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Season 0: Theme Keycard #1 C28: No Grave Too Deep (4)
🕑 Added 2025-05-03 16:59:39 +0000 UTCA/N: Not gonna lie—I got lazy. It was the holidays, figured I’d take the chance to breathe. But I’m back now.
The first boots hit asphalt just after midnight as fifty soldiers in total—handpicked, battle-tested, and decked out in gear worth more than most homes—filed into the outskirts of Domino City, rifles raised, Duel Disks strapped and nerves taut as tripwire. Their entry was met with nothing but silence, the eerie kind that pressed on the eardrums like pressure in a sinking submarine.
No birds.
No wind.
No welcome party of the Undead either, and somehow, that was the worst part.
“Command, this is Fox-1. No contact.” Came the hushed report from the point man, his voice crackling over comms. “Command, do you copy?“
“—We heard you loud and clear. Proceed, Fox-1.“
Heeding the order, they exchanged resigned glances as if they were already dead, and moved further into the now-abandoned city until they reached an underground tunnel.
Rumor had it the tunnel was meant to be a train line—one that would've connected Domino City to Tokyo, but halfway through construction, the tunnel collapsed, burying most of the crew.
Years later, the mayor tried to resume the project, only for it to be scrapped again due to... 'Complications.'
“We’re marching into a haunted tunnel in the middle of Romero’s wet dream…? Whose brain-dead idea was that?!”
“Command.“ Fox said with a shrug, like it was just another Tuesday.
“One of these days, I swear, I’m gonna jam those reports and spreadsheets right up their asses. Bloody morons…” Muttered Rock—one of their oldest, dumbest, most reckless, and somehow still their best killing machine.
Nobody knew why the hell he spoke with a terribly broken half-Irish, half-British accent at times when he was born and raised in Texas.
Some said it was the result of too many head injuries.
Others figured he just woke up one day and decided to roll with the persona.
No one had dared ask, not even Fox.
“See, it’s this kind of shit that gets you in trouble with the higher-ups.”
“Pfft, like I give a shite what those desk-glued pansies think.”
The squad chuckled nervously.
“Better hope Command ain’t monitoring comms.”
“I do hope they are,”
The veteran snapped loudly. “Let those wankers hear it. Maybe they will send a care package next time, that or a flashlight and a priest.”
Fox didn’t so much as crack a smile, as much as he wanted to.
Instead, he swept his rifle toward the dark, gaping maw ahead. “Belly of the Beast… Stack up. Goggles down. If something jumps—drop it. If you can't, your standard-issue Deck's got something that can.
Use it, but use it wisely and sparingly. If you collaspe from DED (Duel Energy Depletion), you're on your own.“
Synced, they all glanced at the shiny devices on their wrists. If anyone had told them a week ago that Magic was actually real, and the only way to harness it was through a children's card game, the soldiers would have laughed in their faces.
Well, they weren’t laughing now, and probably never would again at the thought.
“And don’t forget, we’re to retrieve Pegasus and get the hell out. That’s it. Don’t. Be. A hero.”
“We get it, we get it—save the smug billionaire and leave the rest ta rot! We were in the same bloody briefing!”
Fighting the urge to turn his M16 on his subordinate, Fox stared down the stretching abyss and sighed.
In all honesty, he didn’t want to step into that hellhole any more than they did, but orders were orders.
“Well, lads… If you're the prayin’ type, now’s the time to start.”
Fox-1 didn’t bother.
If God existed, He probably wasn’t listening,
And on the off-chance He was, He clearly couldn’t care less about the plights of lowly Mortals, and that was just fine by him.
The battlefield wasn’t God’s playground anyway, no, it was men’s.
The deeper they went, the heavier the air.
It was wet, like breathing through a soaked rag, but worse of all, it smelled like rust, mold, and something surprisingly sweet.
"Still no contact," Fox mumbled. “Thermals are garbage. Readings are jumping like crazy.”
No one chipped in.
What was there to say?
“Hey, uh… Does the ground feel... Softer to anyone else?”
“Don’t you fucking start that shit, Mako.“
One of the rear guards grunted, hugging his rifle just a little tighter.
“Swear to God, I felt it breathe.”
Rock stopped mid-stride, peering into the dark with an almost amused glint. “Y’know, that’s what I like about you, Mako. Always good for a laugh right before we die.”
Then the lights began to flicker.
Not the ones on their helmets—the tunnel lights which had been dead for years, bathing the passage in momentary, angry white before dying again.
“Fox…?”
“I see it.”
“Command, this is Fox-1. We’ve got electrical interference and possible environmental distortion! Requesting immediate SITREP an—”
What came through wasn’t the usual calm voice from Command, but a high-pitched shriek that dropped all fifty of them to their knees, prying their earpieces. “Fuck! What the hell was that?!”
“Jesus Christ, my ears! I think I’m bleeding outta my fucking ears!”
“FOX, WATCH OUT!”
Something lunged from the shadows—a woman, or what used to be one whose stomach had been torn wide open, leaving half her intestines to swing free from a mess of bite marks.
Fox didn’t hesitate.
He jammed the barrel under her chin and pulled the trigger.
The shot tore through her skull, but the body didn’t drop clean.
It collapsed on him, twitching, leaking and gurgling.
He shoved it off, only for two more to leap out from the dark.
Rifle knocked aside during the scuffle, Fox cursed something foul, rolled over the twitching corpse and hurled it into the line of fire, just in time for one of the bastards to sink its rotten teeth into dead flesh instead of his throat.
“Duel Disks! Use your Duel Disks!“ Even as he barked, Fox didn't forget to Summon his Monster—a Dark Elf whose Bolts instantly obliterated the small horde ganging up on him.
Dark Elf
ATK: 2000
DEF: 800
His men followed suit fast, but for every Monster they Summoned, four or five more would crawl out of the dark.
“Fuck stealth—drop the tunnel! Use your Monsters, bring it down!”
— [SK(GX)] —
“So this—all this is about Vengeance? You didn’t strike me as the type, Skullie.”
“Vengeance? What am I, twelve?“ The Necromancer snorted, shaking his head as he lit a cigarette he had no lungs to enjoy. The ember flared briefly, casting a soft glow over the bone-white ridges of his face as smoke curled from his lips.
Then, the Skull Servant Avatar held the pack out toward Lenix and beckoned.
“I don’t—”
“Oh, bullshit!”
Skullie cut him off, waving away the excuse before it even left his mouth.
“We’re Gamers. We can't get cancer if that's what you're worried about. Now, grow some fucking balls and try.“
“What brand is that?”
Skullie turned his head slowly, like the question personally offended him.
“Oh, I’m so sorry—is my peasant cigarette not up to your royal standards?” Holding up the pack with half-peeled label and corners beat to hell like it had survived both World Wars, the Necromancer rolled his eyes. “I picked it off a corpse. It’s called 'Don’t Ask, Don’t Choke.' Real premium garbage.“
Eyes narrowing, Lenix took the cigarette, gave it a quick once-over with [Observe], and brought it to his lips. He inhaled, winced, and muttered a curse while choking back coughs and licking the bitter nicotine clinging to his lips.
Chuckling dryly, smoke curling from the gaps between the Avatar's exposed teeth, Skullie clapped—almost… Proud? “There you go! Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“Shit tastes like drywall, bitterness and regret.”
“That means it’s quality.”
Flicking the burnt filter to the ground, the Necromancer turned his gaze to the horizon; more specifically, the tides of Darkness rolling in like a silent, hungry storm. “We were just kids… I don’t know how old you were when you showed up, but my Guildmates? We were all between thirteen and seventeen.“
“I heard there were three of you. Which one were you?”
Skullie chuckled, his jaw clicking with the motion. “Thirteen. Believe it or not, I was the naïve one. We started out normal—scared, sure, but still ourselves—until we stumbled onto this little shithole called the Gutter. Wasn’t like it is now… Back then, it was a lot messier. A lot less civilized. And way more dangerous.“
“Lemme guess—that’s what lit a fire under you?”
“Oh, hell no. I was pissed, yeah, but I wasn’t the one who racked up fifty losses to some no-name scrub.”
“…Your Guildmaster lost fifty Duels straight? Damn, that’s fucking rough.”
“Oh, it was brutal. The guy was obsessed with winning. Never lost a Duel… Until then, so to keep his record clean, he offed himself for the Respawn. Over and over…
See, our kind, we don’t stay dead unless it’s one of us that pulls the trigger.
But I’m guessing you already knew that.”
Pegasus had made it crystal clear to Lenix last time they spoke.
“What you probably don’t know is how the Respawn works in Multiplayer.
As long as the other Gamers are alive, the dead ones stay dead, and the living can’t Save.” He exhaled slowly. “After a while, Annie and I had enough. We wanted out… We thought we did after he died. But…”
“There was no out.“
“No… There was no out. We didn’t know we couldn’t Save at first. We thought we could just go back to normal. Pretend it never happened. And for a while, we did. Tried to live. But then one day… Annie died. And I did what anyone would’ve done in that moment—I hit Reset.
Just like that, it all vanished.
I had a career, you know? Wealth. Power. More than anyone should possess.
I had a wife. Kids. Grandkids.
Eighty years of triumph. Eighty years of glory and greatness—wiped clean in an instant.“
The Avatar snapped his fingers, eyes locked on the horizon, hollow and unblinking.
“To the NPCs, the war lasted a few months.
For us?
It stretched into decades—maybe longer.
Hard to tell. Time blurs when Respawn’s involved.
All I remember is by the end, I was the last one standing.”
“What does this have to do with…” Lenix motioned toward the shattered skyline. “This?”
“Nothing… And everything,” Skullie answered as the pretense of warmth drained from his voice. “Have you ever killed the same person fifty times, Lenix? Ever razed the same village again and again, hoping something, anything might turn out different?“
“I haven’t, because I’m not a fucking psycho.”
“Is that so?” Skullie cocked his head. “And the NPCs you carved up—what about them? My Zombies at least end it fast. You? You dragged it out, made sure it hurt. Don’t act like you’re better than me! We’re beyond that!“
“They kidnapped my girlfriend. Tried to blackmail me.”
“Oh, that’s what you’re going with? A noble cause?”
Letting out a coarse laugh, the Necromancer cooed tauntingly.
“Save me the fucking sermon, Lenix. You weren’t just mad—you were giddy. Someone finally gave you an excuse to let the monster loose, and you loved it.”
“You’re wrong.” Lenix growled, but even he knew how empty it sounded.
“I don’t think I am,” Skullie said, cool and steady. “There’s no shame in it. I was blind, but I am Enlightened. We’re Gamers—we kill, we loot, we plunder. That’s the job. That’s who we are. But hey, let’s say I’m wrong. Let’s say you really are the Saint you pretend to be… Prove it.“
From his hand, a crumpled roll of paper dropped to the floor, and scribbled across it was an address.
“That’s where the mastermind behind the kidnapping is hiding. I want you to go there—talk, not kill. That’s it. If you can manage that, I’ll shut everything down. No tricks, no games. Hell, I’ll even toss in your side-chick and her idiot brother.“
“Akane…”
Lenix whispered the name which caught in his throat like a splinter. “And I am, what, just supposed to take your word for it? For all I know, you ordered the hit and now are pinning it on some poor bastard.”
The Necromancer stayed his tongue, flicking two Spell cards toward Lenix; cards that had no effect(s), no labels, only the panicked faces of the Fushio siblings frozen mid-scream.
“Call it a peace offering. As for your other question… Think about it, Lenix. What good would it do me to needlessly antagonizing you? Though I won’t lie, it kinda stings that he got you to spill blood before I could.“
Lenix stared at the cards like they might bite him, jaw tight, knuckles whiter than bone.
Every instinct of his screamed trap, yet he reached for the paper nevertheless, all while staring the Necromancer dead in the sockets. “What am I to you, Skullie? A pawn? A rival? Or just another poor bastard you want to drag to hell with?”
“You’re the only one who’s real…”
Skullie’s tone suddenly shifted as he laced his fingers together, almost like he was praying.
He looked and sounded too genuine for it to be an act, and yet too… Strange to be trustworthy.
“For the longest time, I entertained the idea that maybe, just maybe everything I had been through was just a long, drawn-out psychotic episode; that maybe I'm just batshit crazy.
And then you showed up.
Your Existence proved I'm completely insane.
Or maybe I am. Maybe we both are.
But hey… At least now I know I’m not the only nutjob in the 'Asylum.'
You ask me what you are? You're the Batman to my Joker.“
“That's a poor comparison... Those two hate each other."
"Do they now?"
The Avatar tilted its head and, as if on command, the Sea of Skull Servants parted.
“When you're done, find me at KaibaCorps.“
“Don't count on it.“
“Oh, you will come... Whether it's to end me, or to stand at my side—either way, our paths will cross.“
Behind the Necromancer, the earth cracked open with a deafening roar, split wide by a colossal skeletal hand tearing its way out from the abyss below.
King of the Skull Servants
Attribute: DARK
Level: 1
[Zombie/Effect]
Effect(s):
● The original ATK of this card is the combined number of "King of the Skull Servants" and "Skull Servant" in your GY x 1000.
● When this card is destroyed by battle and sent to the GY: You can banish 1 other "King of the Skull Servants" or 1 "Skull Servant" from your GY; Special Summon this card. ATK: 543,000 DEF: 543,000
“Oh, and Lenix! The more Unique the NPC, the better the Loots… Take that how you will.“
— [SK(GX)] —
Maximillion J. Pegasus—once the flamboyant CEO of Industrial Illusions, now a man with shadows under his eyes and a Duel Disk strapped to his arm like a lifeline—looked up from his half-finished sketch as a rhythmic, almost mocking taps knocked at the reinforced steel.
"Mr. Pegasus?"
A voice—young, professional, and utterly out of place in this tomb of a city—called from the other side.
"We’re here to extract you."
Pegasus didn’t move.
His mismatched eyes—one his flesh and blood, the other a Cybernetic replacement for his Millennium Eye—flicked toward the security feed on the monitor beside him.
The screen showed nine soldiers.
Not fifty.
Nine.
The first of the group was a wiry man with a scar running down his cheek.
Leaned against the wall, he heaved, each breath ragged and tired, yet his fingers rested firmly on ghe rifle slung over his shoulder.
Another, a hulking brute with a skull tattoo peeking out from under his collar, was muttering something under his breath, fingers twitching near his Duel Disk.
The other six?
One was missing an ear.
One was holding his side like he’d been stabbed.
Three of them looked like they’d bathed in fresh blood, making it damn near impossible to tell how much of it was theirs.
The last—the one who’d knocked—looked like he’d crawled out of hell recently.
Pegasus sighed, long and slow, before pressing the intercom.
"Password?"
"—Delta-Seven-Nine. Omega."
“Please remove your uniforms.“ Pegasus calmly ordered, like he was asking them to take off their shoes at the door and not strip down in the middle of a war zone.
“—What?!“ The burly soldier bellowed, face flushing crimson. “—Ah, piss off with that, ya rich feckin' ponce! We've no time for yer bloody queer shite!“
“—Rock. Please.” Fox cut in, tone flat but final.
“—Don’t ye fuckin’ ‘please’ me! Did ye hear what this prancin’ fookin' fairy just asked us to do?“
"Ah, yes,” Pegasus sighed, massaging his temples with the grace of a man who was deeply regretting his every life choice. “My glorious rescue team…”
'I had a wife, for God's sake!'
He swore, if he ever found the bastard who started the rumor that he batted for the same team, he'd do more than ruin them—he'd publicly humiliate them, financially cripple them, and if time allowed, possibly sue them for emotional damage… Assuming he survived this nightmare first, of course.
A nightmare of his own making, sure, but a nightmare nonetheless. “This is standard procedure. While there is no plague, we’ve received troubling reports of higher-level Monsters assuming human form to infiltrate survivor settlements… I need to make sure you are who you say you are.”
The foul-mouthed soldier continued to bark, but his words faltered as his captain casually stripped down to his underwear.
“—As you can see, I am fully human and I vouch for them. Now, please, the door?“
Still feeling suspicious, the billionaire briefly considered making them all strip, then decided against it.
He could press the matter, but time was running low. And even if one or two were ‘Destroyed’ and Turned, he was confident that he and the rest could handle it.
After a long moment of hesitation, he finally spoke into the microphone. "That's enough. You may enter."
The bunker door hissed open with a press, revealing the remnants of Fox-1's squad in all their battered glory.
Standing in the doorway, arms crossed, cybernetic eye whirring faintly as it scanned each soldier for signs of Corruption, Pegasus greeted with a smile. "The finest of the finest. Truly, I am blessed."
Fox-1 stepped forward, his rifle still slung but his fingers twitching near the trigger. "Sir, we need to move. Now."
Sighing, Pegasus swirled the glass of wine he had plucked from his desk and sarcastically asked.
"My dear captain, have you considered that rushing headlong into the City during nightfall might be bad for one's health?"
Rock scoffed. "Oh, aye, 'cause sittin' in this glorified fuckin' panic room's done wonders fer yers."
Pegasus shot the man a withering look. "Ah, yes. The tactical genius! Tell me, do you strategize with that accent, or is it purely for intimidation?"
Fox-1 cut in before Rock could retort. "Sir, with all due respect—"
"Which is none," Pegasus interjected.
"Command wants you extracted before sunrise. Whatever’s out there is getting stronger, and we’ve already lost too many men playing hide-and-seek with corpses."
Pegasus' smirk faded.
Setting the wine down, his cybernetic eye whirred faintly as he pulled up a holographic display—a live feed of the city above.
"See those?" He pointed. "Those are Zombies. Dark-Attribute Zombies. And guess what happens when the sun sets?"
Mako, the rear guard, shifted uncomfortably. "They... Get stronger?"
“Ding-ding-ding!” Pegasus chimed, flicking his fingers like a game show host. “At night, their ATK and DEF jump by 200. Doesn’t sound like much, does it? But they already outnumber us a thousand to one… Forgive me if I'm not too eager to sprint to my de—”
A wet, gurgling cough cut him off.
The squad spun, rifles snapping up, only to find Jenkins, one of the bloodied soldiers, slumped in a chair.
His skin had gone corpse-gray, veins blackening beneath the surface. His fingers twitched, nails splitting into jagged claws.
Fox-1 didn’t hesitate.
Jenkins hadn’t even risen when a bullet punched clean through his forehead, snapping his skull back like a ragdoll.
His body hit the ground with a dead thud.
“And that’s why I told you lot to strip.”
“I don’t get it… Command said it’s not a disease.”
“It’s not.” Pegasus kicked the corpse onto its back and unbuttoned the uniform, exposing a grotesque web of blackened veins spreading from his forearm to his chest.
“Then how the hell d’ye explain that?”
Pegasus shot a smug glance over his shoulder.
“If your Zombie monster destroys an opponent's monster by battle: You can Special Summon that destroyed monster to your field in Defense Position, but it becomes a Zombie, also its effects are negated.
They're not being Infected, so much as they're being… Converted upon Destruction.“
