{OOC} Fic - curiosity killed the...
"There's one thing I never learned," Marik comments, coming off of what he fancies to have been a pretty good monologue. His audience of one, switchblade in one hand, the other shoved into a pocket, is scowling, glowering at him across the warehouse parking lot where they'd finally confronted each other. Weeks of back-and-forth. And today it's going to end. "No matter how hard I searched, none of my....sources....would reveal your name. I'd like to at least know who's out to kill me. You can't possibly also go by Ryou Baku--"
The spirit lashes out at him, invisible energy aiming to pin his arms in place, to force his head back and bare his throat so the switchblade can do its work, but Marik'd been ready for the attack. Whipping the Rod up almost as a physical deflection, he strikes back with equal force - greater, it has to be greater, channeled precisely at the target. This isn't a one-on-one fight he can win. Just one he can try to withstand.
The shockwave hits, but Marik grits his teeth and forces a leg forward, trying to move, trying to break free. His own attack catches the spirit off-guard and the strength of the wave falters - just a second, but Marik's seized it and shatters the hold on him, running for his motorcycle across the parking lot. He should have known better than to go anywhere semi-public once his guards had all started mysteriously being killed, one after another. But that didn't sit well with him either. At least his baiting attempt had been successful. If only he hadn't been the bait!
He gets to the bike and finds its tires slashed - when? But the spirit, features sharper and crueler in the flesh than in the form he's most familiar with, had been waiting for him outside. He'd had all the time in the world to ensure Marik wouldn't be able to run. Marik curses anyway - he's not one for language, but no one hurts his bike, no one - and sets off running again, leading his enemy into a maze of back alleys behind the warehouse where he'd been supposedly striking a deal for cards. Really he'd been a mouse, laying a trap for a cat who just didn't know any better than to stalk cunning prey.
"Who are you?!" he hears his "cat" screaming behind him, running to catch up; he doesn't have to glance behind him to know the spirit has kept the switchblade out, ready to drive it into him at the first opportunity. "Where is the Millennium Puzzle?!"
"You don't have to know!" Marik shouts, and springs his first trap. Men jump out from the shadows at just a thought from him, running to try and stop the young man pursuing their master. They're going to die. Marik knows that, and doesn't even bother watching the proceedings in his mind as he flees. But at least these will be the last to go. Rishid is waiting, at the final checkpoint of this game - master of traps, as always. It won't be Marik, it won't be any more Ghouls, who fall today.
He bows his head as he runs, trying not to think about who he's leading to their end. If things had been different...Ah, but if things had been different, he'd have lost. This spirit's already helped him more than he can say. This incarnation just won't ever know.
It's quiet behind him, the only sounds his own hurried breathing and the pounding of his shoes against concrete. The streets are deserted - he'd arranged everything just the way he'd wanted, just the way he always can now that he's mastered both himself and others. They couldn't have possibly succeeded in overpowering the enemy, could they? Marik frowns and focuses inward, steps faltering for a moment. No connections - so they're all -
He's jerking his head up and bringing the Rod to bear just in time for his assailant to come all but flying out of nowhere - no time to waste on wondering how it's possible, so Marik does manage to block the knife with the sheath of the Rod, holding the Item before him in both hands, pushing back with all his might. Too fast, he caught up too fast!
Rishid! he calls out, hoping he's in mental range. Rishid, he's here! His shadow will come. He just has to hold out. His shadow will come, sniper rifle in hand - something he had only begun to consider recently as a viable tactic, but one that'd proved extremely useful. He can't afford to have it fail him now.
The spirit lunges again. Marik dodges again, yanking the Rod's blade free of its sheath and slicing across the enemy's chest. The spirit steps back, laughing, his own knife moving again; Marik steps back to avoid it and his leg slips, he falls hard to the concrete, wincing. His enemy stands over him, leaning down, gloating, grazing the side of his face with the knife almost gently.
"You didn't even draw blood!" the spirit leers, nicking Marik under the chin and then pulling the knife back. "It all came to nothing, in the end. Now, I'm only going to ask nicely one more time -"
"You forget," Marik interrupts with a victorious smirk, adrenaline pounding in his head: his enemy has him flat on the ground, nearly pinned, yet all he can think of is a single word. Checkmate. "I know everything about you."
Still holding the Rod's sheath by two fingers, he reaches up and grabs the Millennium Ring, yanking down to sever the half-sliced cord holding it around his assailant's neck. There's barely time for him to see the familiar face - more familiar than its owner will ever know - contort in rage and panic, but then a light flashes from the Ring, Marik's propelled away, and even as he's sent flying helpless through the air he can only think I miscalculated, again....I haven't done that since....
Hitting the ground at this speed is going to hurt. He probably won't be getting up again, either. Yet it seems to Marik that he's falling for a very long time.
The spirit lashes out at him, invisible energy aiming to pin his arms in place, to force his head back and bare his throat so the switchblade can do its work, but Marik'd been ready for the attack. Whipping the Rod up almost as a physical deflection, he strikes back with equal force - greater, it has to be greater, channeled precisely at the target. This isn't a one-on-one fight he can win. Just one he can try to withstand.
The shockwave hits, but Marik grits his teeth and forces a leg forward, trying to move, trying to break free. His own attack catches the spirit off-guard and the strength of the wave falters - just a second, but Marik's seized it and shatters the hold on him, running for his motorcycle across the parking lot. He should have known better than to go anywhere semi-public once his guards had all started mysteriously being killed, one after another. But that didn't sit well with him either. At least his baiting attempt had been successful. If only he hadn't been the bait!
He gets to the bike and finds its tires slashed - when? But the spirit, features sharper and crueler in the flesh than in the form he's most familiar with, had been waiting for him outside. He'd had all the time in the world to ensure Marik wouldn't be able to run. Marik curses anyway - he's not one for language, but no one hurts his bike, no one - and sets off running again, leading his enemy into a maze of back alleys behind the warehouse where he'd been supposedly striking a deal for cards. Really he'd been a mouse, laying a trap for a cat who just didn't know any better than to stalk cunning prey.
"Who are you?!" he hears his "cat" screaming behind him, running to catch up; he doesn't have to glance behind him to know the spirit has kept the switchblade out, ready to drive it into him at the first opportunity. "Where is the Millennium Puzzle?!"
"You don't have to know!" Marik shouts, and springs his first trap. Men jump out from the shadows at just a thought from him, running to try and stop the young man pursuing their master. They're going to die. Marik knows that, and doesn't even bother watching the proceedings in his mind as he flees. But at least these will be the last to go. Rishid is waiting, at the final checkpoint of this game - master of traps, as always. It won't be Marik, it won't be any more Ghouls, who fall today.
He bows his head as he runs, trying not to think about who he's leading to their end. If things had been different...Ah, but if things had been different, he'd have lost. This spirit's already helped him more than he can say. This incarnation just won't ever know.
It's quiet behind him, the only sounds his own hurried breathing and the pounding of his shoes against concrete. The streets are deserted - he'd arranged everything just the way he'd wanted, just the way he always can now that he's mastered both himself and others. They couldn't have possibly succeeded in overpowering the enemy, could they? Marik frowns and focuses inward, steps faltering for a moment. No connections - so they're all -
He's jerking his head up and bringing the Rod to bear just in time for his assailant to come all but flying out of nowhere - no time to waste on wondering how it's possible, so Marik does manage to block the knife with the sheath of the Rod, holding the Item before him in both hands, pushing back with all his might. Too fast, he caught up too fast!
Rishid! he calls out, hoping he's in mental range. Rishid, he's here! His shadow will come. He just has to hold out. His shadow will come, sniper rifle in hand - something he had only begun to consider recently as a viable tactic, but one that'd proved extremely useful. He can't afford to have it fail him now.
The spirit lunges again. Marik dodges again, yanking the Rod's blade free of its sheath and slicing across the enemy's chest. The spirit steps back, laughing, his own knife moving again; Marik steps back to avoid it and his leg slips, he falls hard to the concrete, wincing. His enemy stands over him, leaning down, gloating, grazing the side of his face with the knife almost gently.
"You didn't even draw blood!" the spirit leers, nicking Marik under the chin and then pulling the knife back. "It all came to nothing, in the end. Now, I'm only going to ask nicely one more time -"
"You forget," Marik interrupts with a victorious smirk, adrenaline pounding in his head: his enemy has him flat on the ground, nearly pinned, yet all he can think of is a single word. Checkmate. "I know everything about you."
Still holding the Rod's sheath by two fingers, he reaches up and grabs the Millennium Ring, yanking down to sever the half-sliced cord holding it around his assailant's neck. There's barely time for him to see the familiar face - more familiar than its owner will ever know - contort in rage and panic, but then a light flashes from the Ring, Marik's propelled away, and even as he's sent flying helpless through the air he can only think I miscalculated, again....I haven't done that since....
Hitting the ground at this speed is going to hurt. He probably won't be getting up again, either. Yet it seems to Marik that he's falling for a very long time.