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Chapter Text

Sometimes it hurt and he can ignore it. But other times it hurt too much and it became harder to ignore it—but he had to, because there were more important things. Things that could end with permanent consequences if he didn't give it his all. Death-T, Duelist Kingdom, Dark Bakura, Marik's Ghouls, and now Dartz and the Orichalcos. He had to shove them away, he had to hide it—bury it deep within him. Cover his pain with walls as hard and cold like the labyrinth in the Puzzle.

He had no time for distractions.

But he knew he couldn't keep it in forever, he knew it would come back to haunt him. Burying something so deep for so long tended to end badly, to bite him back in the ass. He had witnessed it firsthand with Kaiba, a boy who had buried all his pain and insecurities to be strong for his brother—and later buried everything else to survive the upbringing he had with his foster father. It was like a seed, bury it and let it germinate. Let it grow, mature, and mutate into something he couldn't control himself. Into an obsession he realized too late. For Kaiba, it was his obsession to be the strongest in Duel Monsters—a childhood dream that became corrupt. He lost his true cause for being strong, and ended up hurting the very reason he wanted to be strong for in the first place.

For him, it was his obsession to always win. No matter the cost, no matter the consequences. He should have seen it before, he had done it once in Duelist Kingdom. When Kaiba had threatened to kill himself if he won (and he would have won the duel if it weren't for Yuugi, he would have killed Kaiba if it weren't for Yuugi).Winning games was… winning duels was… winning was the only use he had.

He had used his powers and it only led to pain and fear. It had led to Death-T, for Kaiba wanted revenge after he had humiliated him in a shadow game. It led to Yuugi being absolutely terrified of him, a spirit who possessed his body without his knowledge and hurt people (he had burned one man alive and made Kaiba experience death, for gods' sakes). It had led to Yuugi's grandfather being taken, for Pegasus had discovered the Puzzle because of Death-T. His powers were useless, they didn't help anybody, so he stopped using them.

All that was left then, was his skill in games.

And it stopped being useful when Yuugi was forcibly ripped from him. He closed his eyes at the memory, hands pushing him out of the way and the sinking feeling in his gut (and denial) as he saw his partner in the seal. It should have been him, it should have been him, it should have been him.

He let out a shaky breath. Sometimes it hurt and he could deal with it—but most of the time he was on the verge of breaking. He looked down at the endless black void in front of him. Once upon a time, he had taunted another Item wielder about the horrors of his labyrinth. He had stood before Shadi's fingers, looking down at him as he dangled at the broken edge of the floor. He had smirked and mocked him, telling him if he fell then his soul would be doomed to be lost in the dark abyss.

He had laughed at Shadi's fear (and it was no wonder Yuugi had feared him), wondered out loud if he should leave him to fall and rot.

(Gods, he was just like the spirit of the Ring)

If he didn't exist, maybe life for everyone would be better. If it weren't for him, his partner would still be here. Dartz wanted him, and was willing to hurt Yuugi's friends, who were only high school students, to reach him. If it weren't for his stupidity, his bull-headedness, his gods-be-damned fickle pride—then Yuugi Mutou would still be here in his rightful body. But he wasn't.

Instead it was an ancient dead spirit with no memories, who was only useful in games and torture (and he was good at it, he remembered the time that he reveled in the screams of Ushio, Sozoji, and countless others before he found some semblance of sanity).

He tilted his head and leaned forward, teetering a little more towards the void. He marveled at the endless black, light seemingly stopping in the void. He remembered the cruel words he told Shadi and wondered.

If he fell… would he disappear?

This was his soul room, and the void was still part of his soul (and what did that say about him, to have a vast dark hole in a mental representation of his very essence?). At best, he would continuously fall until some external force stopped him. At worst, he would forever be lost within his own mind. A soulless soul, if that was possible. He would disappear into nothingness, fade away, and never be a bother to anyone else anymore.

That seemed nice.

Who would miss him? The people who truly knew him were (mostly) long dead, buried under the sand for thousands of years. He wouldn't be surprised if some of them were displayed in a museum somewhere. Jounouchi? He would move on. Anzu? She would get over him, always her love for Yuugi would be stronger than the whatever-it-was she had for him (it was something he admired from her, because she truly loved Yuugi as a friend, sister, and—given time—something more). Honda? They weren't that close, he wasn't close with any of Yuugi's friends. Not really. Ryou? He suspected that the white haired boy was a bit wary around him, perhaps reminding him of another ancient Egyptian spirit.

Yuugi? Yes, he would probably miss him. But he had friends, he had his family, and he had always been the stronger between them. He had lived most of his life without him, and he could do it again—especially now that he had more people who would care for him. What would he need from someone who was still insane? Who still felt a little pleasure in seeing the pain of duelists as they were defeated, who still felt tempted to call his power and bring forth terrifying illusions as retribution?

Who used that gods' forsaken card despite knowing what it could do, what would Yuugi need from someone like that?

Yuugi was strong and he was weak. He couldn't concentrate without the comforting presence of Yuugi's soul, couldn't summon up the will to fight without his words of encouragement.

It would be so easy to jump, or even just lean forward a bit more. Nobody needed him, nobody should want him, who would miss him?

"I would, my prince."

He jerked at the voice and turned. Behind him was a tall man, garbed in dark violet robes and armor, and looking at him with sad blue eyes. He looked away.

"You shouldn't, I treated you horribly," he said, feeling bile in his throat as he remembered the callous way he treated all his monsters. Hadn't he once told Pandora that he should treat his cards with respect and dignity? That they were more than just tools? What a self-righteous hypocrite he was. "I hurt you."

"I will heal."

"I hurt her," he emphasized, remembering the betrayed look the man's beloved student gave him as he forced her to sacrifice herself. "I promised—I goddamn promised her, and yet I-"

He deserved to lose… he did.

But Yuugi didn't deserve to take that penalty, it should have been him.

"She will heal."

"She shouldn't have to!" he snarled, looking back at Dark Magician—his most loyal Duel Monster (and whywhywhy did he deserve such loyalty from a powerful and dignified being like him?). He remembered the pure hurt shining in those green eyes, glistening with tears threatening to pour out. And if he had been less prideful, less blind, then he would have listened to the tugs pulling in his heart. Because Dark Magician Girl was far more suited for happiness, not crying, and he should have made sure that—

("Hey now, don't cry," he soothes the sobbing girl. "I sucked out all the poison, the snake won't bother him. No more tears, okay?")

"You shouldn't have to either! What kind of… what kind of—I don't know what I am to you!" he cried. "I don't know what I was to you, but I sure as hell know I shouldn't be hurting you!"

Shouldn't make one of them cry (I'm so sorry).

He wasn't clueless, he wasn't stupid, he wouldn't be half as good in games if he didn't have the ability to connect the dots. Ishizu had shown them the tablet, and it had the Dark Magician carved on it. That spoke volumes in itself. He knew the spellcaster was connected to his forgotten past, and he suspected that they had been something. Friends perhaps (dare he hope, after what he did?). Dark Magician had always been far more alive in duels than what seemed expected from the holographic technology, even before Kaiba's advanced duel disks. Smiling, wagging his finger, doing twirls with his staff before he attacked, and sometimes looking back at him worriedly when he thought he wasn't paying attention.

And the duel with Pandora, that time where he activated an effect all on his own, standing in front of him so his life points wouldn't go to zero. Monsters shouldn't be able to do that, not without any indication from their duelists or the duel disks. Dark Magician was self-aware enough to act on his own volition.

He had appointed himself guardian of his soul room (and how did Duel Monsters get into his soul so easily?), often nudging Yuugi away from tablets and rooms when the teen felt like exploring. The one time Shadi tried to venture the labyrinth again in Duelist Kingdom, the Egyptian man nearly got disintegrated on the spot by an irate magician when he tried to touch the tablets. If it weren't for Yuugi intervening, Shadi would have been a smear on the floor.

He knew him, he cared about him.

And look what he does to that person, he treated him as a mere tool.

Another person he hurt because of his pride, one who stood by him longer than anybody he knew. Despite that, despite committing the most damnable failure he'd ever committed, the man was still determined to protect him, even from himself.

"Why? Why do you go through such lengths to protect me?" he asked, wringing his hands. It baffled him. He was a powerful spirit, he could defend himself. He was dead and couldn't remember his own name, there wasn't much left to protect—body and mind. And if he thought about it, he only used Dark Magician as a soldier in battle. Even before the tribute summon rule in dueling, the spellcaster has gone through so many deaths it was a wonder he still had the energy to go through his typical sass. Why would he put up with that? "I don't remember you, I don't know you."

He saw the quick flash of pain in the blue eyes, the raw hurt at that admission. So he had been right then, he and Dark Magician (and most likely Dark Magician Girl) knew each other, once upon a time. It must hurt, to see a loved one (maybe?) completely forget about you, to see them look at you with no recognition. He turned away, he had already been hurting Dark Magician without trying. By looking at him, not remembering him.

"Gods, I don't deserve it, I don't deserve you," he said bitterly, laughing at himself. "I'm nothing, the only worth I seem to have is that I was pharaoh, and what good is that?"

Dark Magician flinched, as if physically struck by his words, but he plowed on regardless. Too engrossed at his thoughts to care, these feelings had been festering for a while now, and they were itching to burst.

"What good is a pharaoh who can't even remember his own name? What good is a pharaoh who's dead, whose body is a shriveled up corpse somewhere?" he laughed, shaking his head. "Hell, what good is a pharaoh in this day and age?"

He laughed again, like he had found a funny joke—and really, he did: it was called his life. He was an ancient spirit with amnesia, who possessed a Japanese teenage boy via a golden puzzle and was apparently Egyptian once upon a time. His talents were winning games, recently card games, and his skills consist of making people crazy. His life was a joke, his death was a joke.

"Your worth isn't because of your title."

"Oh? And what is it then?"

"It's because you are you," Dark Magician replied softly, walking closer to him and placing his (warm warm warm) hands on his shoulders. The spellcaster gently pulled him away from the edge. He didn't fight back, didn't shrug off the hands. It wasn't the first time he thought about ending his un-life (un-death?) and looking at the dark void contemplatively, just the first time he had finally voiced his thoughts out loud. Always, Dark Magician was there to pull him away. "Do you think I would stay for thousands of years just because you were king?"

From the Egyptian people he had met before, it was obvious that they weren't the sanest or most logical bunch. But he restrained himself from saying that. "Whoever I was before, I'm certainly not him now."

Memories were the basis of personality after all, and he barely had any.

"You'd be surprised with how little you've changed," the man refuted, wrapping his arms around his waist and dragging him down the floor. He flailed, surprised at the change of position. He was seated between the spellcaster's legs, who placed himself in a cross-legged sit, not letting go of him. "You are still the intelligent and kind man I knew, one who always protects his friends."

"I'm doing a horrible job at it," he muttered, feeling awkward at being hugged. Nobody had ever given him soft and affectionate touches like this. He knew he was viewed as someone intimidating, untouchable and powerful. The closest he experienced was Jounouchi's hug tackles and noogies. Most would give him a pat on the shoulder.

"You are doing the best you can with the limited resources you have," Dark Magician corrected, removing his arms from the small spirit to take off his armor. First the pauldrons, then his helmet. He blinked, staring at the long violet hair that fell over the man's shoulders. His hands twitched, wanting to comb through the locks and see if it was as silky as it looked.

Without the armor, Dark Magician looked less threatening. Softer, gentler.

Familiar.

(White robes, tan skin, long brown hair, and gray eyes shining with amusement)

He was pulled out of his musings when Dark Magician hugged him again, this time a little closer. With the armor out of the way, he could feel the man's steady heartbeat. Could smell his comforting scent; lavender, incense, and other spices. He fidgeted, unsure on what to do in this (surprisingly comfortable) position.

"I forget that you are so human," Dark Magician murmured, combing through his spikes. "That you are confused and unsure of yourself, that you hurt near constantly, that you need companionship as much as you need protection. I thought I have gone past that, seeing you as something infallible and god-like."

"I'm not god-anything," he protested. God forsaken, perhaps. But god-like? That was ridiculous, there was nothing godly about him.

"Once upon a time, I thought you were," Dark Magician sighed, still stroking his hair. It was so calming, he cuddled a bit closer. Eyes drooping as he listened. "The person I was in the past would have been horrified with my actions now, would think it beneath his status, to be so casual with the king."

"Statuses are stupid," he mumbled, remembering the arrogant people he had encountered when he was freed. It was always status of something for them—wealth, beauty, popularity, and other silly things. "We both have the same color of blood, don't we? Neither of us should be beneath or above each other."

He felt rumbling from the other's chest, and the arms around him tightened. "You truly haven't changed—matured and grown perhaps, but what made you remarkable to me is still there."

"There's nothing remarkable with treating you horribly."

"Your opponent manipulated you, used your self-doubt against you," Dark Magician said. "Dartz has ten thousand years' worth of experience to know what could break you, I'm sure he told his follower how."

"But-"

"I should have intervened, said something—the rules of the game never held strongly to me," he continued. "I should have reassured you, instead of watching you doubt yourself more and more—what kind of friend am I? To do nothing while you were hurting?"

Friend, he called him a friend.

He sobbed brokenly, because he had met a lot of things related to his unknown past. Enemies like Dark Bakura and Pegasus, unfortunate slaves like the Ishtars, and tentative allies like Shadi. But never a friend, never any indication that he had bonds with anyone. Yes, the tablet was a symbol of friendship created by one of his high priests, but this was also the same person who had created the clan of grave keepers doomed to never see sunlight. He had a friend, a person he cared about and cared for him as well. He had a friend, and surely that meant he wasn't that horrible of a person before, right?

"Oh, my prince, you were never horrible," Dark Magician replied sadly. Had he said that out loud? "Forceful and prideful, but never cruel and cold-hearted. You shouldn't believe the words of Raphael."

"S'hard," he sniffled, trying in vain to stop the tears. It was hard to ignore the duelist's words when it was true. How could he be sure that he was a good person before? He had been cruel and cold-hearted the first months of being released, he had been horrible and terrifying. And when he thought he was getting better, becoming good, he reverted back to being a cruel spirit who loved seeing people lose. Just for the sake of winning a stupid card game. He had broken a promise, he had ignored Yuugi, he had treated all of his cards like crap. He had treated his friend like crap. "M'sorry, 'm so sorry."

"I know."

He wished he wasn't hugged like this, he wished he was punched like how Jounouchi reacted. He wished there was disappointment and grief in those blue eyes, like in Anzu's when she discovered the news. He wished the man would scream at him, like Rebecca had. He wished all of this was just one big nightmare and Yuugi was there, smiling at him and asking him to look at their deck again.

"M'so tired, Dark Magician," he mumbled. "I wan' t'sleep for a long time."

And never wake up, was the unsaid thought.

He sighed as he felt fingers combing his hair again, he let his eyes slid close and his body relax into a boneless heap. Surrendering himself to the feeling of safety and comfort from the man (no matter how undeserving he was of having it).

"Then sleep," Dark Magician said softly. "I will wake you up when it's needed."

He was so tired.

"… 'Kay," he breathed. "G'night, Mahad."

A twitch, the arms around him held him tight.

"Pleasant dreams, my prince."

Sleep was nice.

Chapter Text

The urge comes and goes, crooning for him to come back. To the labyrinth, to the large cracks filled with the dark void, to a place that is the physical embodiment of broken and empty.

To jump and get it over with.

There was a time that repeating the mantra of “It will get better” worked. They would get through this, he would get through this. Don’t give up, don’t give in, don’t falter. It will get better. He would get their grandfather back, he would get their friends back, he would protect them all from his (always his, always his fault) enemies.

The mantra became less effective over time. Enemy after enemy made its voice weaker. Trial after trial tinged it with hesitance. The words had no meaning. He had realized that he was never worried if this (his life, his death, his limbo, what is it?) would get better.

(and as time passed, the mantra mutated to a musing, that maybe stepping over the edge would be better)

He had always been worried (scared) if it would get worse.

Would there be someone crueler than Marik? Colder than Kaiba before his penalty? More ancient than Shadi? More powerful than Anubis?

Would he be able to handle it? Would he have the strength and skill to fight back? Again?

(and again and again and again and again and-)

What’s the point of his actions, if there will always be something worse in the future? Why brace himself for that? Why push on for that? Why exist for that? Especially when he’s always the reason for the problems.

(the pressure is choking)

The urge is back again.

Wouldn’t it be nice? The crooning voice tells him today. Just one step, maybe two at most, and you would have your rest. No more worries, no more stress, no more guilt.

(yes, yes, yes, anything to get rid of this suffocating fee-)

Not now, he says. Not now, I have things to do.

What things? The voice wonders, genuinely curious. He ignores how it always sounds like him, a side that he’s never shown except in the deeper, darker corridors of the labyrinth. Something that even Dark Magician has never ventured.

How it sounds like him when he’s alone and feeling like every ounce of motivation and will has been scooped out from him. How it sounds like him when he feels like someone has carved his skin and tore his spirit, leaving him raw and bleeding. Ragged, hurt, exhausted.

A voice that says that the dull heavy pain is too much to bear.

(it’s more pleading than crooning, when one thinks about it)

New packets are going to be released next week, he replies. I want to check them out, it would be a waste to miss that.

(flimsy)

It would, the voice agrees, and it quiets down. Leaving him alone in his thoughts, leaving him to bask under the excitement and happiness of Yuugi—who is entering a store with Jounouchi.

He sometimes wonders how they (his friends, his family, does he deserve to call them that?) would react on his internal debates. The urges. The pull that lulls him to something more permanent than any slumber in existence. The soft voices that tell him to step over, don’t, maybe just one step, no don’t, it would end quickly. Over and over again.

Not that he’ll ever tell them, they have too much to worry about as it is. They don’t need another burden, they don’t need another problem that’s caused by him. His mind, his responsibility.

In this part, he’s a hypocrite.

(tell people about relying and trusting friends but not doing the same, why not practice what you preach?)

Just one step, the voice insists this time.

There’s a video game I want to try, he denies. Aibou wants me to play it on the weekend.

(weak)

That sounds fun, the voice muses, and it leaves him alone.

The next time it’s a board game that Yuugi just bought.

(how whimsical)

And the next it’s an anime that Jounouchi is excited to watch. It isn’t porn this time, which interests him. He loves his friends dearly, but Yuugi and Jounouchi can be a bit much with their sexual curiosity.

(ridiculous)

This time it’s just a simple day in the arcade.

(he wonders if he’s pushing it now)

It’s always him, the voice says. It makes him pause, as it hasn’t told (beg) him to do anything. You say no and it’s always about him.

He looks at the scene before him, of Anzu trying to teach Yuugi, Jounouchi, and Honda the topics they’ll be having for their exams. Yuugi looks like he’s slowly getting it and is trying to simplify the concepts for Jounouchi. Honda looks ready to drop down and sleep.

Is that a bad thing? He wonders.

No, the voice answers. But how long will it last?

There is a green light.

Dartz is crueler.

It gets worse.

Dartz is colder.

It gets worse.

Dartz is more ancient.

It gets worse.

Dartz

So much worse.

is

He can’t handle it.

more

He can’t.

powerful.

He can’t.

He can’t.

He can’t.

He can’t.

(can’t, can’t, can’t, can’t, can’t, someone end this)

The voice is back. Crooning, pleading, begging all at once.

(please, it whispers)

He can’t reply, can’t make a comeback, can’t think of an excuse.

Yuugi isn’t here.

(please, it cries)