Jean was dead. Jean was dead and she was alone.

  Tilla Dubois steadied her breath. Her good friend Reiko still hovered uncertainly behind her back, as if the girl was worried Tilla would break and fall apart like a piece of fine china accidentally brushed to the floor.

  She wouldn't. Not yet, at least. A surge of sorrowful feelings felt like it was beating at her chest like the waves of some great, raging ocean, but she didn't have time to succumb to them. Not when the murderers of her poor Jean were still at large. A glance in the mirror revealed a very different sight, opposite to the feelings in her heart. In the mirror, Tilla Dubois was calm. Composed. Perhaps there was a large amount of intensity in her gaze, but otherwise she looked normal.

  It hadn’t been easy, looking normal. It had taken every inch of her strength to avoid breaking down in front of Phil. It had taken all she could muster to hold off until there was a door she could shut between herself and the outside world. There she could mourn, if even for only a few minutes. That much Tilla allowed herself. But then it had to stop. She forcibly dried her tears. Redid her usual subtle dark makeup. Made sure her face was calm. Composed. If she broke down again… Tilla didn’t know if she could ever stop her sorrow. She had to be strong. For herself. For Reiko. For Phil. For… Jean. Jean, the love of her life. Tilla knew it would have broken his heart if he’d seen her sad like this.

  As it stood, Tilla’s heart felt broken as well now that Jean was gone.

  She swept out of her room without a single glance back. Not to the empty double bed, or to Jean’s side of the closet, or to his three shirts scattered aimlessly on the floor that he’d sworn to pick up when he got around to it, or to any of the other signs that the love of her life had once made his home there. Phil’s room was right down the hall. His door was closed.

  "Are you sure… you don't want some tea? Or to sit down for a little bit? This is... no one would blame you." Reiko said with such a sad expression that Tilla's steps nearly faltered. Tilla turned and patted Reiko warmly on the shoulder. She really didn't know what she would do without her best friend around.

  “Thanks. I really appreciate it. But… there’s no time for that.”

  She couldn’t stop moving. Not now. Not until their business was concluded. If she stopped moving, Tilla didn’t know if she could start back up again. Her hand rapped at Phil’s door. The sound seemed to thunder around the hallway, so much so that for a moment, Tilla feared that the windows might break under the force. Then she blinked, and the sound was no longer there. It was just the back of her hand colliding softly against the hollow wood door.

  The door cracked open to reveal half of Phil’s face. His long, tangled hair was no longer damp with blood, but with water. His gaze was… stern. No, stern was perhaps not entirely correct.

  Gaunt. His gaze was gaunt. Like he had seen far too much for any normal man to bear over the past 24 hours.

  “Ready?” Tilla croaked out. She frowned at the unsteadiness of her own voice.

  Phil gave a sharp nod, fully opening his door and stepping away so that Tilla and Reiko could enter.

  “Just need to get rid of this.” He gestured loosely at his beard.

  Tilla absentmindedly nodded, glancing around the room as Phil moved to his nightstand to produce a machete seemingly from thin air. Reiko made a noise of surprise, but Tilla remained unperturbed. So used to Phil’s strangeness as she was, knowing he owned a machete was damn near the bottom of the list of bizarre things she had seen him do (including, but not limited to: conducting animated conversations with patches of thin air, knowing things he had no realistic way of knowing, having a pact with a terrifyingly strong duel spirit, etc.). She half expected him to have a gun rack in his closet, or a cardboard box of homemade explosives stored under the floorboards.

  In fact, even the room itself was odder than that. Instead of a bed there was a hammock hanging from the ceiling, made from rope she knew the two brothers had 'acquired' from the city harbor. On the floor was a futon. It looked quite comfortable, and strangely well-worn despite the fact that Tilla knew full well Phil never had visitors other than when the three of them would duel late into the night. In the center of the room was a battered, three-legged wooden table that had the space where its missing fourth leg would have been filled with a stack of encyclopedias to give the piece of furniture enough stability to safely place drinks on.

  Framed on the walls were several pictures developed from Jean’s camera. Seeing them was enough to put a smile on Tilla’s face for a few seconds. Front and center was a large group picture of Phil, Jean, Tilla, and the kids when they had gone on that road trip to the beach. To the left, a picture Tilla had taken of Jean and Phil making a comically ridiculous pose in front of the duel parlor, a day before it had been destroyed. To the right… Tilla looked away.

  To the right was her favorite picture. A copy of it rested above her and Jean's bed. It was a simple scene, showing the interior of the restaurant, 'Burger World', that Jean and Phil had for some reason claimed as their little hangout spot. In it were Tilla, Jean, and Phil casually seated in a booth. Tea Gardner was to the side, wearing her waitress uniform and staring at the camera with an expression of laughing surprise. In her hands was a tray covered with milkshakes, two cups of coffee, and five more baskets of fries doomed to join the ten empty baskets scattered around the table.

  Yugi, Joey, and Tristan were horsing around on top of the booth itself (which had contributed to the rowdy teens getting physically thrown out of the establishment for the night a few minutes after the picture was taken). Bakura was standing on the other side, looking as awkward as ever. A simple scene, but one filled with such warmth that it seemed to radiate out of the picture to envelop anyone who looked at it in a gentle hug.

  Right now, though she knew the look of the picture by heart, Tilla couldn’t bear to even glance at it.

  The sound of the machete's blade rasping against skin distracted Tilla from her spiraling thoughts. Bit by bit, Phil was carefully using the edge to cut off his beard with a rueful expression.

  "I liked this beard." Phil absentmindedly explained once he caught her eyes in his mirror. His earlier grim look had disappeared, though the sharpness in his eyes remained. It almost seemed like he was rapidly see-sawing between his usual carefree nature and the boiling, almost unstable cluster of anger and despair Tilla had seen filling his bearing earlier. Any other day, Tilla would be deeply concerned for his mental well-being. Now? She understood perfectly.

  “Nice and long. Lotta things a guy can do with a long beard. Stroke it wisely, throw it over his shoulder in a gallant fashion, braid it like a dwarf, use it like a scarf. The list goes on and on. Shame it’s so distinguishing.”

  Tilla couldn’t help but agree on the ‘distinguishing’ part. As she watched the man before her remove the last bits of his beard and turn around, the difference was like night and day. Whereas before Phil had looked like a homeless man with only the slightest grip on his sanity (partially due to the wild beard, partially due to how he tended to act), now he looked…

  “Shady…” Reiko voiced Tilla’s thoughts for her.

  Phil clicked his tongue and shot a pair of finger guns toward her with his hands. “Guilty as charged. The police are on the lookout for a hobo with a beard and blood-soaked hair. Meanwhile, I’m just some random office worker coming off of some long hours most definitely not allowed under the local labor laws. Despite that, the beatings will continue until morale improves. I've got a meeting at two, another at four, and then at five I'm scheduled to get fired so the CEO can get another ten million in raises."

  Despite herself, Tilla let out a little ‘pft' of laughter at the sight. Since Phil had only cut his beard off with a machete, his face was now encased in a heavy 5 o'clock shadow. The hair on the top of his head had been cut back in a ragged fashion, with some clumps being longer than others. His change of clothes had only served to exacerbate the look. Now wearing a long-sleeved collared shirt colored a deep dark purple, some beat-up black dress pants, and a pair of ragged black tennis shoes found while dumpster diving with Jean, Phil looked simultaneously shady and ridiculous. Like a sleezy car salesman was captured by the man with the world's worst fashion sense.

  Her face fell into a slight frown. That… lack of fashion sense had been something the two brothers had shared. In her mind's eye, Tilla could almost hear Jean walking out of their room, bragging his way down the hall about his own fashion choices. Each time, Tilla had made sure to stand between her husband and the front door to the house with a playful yet stony expression and strict orders to choose a new outfit under her own supervision. She wasn't some controlling nightmare of a wife, but come on, a girl had to have some standards.

  But then reality slammed into focus, and Jean’s footsteps faded back to the depths of her memories, along with whatever amusement Phil’s appearance had brought to Tilla.

  Phil frowned at her silence. “Right… this is an important meeting… I’ll wear a tie.”

  Tilla moved to speak, but the words died in her throat as Phil's fingers expertly fastened a canary yellow tie around his neck. He chuckled and then turned to speak at a patch of thin air.

  “Oh, come on, don’t claw at your eyes like that. That’s overreacting.”

  Reiko’s voice whispered in her ear far too quietly for Phil to hear. “Are you sure you two will be okay doing this today?”

  Tilla couldn’t answer. She wasn’t sure if she would ever be ‘okay’ again.

  -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

  Phil's light words felt like they fell flat in his mouth to turn to ash and dust. And yet, he continued almost on instinct alone. Half the time he hardly noticed he was making them, something that he felt was causing Reiko to look at him strangely. Part of the cause behind the ash in his mouth was his natural hesitation after each one, a habit formed after becoming so used to Jean following up with his own banter after Phil's. Now that hesitation only served to thicken the air as he waited for words that would never come. Then there was the look on Tilla's face… it was like half her mind was here in the present, and half her mind was wandering in the past where Jean was still alive. He knew she had to be feeling worse than he was.

  The tie he'd picked out felt leaden around his neck. It was like a hangman's rope, but he knew so long as he was careful, there was little to fear about this town. The police wouldn't recognize him now, Ishizu had no reason to be working against him, and if anyone from the Sons of Kul Elna appeared…

  Well, that would make Phil very. Very. Happy.

  He looked himself up and down in the mirror. Beard removed, hair cut a bit shorter, completely different clothes, no blood to be seen other than what had colored the new bandages around his hands a dark, unhealthy red. Tilla was similarly prepared. She looked stoic and unflinching, but behind the steel in her eyes, there was a tinge of sorrow that was the only outward indication of her true feelings. Was she trying to stay strong despite all that threatened to overwhelm her?

  Well, if so, then they were alike in that aspect. Both trying to stay strong for the other and to keep themselves from breaking down into grieving messes that wouldn't be much use for anything.

  “Let’s roll.” Phil halfheartedly gestured to Tilla. She nodded to Reiko. The meaning was clear – only Tilla and Phil would proceed to the Domino City Museum. Anyone else might cause things to become needlessly complicated.

  -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

  A police car screamed past them. Tilla looked as cool as a cucumber, but it took all Phil had to fight his instincts and look normal as they strolled down the sidewalk. Cold sweat dripped down his neck to dampen the back of his shirt. His tie fluttered in the breeze. While it was much later in the day than it had been during his nerve-wracking flight from the park, the evening air still felt a little bit too warm for Springtime.

  The police radio crackled away in his pocket. He could hear nothing concrete – a slip of a name here, a street there, a roadblock or two. Nothing to indicate the search was winding down or heating up.

  "I think they'll give up tomorrow." Phil offhandedly remarked, earning a casual nod from Tilla. One of her hands absentmindedly played with the edge of her black, long-sleeved dress. His words were optimistic, wrapped in hopes instead of being fully grounded in reality. Truthfully he wasn't for sure if the police would give up any time soon, considering the shoot-on-sight order placed on his head. That was strange in and of itself. Shoot on sight? Really? For what, the crime of running around the park like a lunatic? He hadn't even hurt anyone, not anyone the police knew about at least. The knowledge was troubling. Was there more to the police than met the eye? Was this the machinations of one of his enemies or plain bad luck?

  Tilla’s footsteps halted. “Domino City Museum.” She read out. Phil looked up. So great had his focus been on the movements of the police that he’d hardly noticed their arrival.

  "Coming soon: The Art of Egypt." Phil voiced the contents of the poster under the museum's sign. The Art of Egypt. If memory served, that was the exhibition Ishizu used to convince Kaiba to mastermind the Battle City tournament. It contained the slab showing the battle between Atem and Priest Seto back in ancient times.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Indeed! Krkrk!” A harsh voice spoke from on high. Phil and Tilla looked up as one. The building before them appeared like a standard, stuffy museum, all columns and archways and tall, tall windows. Perched on the eaves of the roof like a feathery gargoyle was the figure of a long-legged stork, glaring at them through a set of baleful yellow eyes. Tilla’s gaze widened in surprise, but the wings of Kounotori Tori opened wide before she could utter a word, launching him off the edge of the roof in a casual dive to soar through the air and land next to them.

  "You, I know, man-creature Phil. What~ is this stupid, stupid, stupid human doing here? Unknown factor! Who are you! Who! Who! Who! TELL ME TELL ME!”

  Tilla’s hand inched toward the zipper of the purse tucked under her arm, but Phil stepped forward unperturbed.

  "Allow me to introduce her. This is Tilla Dubois. She is a good friend of mine and has the same right to be involved in this affair as you and I do. Tilla, this is the stork Kounotori Tori. We met on the island of Duelist Kingdom during the tournament. He is pursuing the same target we are."

  Kounotori tilted his head so far that one of his eyes stared up to the heavens themselves (each of his two eyes being on the side of his head, as is normal for a stork).

  “Krkrkrk! Stupid! Man-creature Phil, we do not desire the same target! Pink Winter shall die under my boots! Red Summer shall fall at your hands! Krkrkrk!” Then he turned to silently look at Tilla, a judgmental gaze on his beaky face. “Hm…. yes, yes. I see. I SEE! Good~ woman-creature Tilla, we shall do good~ work together~, oh yes we will…”

  With the dark and repeated mutters of the words ‘yes yes of course it will it shall yes’, Kounotori Tori turned around to stalk maliciously through the open doors of the museum. There were metal detectors inside, but none of them were manned by guards at this time. The interior of the museum seemed completely deserted.

  "Before you ask, yeah. He's always like that. The dude's fucking nuts, but he's got his heart in this. They killed his sister that night at the duel parlor." Phil whispered to Tilla.

  Tilla cast a wary gaze at Kounotori's receding back. One of her hands was inside her purse, clutching at something that was hidden from Phil's sight.

  “I don’t trust him.”

  Phil let out a heavy sigh.

  “Yeah, I don’t either.”

  They walked into the museum with a fast enough pace to quickly catch up with the stork. Kounotori marched forward without a word, his head bobbing with each step he took. If it had been in any other circumstance, Phil might have laughed his ass off just seeing the three of them. It felt like the start of a particularly terrible joke - a shady man, a goth woman, and a talking stork walk into a museum.

  The inside of the museum was as deserted as the entrance. No guards, no curators, workers, volunteers, or otherwise ordinary people were to be seen. It was quiet too, as quiet as a grave other than for their footsteps ringing out against the marble floor and Kounotori’s increasingly ominous mutterings.

  All around them were countless exhibits, some cloaked in the darkness of the gradually encroaching evening, while others were still dyed in rays of warm sunlight seeping through the windows overhead. Sarcophagi, tomb paintings, burial masks, embalming tools, gold coins, jeweled necklaces, statues, and even a few replicas of the Millennium Items filled the hall the group walked through. It was enough for Phil to realize with a start that this must be the Egyptian wing.

  The stork did not stop its strange bobbing walk until a door came into sight, one with a faint golden lamp light seeping out from under it. A crisp knocking sound filled the hall as Kounotori rapped its beak against the wood to announce their presence.

  “Come in.” The voice of a woman, crystal clear and calm as an undisturbed lake, pierced through the door as if she knew precisely who was on the other side. Kounotori grasped the doorknob in his beak to pull it open, and then stood aside to welcome them inside the office with his wing held out in a gesture of invitation.

  Tilla caught Phil’s gaze. In her eyes was an unspoken question – ‘Are you sure about this?’

  He understood what she meant. It wasn’t too late to turn back. To work their own angles, look for their own leads on the Sons.

  Phil gave her a reassuring nod. As strange as this whole shebang was, his knowledge of the manga was enough to know that Ishizu Ishtar was not their enemy, and likely never would be unless they decided to do something incredibly stupid like murder Marik Ishtar.

  Was she Manipulative? Sure. With her knowledge of the future, Ishizu had expertly guided Kaiba to kick-start Battle City purely so she could save her brother. But she wasn’t evil. And if he was wrong… his hand casually slipped into the pocket of his dress pants. Inside, next to a handful of jingling coins, was the shape of a deck of 40 Duel Monsters cards. If Phil was wrong, then he would find out exactly how much of an advantage her future sight would be in a duel.

  Phil took the first step inside the office. Tilla was right behind him, and Kounotori took the rear. His beak grasped the interior handle to shut the door with a soft ‘click’.

  The office was an elegant one, but still a room that spoke of an intrinsic simplicity to its design. Elegant, but not too elegant. Simple, but not too simple. The walls were lined with eight gorgeous rosewood bookcases, with any extra space left on the walls being dedicated to a good number of framed paintings showing various scenes of the Valley of the Kings, a place in Egypt where the Pharaohs of old had been laid to rest. A hanging lamp encased in a lampshade made of multiple different colors of stained glass dangled from the ceiling to illuminate the room in a warm, gentle glow. The center of the room was dominated by a large desk made of sturdy oak wood. In front of the desk were two green wingback chairs. Behind the desk (looking quite out of place) was a modern office chair.

  And in that office chair sat Ishizu Ishtar. She looked exactly as she had in the manga. Long, straight shoulder-length black hair, with two locks of it wrapped in gold rings and tucked behind her ears. She wore a simple, sleeveless white dress. Her tanned arms rested casually on the surface of the desk, as if the three newcomers to her office were as expected, all the way down to the talking bird. Around her forehead was a golden circlet with an Eye of Wdjat in the center, but Phil knew full well that wasn't anything to bother with. Instead, his gaze shifted to her neck, where he could see the Millennium Necklace poking out from under the collar of her dress.

  Her eyes followed where Phil was looking, and her mouth pulled upward in a knowing smile.

  “Phillip Jenson… we finally meet. But you prefer Phil, do you not?”

  Those words seemed to echo across the office walls, steeped in the certainty that Ishizu Ishtar knew every move he was going to make.

  “Sure do.” Phil hid his wariness under a shield of nonchalance as he flopped into the rightmost wingback chair. It was not done for Ishizu’s sake, for he knew she would know better, but instead for Tilla’s consideration. If he started freaking out, then she might start feeling the pressure as well. Kounotori Tori settled into a standing position to the side of Ishizu’s desk. His neck bobbed, bulged, and then his beak split open as he hacked out a shiny gold wristwatch onto the rather expensive-looking rug covering the office floor.

  Ishizu ignored that. Her gaze did not flicker for a second, nor did she look at the watch on the floor.

  “What can I do for ya?” Phil couldn’t help but break the stalemate. “See anything fun in that necklace of yours?”

  Ishizu settled back into her chair, staring at him with steady eyes. Her fingers were steepled together as if she was deep in thought.

  “You know of my ability.”

  Those words were more of a confirmation than a question. Phil gently nodded, causing her to close her eyes.

  “I accept your offer.”

  Those words were spoken by Ishizu’s voice, but Phil hadn’t brought up a deal yet. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to do.

  In a calm, measured voice, Ishizu began to explain.

  “Red Summer’s fate is intertwined with the Battle City tournament taking place in two months. Yours is as well, and the fates of those in this room.”

  It felt like the temperature in the office had plummeted below freezing. Ishizu still stared at him with a level gaze, calm and considering. As if she was getting his measure but already knew it at the same time.

  “So, what will-“

  His words were interrupted by Ishizu.

  "I will withdraw from the tournament and offer you my full support on the condition that when you encounter my brother, Marik, you do not use lethal force."

  Phil froze in place. That…

  Okay yeah that would work.

  A bout of creaky, mocking laughter rose from the gullet of Kounotori Tori, where the sound bounced against the room in a chaotic cacophony of noises.

  “An accord!” The stork screeched, laughter still filling his tone. “I get Pink Winter you get Red Summer! We shall kill them all! KILL THEM ALL! LET NONE SURVIVE!”

  Phil stood. Tilla did the same. They looked at each other, both giving a firm nod of agreement. This was undoubtedly their best lead. He held out his hand to meet Ishizu in a firm handshake. Her skin was cool against his own.

  “All of my enemies in one place, waiting just for me? How wonderful. How extraordinary. How delightfully convenient. I accept your acceptance of my offer.”

  “Thus~ the accord is struck~. Krkrk! Death~ comes, oh yes it does.”

  The stork’s laughter peaked and then fell until he was silent again, staring unblinkingly at Phil and Tilla.

  “Very well," Ishizu said. "When Seto Kaiba finishes his preparations, I will arrange for two duel disks to be delivered to your residence. Until then, lie low. Don't trust the police. They are compromised at the highest level.”

  “The Sons?” Phil asked with a sharp look. Ishizu gently shook her head.

  “Not quite. Mere mortals bribed by them with riches beyond belief. Dealing with them would cause your true targets to vanish in the wind.”

  Phil sat back in his chair with a click of his tongue. How irritating.

  “In the meantime, you both should take time to breathe. To process your loss."

  Unlike her previous cold tone, those words were said with a measure of warmth that surprised Phil. He looked up. Ishizu had fixed them both with a gentle gaze, one of understanding and compassion. Continuing to speak, Ishizu pointed with a slender finger toward Phil’s pocket, where his Duel Monsters deck was concealed.

  “Your deck is strong. It resonates well with you. Yet, there is another that would be even more in tune with your soul. Seek it, and victory will come ever closer. Solomon Muto can assist in that search.”

  Her head turned to face Tilla, swiveling like that of an owl’s neck.

  “Your loss is the greatest. It cannot and should not be pushed aside. Only time and acceptance can heal that wound. Only through that will your mind possess the strength when the time is right.”

  Tilla stared back at the woman with a stony gaze, but Ishizu's words had struck a part of Phil that was already filled with a tinge of uncertainty. Resonation. P.A.C.M.A.N. was strong. He was incredibly familiar with its inner workings. But… Ishizu had a point. There was another deck he knew better. He let out a sigh and stood up. A heartbeat later, and Tilla did the same.

  "Roger that, captain." Phil threw a two-finger salute to Ishizu. “We’ll see you on D-Day I guess. Tilla, you got any other questions for Miss Sees-The-Future?”

  “No.” Tilla’s voice came out rough.

  “Cool. Cheerio, Ishizu. Thanks for the tips. Stork boy, smell ya later.”

  -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

  Ishizu watched Phillip Jenson leave the room. Tilla Dubois followed behind him, shooting her a wary glance over her shoulder as she stepped through the doorway. Then Kounotori Tori departed, leaving Ishizu Ishtar alone in her office. The former two had accepted her deal, and the latter was already allied with her.

  Ishizu let out a soft breath. Even with knowledge of the future, she hadn't been certain if it would work. She’d hoped it would. Phillip Jenson… before the death of his friend, he had not been a man whose actions were easily predicted. After the death of Jean Dubois?

  He was a wildcard after that. An extremely dangerous and unstable one.

  So many possibilities had revealed themselves to her eyes after that one crucial event had transpired. It was a difference of night and day. Before, the future had been set in stone. After, the future was split like a broken glass mirror. Each shard held a different future depending on what was said here and now.

  One strand of fate led to Phil’s involvement in Battle City. That was the strand Ishizu had chosen to follow. One of the few that ensured there would be no conflict between her and Phillip Jenson, while still allowing a good chance for her brother’s safety. Her words, her actions, all of them were carefully chosen to guide the world along that single potential fate Ishizu had foreseen. The best possible fate that would lead to the best possible ending. For her, for Marik, for Phillip, Tilla, the Pharaoh, and everyone else. That was what mattered. That was her duty as the guardian of the Millennium Necklace. To guide fate for the betterment of all, as a gentle shepherd.

  There were many more threads besides that one. Another strand being followed would have led to this meeting ending with Ishizu lying in a pool of her own blood on the floor of her office. A third strand showed Tilla Dubois drawing the single-shot derringer concealed in her purse and coating one of the bookcases with Kounotori Tori's brain matter.

  And so on and so forth into such unfathomable, abyssal depths that the human mind could barely comprehend it all.

  But this one would provide the best ending for them all, provided all parties played their part. Or she hoped, for…

  Ishizu's eyes narrowed. For after the death of Jean Dubois, she was no longer able to directly scry the fate of Phillip Jenson. She could only see a single pink eye.

  An eye that could see her.

  -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

  Pegasus let out a tired sigh. He was alone now in his castle. All of the remaining duelists had departed. He’d destroyed the strange wards he had found in one of the back hallways of his domain, and his security forces were on high alert for any other members of the Sons of Kul Elna. That information hardly registered in his mind. It was nothing of note.

  For he, Maximillion Pegasus, had failed.

  He trudged back to his study with steps filled with exhaustion. The duel between himself and Yugi Muto had been brutal. He’d used every trick, every trap, every ability he could think of, and still Pegasus had found himself met with failure. Then there was the midnight duel with Phillip Jenson and his battle to the death against Purple Fall. One shadow duel after the other. Exhausting. So, terribly exhausting.

  The door to his study clicked open at his touch. It spread open to reveal a portrait of a certain woman, visible on the wall opposite the door.

  Cecelia.

  He stopped and sighed.

  Cecelia.

  And then he sighed again, but it was not out of his own volition. The breath had been driven from his lungs. Pegasus looked down to see the tip of a knife protruding from his chest. The metal of the blade was cold, but Pegasus barely felt it. Instead, he felt… drowsy. His vision tilted. His legs lost their strength, and he fell to the floor. A knife? How… he was weakened… but not weakened enough to fall to a mortal blade. Not this easily. His gasping lungs drew in air and then exhaled it from his mouth, where it formed a cloud of fog in the air. It was… so cold. So, very cold. Something had slowed his actions. Sapped his strength.

  "You should thank us." A boy emerged from the shadows under the portrait of Cecelia. His hair was white, and he wore a simple white shirt with blue horizontal stripes across it. Dangling from his neck was the Millennium Ring. All five of its edges were pointing right at Pegasus, right at his eye. His mouth opened in shock. He recognized the boy. But his mouth lacked the strength to voice the boy's name.

  “Yes, you should.” A man’s voice rang out from behind Pegasus. “We’re reuniting you with your dead wife. Now you can rot with her in the ground as food for the maggots.”

  “But first,” Ryou Bakura gave a chilling grin. He approached Pegasus and crouched down to his level. The boy’s hands reached to tap at his eye. Not his real eye, but his eye. The Millennium Eye. “I’ll take that. You won’t be needing it where you are going, haha.”

  The worst pain Pegasus had ever felt was the anguish of seeing his beloved Cecelia’s coffin lowered into the ground.

  The second worst pain Pegasus had ever felt was the agony of his eye being torn out to be replaced by the Millennium Eye.

  The third worst pain was now, as Ryou Bakura forced his fingers into Pegasus’s eye socket to rip out the ancient artifact. Pegasus could not even shout in pain, as his lungs…

  He couldn’t breathe. He was so, so cold. Cold and weak. Was this how Cecelia had felt before the end? Blood cascaded down his face from his eye. It soaked his shirt.

  His deed done, Bakura stood back up, a bloody gold orb clutched between his fingers. He brought it up to his mouth, licking the warm blood off its surface with sadistic glee.

  “Mhm. Delicious. Have fun, Blue Spring. Pleasure doing business. Now, I have a fishing boat to hijack.” He turned away, his footsteps moving toward the door to gradually fade away.

  “Say hi to Cecelia, won’t you?” Blue Spring’s voice giggled. Then there was the rasp of a blade being drawn against flesh.

  “Ah… Cecelia.” Pegasus managed to croak out. Her name was like sweet honey on his tongue. And being able to utter it before the end?

  That wasn’t so bad.

  A wrenching pain tore against Pegasus’s neck. His vision went black.

  And Maximillion Pegasus breathed his final breath.