No excuses. Just an apology to anyone who wasted their time waiting for an update. Well, here it is! I'm proud to say that I'll be taking this fic up again(Hopefully with some more regularity). I'm sorry for the hiatus.

Disclaimer: Prince of Persia is not mine, though I do claim the concept of Malik as my own.

Chapter 12: Unapproachable

As the sound of crumbling glass permeated through the cabin, Malik's eyes shot open and he blinked several times to readjust to the vague light of dawn that was tickling through the curtains. For a few moments it felt almost surreal– like nothing was wrong– but then the splitting pain of his wound began to throb and he was distinctly aware that his right shoulder was absolutely freezing, as though it had slipped into ice water while he had slept.

Daring to glance to the side, Malik's eyebrows rose unexpectedly at the sight of Farah, who seemed quite comfortable with her head resting upon his shoulder. She was cold... Malik shivered and gracefully slipped away from her, disrupting the cat who had been happily snuggled against his warm chest.

He reached up and half-consciously rubbed his shoulder, trying to bring heat back to it. Maybe he was just too warm...

"Did you sleep well?"

Malik jumped and looked across the dimly-lit room at the Prince, who had stood to his full height and was now glowering down upon his counterpart. His voice was lined with hard-edged jealousy, something that Malik could almost smell in the air. "Don't blame me for what she did." The entity snapped warningly.

"I'm not blaming anyone of anything." The Prince said evenly, striding across the room and digging decisively through a cupboard, at last drawing away with two wooden swords. He threw one at Malik, who caught it instinctively with an air of confusion. "We'll spar." The Prince explained shortly.

The blond-haired man bristled immediately and drew in a deep breath to voice his thoughts on 'sparring' in a noticeably loud fashion. Before he could erupt into shouts, however, Malik became aware that the other occupants of the cabin were still asleep... it wouldn't be wise to wake them.

Instead Malik followed the Prince outside, grumbling angrily until they were a fair distance away. "I can't spar, you idiot!" He hissed, throwing down his sword irritably. "I don't even use a sword! I don't know what you think you're doing, but–" Malik was cut off by a sharp blow to his shoulder, casting him onto the sand with a grunt. "You fool!" He cried in outrage. "I'm injured enough already from saving your princess!" He dodged another strike meant for his head and grabbed the wooden instrument he had thrown down, using it to catch the Prince's next strike, standing up hastily and looking to and fro.

"Listen to me, Prince!" Malik gasped, ducking another harsh attack and stumbling away, feeling his wound beginning to reopen. "You're being ridiculous and– Gods!" He caught the next strike with his own sword, and winced when the wood creaked ominously, sending a splinter into his face. "What. Is. Your. Problem?" He snarled, ignoring the blood that had begun to pour down his side as he began returning blows. His mind had fallen into a state of self-preservation as Malik began to fear that his opponent would kill him if given the opportunity.

The Prince parried the next swing and felt his sword connect with Malik's ribcage. His mind was dulled, and logic didn't seem to exist anymore– instead all he was aware of was the incessant desire to break the man before him, and to keep him away from Farah, and anyone else he cared about. "You are evil." The Prince snarled, landing another blow on Malik's torso, splitting the skin. "You don't deserve to live. You're the same monster you were before." As his opponent's eyes narrowed and Malik's swings became wider– less controlled, Prince smirked to himself. "And that bothers you, doesn't it?" A snarl wrought Malik's face in two.

"Don't speak of what you don't know!" The entity howled, bringing down his sword and feeling the shock of impact sear his muscles as both blades cracked into separate pieces.

Malik, in light of his rage, forwent the wooden mess and thrust his fist against the Prince's cheek, reveling in the noise it emitted. His tunic was soaked with blood, and as the two of them fell back into the sand, all that went through their minds was to strike anything that was in their line of vision. They were no longer warriors, for the battle had been degraded to a brawl.

One that Malik was inevitably going to lose as they tumbled down a sand dune and he was pinned beneath the Prince's larger frame. Though he strained magnificently, his arms were trapped beneath his larger counterpart's knees, and he could only feel the sensation of fists hitting his face and chest time and time again.

The metallic taste of blood was in his mouth, and it compelled Malik to close his eyes and allow the Sands to take over his body. The agony of the transformation ripped through his abdomen as he felt the world change. His pain lessened while the five senses were doubled– no, tripled.

He winced when the Prince gave a yell of pain, though Malik couldn't quite understand why– he hadn't even made a move to attack, in fact, he had only taken this form to keep himself from losing consciousness.

When he opened his eyes, however, Malik knew exactly why the Prince had cried out: His hands were encrusted with blisters from having so much as touched the dark being before him. A smile spread on Malik's lips unbidden, and without so much as another word, he reached out and effectively poked the Prince with his smallest finger, watching as an angry welt rose from the point.

He began to laugh softly, then louder and louder, reaching out again with his charcoal hand to swipe at his enemy. The shouts of pain sent shivers of delight through his being, and Malik fell into screams of mirth, allowing his conscious mind to fade into darkness as he watched burns spread over the Prince.

He wasn't aware of Farah and the Old Man behind him. He didn't feel the blows of the elder's cane against his back, nor Farah's pleas for his sanity to take over. The only thing he knew was that this game he played with the Prince was fun.

He did, however, feel a trickle of water across his back, and let loose a howl of rage, turning around with the Daggertail high in the air; ready to strike Farah down as her hand tightened around the waterskin.

All at once he felt the golden streaks across his body fading to deep red, however, his yellow eyes drooped half-closed and Malik felt his body swaying as the reverse transformation pulled the infection from his mind and body. A drop of blood fell from his lips and he was suddenly aware of the forming bruises along his body, though Sand had healed the gash upon his abdomen.

He looked up at the three surrounding him and felt his mouth drying into a desert. "Prince... I didn't... it wasn't..." The royal only walked past him, stopping briefly to land a painful kick against his back. The blisters upon his face were gruesome, and Malik felt a strange sensation engulfing his mind and body. Something that made his eyes burn as the Old Man followed suit and, with a deep frown, Farah as well.

Malik rose to his knees in the sand and felt the sun engulfing his back, warming the plain of skin as he stared down into his hands as if expecting an answer to be written there. Instead there were only his fingertips, five charcoal black, and the others excruciatingly pale. It made him sick, suddenly, to see the infection that had crept up his arm. A soft sound broke through Malik's throat and he buried his hands in his hair, pulling at the locks fruitlessly while screwing up his eyes.

He had to fix it. To right the wrong before the Prince tried to kill him in his sleep– Malik moaned again and laid his head against his knees, allowing the cool morning air to wash over him.

At last Malik stood up shakily, feeling the effects of his lack of energy as he stumbled towards the cottage, reaching a hand towards the door before stopping hesitantly to listen. He pressed his ear to the thin wall and sank into a crouch, feeling a frown spreading across his lips as the conversation within persisted.

"The burns are minor, My Prince, with no lasting harm."

Malik heard something shuffling back and forth, assuming it to be feet. "He tried to kill me." The Prince's voice seethed. "I knew no good could come from trusting him."

"I don't understand," Farah's voice cut in. "What was the cause of his transformation?" Malik mentally applauded her brief spurt of intelligence. "You suggested once that it only occurred under stress."

"He's a beast, Farah! We were only sparring and–"

"Sparring? Gods, Prince, why would you spar with a wounded man?"

There was the sound of several containers being slammed into the floor, and Malik winced, sinking lower upon the wall. "Don't question me."

There was a long silence and Malik leaned closer to the wall, though he rather wished he hadn't when Farah's enraged screech rushed through the terrain. "You've been drinking!" The accusation hung in the air and he let himself sigh, enjoying the new experience of hearing her yell at someone else.

The following minutes were filled with more exclamations, the Prince's half-bodied defenses, and at last(And certainly not least in Malik's opinion) Farah hissed; "In your state, I don't put half so much blame on Malik!"

"He almost killed you!" The Prince cried.

Farah ran towards the door and swung it open viciously, leaving Malik to scramble away from her wrath and hide on the other side of the hut. "And you left me to die yesterday!" She bellowed back, slamming the entrance closed and angrily storming blindly around the building before squawking indignantly when her knee met Malik's unsuspecting chin and she gracelessly plummeted onto the dirt by his side.

He reached over briefly, for a reason that was impossible to explain, but jerked his hand away when Farah gave a growl. "Don't touch me." She said softly, casting the entity a vicious glower. "Regardless of what you heard... I don't forgive what you did– to me, as well as the Prince." She let her head rest in her hands and gave a loud sigh. "How can we trust you?" Farah finally exclaimed bitterly. "If you lose control– Gods, Malik! You could kill us!"

He bowed his head and felt the burning sensation again in his eyes. "I know!" He said softly. "I know... I..." Malik sent his fist into the sand and looked at the resulting crater in strange fascination, rubbing it away after several moments. "I don't want it to happen again, but it will." He fixed Farah with a gaze more serious than normal, and he sighed. "The transformations will save us..."

Farah looked at him coldly. "How can you possibly defend that– and what you did!"

Malik leapt to his feet angrily and his eyes narrowed. "I am not defending what happened!" He snarled, "What happened is exactly what I want to prevent!" He shook his head like a bothered dog and began to pace before Farah. "But I can't prevent it if your betrothed starts attacking me whenever he feels jealous."

Farah frowned at him and looked away. "He wasn't in his right state of mind– you know that."

"He hates me, and he will kill me at the first chance." Malik sighed and leaned against the wall of the cabin. "I don't blame him, but I'm starting to think... that..."

"You would be better off on your own?"

Malik looked up at Farah in surprise and felt a smirk slipping onto his face at her slightly downcast expression. He wanted to forgo his own anger and depression, and so he quickly pursued the topic. "As a matter of fact, yes." He said loosely. "Why, you sound like you know what I'm talking about." He dropped onto his rump and boyishly propped his chin on his elbow, fixing Farah with a clever stare. "Would you like to elaborate?"

She looked at him suspiciously and began to scrape the sand into small clumps with her index finger. "It's none of your business." She snapped bitterly.

"Don't women need to talk about things to avoid spontaneous implosion?"

"That's not going to make me talk any faster."

Malik sighed. "You look miserable." He pointed out, gesturing to the deep frown upon her face, and Farah irritably pushed his finger away.

"I just finished saying that I haven't forgiven you for almost killing me and you expect me to debrief you on my relationships?"

"I didn't even mention relationships. What's this new plot twist?" Malik laughed aloud when Farah flushed and tossed a handful of sand at him. He only waved his hand at her awkwardness.

She sighed loudly and sank against the wall, listening briefly to the silence inside the hut before looking back at Malik. "All you need to know is that... The Prince and I are experiencing some... complications." She blushed again when he chuckled. "If you're going to laugh, I refuse to say a word more!"

He only smiled teasingly. "What kind of complications?"

"It's none of your business."

"That's no way to treat someone who's trying to help."

Farah sighed. "Fine, he's just–"

She fell silent when a noticeable shiver ran up Malik's spine and they watched in fascination as a trickle of Sand escaped his lips, hovering in the air before melding back into his flesh. He looked instinctively towards Babylon and felt his mouth drop open in awe.

Dozens– no, hundreds of Sand Beasts were rampaging closer, their bellowing cries scarcely audible through the distance. At their lead was a solitary black horse, upon which Malik recognized the familiar armor of Jamila. He squinted and felt panic rise in his throat. "We'll have to continue this discussion later..." He gasped. "Get the Prince."

Yet Farah stood transfixed on the horizon, watching in mounting horror as the monsters charged closer. "How?" She breathed. "In only hours!"

"Get the Prince!" Malik roared, shoving her towards the door. "And warn him that I've no time for bearing grudges!" The Daggertail slid free from his arm with a metallic hiss, scraping along the sand as the entity moved slowly away from the hut. The beasts would follow him...

A smirk broke his lips as the door opened and soon the Prince and Farah were up-in-arms at his side. The former bore the marks of his previous torment and a furious scowl, but his attention was transfixed upon the approaching swarm. "We cannot possibly defeat them all." The royal barked.

"We don't have to." Malik replied with a smirk. "We have the means to gamble our way out."

The Prince glared at him. "You're insane!"

"Yes, and that's what had kept us alive so far, isn't it?"

A laugh rose in his throat and Malik flicked the Daggertail into a ready position while he listened to the harmony of the King's Sword sliding from it's scabbard and Farah's bow being strung taut. From the hut he could feel the Old Man's eyes boring into him, but Malik only laughed louder.

At last the wave was upon them and as his companions battled for all they were worth, Malik let the Daggertail hang at his side while the horde of beasts encircled them. He watched Jamila look down upon the trio from her perch upon the charcoal horse, and she drew her blade slowly.

"I will repay you for the imperfection dealt to me." She hissed, and the scar upon her cheek seemed to glow with Sand.

Malik only relaxed his shoulders and let his eyes slip shut, letting a grin play across his face as he heard the unmistakable sound of a raised sword. After a moment he withdrew the Daggertail and fixed the Egyptian with an icy stare as the blade rushed down to meet his skull.