Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh, and all people, places, and events from the original Yu-Gi-Oh! were written and are the rightful property of Kazuki Takahashi (as it should be; if any of us fanfiction writers get our little hands on it... well, then it wouldn't be Yu-Gi-Oh!).

Author’s Note: … (stares at the last time she updated).

(whacks herself on the head a few times with her tennis racket)

OMGWTFICBIHABSLSIUTFIASABTYA!!

Gomen, gomen, gomen times infinity and beyond! I am SO sorry, loves! This kind of abandonment is completely unforgivable. Feel free to totally bash me in your next review if you feel like it—I obviously deserve it.

I feel like a total biotch for letting all my fanfics go like this. Then again, my life seems to have sucked these last one and a half years, so who’s to know? I suppose that doesn’t really give me an excuse to go on hiatus for about a year….

Ahem. Anyways, ARIGATOU REVIEWERS! You guys are the best devoted fans any authoress could ask for (sniff). Now, let’s get down to business before I completely go fangirl on you all.

Okay, for one, let me promise all of you one thing: YUGI IS NOT DEAD, NOR IS HE GOING TO DIE ANYTIME SOON. I doubt I’m really so heartless as to kill the little guy off… though, I do have some tendencies to make a sudden 180 in the middle of a story (keeps ya’ll guessing… and me too). How he is otherwise, however, is left VERY questionable… hehehehehehe….

And who said HE was the one who was going to die, anyways? (tremble, readers… you have NO idea what’s in store!)

Peeps who love me and I loves them back: ray1, SeleneXAngel, Isis the Sphinx, kunoichi’s Anzu 4ever, Hikari2, Jessica Morgan, spiritfire, ANZU&ATEMU FAN, Volume 5, shadow-fox313, LaZella, lark lover, Elfbrat18, Dancers and Pharaohs, Anyoo Princess of Shadows, murray, coolbreezes, Michelle Atemu’s friend, PharaohYamifan, Jna-chan Gaibomaster XP, AngeloflightPd, murray, White Dragon Girl, lynnwoo, t recorder, jing-er, Ruize, ELLE 31773 and, as I am VERY pleased to announce, my younger sister has FINALLY reviewed this story after many months and seventy chapters of waiting… the adorable but vicious Spirit Chu!! (she has some cute stuff if you ever feel like checking it out… go visit her profile sometime)

Um, so… freshly baked cookies for reviewers, cuz you all rock. For the rest of you… REVIEW! I may have been gone for a while but Ra-damnit, if you’ve read this far I think it’s about time you said something, like, oh I dunno… “I LOVE THIS FIC!” or words to that degree.

Read on and be amazed at my overabundance of filler chapter!

#2 Author’s Note: Thoughts in italics, as well as (if y’all remember correctly) events in the Afterlife (hmm, guess what happens in THIS chapter, eh?)

Revival of the Heart

By: Angel’s Nocturne

Chapter 72: No Longer the Same….

Priest Seth marched down the dimly lit hallways of the palace, his robes billowing behind him as he sharply turned corner after corner. The light of the torches barely illuminated his path, but his mind was preoccupied with matters of greater importance than the lighting in this replica of their home. Right now, he couldn’t even relax, the tension flowing off him in waves as he stiffly trudged onward in the semi-darkness.

Maahado’s apprentice had sounded urgent when she said the King Akhenamkhanen and Siamun wanted to speak to them. From what Mana briefly exchanged it had something to do with the absence of their Pharaoh, Atemu. Seth had taken notice of his cousin’s sudden disappearance. He hadn’t thought to question his unease until Mana made it clear that something was amiss.

What could it be this time? Seth pondered as he continued through the dark corridors, silent save the soft thud of his footsteps echoing against the stone walls and swish of his priest robes in the stale air. I know my cousin has been in a troubled state since he arrived here—he worries for his friends in the living far more than he needs to. However, that could hardly explain what all the fuss is about now ….

“Lord Seth?” The brunet priest turned to meet the worried gaze of his love. Kisara stood only inches behind him, as she had been trying to keep up with his determined pace but failing. His pause allowed her to finally return to his side, and in the dull lighting her sapphire eyes burned with a mystic radiance of their own. The light of the White Dragon, Seth surmised.

He nodded sternly, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I am well, don’t worry. My mind has simply jumped to conclusions that give me some cause for concern.” Thinking the conversation over, he faced forward again to persist onward, but Kisara’s voice penetrated the stillness.

“You are concerned for the Pharaoh,” she announced. Her tone was calm and sure, different from her usual meekness. “You believe that something has befallen him. Something of great distress.”

The priest was amazed at how receptive the girl could be; it was strange to him, how she seemed to know what he was thinking and feeling, without him ever saying a word to her about it. Then again, their close bond was like a link between their spirits, and the priest understood the value of that connection; Kisara would always know where his heart and mind were, no matter how much he tried to hide it behind a wall of arrogance or reserve. Seth glanced back, but only for a moment before returning his gaze forward, towards his destination. “I cannot be worried that our Pharaoh is in danger, for I still do not know what it is that Siamun has called us for. One cannot fret over something they haven’t yet discovered.” He began to tread forward, knowing Kisara would follow. “You heard what Mana said. The sooner we hear what King Akhenamkhanen and Siamun have to say, the sooner I may worry about whatever it is that is happening.”

The sound of Kisara’s hurried footsteps falling in synch with his own told him he had finished the discussion. The light-skinned woman didn’t speak much, so it was usually refreshing when she did. This time, though, Seth had too much weighing on his thoughts, and though the silver-haired foreigner had hit a bull’s eye in her assumption, he didn’t feel it right to open up about his disquiet.

He had much of it, and it was all directed on Atemu’s strange nonattendance.

The young Egyptian wasn’t the only one to be troubled about their Pharaoh’s well-being—if Atemu was trying to hide how depressed he was, he wasn’t being at all successful. Everyone could feel it as if it were a tangible pressure emanating from his person; he didn’t have to say anything of it for the others to be aware.

Seth had felt uneasy about his cousin’s ill manner, but not nearly as much as his fellow priests. He knew Isis and Maahado were two of the most worried, but despite their obvious alarm no one made any move to do or say anything to the young Pharaoh about it. They had hoped that it was a simple bout of homesickness from Atemu’s previous residence among the living and that it would pass after a time.

But our waiting was in vain. Seth scowled at the thought, hoping he was wrong. Now something has happened, and it may very well be that Atemu is in trouble. He couldn’t help but remember how anxious Mana seemed to pass on Siamun’s orders. Whatever they wished to discuss in the king’s chambers, it was of great importance.

After another few twists and turns, Seth and Kisara arrived at Akhenamkhanen’s quarters. The room was still as grand and decorated as it had been in life, a flawless reflection of their memory of home. Upon entering, the chestnut-haired youth spotted the other priests—Shaada and Isis were already there and speaking with the former Pharaoh and Siamun, whose backs were to him and Kisara. The two were talking to their king in rushed, pressing voices, too preoccupied to notice their entrance; he would not have felt bothered by this, except for the pained expressions they wore as Akhenamkhanen nodded in answer.

Seth rigidly approached, a part of him secretly hoping that they weren’t as disconcerted as he thought. If something could make the High Priests this unsettled, it had to be very bad. Kisara lingered behind him, her face scrunched in apprehension as she unconsciously placed a hand on Seth’s shoulder for comfort, but it did little to ease the man’s growing anxiety. He doubted anything could at this point.

“What is all of this about?” he asked.

Akhenamkhanen wheeled around, followed by Siamun. Isis and Shaada both looked over at him, almost surprised by his sudden intrusion, before they averted their gazes from him awkwardly.

Akhenamkhanen cleared his throat. “Seth, Kisara.” He gestured for them to come closer, the frown lines etched deeply around his mouth. The atmosphere of the room was clearly reflected in his appearance and was eating away at him. “I am glad the two of you could come so swiftly. Have you seen Priest Karim and Priest Maahado?”

Before Seth could open his mouth to reply a voice rang out from the entrance. “Right here, my King.” Seth took a quick glance behind him to see the two priests in question, as well as Mana, emerging from the dark hallway, rushing in as quickly as they could manage without sprinting into a run. “I apologize for out lateness,” Maahado added, looking a little disheveled. “We came here as soon as we received word from Mana.”

“I didn’t tell them much,” Mana interjected, pulling her skirt down a little as it had hiked up during their dash, “but I got everyone over here as fast as I could.”

“What has happened, my Pharaoh?” Karim asked. His eyes flitted nervously to Isis and Shaada, who looked at him with fearful eyes. “The way Mana spoke it sounded as if Pharaoh Atemu was in some sort of trouble. Please, is this true?”

Akhenamkhanen sighed heavily, his body sagging a bit with the effort. Though their forms were no longer aging and bodily nuisances were unheard of, that didn’t stop the stress of the situation from taking a toll on him. Seth noticed the deep lines etched in his uncle’s forehead, the permanent furrowing of his brow. The sensation of guilt radiating from the elder man was so substantial Seth swore he it enveloped him like a cloud.

“Your concern is not unjustified,” he began, looking at Seth. They locked gazes for a second, before continuing. “I am sure you have taken note of my son’s behavior. He worries for the living world, which is not a groundless concern—you are all also aware of what is happening there, I take it?”

“Yes, but what does any of that have to do with him not being here?” Seth quickly questioned. “Let us get to the point: where is he?”

Kisara’s hand moved down from his shoulder to the nook of his arm, gripping it tightly. “Seth….”

His uncle raised up his hand for silence. “Please, my nephew, we shall get to that. I know you are as anxious as the rest to know why I have called you here, and you will receive your answers. Have patience.”

“But—” Seth started, intending to argue further, but seeing the worried look on Kisara’s face as well as the others, he slumped his shoulders and bit his lip. This wasn’t the time to quarrel among themselves, especially if Atemu’s fate was involved. Akhenamkhanen waited to be sure that Seth was finished, before surveying the others in the room.

“What is happening amid the living is an event of catastrophic evil,” the elderly Pharaoh persisted. “I am certain you can all sense it—a growing darkness that is plaguing those of that realm. Atemu was worried for his companions, knowing that they would be the first to fight such an evil if it ever manifested—however, he did not know what was the cause of this destruction… and it was perhaps rightly so that he didn’t.”

“Then who or what is the maker of this dark energy?” Karim inquired uncertainly. “The energy pattern is distinctly familiar to me, but the memory is vague. It can’t be…Zorc Necrophades?”

Akhenamkhanen shook his head. “No, Zorc Necrophades still remains locked within the Puzzle, and pray to the Gods that is where he’ll stay.” He paused, taking in a shaky breath. The others watched restlessly, hanging on his every word, waiting for the news they all came to hear. “The enemy that has appeared, however, is one you will recall. And she may be more dangerous than even Zorc himself.”

A collective hush fell over the priests like a crowd. Finally Seth found the nerve to break it, his confusion channeled into annoyance and anger.

“What are you saying?” he exclaimed, his eyes wide. “A woman even more treacherous than a God? How could someone be that powerful and yet we don’t remember her?” His mind was running a mile a minute, sifting through his memories to identify the person his uncle spoke of. Surely someone with that kind of power would be committed to memory! He ran through as much as he could recall of his living life, but to no avail, the description of the woman in question still eluded him.

Who could hold that kind of control? Seth thought, astonished.And someone I have met before as well… I should know who she is! Why is it that I cannot remember her…?

Karim stepped forward, his face contorted in a similar air of shock and perplexity. “Yes, my King,” he whispered hastily, “please, who is this person that you speak of? This energy that plagues the living, I know I recognize it. There’s some familiar essence that my mind fails to name… please, we must know. What is this danger and how do we stop it?”

Akhenamkhanen opened his mouth as if to speak, but then closed it. His ancient eyes turned away, as if the words were too painful for him to speak. Siamun placed a hand on his shoulder, watching with concern.

“Just a name, my King,” Maahado encouraged.

The room lay thick with apprehension and silence. At last Siamun, shaking his head, turned to face the rest of the High Priests. “My Pharaoh, perhaps it would be best if I told them—”

“No,” Akhenamkhanen said sharply. His tired gaze fell over his audience, and the weight upon his shoulders felt heavier than it had ever been. For the first time in over a millennia, he felt the longing for his wife’s arms around him, consoling him. His heart ached slightly—he never had a chance to do the same for her.

“… Samira,” he finally said. “That is the name you seek. Samira.”

YxAxYxAxYxAxYxAxYxAxYxAxYxA

Samira never imagined it would turn out like this.

She had anticipated this day. It was all supposed to go perfectly. For centuries she had waited… she had lingered, planning and thinking that everything would be alright if she could prove her worth. After the death of Mother, and then her own demise, she had vowed to any god who heard her that she would one day have her vengeance. One day, she would conquer the world that hated her and her kind, and she would rebuild it in the vision Mother had imagined.

One day, she would have the respect and love of the Queen… of her own mother.

And now, finally, after several millennia and infinite patience, the vampire princess brought her goal to life. The revival had been a success—Mother returned to Her rightful throne, and the world of the ignorant humans was crumbling under her massive armies and unconstrained power.

She imagined she should feel as joyous as could be. This was what she had wanted, and now she had it… at least, she had the things she could actually obtain. Samira knew for sure now; she would never have the respect and love of Rakia. At least… not the Rakia she once knew.

That Rakia was gone.

Or maybe she was never there to begin with; perhaps, Samira thought, she had been fooling herself all along with an illusion. As the princess sat on the stone steps leading up to her dais—now Mother’s—she stole a quick glance behind her at the throne that she had been sitting in only hours before.

It felt strange, seeing Mother in the flesh, for once real and tangible in the world of the living. As much as Samira kept the mental image of Rakia in her mind—using it to motivate herself at times when her cause seemed unattainable—observing Her with her own eyes again was a surreal experience. Every detail of the woman whom she’d risk her very life for, every shadow and movement, was so unlike the fuzzy memories Samira had grasped for so long in desperation that the vampire child found herself staring for long periods of time, as if trying to capture the image in her mind in case she would never lay eyes upon it again. She’d pull her gaze away if the other was about to notice, but even with her eyes averted the vision was burned into her mind’s eye like a photograph.

The Queen of Vampires was not a hair older than when She was bound so many centuries ago, though that was no surprise to Samira as vampires didn’t age in the least anyways. Aging was for vessels who were still alive and growing—something vampires certainly weren’t, at least not anymore. She sat with the elegance and grace of a goddess, holding Herself high as She kept perched to the ornate throne of Her daughter. Her skin was a light mocha, like dusty bronze, made even darker in shade by the contrast of Her ghostly-white robes. Black hair like strands of night sky cascaded around her head and over her shoulders, framing her soft face and crimson-red eyes.

The same red eyes that Samira remembered from childhood—the ones that would gaze at her with kindness and consideration… they were so similar to those ruby eyes she saw as a little girl.

But… they are not the same, Samira reminded herself sadly. I know those eyes, I know them with every fiber of my being… and She does not have them.

Rakia was not the only one sitting on her daughter’s throne. Upon the large stone chair, cradled on Her lap, was Her son and heir Atemu. The vampire Queen had Her one arm wrapped around him gently as Her opposite hand slowly stroked his wild hair; She watched him, Her eyes soft as She cooed to him. Atemu no longer looked like the defiant Pharaoh Samira had chained to a wall a while ago—in Mother’s arms he was calm, his expression serene as he lay there like a treasured doll. His eyes, now as red as the blood that stained his lips, were empty of all will and thought. In Her embrace he somehow appeared small and fragile, like the child he once was so many millennia ago.

Samira could see how lovingly Rakia was to Atemu, and though her jealousy enflamed her being, it was not the true emotion that drove her thoughts. Instead she was filled with a deep sense of apprehension—she couldn’t pinpoint why, except in the strangeness of mother’s gaze. Her eyes were not the same, she knew, not the same ones she remembered as a child. The warm spark that once glowed from Her eyes had been extinguished, and now something else formed in its place. It was a different light—a dark light. Samira didn’t want to admit it, but the look in Rakia’s eyes… unnerved her. Frightened her.

Samira sighed. Mother, she begged, what happened to you? All those years, alone and powerless…has the loneliness eaten away at your soul? It is what has changed you so…?

“The end is almost here.”

Samira inwardly jumped as the quiet broke at Mother’s words. She turned to look back—Rakia was looking at her, Her expression blank as blood-red eyes bore into the princess. The cold certainty in them sent shivers up Samira’s spine.

As if She felt Samira’s trepidation, a small smile formed on Her blood-stained lips. “What do you think of, child?” She asked.

Samira arose from her stairs and bowed. “I think of nothing more than Your approaching victory, Mother.” She lied, though it wasn’t really a lie. It was the truth, if only a small part of what her mind pondered over.

Rakia nodded, her gaze wandering back to Her precious prince. She curled him closer to Her and kissed him lightly on the forehead. Samira’s hands balled into fists automatically, and it took all her might to calm herself—she relaxed her grip, her sharp nails having nearly pierced the flesh of her palms. “It won’t be long now,” Rakia said. “He is still recovering, but once he is finished changing, Atemu’s power will be at its fullest peak. And with it I shall be able to break the bind that seals me to that wretched jar.” Her eyes shot to where the small vase sat beside the misty mirror. The reflection remained dark and cloudy, as the temporary portal had a few hours left before it closed and sealed the Queen away again.

Samira averted her gaze downward. “Your imprisonment must have been difficult, all these years.”

“Indeed,” Rakia spat. Her lips, once held in a serene smile, now twisted into a disgusted grimace. “Time did not exist inside that infernal prison. There were moments where I thought myself dead, only to realize it was a pitiful dream, and that I still remained. If I had physical hands I would have clawed at the walls until my nails peeled off and my fingers bled.” Suddenly the tranquil smile returned to her features, smoothing her bronze face. “It is true what they say: prison does change a person. It gave me time to think, and now I understand. Now I know the truth.”

Samira looked up. “The truth?” she inquired.

“That what I once believed was a lie. Before my banishment, I was but a naïve child who dreamed of things that could not be.” Rakia ran her fingers deeper into Atemu’s hair, and in response the prince sleepily leaned up into it. “I used to think vampires and humans might coexist in harmony—with some effort, perhaps the prey could stand beside the predator and share this world with equal reign. But,” she sighed, “I see now that such thoughts are meant for the foolish. There is only one thing true in this world, and it is this:

“Humans will never accept vampires. They will live in fear of us, and act upon their fear, even if we promise to spare them in our bloodlust. In their small, puny minds they will only think of themselves, and they’ll tear down our kind, just as they do now. I cannot stand for this any longer.” Rakia’s eyes hardened. “When this world belongs to me, I will see that the human scourge know their rightful place as the cattle they are. From now on, the vampires shall become the true predators of the world, and feast freely upon the blood of the lowly human scum!”

She cackled softly, showing off her sharpened canines. Samira looked in horror upon her Queen, her Mother, as the words She spoke gradually began to register. Samira slowly shook her head, back and forth, as if the motion would erase it from her memory.

“M-Mother….” She stared at Her in such a way that her claret eyes should have swelled with tears—would have, it she was no longer immortal. She couldn’t even tremble, she was so frozen in shock. What have you become? What darkness has infected your soul and made you so venomous with hate…? Samira held on desperately to her memories of Rakia, to the smiling Rakia she once knew. They were barely holding her to reality, reminding her that this goddess was the same in her thoughts.

She watched as Rakia’s eyes seemed to glaze over, as if She were looking past everything. She hissed a laugh that was both a satisfied sigh and a hungry growl. “The time will come,” She purred, bloodlust evident in Her gaze, “when the children on the night, my children, shall roam without hesitation across the lands of humankind. We can domesticate them, as they do to their own livestock—oh, to see their faces, degraded to being nothing more than cattle! And then the fear, and their helplessness… when they finally realize that the only way out is to die… then the sweetest of all revenge shall flow through me without remorse. Then I shall feel whole again! Then I shall return all the suffering they have wrought undo me all these many, many years!” Rakia burst into a full-fledge chortle, Her teeth glistening under the light of the torches as Her voice lashed like whip onto Samira. Her eyes were wild with unbridled joy at the vision She alone was seeing, and Samira could not help but cringe at the sight of it.

Then Rakia’s laugh quieted, Her eyes returning back to the room She and her family sat in. Her gaze found Samira’s, and a smug smirk graced Her full lips like a lioness having finished a gratifying kill. She reached a bejeweled hand forward, the gold bracelets clink-ing in the silence.

“And none of this would be without you, Samira.”

There was nothing that could have prepared Samira for those words. She felt them, even more powerfully than her Queen’s sudden bout of insanity, like someone had squeezed her undead heart to force it to beat. Her eyes widened fractionally, her surprise hardly a barrier for the elation she tried to contain.

Mother had just… acknowledged her? Mother just… showed her thanks?

If she had heard it from anyone else, she might not have believed them. With the way Rakia had been acting—with the declaration of human destruction She just admitted to—Samira was sure that the Mother she knew had died when the vampire hunters locked Her in the clay jar. Every time Her blood-red orbs fell on Samira they had been filled with nothing but cold emptiness and indifference. There didn’t seem to be a shard of compassion left in her Queen, especially none for her.

But now, there it was, the kindness she had been hoping for. Wishing for. Only in her thoughts and now, it was really there. If it wasn’t for Atemu sitting placidly at Mother’s side the entire moment might have been a dream.

Rakia’s fingers gestured to her to come, Her eyes half-lidded with what Samira could only define as motherly affection. “Well, daughter?” Rakia cooed. “Will you not let your dear Mother show you gratitude?”

A bubble of pride and longing swelled in Samira’s chest, well over conquering any fear or uncertainty she had felt earlier. If she had experienced any doubt toward her Queen, it was non-existent now.

Almost dazed, Samira arose from the dais steps and approached the throne, her throne, to reach for Mother’s hand. She grasped it gently, fearing Mother’s reproach if she held it too hard, and felt a shiver of pleasure race through her when Rakia squeezed back.

“Thank you, Samira,” She said softly. “Your sacrifices will be well repaid, daughter.”

Samira was unable to control the spasm of glee that forced her lips into a grin of victory. She managed to restrain the giggle that nearly escaped her fluttering heart, and smoothed her expression to a calm smile.

“There need be no thanks on my part, Mother,” she announced clearly, bowing her head in grateful submission. “Your return is thanks enough, and more so.”

“I see.” The hand shifted slightly in Samira’s grasp, and the princess’s head jerked up to catch the reason for the movement. The calm—and in Samira’s eyes—caring expression on Rakia’s face was enough to shove her doubts back into the dark corners of her mind. “You hear me speak of dark things, child,” She continued as Samira straightened herself and stood by Rakia’s side, opposite where Atemu sat. “I wish for you not to fret over them. There will be time to work out all infractions so that peace can be restored. You must simply sit back and let Mother create the new world.” She smiled, and the dazzling brilliance of her fangs made an unnatural feeling of childish excitement swim in Samira’s veins. She had no time to register the oddness of it before Rakia spoke again. “Everything will be perfect for us this time. All you have to do is let Mother take if from here, my daughter. Do you understand?”

Samira nodded, a calm, sure move, but inside she was giddy. Everything would be as it should be. And there would be peace, just like Mother used to promise before their lives were ruined by humans.

She had been wrong—how could she not have seen that Mother’s best intentions were always there? That she was still the same.

I will follow her to the end. Samira’s smile slowly started to match the one that Atemu wore as they both remained close to their mother on the throne. Rakia placed a delicate hand on her arm, and Samira felt only happiness at the contact.

I will never doubt her again.

YxAxYxAxYxA

Author’s Note: Yes—the undeniable agony of the filler chapter. Not even worth reading but not to be overlooked for its secretive insight into what is to come.

… In other words it’s crap and I’m sorry you had to read it.

The Samira part was recently done while the Seth part had been completed directly after Chapter 71 was uploaded. Notice the difference? I re-started this chapter on a whim once my laptop got back from being cleaned of Trojan viruses (nasty little buggers) and it feels so good to be using my laptop again in the privacy of my room. The home computer is just too… out in the open. And slow as molasses. Bleh.

Well, once again, I make no promises as to an update. I might be feeling all up to writing now, but that never seems to guarantee a similar feeling until a half a year later. Plus now I have summer homework to do. Three books, two essays, and a big journal on all three of them. Plus summer math. And an AP bio outline of the first eight chapters.

… I’m so glad I only have one more year left of this annoyance. (YAY SENIOR YEAR!)

(Hug) Until we meet again, my readers!