True Intentions: Requiem for the Wicked

Act II. Nightmare Begins

II.I

"You mean he's gone again?" asked Varon from where he was sitting on the Doma garage floor. The youngest of the Doma Warriors was currently preoccupied with dismantling his motorcycle, playing with the intricate mechanisms and then reassembling it in such away that it would eventually look exactly the same, but be about five times faster and much more powerful.

Skills like this were definitely not taught in school.

"What else could he mean by 'he's gone'? Of course he means he's gone!" Amelda exclaimed in exasperation. Sometimes he didn't quite get the true meaning of Varon's words. He always took what Varon said too literally, and at times, didn't give his insight the credit that it deserved. The brunet was by no means stupid, but his unassuming character meant that many a foe had underestimated him and so lost their souls as a result.

Still, Varon wasn't one to back up and out of a dangerous confrontation anyway.

Varon lowered his equipment and looked at Amelda over his shoulder. "Amelda, has anyone ever told you that you really need to chill out, mate?" Varon chuckled lightly to himself as he continued with his task. "Then again, when you dress like that I guess I should really worry about you being too cold!"

But it didn't necessarily mean that he was mature about it.

Amelda folded his arms over his chest and snarled at the younger man. "Speak for yourself," he growled, grey eyes glaring at the tan skin of his colleague's muscled back, covered only by a plain white vest smeared with grease. Due him sitting cross-legged while leaning forward, the simple cotton garment had begun to ride up over Varon's hips, revealing a dark patch of skin between that and the hem of his loose jeans. Even despite the amount that he consumed at every available opportunity Varon's body never seemed to gain any weight. Amelda slowly dragged his eyes away from where they were staring at the shadow of Varon's spine which curved tantalisingly underneath his top and pants.

He would have hated to have been caught staring, and needless to say, Varon would probably never let him hear the end of it. After the previous incident, Amelda had resolved never, ever to let Varon interfere with his personal life. More specifically, his relationships. Even more specifically, his lack of the aforementioned, which was by no means helped by Varon.

Varon shook his head lightly, making the vest shift up even more. "Hey, I know for a fact that this was from the Men's Department," he tugged the vest back down as he turned to face Amelda again. "Unlike that," he added, gesturing towards his companions short and rather questionable 'belly shirt.' Not that Amelda had any belly to speak of, thought Varon, not realising that he was licking his lips just thinking about it – just taut, pale skin stretched smoothly over his stomach.

"I don't think you have any right to comment on my attire," Amelda replied. "You usually dress like an extra from a medieval biker movie," he finished, referring to the strange – and yet fascinating – combination of leather and armour that Varon favoured wearing.

Varon paused to reflect for a second before speaking, wiping his brow with a dirty hand. A black smudge formed on his forehead and on his left cheek and Amelda had to admit that coupled with his wide-eyed expression made him look bizarrely cute, if that was the correct word. Well, he couldn't very well consider him adorable could he? Even though he did.

"Er, mate – you do know that motorcycles hadn't been invented during the Dark Ages, right?" Varon blinked, genuinely unsure if Amelda seriously believed that knights used to ride around on motors (as in motorbikes), not mounts (as in mighty steeds, horses even).

Amelda was too shocked by the other's stupidity to speak for what seemed like an eternity. "Varon, do you honestly think that –"

"Besides," Varon interrupted. "If I look like a medieval biker, then you look like a modern day hooker!"

Raphael frowned, ignoring the ensuing argument that was bound to surface between the pair. Despite the fact that two were not currently seeing eye to eye, it was nothing in comparison to the conflicts that arose over the smallest and most insignificant of matters – from breakfast cereals to bath towels – the two quarrelled over everything possible.

Besides, he had other things to worry about – Dartz has been doing this a lot recently.

As they got closer and closer to gathering enough souls to awaken the Great Leviathan, Dartz had suddenly become somewhat – distracted. He had become increasingly more distant and at times, Raphael wondered whether he even still cared about raising the Great Beast at all.

The former King of Atlantis would disappear in the middle of the night, not returning until the early hours of the next morning, exhausted and stinking of sweat, smoke and alarmingly, blood and sex.

It was something that they all secretly agreed not to talk about, simply because there was no way of knowing why Dartz was behaving in this way, and perhaps they were all a little afraid.

None of his three Chosen Warriors had any clue as to what was going on. When they had first met Dartz, he had been a man on a mission, completely absorbed in his quest to revive the Great Leviathan. So engaged that he often forgot to eat, could forsake sleep and pushed himself to his limits and beyond.

But things had changed. They were so different; Dartz was different. He acted so oddly at times that sometimes Raphael swore he had become a different person altogether.

Raphael knew that he shouldn't have been worrying about Dartz, but he was. After all, Dartz had more power than even the Pharaoh and had ten thousand years worth of experience wielding his magic.

And yet Raphael was still concerned.

It was very unlike Dartz to leave the Palace. Despite him being the President of Paradia he spent little time in the office building, preferring the ancient walls of his previous home to the sterile building full of artificial lighting and even more artificial people.

Dartz spent most of his hours either praying to the Great Leviathan, the Conference Parlour or his own chambers which made it so strange when Raphael failed to find him in any.

Perhaps he is elsewhere in the building…

But he wasn't.

Neither Varon nor Amelda had seen him either and Raphael felt his heart clench erratically in his chest – something that was both strange and unexpected. Since when had he grown so – what was the word – close? fond? maybe he meant dependent – on this man, on Dartz, that in the first instance of his absence he felt horror?

Don't panic – Dartz is the most powerful man in the world, there is nothing that he cannot handle himself.

But why wasn't he in the ancient building? Everyone knew that Dartz preferred not to dirty his own hands, which was why he had hired his three Chosen Warriors so that he could concentrate his own efforts on planning for the revival of the Great Leviathan.

As the hours tickled by, Raphael found himself growing increasingly agitated. Being Dartz right hand man he always knew what his master had planned. He was the first to be told everything. Which was why he was so on edge. This wasn't the way Dartz operated – everything was always planned with military precision – after being unable to revive the Great Leviathan the first time he was not going to chance failing to do so again and waste ten thousand years of intricate preparation.

This was it for Dartz – surely nothing could be more important than this – this was what his life was.

Little did Raphael know what had taken Dartz away that night…

It had been a tiring day and Dartz was unusually stressed. Taking over Kaiba Corp. had not been as easy as he had initially anticipated. Seto Kaiba was stubborn to a fault, and despite not knowing who was trying to take control of his company, seemed reluctant to allow anyone to take it away from him no matter how much Dartz offered to pay him.

It is of little consequence, I'll simply arrange a suitable distraction for him. I shall send Amelda, seeing as how he has quite a score to settle with the Kaiba family.

But that didn't seem to help him. He felt tense and restless and no visions of destruction could calm his nerves.

He glanced at the large, circular clock that was mounted above the door of his office. He had had it carved from a column of Atlantian marble that remained in the ruins of his palace and insisted that the numbers be of his choice. Of course the sculptor failed to understand the strange symbols that he cut into the smooth white stone – but Dartz knew the true meanings and could recognise them even by tracing them.

It was late; later than he had planned it would be when he left and much later than he usually stayed.

The familiar walls of his ancient call beckoned to him, but at the same time he felt a strange, alien feeling – someone, something was calling out for him. He closed his eyes, his mind searching for the owner of the yearning cries –

A hauntingly beautiful face – threads of black – ribbons of crimson – flashes of amethyst –

"You're late," the voice sang. "And I've been waiting for you for so long."

Dartz felt something ghostly brush against him, something like finger tips trailing along the back of his neck, but kept his eyes shut tight. "I've been waiting for you to find me.," the voice whispered and Dartz swore he could feel the touch of another's breath on his skin, along the line of his jaw and over his lips. "I've been waiting so long for you to find me and I know that you've been looking for me as well." Dartz swallowed against the feel of teeth nipping at his throat. "Find me…"

Mismatching eyes tore themselves open and Dartz found himself sagging in his large black recliner, heart thumping as he panted. Cold sweat clung to his skin, and an urge that he hadn't felt – or at least, an urge that he had kept stifled – for the past ten millennia made itself painfully known to the Atlantian, whose entire body was shaking.

He braced himself against the heavy wood desk, trying to slow his rapid gasps for air while trying to quieten his newly awakened desire.

"Find me…" the voice echoed.

Dartz groaned and slumped back in his chair, fingers tearing desperately on his tie, which seemed to constrict far too much against his throat. He shrugged off his suit jacket – much too hot and heavy – as the elegant digits of his hands then began to unbutton the crisp white shirt, revealing smooth, milky skin. A finger brushed against a raised nipple and he gasped, letting the other hand fall into his lap –

Suddenly, he felt both his hands stop, as though they were being restrained in another's.

"I've been waiting so long," the voice filled his mind with such a tragic ache. "Please," it begged. "Find me."

Dartz felt as if he had no choice but to obey the voice.

Where are you? he asked mentally.

"Find me."

Frustration began to surface. This was ridiculous. He was a King and yet he was being reduced to following instructions by voices in his head. Maybe he would be better off back in the palace where he could subdue the voice and muffle it under his chants and prayers.

"Please."

But it was too late – he was feeling so much – too much. He needed a release and he had a feeling that the only way to satisfy his craving was by seeking out the owner of the voice.

Who – no, what are you? What strange creature must you be to have entranced be so?

"Find me."

What is your name?

"Eli."

Eli…

"Eli," Dartz whispered, playing with the name on his tongue. "Eli – E – illusion…"

Perhaps Eli was the greatest illusion of all.

Author's Notes

I.

This fic is dedicated to my Funny Jun-Jun-Junny the chibi-neko-bunny-with no money, who likes honey, especially when it's sunny-chan! Happy Birthday (for October)! Sorry the fic is so late, but to make up for it I'm gonna make it (kinda) long

II.

I forgot to mention this at the end of the first chapter, so I'll put it here. True Intentions: Requiem for the Wicked can also be found on under the same Author Name with ADDED lemon scenes After all, there's only so much I'm able to get away with on the update on has been postponed as I can't seem to log in (I just tried)! So you'll just have to wait a little longer for it – sorry, guys!

III.

The other Doomies do actually play a MUCH BIGGER role in the remainder of the ficcy – they don't just spend all of it sitting around! You may actually be surprised. Or maybe not.