The room was still, lit only by the soft red glow of Jason Whitesmith's duel disk. The artificial light cast a warped shadow on the walls, flickering slightly with the pulse of the standby energy in the abandoned industrial lab. Steel grates lined the floor, rusted from years of neglect. Overhead, broken pipes dripped periodically with a rhythmic, metallic patter that echoed like a ticking clock.
Pegasus sat slouched in a dented stool bolted to the ground, framed by decaying machinery and forgotten blueprints. His usually pristine crimson jacket was crumpled, the sheen dulled by sweat and dust. He breathed heavily, one gloved hand clutching his chest, the other gripping the edge of the seat for balance. The duel had taken its toll—on his pride, his energy, and his poise.
His visible eye stared defiantly ahead, but the corner twitched involuntarily as his gaze flicked toward the figure across from him.
Jason Whitesmith approached with the unhurried steps of a man who had already won. His lab coat swayed like a cape behind him, and his expression was a mask of calculated calm. Without a word, he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small velvet bundle.
The air thickened.
Jason unwrapped the velvet slowly, deliberately, until the golden glint of something ancient caught the dull light—its surface etched with twisted glyphs and a cold, unblinking pupil at its center. The Millennium Eye.
Pegasus's lone eye widened. His mouth opened slightly, breath hitching as recognition overtook disbelief.
"You..." Pegasus rasped. "You had it this whole time..."
Jason tilted his head, offering a smug half-smile. He stepped closer and knelt down to eye level, holding the artifact inches from Pegasus's face.
"Now we can get down to business."
He extended a gloved finger and tapped Pegasus in the chest with surgical precision. It wasn't painful—but it wasn't meant to be. It was a statement. A reminder of who was in control.
Pegasus flinched. His lip trembled for just a second before he reasserted his composure.
Jason's voice dropped into a murmur, almost conspiratorial. "You're going to make me some cards."
Pegasus blinked, licking his cracked lips. "You… want a custom deck?"
Jason chuckled humorlessly. "No. I want something more dangerous. A force to rival the Egyptian Gods. Something darker. Older."
Pegasus paused, his words echoing against the cold walls of the chamber. For a fleeting moment, silence returned—thick, suffocating silence. Then Jason's voice cut through it like steel.
"I want the Wicked Gods."
The demand hung in the air, heavy and unnatural.
Pegasus recoiled as though struck, his smile faltering at last. The color drained from his already pale face, leaving his expression ghostlike. "You… can't be serious," he whispered, his tone trembling on the edge of disbelief and fear. His fingers curled tightly against his coat, clutching the fabric as if to anchor himself. "Those spirits weren't meant to be called. I sealed their influence for a reason. They don't obey rules, Jason. They don't follow the game. Their very existence corrupts everything they touch."
Jason's gaze was unwavering, hard as obsidian. "And that's exactly why I picked you. You understand balance. You understand how to bend it without shattering it."
Pegasus shook his head, silver hair swaying as his voice grew urgent. "You don't understand. I can't just create cards from thin air. Duel Spirits must be real. They must want to be summoned. I don't invent their powers—I reveal them. I bring their will into form. And a spirit like that…" He trailed off, his single visible eye clouding with dread. "That's no spirit any sane man would ever reveal."
Jason rose slowly from his seat, every movement deliberate, every gesture exuding authority. He folded his arms across his chest, towering over Pegasus like a judge handing down a sentence.
"You're not being asked," Jason said flatly. "You've already agreed."
Pegasus blinked, confusion flickering across his face. "Agreed? What are you talking about?"
Jason tapped the side of his duel disk. The device let out a faint chime, its systems reactivating with a sinister glow.
"This is an ante duel, remember?" Jason's words cut like knives. "You lost. You forfeited your terms. And now I challenge you again. Since you no longer have a deck…"
Pegasus's shoulders sagged, his body sinking beneath the invisible weight of the declaration. His voice was soft, broken. "…I lose by default."
Jason's lips curled into a smirk, victory gleaming in his eyes. "Exactly."
The chamber darkened. The air itself seemed to tighten, trembling as though the room were alive. A low hum reverberated through the stone, ancient and oppressive. Pegasus staggered as a burning presence pressed down on him, heavier than the duel's feedback had ever been.
It was then he realized: the Egyptian Gods had stirred.
Invisible chains lashed around his will, unseen yet undeniable. The duel's ante system was more than human law—it was a pact written into the foundation of the Shadow Games themselves, the very laws of Duel Spirits. And the Egyptian Gods, eternal arbiters of these duels, did not permit refusal.
His breath quickened. His heart thudded painfully. He tried to speak, to protest, to shout that he would not obey—but his throat constricted. The words refused to form. It was as if the Gods themselves pressed a hand to his chest and whispered, No. You will not deny what has been wagered.
Jason's smirk deepened as he watched Pegasus struggle. He did not need to say it—he knew. "The option to refuse… doesn't exist anymore, does it?"
Pegasus's eye widened in horror. His lips parted, but all that escaped was a strangled breath. He felt the echo of Ra, Slifer, and Obelisk—those ancient forces he himself had helped manifest—looming around him like colossal shadows. The divine trio, silent but absolute, enforcing the ancient covenant. The same law that once forced Pharaohs and warlords to honor their duels now bound him.
Jason stepped closer, his boots clicking softly against the stone floor. In his hand, something glimmered: the Millennium Eye. He held it aloft, its surface gleaming with a predatory light.
"Take it," Jason ordered. "You'll need it to anchor the link. Just as you did when you created the Egyptian God cards."
Pegasus trembled, his hand hovering, reluctant to touch the cursed artifact that had once belonged to him. He remembered too vividly the moment he first uncovered the Gods, the sacrifices required, the toll it had taken on his sanity. The Eye, the conduit of power, demanded he channel their will. Without it, he was blind. With it… he was chained.
"You bastard…" Pegasus whispered, voice raw. There was no venom, no hatred. Only resignation. The words came like the sigh of a man walking willingly into his own noose.
Jason leaned down slightly, his smirk inches from Pegasus's face. His eyes were merciless, gleaming with victory. "Don't take it personally, Pegasus. You of all people should know—creation always requires sacrifice."
The room fell deathly silent.
Pegasus stared at the Eye. His trembling hand hesitated mid-air. For a moment, he looked years younger—frightened, small, and powerless.
Then, slowly, his fingers curled around the artifact.
The moment he touched it, a blinding jolt of golden light surged through him. He convulsed, body seizing, muscles locking up as if gripped by invisible chains. His spine arched, his mouth open in a silent scream. The false eye in his socket burst apart, replaced by the real thing as it slammed back into place.
Rings of light erupted across the lab, swirling with hieroglyphs that burned bright, then darker—mutated, disfigured.
Jason stepped back, arms folded behind his back, watching without a hint of empathy. His eyes reflected the blinding glyphs with scientific curiosity, not reverence.
As Pegasus hovered in midair, the room began to quake. The shadows twisted. Unseen figures—massive, ancient, hungry—loomed behind the walls of reality. Three silhouettes formed above Pegasus: one bloated with devouring power, one cloaked in a shifting, formless mass, and the last tall and gaunt with a scythe of darkness.
The Wicked Dreadroot.
The Wicked Avatar.
The Wicked Eraser.
Pegasus's mouth moved wordlessly, eyes wide with terror. Blood trickled from his nose. The Eye burned gold in his socket.
Then his body dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.
Smoke rose from his skin, and his face was frozen in a rictus of agony. His coat still glowed faintly with residual energy.
Three glowing cards hovered over his body, suspended in air before drifting down like autumn leaves.
Jason strode forward, crouched, and scooped them into his hand with reverence. He examined the card faces one by one.
"There we go," he said softly. "Plausible death. A creator consumed by his own ambition."
He turned to the CIA team behind him.
"One card for the American government." He tossed a card to the lead agent, who caught it cautiously.
"And one for myself… and the Duelist Exterminator."
The Duelist Exterminator, silent and still as ever, nodded once. No words were exchanged—but a shared understanding hung in the air between them.
Jason stepped forward, the Wicked God card now secured in his hand, their auras still faintly pulsing with malevolent energy. He cast one final glance at Pegasus's lifeless body—still slumped awkwardly against the steel stool, steam rising faintly from the seams of his jacket.
Without a word, Jason knelt beside the corpse and reached out, fingers closing around the real Millennium Eye, which had rolled loose from Pegasus's face during the collapse. It pulsed once in his hand, warm and still alive with latent magic.
He studied it for a moment—this artifact of ancient power, the eye that once saw into souls, now a relic of another man's hubris.
Then, with a smooth motion, Jason slid the Eye back into his coat pocket and stood.
"Still useful," he muttered, his tone clinical, almost bored. "Too valuable to waste on a corpse."
He turned on his heel and walked away, the final snap of his coat echoing through the silent lab like a period at the end of a sentence.
Jason turned to the exit. " It's time to visit Aster Phoenix's father."
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