The air in the alleyway had shifted. The damp, industrial mist no longer felt like simple weather; it felt like a heavy, suffocating shroud. Vance Sterling's face, usually a mask of aristocratic boredom, was contorted into something jagged and ugly. For the first time in his life, his "superiority" hadn't just been questioned—it had been bruised.
"You think... you think a parlor trick with a few rusted cards makes you my equal?" Vance's voice was a low, trembling snarl. He reached for his deck, his fingers twitching. "I was going to let you walk away with your pride. I was going to let you be the 'Ghost' who almost stood up to me. But you had to push. You had to touch my Life Points."
"I'm not looking for equality, Vance," Rami said, his voice steady even as his legs felt like lead. "I'm looking for the exit. End this duel, and keep your word."
"Oh, I'll end it," Vance whispered. He drew a card with such violence that the holographic emitter sparkled. "But the word I gave was to a duelist. You? You're just a thief holding an artifact you don't deserve. And it's time the artifact found a master who can actually feed it."
Vance slammed a card onto the tray. "I activate the Forbidden Spell: Call of the Void. By paying half my remaining Life Points, I can Special Summon one monster from my deck, ignoring its summoning conditions!"
[Vance: 2100 LP]
The alleyway groaned. The brick walls seemed to bleed a dark, oily substance that pooled on the ground. The flickering streetlamp overhead shattered, plunging them into a terrifying, neon-streaked twilight.
"From the depths of the forgotten stars! Rise and devour! Soul-Siphon Dragon!"
The ground cracked. A skeletal, translucent dragon erupted from the fissure. It didn't have scales; its body was made of a swirling, violet mist that seemed to pull at the very air in Rami's lungs. It had no eyes—only two burning orbs of purple fire that locked onto the Millennium Puzzle hanging from Rami's neck.
[Soul-Siphon Dragon | Level 8 | Dark | Dragon]
[ATK: 3000 / DEF: 2500]
Rami felt a sudden, sharp pain in his chest. The Millennium Puzzle was no longer just warm; it was burning. It felt like a hot coal pressed against his sternum.
"The Siphon's ability!" Vance shouted, his eyes wide with a manic light. "As long as this card is on the field, the effects of all 'Common' and 'Rare' cards are negated! Your Ghost of the Nile? Your Sentinel? They are nothing but paper now!"
Rami watched in horror as the golden glow of his Ghost of the Nile flickered and died. The mechanical beetle gauntlet—the Ironclad Symbiote—cracked and fell to the floor, dissolving into gray ash.
[Ghost of the Nile: 2000 ATK -> 0 ATK]
"And that's not all," Vance laughed, the sound echoing unnaturally off the walls. "Every time I destroy a monster, the Soul-Siphon takes a 'Toll.' It doesn't just lower your Life Points, Rami. It eats your energy. It eats your will!"
This was it. The "Shadow-lite" effect. It wasn't a full Shadow Game—Cyril hadn't been summoned, and the stakes weren't officially magical—but the Soul-Siphon Dragon was a card that bridged the gap. It was a prototype, a piece of dark technology meant to mimic the ancient magic of the Millennium Items.
"Go, Soul-Siphon! Spectral Devourment!"
The dragon opened its maw, and a beam of violet energy surged toward the defenseless Ghost of the Nile.
Rami braced himself. He could feel the coldness of the dragon's breath. He felt the Puzzle on his chest pulse one last time, a desperate rhythm of a heart about to stop.
"Cease."
The word didn't come from Rami. It didn't come from Vance.
It came from above.
A blur of crimson moved through the air. A man in a heavy, red-hooded cloak dropped from the roof of the warehouse, landing silently between the two duelists. He didn't use a Duel Disk. He simply held up a hand.
As the dragon's violet beam hit the space in front of the man, it didn't explode. It stopped. The energy swirled around his outstretched palm, forming a sphere of captured light before simply winking out of existence.
Vance recoiled, his dragon hissing in a strange, pained tone. "Who the hell are you? This is a private duel! Get out of the way!"
The hooded figure didn't move. He slowly turned his head, his face hidden in the deep shadows of his cowl. In his other hand, he held a set of Millennium Scales, the golden crossbar tilting wildly.
"The scales are out of balance," the man said. His voice was like grinding stone—ancient and devoid of emotion. "You play with a toy that hungers for souls, Sterling. But you have no soul to give it. You are merely a hollow shell of greed."
"I don't care about your riddles!" Vance screamed, gesturing toward his dragon. "Siphon! Destroy him too!"
The dragon lunged, but the hooded man simply flicked his wrist. A surge of golden light erupted from the scales, striking the holographic dragon. The creature let out a sound like breaking glass and vanished instantly. The Duel Disk on Vance's arm let out a shower of sparks and hissed as the circuits fried.
"The duel is over," the hooded man said.
Vance stared at his dead Duel Disk, his face pale. The two enforcers behind him took one look at the man in red and the golden scales and bolted, their footsteps echoing as they ran back toward the main street.
Vance looked at Rami, then at the hooded figure. The rage was still there, but it was now shadowed by a deep, primal fear. "You... you think this changes anything? Rami, you're still a nobody. You're still disqualified. And you," he spat at the hooded man, "you'll pay for that equipment."
Vance turned and fled into the fog, his obsidian coat flapping like the wings of a defeated crow.
Silence returned to the alley. Rami slumped against the wall, sliding down until he hit the damp pavement. He was shaking. The heat from the Puzzle was fading, leaving him cold and exhausted.
"You are the one who holds the Crest," the hooded man said, walking toward Rami.
Rami looked up, his vision blurry. "Who are you? Did... did you see what he was doing? That dragon... it felt real."
"It was a shadow," the man said, standing over him. The Millennium Scales were still now, perfectly level. "A weak imitation of the power you carry. But you are not ready, Rami. If the Pharaoh were to wake now, he would consume you before he consumed your enemies."
Rami gripped the wooden box. "I have forty-one left ... I mean, I have forty-one pieces left. I know I'm not ready."
The man in red knelt down. For a split second, the light from a distant streetlamp caught his face. He looked middle-eastern, his skin weathered by sun and sand, with eyes that seemed to have seen empires rise and fall.
"My name is Shadi," he said softly. "I am the keeper of the items. I came to see if the one who found the Puzzle was a King or a Thief. Today... you were a boy who stood his ground. That is a start."
Shadi stood up and began to walk away, his cloak blending into the darkness.
"Wait!" Rami called out, his voice cracking. "Vance is right. I'm disqualified from the tournament. I can't even get in to face him!"
Shadi paused, but didn't turn back. "A king does not ask for permission to enter his own palace. He walks through the front door. Look in your bag, Rami. The rating of a deck is not determined by its gold... but by the weight of its history."
With a sudden gust of wind, Shadi was gone.
Rami fumbled for his satchel. He pulled out his deck. He expected to see his tattered Sandswept Sentinel and his Weaver of Veils. But as he looked at the cards, he gasped.
The "Rarity" had changed.
The cards weren't "Commons" anymore. The names were etched in a deep, ancient gold that seemed to glow from within the cardboard. The artwork was no longer static; the sand in the Sentinel's art was visibly blowing, and the Weaver's robes were fluttering.
He looked at the digital rating scanner he had borrowed from the shop. He held it over his deck.
The screen flashed a brilliant, blinding white.
[DECK RATING: MAXIMUM]
[CLASSIFICATION: ANCIENT TIER]
Rami sat in the mud of the alley, a single tear tracing a path through the dirt on his cheek. He looked at the Millennium Puzzle. He still had two years of fire to walk through. He still had forty-one pieces to fit.
But as he looked at the gold-etched cards in his hand, he knew one thing for certain.
The "Ghost" was gone.
The tournament was in three days. And for the first time, Rami wasn't afraid of the Viper. He was waiting for him.
The Journey Continues
Rami has his "entry ticket" to the elite world, thanks to Shadi's intervention. But the cards are now "Ancient Tier"—meaning they might have side effects that Rami isn't prepared for.