tushanshu_logs | [Closed] I am the creator of darkness...

Entry tags:

[Closed] I am the creator of darkness...

Characters: Bakura & Solomon Wreath
Date: Various in late June & July
Location: Various around Keeliai.
Situation: A few different scenes, these two are becoming deathbros ~~everyone flee in terror~~. Contains followups to this thread as well.
Warnings/Rating: Addiction related references, general violence content, death.

Following their discussion during the Summer Jubilee festival, they arranged to meet on the outskirts of the Metal Sector after nightfall. Bakura had been planning to make this little excursion on his own and drop the results on Solomon where and when he didn't have the luxury of refusing, but this worked just as well. Bakura had names but more importantly, he had connections. The two kedan who had belonged to this gang were related, some variety of cousins if the thief had understood the far branching familial order of who he'd gotten the information from. They'd been arrested approximately a month before, and had been sentenced to around six months total imprisonment.

The biggest problem that Bakura anticipated was the fact that there were two gangs in Metal who were often at odds, and so it was a literal roll of the dice as to which ones they might run into first.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

At first Solomon was inclined to think that Asti's boon hadn't done much of anything. Even after the end of the festival, he didn't feel any different, and surely if the boon had worked he ought to have felt something by then.

The cold set in the day after he had lunch with Hayley. It could have just been an uncommonly chilly day, so Solomon didn't think much of it. At least, not until night. His sleep was restless, which wasn't entirely unusual; but all he dreamed about was death--the deaths littered throughout the city, belonging to humans and kedan and any other beings who had died. Sometimes in the recent past he had experienced such dreams--but never so intensely, so clearly, so consistently, and in such a manner that they made him wake with an intangible sort of ache he would have, under any other circumstance, called desire.

By the third night Solomon couldn't sleep at all. Every waking moment was filled with the sense of those deaths. He would find himself standing outside the hospital and watching in hungrily, and needing, and not remembering just when he'd decided to go there. It was during one of those times when he realised, with a lurching sort of dread, just what those feelings meant. He'd told Asti his magic was addictive, because it was. One couldn't have witnessed Vile's insanity and not known that, particularly not if one also discovered who Vile had been.

But it was one thing to know it--another to experience it. Even knowing, Solomon hadn't felt like an addict. The risk had been something to avoid in the future, not something happening in the present.

When he used his magic after that everything wavered between being painfully, cuttingly clear and clouded by a sort of crave Solomon had never before experienced. At first he thought, perhaps, he might be able to endure it without bothering anyone else--if he remained at home, and didn't speak to anyone who might irritate him unduly. It had to pass, surely. Withdrawal always passed.

Except that Marcelon came looking for him, agitated and demanding to know what was wrong, and at first all Solomon could think was--How powerful would a world-turtle's death be?

At which point Solomon shadow-walked right out of his room, shaken and craving all at once, and decided he really couldn't afford to wait until he was so turned around that he'd be willing to murder a world-turtle in the hope it might assuage the need. He needed a distraction. A large one. One that might help hasten the withdrawal along. Ergo, something that obliged him to use his magic in controlled circumstances, where someone of sufficient power would be able to stop him if necessary.

'I need your help,' was all his message to Bakura said--that and a location on the edge of the city, where there were fewer people and even fewer deaths in the vicinity. He felt ... agitated. Restless. He couldn't stop pacing, even as he waited.

The summons had come unexpectedly, both in timing and in origin, enough that Bakura considered only briefly what sort of help that Solomon might need before deciding it was best to see for himself. He leaves the Fire Sector and heads to the location, though not without laying a few safeguards around him in case this was a trap.

"Waheh-maw?"

Bakura's arrival was heralded by his ghosts first, and their presence made Solomon's heart pound. They weren't even protected by anything in particular, except their own viciousness and fury. It should have been hot; in any other comparison, it would have been hot. It wasn't--it was icy, and cutting, and for the first time since Solomon had met the man he felt as though there was a wall there, one he might be able to surmount if he only reached through it--

Solomon exhaled and clenched his fists hard enough to make his palms bleed, and only then turned to Bakura. "Good evening," he said, and if there was a strain in his voice, he didn't have enough pride left to care.

If anything other than a world-turtle's death can punch through Asti's boon ...

No. Solomon wasn't quite unhinged enough to risk making an enemy of Bakura--more to the point, he actually liked the man. Solomon didn't enjoy being controlled. He refused to be controlled by an addiction, if he had any say in it. He refused to be controlled into harming someone he did actually like, even if he didn't trust them.

"I need you to fight me," he said, and smiled sardonically. "Or try to kill me, if you can. I need to be ... distracted."

Something to push against, a reason to remain in control--it would be dangerous, but only in terms of his own will. Everything was too clear for him to do anything by accident. But if he had to endure this need for much longer without incentive not to give in, there were any number of things he could make happen by wanting.

Everything was wrong about Solomon when Bakura saw him: the tension in his frame, the lack of control in his voice that the thief saw only as abnormal, having not known the necromancer in anything other than in control. The only lapse had been when he'd first prodded the Kul Elna ghosts and seen their origin, enough that he had called up shadows to support him, but this was different. This was internal of some kind, not external.

"Distracted," he echoed skeptically. even as the Ring stirred in response to his wariness. "This is hardly help that you need, to ask that. I should throw a few Meteors at you and then be on my way?"

This was a matter beyond laughing, but Solomon smiled almost savagely, almost amused. "If that is how you'd like to begin, certainly." Though even Bakura, apparently, required something more of an explanation to understand just what Solomon was asking. "I told you before that magic in my world comes with a price. For Necromancers, that price is chaos."

... He had to move. The ghosts, the magic, the need--it was in his skin, making him jittery. Like an itch he couldn't scratch, no matter how hard he tried. He paced along the street, because at least it was something to do, and it was some mild distraction in its own fashion.

Previously, shadows had seemed drawn toward him, even if in minor ways--blurring at the edges where he was near, creeping closer like hesitant puppies. Now, no matter where Solomon walked, they were still and sharp. Sleeping.

"Usually we filter our magic through items to prevent being consumed by it," he said, and reached a wall and turned back. "Mine was broken shortly before I arrived here. In return for caring for his sibling, Asti offered me a more permanent and intangible buffer between magic and insanity." He stopped and ran his hands through his hair, and laughed. It wasn't hysterical--but it wasn't precisely controlled, either. "I just didn't consider the bloody withdrawal."

Items didn't come with a withdrawal. He'd assumed, if anything, Asti's boon might reflect that effect--not this.

The ghosts tried to encroach, curious about this strange development in the other one who knew them but Bakura held them back, his eyes narrowing. "Don't," he addressed them, drawing them protectively to himself where hopefully they'd be safer. "He's djahtet-mahr."

It was a term that Solomon might have heard when he'd spent time in the Egyptian Temple, particularly if he'd heard any of them speak of magic gone awry. The first part meant literally that something had gone wrong but the modifier on the word was essentially wretched, as if to underscore the seriousness of it. It wasn't just something that was wrong so much as Wrong, in the same sense of ma'at meaning Right, not used as an adjective so much as a concept... and not a good one.

And a djahtet-mahr necromancer was a serious threat.

Solomon had heard the phrase once, and read it more, but had never had it defined for him. He knew what it meant from context, though, and that was enough. He smiled, the sort of savage smile of a man on an edge and refusing to jump off. "Quite. That is why I came to you. I'm not such a fool to knowingly make an enemy of a man such as you, Bakura, but believe me when I say that if I lose my head, your kinsmen will be the ones to suffer."

Leaving aside the fact that Bakura was some sort of ally, Solomon wasn't the sort to kick a man when he was down, and the ghosts had suffered more than enough already. He simply didn't want to abuse them any further.

"I need a distraction," he went on, "potentially one that will work through the rest of my withdrawal more expediently. If I succeed, you will still have someone of use to you in the city--" This was accompanied with a sardonic sort of smile, an acknowledgement of the nature of their partnership. "--and if I fail, you will already be in the most optimal position to remove the threat to you and your kinsmen."

Not that Solomon wanted to die, but if he did he likely wouldn't stay that way. And if it took more than a death to reset his magic or end the withdrawal, Bakura would be capable of that too, with his 'shadow realm'. If it came to that then Skulduggery would notice Solomon's absence and investigate, and his suspicion of Bakura might be enough to prompt him to try and recover Solomon from the outside, even if Solomon couldn't somehow break Bakura's magic from within. It was the best situation Solomon could conceive--not precisely a safety net, but enough of one that even if things went badly wrong he might still be able to come out without having lost too much control.

It was such a practical pitch and yet Bakura was still angry, even while he heard the reasoning, even while he agreed with the reasoning. How dare Solomon threaten the ghosts to get what he wanted! But it was the protective sort of anger, not the type to cloud judgment and so Bakura pulled out the Ring from beneath his shirt, giving Solomon a view of the Item properly for the first time. The sharp gold spires jangled slightly as if the object could sense the coming fight.

"Then a distraction you'll have," he responded, though his tone was cold rather than challenging. The ever-present and low-level feeling of dark energy that was consistently around him suddenly surged, the same that Solomon had sensed in the aftermath of the Miracle Dig performed on the Water sector building.

"I summon Maha Vailo to attack," he said and the blue robed spellcaster materialized from seemingly nothing -- though from Solomon's perception, it did indeed come through from the khajbit -- and raised an ornate sword before charging across the distance toward Solomon, ready to cut him down.

The shape of the Ring was so impractical that there had to be more behind its powers than just as some sort of channeling item, but Solomon didn't spare all that much time to consider it. He'd already known Bakura had an item, and from where he'd gotten it, and when Bakura used it, it felt enough like a Necromantic item that Solomon had no intention of touching the thing.

Touching a Necromantic item without permission was a literal death sentence, after all.

Solomon smiled as the khajbit parted around the robed summon. It wasn't alive, not in the sense of being flesh-and-blood, but there was something in its magic which felt almost like it had soul. Or a shadow of a soul. Solomon watched the creature charge with dark eyes, and then reached out for the shadows as he'd been wanting all day.

They rushed across the ground and caught Vailo's sword, and smothered the creature until light turned the shadows sharp. It felt almost like resistance.

Undaunted as the first summon quickly succumbed to Solomon's shadows, Bakura was ready with a second one. The Vailo had been taken out too quickly to be used as a tribute summon for a stronger creature which meant Bakura had to start over but he was willing to try something a little more cause and effect to deal with the necromancer's control over shades.

"Light Effigy, sign of attack," he smirked and this time rather than an actual boded monster, the air became full of swirling orbs and tracers of pure light. Certainly not the sort of thing that would seem to come from a place called the Shadow Realm, it would certainly appear that Bakura's summonings held no common theme until it was discovered that the summoning itself was the link.

A second flex of power as this time, he set a Trap card as well. It was for something specific, but it never hurt to be prepared.

The abrupt light was something like having a fire-work lit off in near vicinity, and for a moment Solomon was blinded. He closed his eyes and hissed through his teeth and raised his arms, and felt the cutting lines between the light and the darkness as if they were being traced across his soul.

The ghosts were still there, but in comparison to that light they were, well, a shadow--a source of potential power but almost uninteresting. The clash between light and darkness felt like stretching a muscle Solomon hadn't used in a very long time. It didn't in the least bit assuage his cravings, but that didn't matter--it felt good.

Shadows wheeled around the swirl of the orbs, the tracers that Bakura summoned, a counterpoint more than an attack. For a few moments it was a dancing interplay of yin and yang, stark against one another and sharp-edged in a manner that went beyond the physical. Then Solomon clapped his hands together once and the shadows grew over the light, and snuffed them out.

Solomon's breathing had deepened but his eyes had brightened with the sort of fierce pleasure of someone who was finally freed from some sort of restraint. The shadows around him had been cut to ribbons--even his own had left him--so he stood in a clearing that lasted until there was a shift in a light-source beyond them and the shadows bled back into existence without the influence of magic.

Now that he had a better understanding of what Solomon's magic was capable of, Bakura knew the next move was a solid one. "Time to make this a little more interesting," he spoke, and for a moment his voice seemed to echo all around the pair. The air rapidly darkened and turned murky and seconds later, they were somewhere else entirely. Grotesque eyes and mouths opened all around them as if unworldy spectators had come to view this match.

"You wanted to see the khajbit," Bakura said. "You wanted to know how you'd do here, it was written on your face when you asked about it. It seems you'll get to test it sooner than you were anticipating."

He extended a hand to the space separating them and a new creature materialized there, this one a diseased looking wolf with patches of bone and rot covering its body, obviously dead and reanimated. It was a calculated summon, though it might not have seemed that way as the thief sent it snarling at Solomon without waiting to see his reaction.

Solomon didn't even need to glance around; there was no need to. When he sent his shadows into the khajbit they had seemed to something else--under his control, but not entirely. He felt that pressure now and it sent his heart pounding and skin prickling with goosebumps, and he laughed.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this alive.

There wasn't much time in-between the summoning and the attack to do anything but react, and that wasn't the same either. This place was of shadows, but a different sort to what he knew. Filled with death but at the same time less willing to that power back. With a surprised grunt Solomon twisted away from the wolf, his shadows responding too slow. He should have been expected them not to respond as easily.

He knew that the wolf was reanimated--knew that Bakura had summoned it for a reason, because Bakura was not the type to forget just where Solomon's power lay. But channelling shadows was difficult in a place made for them, unwilling to give them over. Taking control of a zombie was easier, and Solomon didn't have the time to choose.

Solomon stretched out his hand and clenched it, and there was a pulse of darkness around him and the wolf both, and without pausing to considers its strength he pressed his will on it and he ordered, "Stop."

The wolf stumbled mid-stride giving a surprised, pained yelp as it was hit with two conflicting imperatives: attack and stop. The laugh only cemented just how close Solomon appeared to breaking, and for all his confidence Bakura knew he still had to be careful. A necromancer's abilities would still work here -- the wolf evident of that -- and his ghosts had different types of vulnerability in this place.

"I doubt you're strong enough to take control of it from me," he said, using his own willpower to press back against Solomon's.

This was a place of willpower. Shadows were numerous and unlimited--Necromancers could pool their power, but there was very rarely any need to clash on a level such as this. Solomon had done it; it was how he'd wrested control of the White Cleaver from Serpine.

He already knew the wolf wasn't all that strong a body--and Bakura, for all his ghosts and dying, wasn't a Necromancer himself. The taunt was hardly worth speaking, but Bakura had done so. There was reason behind it, that much was obvious, and yet--and yet Solomon couldn't care. It was unwise to retaliate in a way your opponent encouraged. He knew it, even as he laughed again and pushed back, and took control of the wolf to send it back at Bakura.

The wolf shook its head as if to push away the last influences of Bakura's commands from it's mind; under the rules of the Shadow Realm, which so closely mimicked those rules which had been incorporated into the game, taking control of the opponent's monster was definitely a recognized move.

As was sending it to attack its original owner, and that was the scenario Bakura had preemptively placed the Trap for. "Kunai with Chain!" he spoke, and a heavy metal chain appeared. When an opponent's monster attacks: Target the attacking monster; change that target to Defense Position. The chain snagged the wolf by the neck and hauled it back to Solomon's side where it crouched, growling threateningly but, as specified, in a defensive position to protect the necromancer rather than attack.

"Stealing from a thief, you are getting bold."

It was obvious there were more complicated rules here than Solomon had been assuming. He hadn't lost control of the wolf, per se--but its actions were being enforced by something outside his control.

It was equally obvious Bakura had been prepared--though just how he'd been prepared, Solomon didn't know. There were things here that had names, and he didn't know what those names were. But he didn't quite feel as though it mattered, either. He set aside a part of his mind to keep the wolf under thrall and smiled. "And here I thought it was a gift, you offered it to me so readily."

But was that all Solomon could do? If Bakura could manipulate parts of this realm--why couldn't Solomon? He could still feel a bloom of power--a 'death', as it were. Solomon reached out his hand and drew it up, and the same creature Bakura had first sent to attack him gathered itself from the 'floor' of the khajbit, but its uniform was tattered and decaying, and its face mostly empty eye-sockets and thinning skin.

Watching Solomon summon Maha Vailo back to the field -- albeit an undead variant, in true necromancer fashion -- Bakura felt something almost akin to pride at how fast the man was picking up the mechanics of a duel despite not knowing what he was playing. But he had the right instinct for it and, were he a little more prone to fancy phrasings like the damned Pharaoh was, would say that Solomon probably was another who could sense the heart of the cards.

For now however, it was time to show the necromancer exactly what sort of cost playing a shadow game really took.

"Not a gift," he smirked. "Just a loan, to take it off my side for a few moments-- and now I'm calling it back. Activate Owner's Seal, to return what is mine."

The instant it activated, all of Solomon's influence was violently shoved out of the wolf's mind and it rose, trotting across the murky blackness to stand in front of Bakura once again. The now-undead spellcaster wavered but in this form it was no longer a controlled monster but a new one and stayed faithfully in front of Solomon, which the thief seemed to have anticipated and actually worked better for him.

"And call upon the Plague Wolf's special ability to double its strength of attack temporarily." Though there were no holographic counters to display, the beast's form rippled and grew, becoming so large it stood nearly as tall as the two men. Elongated fangs sprouted from its jaws, fur along its back bristling into dangerous looking spikes and Bakura

"Normally this special ability would expire, killing the creature from the strain. But like outside of this realm, we always use whatever advantages we have. No matter how useful someone might be, no matter how well you know and can predict them, they can always become fodder if need be. And so I'm sacrificing the wolf--" The canine was seized as if by giant but invisible hands that pulled it apart while it howled. "--for Great Maju Garzett, sign of attack."

A hulking, carmine figure rose in place of the wolf, horned and roaring so loud that it seemed to vibrate the air. As a fiend instead of a zombie, it was far less susceptible to Solomon's necromatic influence, though not immune which was why Bakura had plans for it immediately. It towered over the reanimated spellcaster in front of Solomon. "And Garzett's own special ability allows it to take on double the strength of whatever monster was sacrificed to summon it."

Which, thanks to Plague Wolf's boost in attack, would make 4000 attack points... his mind supplies, though in this place that's all relative.

"Attack his Maha Vailo!"

Definitely rules. No wonder Bakura had likened it to a game, earlier--no wonder the magicians of the past used it so. It was at once a game and not; like being in a stadium, or a coliseum, fighting for one's life. It was ... exhilarating.

The sensation of being shoved out of the wolf's head, without warning or the power to resist, was like a slap in the face--sudden and startling enough to make Solomon flinch, but unharmful. The pressure in Solomon's skin made it hard to stop and think clearly, and he wasn't sure whether that was because of the khajbit or his own need for action. But that slap helped, and he had to--now that it was becoming clear just how much he didn't know.

At least Bakura seemed willing to explain ... somewhat. Spells, special abilities, monsters--it was like a children's card game, but taken to reality and far more dangerous.

Solomon looked up at the second monster, and even with the hot flush of adrenaline he felt the chill of an inkling at just how out of depth he was.

"Ah," he said, and then threw up his hands, and willed more power to his monster. He wasn't sure how, and he could feel that it wasn't a condition that would last, but in another few moments that wouldn't matter. Zombie Maha Vailo's eye-sockets glowed yellow and something glowed in its hands, and its robes billowed.

It wasn't enough. The Great Maju Garzett tore Zombie Maha Vailo apart from the chest out. Solomon screamed and bent over his chest, feeling as though Bakura's monster had torn something out of him. The pressure all around him heightened and for a moment Solomon's body thrummed; then he mustered the strength to push it all back, and grit his teeth as he straightened. "Ow."

He caught his breath, and then laughed. It was half incredulous, half not. "You did warn me in your own way, I suppose."

His heart pounded. It still hurt, but when he pressed a hand to his chest everything was still there--intact. For now. What happened if he didn't have a monster to defend him? What happened if he was killed here?

Somehow, Solomon suspected it would be far more difficult to escape than he had originally envisioned. But he couldn't afford to take risks, either--not when he was so ignorant. There were obviously more 'modes' than just to attack. Bakura had forced the wolf into a defensive position. Logic dictated that would be safer until Solomon could figure out more of the game's rules--provided he could summon a suitable monster. Who said he could only reanimate ones Bakura had killed? He shouldn't trust those, apparently.

Something with high defensive capability, perhaps. Most likely a zombie; maybe he could add his power to theirs in some longer-lasting fashion than in desperation.

Solomon fixed those conditions in his head and stretched out his hand again, and willed for the khajbit to give him a defender. At once the world around him pressed back, and it set his heart pounding. He growled and commanded it to do what he asked, and a stone throne jutted up from the shadows, upon which sat a skeleton clad in lady's clothes.

But it felt different, now. As though there were eyes upon him. Definitely a coliseum.

Great Maju Garzett returned to its place in front of Bakura at the end of the attack, even as he identified, "Berserk Scales," so that Solomon could at least put a name to the the glowing force he'd summoned. And it had certainly lessened the blow, though the man's scream evidenced he was now very aware of just how visceral playing a shadow game could become. He waits, doing nothing more than ending his turn to give Solomon a moment to gather himself and put together the pieces.

And he does, admirably so, and the next move is both inspired and textbook as if Solomon knew the game itself. "The Lady in Wight," he commented. "Clever, though I'm not certain Skulduggery would approve."

The defensive monster was actually quite ingenious and while Garzett was certainly capable of tearing through it as well, in defense mode it would make little difference and would, thanks to its own special ability, actually be nearly as problematic even once defeated.

"Then I'll give you another warning, waheh-maw. Part of getting what you want is giving something of yourself up. I use Destruction Ring, to destroy Great Maju Garzett." A heavy metal band that looked half collar, half pipebomb fastened itself around the fiend and exploded a moment later. Destroy 1 face-up monster on your side of the field to inflict 1000 points of damage to both players' Life Points.

Bakura was ready for the damage but it was still enough for him to grip his side, as if he'd taken an actual blast there. It lasts only a moment; practiced as he is at this, he straightens again a mere moment later. Now he had no monsters protecting him, though Solomon's Lady couldn't attack... the necromancer would need to summon something else.

This time Solomon was more prepared for the blow, though barely. He managed not to scream, at least, though he was definitely breathing a little harder, and his head felt like it was ringing for a few moments after. Not just a battle between generals--this sort of game took everything from the commander too. It was the commander who stood the longest who won.

He really ought to have asked what happened to the ones that lost, but then Solomon remembered Bakura describing the khajbit as being a place where one could be lost forever. An explanation probably wasn't necessary, really.

Solomon caught his breath and lifted an eyebrow. "That didn't seem like a worthwhile investment."

It had hurt, yes, but it had hurt Bakura as well, and that monster had been powerful. There didn't seem to be a point in sacrificing it for relative pittance. Yet Solomon also wouldn't be surprised if Bakura was in it for the game rather than to explicitly win. Certainly he was giving Solomon room to breathe, so he wasn't out to kill him quickly. Either way Solomon couldn't tell exactly what the motive was--and that made it extra difficult to tell what Bakura's strategy might be. Except, of course, that the man wasn't too concerned about his own state of health. That said a great deal about his experience.

Solomon looked at the Lady in Wight, and she turned her head to look at him back with black holes for eyes. He couldn't help but laugh. "Likely not, but I'm not concerned with what he thinks."

There had to be something for which he could use this monster. Bakura had called summoning her 'clever', but Solomon doubted that simply summoning a monster in defence was anything other than standard. That meant there was something special about this monster--this one in particular. And he didn't have any idea what it was, except that Bakura had declined to destroy it.

"What are your abilities, Lady in Wight?" Solomon asked impulsively, and the sounds of her name echoed around them. She inclined her head, and the answer came more in images than words. The Lady casting, being, a magical barrier defending monsters from physical attacks and magic both, with only one weakness: herself. In cold death a sense of being part of a greater whole, a powerful whole, if the numbers were there.

The khajbit wouldn't rely on a magician explicitly being a Necromancer, which meant that power must be used by a monster. Solomon smiled. "Thank you."

In that event what he needed were other monsters of the like--probably also skeletons, if their similarities were to add to the power-pool of another. This place really was a shadow; malleable, filled with endless shapes and capacities. Extraordinary.

Solomon considered the Lady, thinking and breathing evenly, taking the moments he had to fit the pieces of his surroundings together with his options. There were so many options--many in the shadows of Solomon's ignorance, but still able to be used through intent. It was magic at its purest, at its most versatile, and one of the reasons why Solomon had chosen the magic he had.

Bakura had laid some sort of delayed spell earlier ... like a trap. Whatever hasty spell Solomon had used to defend himself had been on the fly, but it had depended on his quickness of mind at the time. A trap would be more solid. There were likely many ways to stop an attack, but his best bet would be to stick to his strengths rather than get creative, and the very nature of his magic dictated that he could reanimate monsters to fight on his behalf. What he needed was to ... reserve some of his magic for later, if he needed it.

Solomon held those facts forefront and willed the khajbit around him to obey, and the ground at his feet pulsed once. He could feel the magic in it--reanimation magic, ready for use at any moment. Either way, he needed more of his forces on the field, if only to sacrifice them for something stronger. If not, as a defence. Had Bakura set another trap? Solomon couldn't be certain; he hadn't seen the first be laid.

Something simple. Something else he could use to boost his power, if he needed. Something related to the Lady. The shadows of the 'ground' split and a skeleton crawled from it, hooded and cloaked. A pity it wasn't wearing a hat and a suit. Either way, it was in a defense position--theoretically, Solomon oughtn't be harmed if anything happened to it while he figured out his next move.

Edited 2014-07-09 07:14 (UTC)

It was interesting to watch name magic at work in this place; there was a version of it that Bakura used too, in knowing the names of these creatures, in knowing their strengths and weaknesses and abilities, but it wasn't name magic in the most strict sense -- what Solomon had just used was something much closer to it.

"I call on Newdoria, sign of attack," Bakura stated and the gangly, hunchbacked fiend appeared before him. In a regular duel, its relatively low attack power would make it a target but its special ability was an asset. When destroyed, it could take any monster with it. Skull Servant on Solomon's side was safe, but the Lady wasn't.

Newdoria was, however, too weak to break through her defense... and besides, Bakura wanted to see what the necromancer was planning. Instead he gestured to Solomon as if to say, your move..

Ah. A waiting game, then. That could almost be as problematic--it was impossible to escape the tightness of the khajbit's presence around him. It took effort to push back, and even compartmentalised Solomon was aware that it was sapping his energy.

But Solomon wasn't going to let that force him into an unwise move. Bakura had sacrificed his monster in order to summon a more powerful one. Were there limits to such a thing? Most likely. If it was anything like an army--loosely speaking--then there would be a hierarchy, which meant that more underlings would be needed to draw a more powerful monster.

Or perhaps not. Bakura had summoned something extremely powerful with only one monster. Still ... still. Solomon could sense a link between the monsters he had already. More surely couldn't hurt, and it would only benefit him soon. They weren't difficult to summon. Another robed skeleton joined the first, and Solomon nodded back to Bakura.

A bit anticlimactic, Bakura thought dryly. He had to force the Necromancer's hand, literally, since there was much less of an actual need to obey field spaces in this place. He had a fairly good idea of what Solomon might be after, possibly moreso than his opponent himself did, but ultimately this was less about teaching the mechanics of a shadow duel and more about bringing to bear what it actually demanded.

His ghosts, just a shimmer less than invisible here so that they left wispy intangible trails around him, thrummed in anticipation.

"You think so much like everyone else, waheh-maw," Bakura said with a shake of his head, almost pityingly. "To believe that if you put up enough defense: walls, guards, traps, that you can keep anyone out. That you can lock truths away. You did the same with your own heka and look where it's gotten you. Having to ask someone like me for help? Shadowslayer," he added and the named monster appeared not in front of him as always before... but directly behind Solomon, long katana-like sword raised and ready.

If all monsters your opponent controls are in Defense Position, this card can attack your opponent directly.

"Attack."

The last thing Solomon was a lecture. Though, he supposed, he couldn't begrudge Bakura the chance for that considering the rather threatening warning he himself had made. But the comment made Solomon frown and he opened his mouth to answer, and then stopped.

No monster in front of Bakura. Therefore the monster had to be--

Solomon whirled and the katana sliced into his chest, and Solomon's body lurched, all the air escaping his lungs. The sword was withdrawn a moment later and Solomon coughed and almost fell, but didn't, and when his hand flattened against his chest there was no mark there. His legs still felt shaky as he straightened up, and his breathing was ragged. His body pounded. That probably wasn't a good sign.

He coughed again and then closed his eyes, and took control of his breathing. He was used to this sort of pressure--not so constant, but still, he was used to it. It wouldn't take him so easily. After a moment he turned back to Bakura, control reasserted.

"I won't be controlled," he said, very quietly. "Not even by my own magic." He smiled. "Besides, you say that as though my asking you for help was a last resort." Bakura may not be trustworthy, but in this instant his trustworthiness wasn't needed. Just his personality.

But the rest ... the rest was either a warning or a threat, and Solomon couldn't tell which.

"What you see as defensiveness might only be one step in a plan," Solomon pointed out, and pointed at both the cloaked skeletons. He wanted something more powerful than what he had--certainly something more powerful than what Bakura had. The skeletons fell apart into nothing and what clawed out of the shadows was, unexpectedly--another skeleton.

It was a more powerful one. Solomon could feel that. But he could also feel it drawing on the power of the ones he had just sacrificed, as if it needed their strength to be powerful at all. That wasn't precisely what he'd asked for ... but the command had been somewhat vague, he supposed, out of necessity. He didn't know specifics to ask.

He nodded at the skeleton to attack Bakura's assassin-monster, and yet, in a prickle on the back of his neck, still felt as though something was off.

[Closed] I am the creator of darkness...

DUEL | sometime early in the second week of July

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