Sector Security’s cordon tape ringed the boundary of the cavern, and a hooded figure stood watching from the shadows in the distance.
He kept his hood pulled low, standing motionless for a moment, then turned and vanished into the tangled, dark alleyways of the Satellite.
The run-down streets twisted and turned in layers, rusted sheet metal and broken walls carving the daylight into fragments.
The hooded man wound his way through them, eventually arriving at the base of a crumbling old building.
He pushed open a rusted iron door, and a damp, cold air hit him at once.
Candlelight flickered inside the old basement, where several people were already waiting, their matching robes marking them clearly as cultists.
The man shut the door behind him, and someone in the room spoke up right away.
“How did it go?” The hooded man slowly pulled back his hood, a heavy gloom shadowing his eyes.
“Sector Security has sealed off the cavern.
Even that old dog Goodwin showed up in person.
I couldn’t get close enough to the cordon to see the whole picture, so I had to rely on a sacred rite to eavesdrop on what was said inside.
The ritual site is a wreck.
Every one of our brothers and sisters who took part in the ceremony is dead.
No survivors.” One of the cultists frowned.
“How could this have happened?” “Something seems to have gone wrong with this ritual’s sacrifice,” the hooded man said gravely.
“I heard them mention traces of some other power at the scene…
something belonging to a higher-tier existence, distinct from our own sect.” One cultist said, startled, “Some other existence interfered with our sect’s ritual?
Could it be something from the afterlife…?” “Too early to say,” the hooded man said, shaking his head.
“But I heard Sector Security’s people say only our own were found among the dead.
No sign of the sacrifice at all.
Whatever went wrong here, it has to be tied to that sacrifice.” Another cultist asked, “So who was the sacrifice, exactly?” “We don’t know.
The brother in charge of selecting the sacrifice also died at the ritual site.
All we know is they were probably picked up as a day laborer from some factory,” someone answered.
The hooded man thought it over for a moment, then said, “But since he only left the ritual site recently, there should still be traces of our lord’s presence clinging to him.
As long as he hasn’t gone too far, I might still be able to track him down.” Several of the cultists perked up.
“With the Dark Ritual Officiant handling this personally, it’s as good as done.” But the hooded man, known within the cult as the Dark Ritual Officiant, only shook his head, his expression grave.
“We don’t know anything about what we’re up against.
I can’t even confirm what kind of existence we’re actually dealing with right now.
But if we don’t track it down while the trail’s still fresh, we may never be able to identify it at all.
So I have to take the risk.” A cultist said, shocked, “Are you saying…
we might be facing an enemy even you couldn’t stand against?” “Hard to say, but I can’t rule it out,” the Dark Ritual Officiant said.
“If I haven’t returned by this time tomorrow, evacuate this area immediately and notify the Bishop.” He paused for a moment, then pulled a deck out of a card case hidden beneath his black robe, followed by a single card from a separate, individual case.
Even unused, the card radiated an ominous presence.
Just being pulled out of its case seemed enough to press an invisible weight down on everyone in the room.
A cultist held their breath.
“Is that…
the Cursed Card the Bishop granted you?” The Dark Ritual Officiant nodded.
“A cursed card that can only be wielded with its user’s own blood, one that eats away at a duelist’s lifespan every time it’s used.
But in exchange for that price, its power is far beyond anything an ordinary card could offer.” As he spoke, he slotted the card into his deck.
“I have a feeling,” the Dark Ritual Officiant said, sliding the deck into his Duel Disk, “that whoever I’m up against this time…
might not leave me any room to hold back.” …
“The general store…
this should be it, right?” Yushin followed the sign and made his way inside the shop.
Daylight leaked through the shop’s rusted sheet-metal walls, and the shelves were piled haphazardly with cheap snacks and battered card boxes.
The place looked empty, with no sign of the owner anywhere.
Yushin stepped through the door, and before he could get his bearings, a figure suddenly sprang out from behind him.
Was that…
Elemental HERO Avian?
Green leather bodysuit, a pair of wings that had clearly seen better days and were shedding badly, a beer gut poking out under the tight costume…
a middle-aged, out-of-shape Avian, arms and claws flailing dramatically in his direction.
The whole scene was so absurd it left him completely stunned for a second.
“Avian” looked a little deflated when Yushin didn’t react, pulling off the mask to reveal a round, ordinary face.
“What, you’re not even gonna flinch?” Yushin stayed quiet for a moment, then said, “Uncle Rude, this costume looks way too cheap.
Most guys go bald in middle age, but your Avian’s molting instead…” The shopkeeper, Rude, glanced down at the badly thinning feathers on his own cosplay outfit and sighed.
“Ugh, I made it myself out of scrap from the Satellite trash heaps, so this is the quality you get…
not cute at all anymore.
You and Yukine used to get so excited seeing this costume, you know.” “‘Used to’ meaning back when we were kids,” Yushin said.
“I’m way past the age of idolizing superheroes now.” On the way over, he’d dug through what little was left of the body’s memories, and it took a while before he vaguely recalled that the siblings had always been on good terms with this shopkeeper.
Rude sighed.
“A man stays a boy at heart till the day he dies.
Who hasn’t dreamed of being a hero at some point?” He said this while heading back behind the counter.
“So, what are you here for today?
I’ll say this up front, I don’t have any spare cards to give you today.” The Fujishiro siblings had lost their parents young, and a pair of orphaned kids trying to get by in the Satellite obviously had it rough.
Through it all, Rude had looked out for them more than a little.
In fact, given Fujishiro Sakuma’s financial situation, even scraping together that original all-vanilla starting deck of his hadn’t been easy.
A good number of those cards had been ones Rude picked out of his own slow-selling reject pile and gave away for free.
Summoned Skull, Sakuma’s ace card, had actually been a birthday gift from Rude the year before.
Summoned Skull was still technically a vanilla monster, but with a solid 2500 ATK and only requiring a single Tribute to summon despite being Level 6, its practical value in the Satellite was nothing to scoff at.
On top of that, it was one of the ace monsters the original Duel King, Yugi Muto, had used to make his name over thirty years ago, and that celebrity effect naturally boosted its popularity.
For a poor orphan in the Satellite, that gift had counted as genuinely valuable.
Yushin said, “I know.
I’m just browsing for now.” He wandered around the shop, picking through what was there, using the opportunity to get a sense of what kinds of cards actually circulated in the Satellite, and at what prices.
After a while of browsing, he actually spotted a Foolish Axe, the same card he’d already picked up himself.
Yushin picked it up and asked Rude, “How much for this one?” Rude glanced at the Foolish Axe in his hand and shook his head.
“That’s a rare, expensive piece.
Don’t even bother, you can’t afford it.” Yushin said, “I know.
Just curious.
What’s it going for?” Rude said, “5000 DP a piece.
No haggling, no credit.” Yushin sucked in a sharp breath.
Good grief, five thousand for a single card…
Even if he didn’t eat or drink and managed to find factory work every single day, an entire month of grinding shifts in the Satellite wouldn’t cover it.
Something occurred to Yushin, and he asked, “Oh, right, Rude, how much would a copy of Mirror Force go for?” Mirror Force was a powerful Trap that, when the opponent attacked, destroyed every Attack Position monster they had on the field.
In the Yu-Gi-Oh!
community, it was practically legendary, in play from the very first generation under Yugi Muto’s hand all the way through the sixth generation.
A defining bomb of the early meta, and one of the most iconic set Trap Cards in all of Yu-Gi-Oh!.
“You’re after Mirror Force too, kid?” Rude laughed.
“Dream on.
How would a Trap that powerful ever end up somewhere like the Satellite?” “So it’s a main-city-only thing?” Yushin asked.
“I’m just curious.
What would a copy of Mirror Force go for in the main city, then?” “Been a while since I’ve kept up with main-city prices, but from what I remember…” Rude said breezily, “somewhere around three to four hundred thousand DP.” Yushin: “…” Just one Mirror Force, and it costs three or four hundred thousand?
Damn.
Yeah, no kidding.
You really can’t play Yu-Gi-Oh!
without money, huh?