exhaustion finally taking its toll.

The last thing she saw was ashes and cinders floating in the air before her, and there was darkness.

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Mokuba watched stealthily at his brother once more on the pretense of reading a book. He decided to halt his perusal of Isis' novel for the meantime to observe the strange habits Seto was now manifesting.

Both siblings have just finished their dinners and were now in the living room. The dinner, Mokuba noted, was a silent one: his brother barely spoke a word other than "please pass the rice, salt, pepper". On most occasions, the elder Kaiba poked the steak absent-mindedly or just stared morosely in space. Mokuba tried striking up little conversation with him ("How was work today, big brother?"), but he only got minimal results. Seto seemed to snap out of his daydream at first and answer Mokuba ("Fine"), before going back to zoning out.

And now Seto was deeply engrossed on some numbers in his laptop. At least, that was what Mokuba thought at first. Upon closer scrutiny, his brother was just timidly staring at the monitor, his hand resting on top of the keyboard, lifeless and unmoving.

Mokuba read the symptoms in his mind. Sleeplessness. Lack of appetite. Daydreaming. Poor concentration.

'Could it be that big brother's in love?' he thought wildly.

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Atem emerged out of the cemetery as soon as he saw the first signs of night making it visible around him. He walked past tombstones, plaques, and monuments, his shoes snapping a twig or two in the silent courtyard.

He looked up to see the moon, full in its glory, the silver orb hung low in the heavens. Apep, the night serpent, has claimed the night sky. (2) He smiled before bringing his hand to the ground as he knelt. A slow, humming flash of light shimmered around him as he focused his power unto the soil. He watched as a small bud rose from it, twisting up as leaves sprouted from its stems. Finally, the bud started to unfold its petals one by one, almost like undressing itself out of its cocoon and showing the world its lovely ensemble.

The rose was pristine white in color. Atem plucked it out from its anchor, looking at it in deep scrutiny. "White seems inappropriate…" he remarked.

Then he remembered something that made him smile. "You have blue eyes, Sekheth." He kissed the rose's petals and watched it dramatically transform into a stunning color of blue. Atem stared longingly at it, a nostalgic smile curling in his lips.

"I knew I'd find you here," a voice cut through his thoughts. He spun around, surprised at the presence of an intruder. He'd seen this person before – long blond locks, violet almond-shaped eyes…

"Mai…"

"Glad that you remembered me, Your Highness," she said as she bowed down courteously before him. She offered a hand to Atem. "Will you come with me, Pharaoh?

I have the answers that you seek."

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"You're alright now…

"Ishizu…"

The priestess opened her eyes. The room came to her in a blur at first, before images started to clear. She let out a sigh, before feeling an arm wrap tightly around her.

"Thank Ra you are alive…"

"You are all safe," Ishizu murmured as she managed a weak smile. Looks of relief from Shada, Karimu, and Mahado greeted her, and she too felt reassured. No one was harmed. She locked her eyes onto Mahado, and felt tears stinging her eyes; she had saved him in time. They held hands for a long while, both glad at the comfortable silence that lingered between them, that words need not to be spoken to be understood.

It was then when she noticed that the Sacred Ring that usually hung on Mahado's neck was not with him. "The Ring –" she started.

As if anticipating the priestess' thoughts, Mahado answered, "- was taken by Marik."

"Marik?!" Ishizu cried in surprise. "How could he – no, it couldn't be!"

"He ran off with three items – along with the Ring, he also took the Sacred Eye that was kept in our vaults," Shada said pensively. "We are under the impression that he was being controlled…"

"It was the third item he stole that cleared our suspicions," Karimu added.

"What is it?"

"Look around you." Ishizu turned her gaze to what's left of the mansion after the fire, trying to find what was taken from the once-lavish hall. She didn't have to look far to find out what it was.

Karimu's painting of the Pharaoh was nowhere to be found.

"Bakura…"

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'Who the hell are you, Sekheth?' Seto found himself asking the question over and over again. He stared blankly at his laptop's monitor, hardly taking in the numbers and figures that sprawled across the screen. Lately he had been slacking off of his work, his otherwise-firm concentration suddenly running out, as he would wander away from his desk and look to the skies, pondering on the same question.

He tried looking for that name, of course. He already ran it over on several search engines and name-gathering databases, but he could only go so far, and yet not much further. Sekheth was a derivative of the Egyptian name, Sutekh, which can be traced back into the old days of the Kemet, the old name of Egypt. Other sources suggest that it was another name for the Egyptian god of death and destruction, Seth. (3) This only made things a lot more complicated than Seto gave credit for. How was he related to some Egyptian deity that never existed anyway?

And if his time was not spent in finding out Sekheth, he would be regularly tormented by Isis' words, and the book that was left untouched in his office.

And then he would revert to pondering over Sekheth. It was a vicious and perplexing cycle that he was constantly being confronted every day.

"Who are you, Sekheth?" Without meaning to, Seto blurted his thoughts aloud, clear and audible enough that Mokuba, who was reading a book near him, heard it perfectly well.

"Did I just hear you say 'Sekheth'?" Mokuba asked, suspicious and at the same time thrilled.

Seto looked at his younger sibling. There was a certain knowing that reflected in the latter's blue-gray eyes. "You know him?"

Mokuba closed the book while he rolled his eyes; the question posed at him sounded like an insult to a true-blue fan of Isis. "Come on, big brother, who doesn't know Sekheth these days?

"He was a character in Isis' latest novel, Invoke," he said expertly. "He was the mortal from Kemet that had a strange accident with – HEY!" Mokuba protested as he saw his brother rose up from his seat and made a move to leave. "I'm not finished yet!"

"I'm going to bed," Seto said flatly, not even bothering to look back at his younger brother as he trudged up the stairs without further ado.

Mokuba scratched his head, puzzled. "Gee, if he didn't like my plot synopsis, he should've said so!" He plopped down on the sofa and flipped his book open.

"Big brothers. I just don't get them."

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"My request still stands. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Search your soul, Mister Kaiba; this book will help you."

Seto eased out the velvet hardbound from his bedside cabinet, gazing at the golden letters of the word Invoke shimmering in the night light.

"Because I want to know you all over again, Sekheth."

Thumbing the soft edges of the paper, he lifted the book's cover and started to read.

----To Be Continued----

Footnotes: (1) Yep, Karimu's painting, it is! This would explain why he threw a fit at Mahado for trying to blast the painting to smithereens in Chapter Four. Hehe, and Bakura stole the painting for himself!! XD

(2) Apep was called the night serpent in Egyptian mythology, in which the said creature swallows the sun, thus causing… night! XD

(3) Sekheth's name and its relationship with its derivatives and whatnot, are all made up by my restless brain. I encountered something like this somewhere, I just don't remember where… O.o

Author's Notes: Plot thickens! And we're now in Chapter Ten, moving to the eleventh installment! Whoo, I didn't think I would go this far! XD Thanks so much for the reviews, the kudos, and the support! I would probably snuff it out if it weren't for you guys! ::gives everyone hugs and kisses::

I have yet to send you some of my drawings! Please wait for them as I will undoubtedly deliver them to you! I've been busy with a lot of stuff, particularly in deviantart, so I profusely apologize for that! So to the new reviewers, TELL ME YOUR E-MAIL ADDRESSES! XD

Believe it or not, I've been reading my reviewer's works and their writing prowess. The problem is that… I HAVEN'T REVIEWED YET! Eep! ::runs away:: Oh please forgive me again! I've been looking for an ample time to log on and review your stories! One thing is for sure: I WON'T ABANDON YOU, GUYS! ::Group hug yet again::

Ehem! So what's in Chapter Eleven? Now that Seto is reading Isis' book, what certain revelations will be told? Who is Sekheth and why was he associated with a character in a work of fiction? Will he even believe whatever he would be reading from it? Meanwhile, Atem is sidestepped by Mai, whom the latter offers answers to long-overdue questions. What will the sovereign learn from this encounter? And why the hell is Bakura so obsessed with Atem, so much that he even ordered Marik to steal the painting? Tsk, crazy tomb robber.

That's it! See you in the next chappie! STICK WITH ME, PEOPLE! XD

Oh, and REVIEWWWW --!!!

Thanks a lot and Rock On! XD