( tushanshu ) the deal

[denyamenti]

He knew that something was wrong the instant he fell asleep, and yet the dream sequence continued to play out as it had night after night, every night especially recently. Flashes of moonlight cutting through the cloak of gloom, though the low clouds obscured the stars. It had been particularly dark that night, as if even Thoth himself had not wanted to witness what was about to happen. The mudbrick houses of Kul Elna were pale against the dark backdrop of the cliffside, only a few muted lights outlining the windows. Bakura's throat tightened, wanting to run shouting through the dirt streets, rousing everyone, the impossible and improbable hope that had they been awake, they might have stood a chance of defending themselves.

But this was a memory, and he knew from many past attempts, that nothing he did now could change it.

"It seems… that I've been a topic of discussion of late," the sibilant voice came out of the dark, coiling around him in the form of an oily plume of smoke. "Now why do you suppose that is?"

Bakura didn't flinch away, even as the smoke became thicker, heavy like tar, leaving residue on his skin -- pale, he observed abstractly, not tanned -- he was 'himself' in this recollection, not his form in the past, neither the adult Thief King nor the Kul Elna child. He was being addressed as he was now, and that was something worth noting.

He shook the clinging blackness from his fingertips, but otherwise remained in place, staring at the unmoving flames of the memory. "Probably because you're making a nuisance of yourself," he said flatly.

"Insolent as ever," the blackness purred, tightening around him like the slow clamp of a vice. "And still not afraid, it seems."

It was true; Bakura had never feared Zorc, not explicitly. His fears had always been tied to failure, to defeat, to falling short of goal when and where it mattered. But the demon, for all its terrifying power and evil objectives, had been something for him merely to acknowledge, and respect, for its power and scale. Zorc had been worth submitting to when it served a purpose, when it furthered Bakura's own aims, and now there was nothing of that sort in play.

"Let's talk about our deal, Thief King."

"There is no more deal," Bakura replied neutrally, although he could not purge the echo of coldness in the bitter assertion. Through the soles of his shoes, he could feel the pounding of hoofbeats; the soldiers were approaching. Any minute now, they'd crest the ridge that bordered the village.

"You promised a victory."

"I practically handed you one!" the thief snarled, turning against the tar-like grip on him and wrenching his arm free of it. "And you were beaten twice by that viperspawn Pharaoh's brat! How could you have wasted Diabound's power like--"

An invisible blow struck him with the force of a freight train, snapping his head sideways and sending him skidding across the ground. Dream or not, he tasted copper in his mouth, and spat blood to mingle with the dirt. The rules here were different, the boundary between the mindscape and the Shadow Realm barely existent. Glowering at the essence he still could not see, Bakura got back to his feet, dragging an absent hand across his mouth and leaving a smear of red on it.

"You should remember your place, Thief King. I gave you every tool you could have needed to set my stage, and you still failed. But I am giving you another chance."

Phantasmal soldiers thundered past him, kicking up a choking cloud of dust in their wake, descending upon the village behind him. Bakura stiffened his spine, and his fingers curled into fists so tightly that bloodless crescents were left in his palm. "We have no deal," he repeated. "In case you hadn't noticed, Horakhty's attack destroyed us both there. Whatever fragments remain in this dimension, they can't return to Earth. You're finished, demon. As am I."

"Then perhaps my interest is not in Earth," the demon's voice purred, and the pit of Bakura's stomach went cold as Zorc continued. At his back, the first shouts of alarm, and cries of the attacker's first victims, began to rise into the night air.

"This place is a gateway to many dimensions. So many worlds, helpless and undefended. That's why the other one wanted it, is it not? Malicant." The name rolled off like a salacious obscenity, unaffected by the increasing pitch of screaming in the background. "It would be a waste, to let such an opportunity go by. Especially with you here, my perfect pawn."

The thief bristled, and for as much as he had no desire to be hit with another magical battering ram into the dirt, he found words of retaliation lodged like a bludgeon in his throat, locked there by the almost mantra-like chant of "For the Pharaoh! Cut them down!" that he knew and remembered all too well.

Of course Zorc would think to use the same method of devouring other worlds as Malicant had intended; really, the two entities weren't that different, no matter their origins.

"I owe you nothing," Bakura forced out harshly. "So I'll tell you where you can shove 'another chance'--"

He knew, abstractly, that the blow was coming-- knowing didn't stop it from sending him flying a second time, disoriented by his head against the rocks. "Camelwhored son of a--" he hissed under his breath, rising to his feet a second time. "You have nothing I want. Why would I strike a new deal with you?"

"Don't I?" the dark god purred, and in the background, the dream massacre stopped, suddenly frozen in time. The abrupt silence made the next words even more pronounced. "Not even your kin?"

Bakura's heart seized. "A lie," he said, but hated the way it sounded; half pained and half desperate.

"When have I ever lied to you, Thief King? I want you to find a way to break into the Death Realm once again. Put your skills to use. Find me the pathway that Malicant sought... and stop those who'd interfere with that goal by any means necessary. Swear to this, and I will restore to you, your ghosts."

Not even a breath of wind stirred, as if the air itself was also frozen by whatever had halted the memory replay, and he was certain he could hear his heart hammering against his ribs. "You'll do what Malicant aimed to do. Destroy whatever world you slither into."

"Is that not worth another chance to save them?"

He sucked in a breath, felt it cold as a glacier whistling down his throat.

It was a choice, and yet no choice at all.