Another story? Don't I have a life?
Well, I have no idea where this one came form, but I can't reallt stop myself from putting it up. If you have any ideas, please tell me so I can continue this one.
Without further ado, I disclaim that I owe Yugioh or any of the characters.
Enjoy this and be happy you haven't read the manga I made of this.
1 chapter: Nothing left
"Marik, this is your last chance. Surrender now or take the consequences."
Marik, the highest lord of Nubia, stood for everyone's view on top of the great wall that surrounded his castle. For many women he was a sight welcome down in bed with his hair coloured of the sand that stood up in spikes, skin darker than most others and the body of a god. He was muscled and surrounded by an air of confidence and untold mysteries. His eyes, burning or frozen, was always daring the one who looked into them a guess what was going on at the other side of the looking glass. But right now they held nothing but frustration and hatred.
"I have already answered, you Pharaoh of faithless sand. I will never surrender either to you or the very Gods watching us from above!"
The pharaoh, with a face framed by a white beard, scrawled angrily at the lord. He was a man in his last years of living. Yet he was a powerful man with muscles showing under his cloths and confidence and authority in his moves. Once the entire kingdom of Egypt had crept to Alexandria only to catch a glance of him. But the beauty of his youth was now gone. And left was a man hungry for more power and blood.
"May it be, lord of a dying land. You have until sunrise to prepare for defeat. Soon your evil will be put to an end."
In pure anger Marik picked up a loose stone from the wall he was standing on and showed it against the pharaoh with all his might. The old man avoided it rather gracelessly.
"NEVER!" Marik roared. "NEVER WILL I GIVE TO YOU THE TREASURE YOU HAVE BEEN TOLD OF! NEVER WILL I LET YOU SEE IT!"
Marik was far from stupid. He had ruled his region for as long as he could remember. And the pharaoh was not the first who sought the treasure rumours said he had in his possession. The pharaoh had only come with the excuse to free the world from his iron hand.
More curses were called out before the pharaoh and his army finally left. Marik growled darkly in frustration. He knew his own army was not enough to defeat the one of the pharaoh. He knew it, and so did his men.
With his deep purple cloak swirling around his form the lord turned back inside. A guard tried to keep up with his long strides, but if he wanted to he had to half run. "My lord. Why not only show the pharaoh what your treasure is? Then…"
"He will do everything in his power to take it away from me," Marik hissed.
"But my lord. What has drawn all these people here is plain curiosity. They want to know your treasure. If…"
"And let the entire world envy me?" Marik stopped so abruptly the guard ran straight into him. The lord should have swayed from the force, but he stood as steady as a statue. "Nothing in this world can compare to the beauty of my treasure. May it be only in my eyes, but I will never let anyone know the truth. I have too maqny enemies."
The guard stood rooted on the place as he saw the lord turn a corner on the other side of the corridor. He heaved a heavy sigh before he followed to the great hall where a meeting would be held.
Marik sat on a throne like chair at the far end of the room, his forehead wrinkled in deep thought.
"What shall we do, my lord?" one of his advisors asked with an almost pleading look after reporting about the state of the castle, the great wall and the army. That the lord was troubled could not even the ones in the back mistake on. Marik looked out over the sea of eyes expecting him to make a miracle happen. After a deep sigh he stood up. The truth had to be told.
"There is no way for us to overcome or even compare to the pharaoh's army," he said truthfully. "Therefore I tell everyone in here and inside the great wall to go home. Those who are already wounded and hurt may go home as well. Home, or flee, it is up to you. If no one wishes to stand by my side tomorrow then I will face the pharaoh alone. We will lose. But I will go down fighting all the way."
"And the treasure?"
Marik's face fell into shadows to cover his fear and regret. "I will take care of it," he said lowly.
The meeting ended and about ten percent of Marik's army left. The rest were faithful towards their lord. Marik was not the best in the world. He was rough, stern and his rules were hard. But he was fair. Every punishment answered for the crime, not for his mood.
With heavy steps and even heavier heart the lord walked to his chamber. He could hear Malik's soft singing and his treasure's worried voice. He brazed himself for the last night with his world.
He stopped outside the chambers, peering through the slightly ajar door. In there he could see the beautiful girl Malik. There was no prettier woman than she in the entire world. With skin slightly paler than most Nubians', unique, purple eyes filled with warmth and love and a perfectly curved body she should be hailed as a Goddess. Had she not been so young Marik would have taken her as his wife. In her lap was his treasure, his world, his reason to live.
His son.
"My lord," Malik greeted quietly, bowing her head for her master.
The boy turned around and deep purple met the most innocent eyes the lord had ever seen. "Daddy!" the boy called and climbed down from his nurse's lap.
Marik smiled lovingly and knelt down to let the six year old boy run into his arms. "Good evening, my treasure," he whispered into the boy's ear as he did every night.
"Daddy?"
Marik almost flinched from the worried tone in his son's voice. "Yes, my boy?"
"What happened out there? Who was yelling at you like that?"
Malik stepped forward, but Marik lifted the boy up and carried him over to the bed. "It was the pharaoh, my son," he said. His heart sank even more as the worry in the boy's face was changed into fear. "He will attack us tomorrow morning. And I can not fight them back."
"Of cause you can, daddy!" the little treasure called out hitting his small fists on his father's chest. "There is no one as strong as daddy."
Marik smiled as his chest filled with warmth at his son's words. It made him feel stronger. "Thank you boy, I guess I needed to hear that."
"Nothing will change, right daddy?"
Marik had to look away from his son's beautiful eyes. He wondered just how smart the little guy was. It was like he knew what was going on before it had happened.
"Master?" It was Malik's sweet voice this time. She stood not far away, prepared to take care of the boy as soon as her master left.
"I am sorry," he said lowly, only loud enough so Malik could hear. She moved closer, scared of the lord's decision. "Things has to change… nothing can stay the way it is forever."
"But we will still be together!" Marik's treasure said hopefully.
Marik felt his heart shatter in his chest. He could not find the courage to tell his son the truth. Instead he turned to Malik. "Could you please bring me a cup of warm milk, with sleep?"
Malik swallowed hard, but nodded anyway and went out the door. Her movements were graceful and pleasantly. It was a pleasure only to watch her move. But when she disappeared out of the door Marik's attention snapped back to the little, teary-eyed thing in his lap. His son looked at him with the widest eyes he could master, making them take up about three quarters of his face.
"Daddy?"
Marik, the kind of man you only meet once in a lifetime, a man known for his justice and roughness, a man with hands able to tear limps away from the body. This very man could at the sight of his son not say a word. All he found himself able to do was embrace the little boy tightly… and cry.
That's right. At the sight of his son, knowing of the future and what he had to do, Marik cried. He placed gentle kisses on his son's temples, buried his face in the boy's hair and held him close. None of these things had he never done before. Actually he did it every night. But tonight he put even more love and care in his movements and actins.
"You have come to look so much like your mother," he whispered.
"How?" the boy asked curiously.
Careful to dry his eyes before he looked into the little one's eyes, Marik smiled lovingly as he compared his treasure to the woman who had given birth to him six years ago. "You will have her shape of face," he said smiling, cupping the little boy's face with his large hands. "Your skin has the same colour as hers, though yours have a slightly darker tone…"
"Daddy?"
"Yes, my treasure?"
"Do you think I'm beautiful?"
Marik blinked, honestly surprised at the question. "Why do you ask?"
"I heard you call Malik that."
The lord had to laugh. His son was not sure what the word meant, so he had asked if he too fit to the explanation of the word. "Yes," he answered as he calmed down. "You are even more beautiful than Malik will ever become, but in a different way. For me you are the most beautiful thing alive in this world."
"Really?"
Marik smiled and kissed the boy's forehead. "Really!"
"Master?"
Father and son turned to Malin who stood in the door with a cup of steaming hot milk. The little boy knew since before this was to make him fall asleep without nightmares. At least that was what Malik and his father had said.
Malik sat down in the chair she had occupied before. "Come, young master," she tempted with the softest voice she could muster. The little treasure left his father's lap and run over to his nurse. Malik helped him up into her lap and held the cup to his mouth.
Marik watched the two. They had grown really close together since Malik managed to gain the lord's trust enough to take care of his treasure. She acted like the boy's mother more than his real mother had done.
"Malik," the boy asked after having sipped the hot milk for a while. The nurse made a sound to say she was listening. "Do you think I'm beautiful?"
Malik jerked and stared wide-eyed at the little boy in her lap. "W-why asking me that, young master?"
"Daddy said I am."
"Y-yes but… he's your father. I-I don't know…"
"Don't you think I'm beautiful?"
Malik looked at Marik for support, only to find him smiling rather amused. "He heard me call you it," he mouthed.
Malik blushed deeply before answering. "Yes… you are very beautiful, young master. I dare to say there is no one out there in the world who is as beautiful as you."
"Really?"
Malik smiled, still blushing. "Really, young master."
"Malik is beautiful too."
The young girl smiled lovingly before she once again held the cup to the little one's lips. It didn't take long, only after half of the cup was emptied, before the little treasure was asleep. Malik had put a little sleep powder in the milk to help the little one sleep.
With a smile filled with warmth, motherly love and pride, Malik stood up to put the little boy in bed, but Marik stopped her.
"Master?"
"He can not stay here."
Malik reacted almost immediately. She backed away from Marik, pressing the little boy close to her chest. "M-my lord. You can not take him away," she whispered, trying to not wake the child in her arms. "H-he… y-you are his father. H-how will he feel once he wakes up and he is not at home anymore?"
"I did not ask for your opinion, Malik," the lord hissed, angry that the nurse tried to keep his own son away from him.
"But…"
"What do you suggest me to do otherwise?" Marik said lowly, anger and hurt shining in his eyes. "Tomorrow morning the pharaoh will attack, ten percent of my army has left, the rest has stayed to die. The animals have been taken away, the gold is being buried in this moment, the castle is cleaned out. When the pharaoh attacks he will search through the entire castle for my treasure. What do you think he will do when he finds my son?"
Malik was silent. She still pressed the boy as close to her as she could.
"I will not leave my son to torture and death. Not in this life… or my next."
"But…" Malik started, barely above a whisper. "But he is mine too."
"Malik…"
"He is my son too."
The lord's eyes softened and he gave the nurse a look of pain. The young girl really loved his son, as if she was his real mother. Malik was as unwilling to give the little treasure away as Marik himself was. "I am so sorry, Malik," he whispered at last and took the few steps up to the girl to embrace both her and his son. "But this is the only way I could think of. The one I have chosen to take care of him is waiting."
"Then let me follow," Malik argued loudly with tears running down her face. "Let me follow him and…"
"And where would you go?" Whatever Malik had been about to say stocked in her throat. "You are nothing," Marik continued softly. "You were sold to me as a slave, and I made you take care of my son. Be his friend and nurse. But you do not know how to survive out there. You do not even know where to look to find eatable food."
Malik shook with silent sobs and hiccups. What Marik said was true. She had been a slave from birth. She was nothing. Her previous master had sold her because of someone else taking over her job and she had been too young to be a pleasure slave, and with Marik she had found peace and, when he brought his son to the castle, happiness. Marik had even given her a name. She knew she was in the age of becoming a pleasure slave now. If the pharaoh took her she would probably live the rest of her life in his harem. But what kind of life was that?
She wasn't able to talk when she slowly placed the boy in into the arms of his father. Marik took his treasure to his arms and, before he left, kissed the little boy's nurse on the forehead. "I will always love you."
Malik didn't move when her master left the room with, not only his, but her reason to live as well. From now on she had no life. So what was the meaning of keeping it?
Dressed in a grey cloak to hide his fine cloths Marik left his castle through a hidden pass way. The boy slept peacefully in his arms, not aware of what was going on in the world around him. Behind the lord could see shadows of men. The pharaoh's spies were watching the great wall to make sure Marik stayed inside. The lord could only hope his men had made it out alive.
In complete silence Marik moved between cliffs, trees and bushes to the place where he would meet his young friend.
"It is always such a pleasure to see you move, my lord," said a soft voice from the shadows. "You are the only one I know who can move silently over a mat of dry leaves and rocks with you hands filled."
"Have you waited for long, Bakura?"
The fourteen year old thief stepped out of the shadows into the faint light of the crescent moon. "Since last night, my lord. I move fast."
"Then you know more than necessary. But if you are here I believe you have answered my plea."
"It is only once in a million years a lord comes to a thief and begs for his help. Where is the treasure?"
At the tone of the young thief's voice Marik could tell Bakura did not know what character his treasure had.
Sitting on his knees Marik rested the treasure's weight on his legs so he had one arm free to move the cloth away from his son's face. He heard Bakura gasp quietly.
"By the ruler of the night," Bakura whispered almost soundlessly. "What is this?"
"This is my son," Marik answered simply, not able to tear his eyes from the boy's face.
"Never."
Marik snapped his gaze from his son to Bakura's scrawling one. "But…"
"I can't take care of a kid. Seriously, what made you even come up with the thought? I'm a thief. I make my living by stealing. He will only be in the way."
"Bakura… if not you…" Marik could not take it anymore. He fell to his knees and tears he had fought to hold back were running freely. "If you don't take him no one will. There is no other way I can think of. I can't… I just can't… The only two solutions I have are to give him to you or… or kill him. But I can't. I can't kill him. He's my son, for Heaven's sake. If the pharaoh gets his hands on him he will be tortured to death. I beg you, Bakura," Marik looked up at the thief's face. "I beg you to help me. Save my son."
Bakura was torn. He had never even imagined the stonehearted lord Marik cry before, and never go down on his knees. But he was a thief. He could not take care of someone else. The child would only slow him down. But the pharaoh… the pharaoh was already responsible for countless lives. Countless.
"…Fine…" he said at last. "But I can not promise you his survival to your age."
Marik's relief could easily be read from his face. "Thank you," he whispered. Then he turned back to his son, giving him one last, loving kiss on the forehead. "He is only six, but he is smart."
Bakura nodded and took the boy into his arms. He realized the little one was much lighter than he had expected. "My lord…?"
"It does not matter if he lives to my age or not. All I wish and pray the gods for is for the pharaoh to never even lay his eyes on him. My son or not, his beauty alone will capture him inside the walls of the pharaoh's palace for the rest of his life. I will keep praying even after my death for the gods to let my son live without the pharaoh's knowledge."
And with those words Marik melted together with the shadows on his way back to his castle. Bakura once again looked down at the sleeping treasure. He had to admit that the boy looked really pretty even for his mare age of six. His skin was pale, very pale, but in a beautiful way. Instead of the bronze shade in his father's skin, Marik's son's skin resembled more of silver in the light of the moon. In the day he would find it could take a hint of gold as well. The boy's hair was as spiky as his father's, but it was soft to touch.
"He didn't give me any name," Bakura realized after trying to call the boy by it, finding he had none. "Well, you know yourself I guess. I may just wait out awakening out."
Back in the castle it was chaos. The short moment Marik had been gone his men and advisors had worked themselves up, believing their lord had been kidnapped by the enemy.
"My lord, I thought you were gone forever," one of the highest advisors said, relief sipping into his voice as well as his face.
"I hope you didn't believe I left you for good," Marik said calmly, never stopping on his way back to his room. He knew Malik was upset and had in mind to calm her somewhat.
"My Lord! The maidens have committed suicide," a soldier called.
Marik stopped, staring sharply at the man. "What?"
"I don't know, my lord," the guard said and bowed deeply, both in respect and exhaustion. "There are groups of them locked up in different rooms. Poison, rope, draggers, swords, cloths… They have used everything."
Marik turned and sprinted to his room. His heart beat painfully in his chest, but as he entered his chamber it felt like it stopped. On the bed lay Malik, dead. She had drunken the rest of the treasure's milk before she had stabbed her own heart with a dragger Marik always had hidden under his bed in case of an assassin. The young girl's cheeks were still wet from crying and her expression was of pain and grief.
"I should have known…" Marik whispered.
"Lord Marik! The kitchen! The chef has poisoned everything and given it to the slaves. No one is alive."
Marik's eyebrows furrowed in bitterness. Everyone knew what was coming, and everyone chose death by suicide before the pharaoh.
"What shall we do, my lord?"
Marik looked up, and his men could not help themselves when they gasped and jumped back. Never had they seen their lord with such dead eyes.
"Take all free men you can find in the castle and make them dig graves behind the castle. One for each of them. The rest will make sighs of honour we can place on the graves as a sign to who is laying where."
The guard and advisor bowed and left. But they didn't come long. "One more thing," Marik called out. "One of the graves shall be closer to the castle than the rest. I will make the sign to that one myself."
The two looked at each other, both knowing what his meant. "Yes, my lord."
No one said a word as the graves were dug. There were not one who did not know what had happened, and what was about to happen. The corpses were carried outside and carefully placed into the holes. Marik had used this kind of burial ever since his father passed away. He said it was easier, and did not cost as much gold as a tomb. And there were no need to worry about tomb robbers, no need for soldiers to guard the graves.
The grave in front of the others were just done when the lord walked out, carrying Malik in his arms like a bride. He had washed her body, combed her hair and dressed her in a plain, white dress made of the finest linen. She had never been prettier.
Malik laid the girl down on the rough material all corpses were wrapped into before they were covered with dirt. He placed the girl's hands on her chest and made her numb fingers grab a single white lily, as to sign her purity. He would have kissed her, but found it not suiting in the moment. This moment of an end.
As Malik was wrapped up in the material and carefully lowered into her silent grave, the air was filled with some kind of peace. It was the peace of knowledge, the peace of security, the peace before the storm. Malik was the last one who was buried this night. And when she was, all men fell to their knees in front of all the graves. Marik had promised he would go down fighting all the way, and he had no plans on breaking that promise. But right now it seemed like everyone was as unwilling to leave the graveyard as the lord himself. And it was their biggest advantage right then.
Daybreak. Before Ra set the day before Marik feared the break of day. But now he welcomed it with open arms. His son was safe, Malik was resting in peace, his men and soldiers were prepared. And Marik himself had never been so sure of what to do.
Outside the great wall the pharaoh's army lifted the battering-ram to break down the gate and let the army inside.
"Marik is up to something," the pharaoh said lowly to his general.
"I can see that," the general answered.
"Why are there no soldiers on the wall?"
"Why is there no noise from the other side of the wall?"
The two looked at each other. Marik was known for his slyness and ability to turn inferiorities to his advantages. The general turned to the army.
"Be prepared for anything!" he yelled out. "Marik can not win, but he can play us some cheap tricks that will cost many lives. But he can not come up with enough ideas in only one night to stand as the winner above us."
The army cheered in trained union and hailed the pharaoh for his blessing in this war.
The pharaoh raised his sword. "FOR THE LAND OF EGYPT! TO VICTORY!"
War cries of all sorts echoed through the air as the battering-ram moved forward. It hit the wood of the gate with such force it made a huge crack only from the first hit.
"AGAIN!" the general called out.
Once again the ram hit the gate and put another crack in the wood as the first one deepened. And still there came no sound from the other side of the wall. It was eerily silent.
"AGAIN!"
The first and second crack split so that the army could see the silent, empty castle through them.
"AGAIN!"
The gate groaned and protested from the forceful hit, but it stayed up, stubbornly protecting what was on the other side. And still there were no sign of life from Marik or his army.
"They can not have run away, can they?" the pharaoh asked his general.
"No, my spies have had the castle under strict watch the entire night. No one has sipped out."
"AGAIN!"
The cracks were now so deep the gate could not stand for much longer. But the silence on the other side was making both the pharaoh and the general nervous.
"AGAIN!"
The battering-ram hit through the hard, massive wood and the gate gave in with a deep groan of defeat.
With a loud yell of victory the army brought the huge battering-ram out and opened the gate, only to find the yard empty. Those who stopped to suddenly were hit to the ground and killed under the feet of their comrades. When the entire army realized they would meet no resistance they stopped to let the confused pharaoh and general through.
"General, take your men and search through the castle," the pharaoh ordered.
"Yes sir."
The silence lay heavy in the air. It was like everything had died or disappeared into thin air. The only thing that was heard was the footsteps of the pharaoh's army and the sound of metal softly hitting armours and the ground.
"There is nothing here, my pharaoh," the general announced after the entire castle had been carefully searched through. "Everything is gone. All we have found is a few rooms with blood on the floor or on the beds. The gold is gone along with the people."
The pharaoh had never been so confused, or worried. Marik was not the one to pack up and run away like this. Something was not right. "Search the castle again. There must be something in there."
The general and some more soldiers ran back into the castle. Many others joined them since the silence outside spooked them.
No one noticed the cracking sounds at first. But as they grew louder the men started to look around. The pharaoh was not the first to see the cracks that crept around the base of the castle, but he was the one to feel the magic surrounding the entire place, but he was too chocked and confused to let out a warning.
No one was able to do anything but scream as the castle lifted from the ground. Through a curtain of falling stone and dirt the pharaoh locked gazes with no one but Marik in the flesh. But there was something in the lord's eyes that had changed. But before the pharaoh could dwell on it, Marik released his castle and let it fall.
Soldiers tried to shield themselves from the flying projectiles, but they were still too surprised and confused to think properly. Only the pharaoh was quick-witted enough to create a magic barrier to save himself and the soldiers behind him. He yelled in rage as he realized his general had been inside the castle, and the proud building was falling apart.
"CURSE YOU, MARIK!" the pharaoh yelled. "I CURSE YOU AND YOUR FAMILY FOREVER."
Behind the demolishing castle Marik smirked as he heard the curses the pharaoh placed on him. To lift the castle was almost too much for him, and he was swaying where he stood. But his move had killed more of the pharaoh's men than he had left in his own.
"As soon as the castle has fallen completely, walk around it and attack the pharaoh from both sides," he ordered.
His head guard nodded in agreement and turned to inform the army of Marik's. The lord's advisors were all busy keeping the protecting shield up between the demolishing castle and the graveyard. It was Marik's clearest order. At least the graveyard should be left untouched by the pharaoh.
"My lord," said a brave, young soldier and supported the swaying Marik. "You should not push yourself so hard."
"It is over for me anyway, young one," Marik said. He was not angry with the soldier for being worried about him. "I have given a promise, and I tend to keep it. I will die while making a fool of the pharaoh."
"What… what did you do to the treasure?" the soldier asked very carefully. He had not seen it being buried.
Marik's smile was so peaceful and happy the sun seemed brighter. "I have made sure he will live without the pharaoh's knowledge. He will live. He will be safe."
The guard nodded and moved back to his place in the lines. No one had ever seen the lord smile like that, and no one ever would again.
On a hill not far from Marik's castle stood Bakura and the treasure. It had taken quite some explanations before the boy had stopped fighting and protesting and tried to run back to his father. Now he watched with dry eyes how his home was destroyed.
"Will daddy die there?" he asked Bakura.
The young thief did not know how to answer. How did you tell a child his father would never more be there?
"I don't know," he whispered at last.
"…I will not cry," the boy decided then. Bakura gave him a strange look. "Daddy always said my eyes became dull when I cried, and that he didn't want them to look that way. So I will not cry. I will stay beautiful until I know he will no longer be there to see me."
Bakura had to swallow the hard lump that formed in his throat. The little one reminded him of his own loss, the lives of his family and friends. But he had cried for days before hatred claimed him and he decided to fight the pharaoh for the rest of his life. "You are strong, little one," he said lowly. "Just as strong as your father."
"…Thank you."
Marik's army silently attacked from both sides of the fallen castle. There was no need for war cries. They would not let the pharaoh hear the dying wolf's last howl.
Though still confused and disorganized from the fall of the castle, the army of the pharaoh still outnumbered Marik's. But they had to fight hard to defeat the determined soldier's of the lord.
But the men fighting were not only soldiers. Marik's advisors had drawn weapons and fought alongside the fighters. But Marik himself there were no sign of.
In the confusion of the pharaoh walked through the dust, created when the castle fell. On the other side he found the lord on his knees panting heavily.
"I should have known your little magic trick was too much for you to fight for yourself," the pharaoh sneered, before he stole a glance at what was behind the lord Marik. "What is this?"
"This is the holy ground of my land," Marik said. The pharaoh had to compliment him for his ability to sound so calm and steady though his obvious exhaustion. "If you or anyone of your soldiers dares to touch it, you will be killed by the spirits guarding this land."
"I am not interested in your land's old rituals," the pharaoh spat. "Where is your treasure?"
Marik smirked deviously. "Far out of your reach," he said simply.
A hard fist collided with Marik's cheek. "Wrong answer, you fallen lord of nothing."
"You mean I should have lied?" Marik asked sweetly. "If the pharaoh asks you should always answer with the truth. That is what my mother always told me. But then again, I guess she was smarter than you."
Another hard fist landed on Marik's face. The pharaoh was losing patience. "You think you can fool me forever, fallen one? But I will make you sing out to the entire land of Egypt where your treasure is hidden."
"You have killed me time and again before that happens, pharaoh of bloodied sand," Marik sneered. He had no plans on telling this man what his treasure was. After all, he did not know where the boy was at. The fact that he had given it to Bakura, who was already known for his ability to slip away, was nothing the pharaoh needed to know. And nothing the pharaoh was able to do would change that fact.
The pharaoh sneered himself. "We will see, little dying dog in darkness. There is a limit to how much pain a body can resist before it spills it deepest secrets."
Hm, good. That is good enough for now. Now, please tell me who the treasure is (I know, you don't) I wanna see if I was descreet enough about it or if I have to make it harder to realize.
Another thing, a reminder, please give me some clues to what will happen now. It is quite frustrating not to know when I'm the one who's writing this.
Thank you for reading, and I will be even happier if you...
REVIEW!
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