YU-GI-OH: Scars of time:

Chapter 8:

A wind blew through the seemingly endless room, ruffling the teen's clothes and hair. Crimson eyes opened and blinked in surprise. Both regular and inverted staircases stared back at him; all of them lead to multiple indistinct doors. His mouth fell open, questions forming in his mind, although it never passed his lips.

Noticing that no words were going to make themselves known, he snapped his jaw shut before he frowned. The last thing he remembered Joey ending the phone call with Tristan, and then…?

Yami's lips pursed together as he thought. His eyes narrowed as if he concentrated hard enough, the memories would reveal themselves.

They didn't.

Sighing, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath before he tried to focus on finding out where he was and how he had gotten here. Surely, he wouldn't come here on his own. Heck, he didn't even know such a place existed until now! So, yeah, free-will was out of the question.

Kidnapped? Yeah, right. The place was empty… Or, he assumed it was? Regardless, he was unharmed and was left to roam. Unless they wanted him to starve inside this labyrinth... But, there again, what would be the point?

He glanced around for the cameras, although he found none. No twisted game show, then.

He groaned.

This was stupid. Standing here, theorizing was getting him nowhere. And fast. Straightening his back, he strode over to a nearby staircase and started to ascend it. He came to a door and reached out to turn the knob. He yelped as soon as his skin made contact with the object, stepping back.

Damn, that hurt.

It was as if an electric shock went up his arm. Had someone strapped a hand buzzer to the handle? He bent down, observing the knob from all angles, although he couldn't see any wires and nothing looked out of the ordinary. It looked just like a regular door, even if it was a bit worn.

He sighed, and then around, glancing over the countless staircases and doors before him. An image of a painting titled 'Crazy Stairs' filled his mind. He shook his head with a snort. Trust him to think about a painting he had read about that one time while he waited for his shift to end one afternoon in the museum, but not how he got here or where this was.

Kaiba was right. The mind did work in mysterious ways.

A shuffle of something fluttered behind him. He turned towards the direction, mind racing. His eyes widened as he came face to face with a figure dressed in purple robes before a sharp pain overwhelmed him and he knew no more.

Some people say that the passage of time is a linear constructed made up of cause and effects... That, as it passes, one could feel it. The wrinkles appearing on your skin, the gain and loss of weight, the bursts of growth before it eventually increases. The maturity of your body as puberty comes and fades like when Ra rises and then sets over the horizon.

The stages of life are a linear sequence, thought never to be interrupted… and, yet, the possibility has come to pass.

To my knowledge, I have never shown signs of growing, never aging. It is as if I existed outside of the laws of the lands outside. Out of reach of even the gods themselves. Completely cut off from the rest of the world. I don't know where I am or where I'm going. I never age or feel… just exist.