A/N: Oh hey. So...I'm in a REALLY sadistic mood. So...I've concocted something awful. And beautiful. Eventually it'll be Psychoshipping, but we have to work up to that, kay? This is a kinda a prologue, a taste of my demented mind.

Warning: Violence. A lot of it. Nothing terribly graphic, but it's not sugar coated. Also language.

Marik plunged the ten inch blade into his victim's chest. It was a knife from the unfortunate boy's kitchen. He loved the idea of undoing his prey with one of their own belongings. He had no way of knowing whether they realized the irony of his methods; but he did. And, after all, that's really all that mattered. It was as if, in a way, they cut out their own hearts.

They purchased the item with their own money, which they earned through their own conscious volition. It wasn't a method of evasion; Marik knew full well that his carnivorous will brought them to their untimely ends. It simply pleased him, another gear in the complex machine that was his homicidal ritual. With deft movements, he extricated the heart from its woefully fragile container. He relished this moment, when the warm blood sluiced freely, coating his tanned hand. He brought his blood soaked fingers to his mouth and sucked the substance off, biting them in his frenzy. Blood mingled with blood; two souls became one.

"Ahahahaha!" his maniacal laugh rang loudly through the apartment. "Oh god! Mmmmmnnnnn we're made for each other! You're blood, my skin! So beautifully we fit together..." The boy laying underneath him managed a few unintelligible gurgles before succumbing to his fatal wound. Marik cupped the heart between his hands as one would regard a flawless diamond. It beat one last time, a horribly pathetic squirm. He kissed it like a groom would kiss his new bride.

"So pretty...just like you. Too bad, nothing ever lasts. But, take heart," another peal of unearthly laughter broke through the room in manner with which a lightning bolt handles so much empty, meaningless sky, "a part of you shall live on, forever, with me." A new piece for his priceless collection. After all, how can one measure the value of a human heart?

Marik cradled the lifeless body in his arms as a child would a doll, stroking the boy's blonde hair lovingly. His hands started shaking, and soon he was digging his nails into his scalp, drawing blood and skin. He hungrily kissed blue lips, his breathing ragged and uneven. As his fingers traversed sticky skin, he felt his arousal growing.

"You're mine! You're fucking mine..."

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" the scream was as glorious as a Tchaikovsky symphony to Bakura's ears. He had sliced off Ryou's left pinky finger. Quickly, he dragged Ryou to their mess of a kitchen and cauterized the wound upon the electric stove, resulting in more screams, more Christmas presents. Such a beautiful finger, it was. Long, slender, with a perfectly manicured nail.

"Shhhh don't cry Ryou, don't cry. You're still beautiful. Your hand—it's still beautiful. You're even more beautiful, darling. Because your flawed, noticeably. From my doing." He took the boy back to their bedroom, locking the shackles upon Ryou's scarred wrists.

"Are you hungry, Ryou?" the smaller boy managed a feeble nod. "I'll get you a pudding cup."

Bakura returned to the kitchen and grabbed a pudding from the rather desolate refrigerator, as well as a tarnished spoon from the drawer. He kneeled before the crumpled dove, lifting his head,

"Open wide Baby RyRy," Ryou complied as quickly as he could and was rewarded with a spoonful of chocolate pudding. "That's a good boy. Look. I'm sorry about the finger. But...I kept staring at it day after day and...I don't know. It was like...I needed that finger to be severed from your hand. So I could hold it, caress it...but it's okay. No real harm done right?" Ryou nodded once more, got another spoonful.

He would never kill Ryou. No. No, no, no. No. He wouldn't. He couldn't. Not like the others. He loved Ryou; Ryou was beautiful. He was like Jesus. He brooked all of Bakura's sins. All the murders, all the torture, everything. He was like a sponge, a big sponge that absorbed blood and bile and semen and hate. He never judged, he never scorned. He accepted, and still loved Bakura. He always would.

As he fed Ryou another spoonful he continued, "You know. It's unfair you should have to carry all your shit and mine besides. But. Life's so fucking unfair, isn't it? It's a lesson in not allowing your back to break from all the shit piled on it. I'm making you stronger, Ryou. I'm making you stronger everyday. I'm God, and you're Jesus. You're my son; you're me. I'm you; We're all one. You see? None of it really matters. And it's terribly important. My pain becomes yours. So, it's like I'm looking in a mirror when I see your fucked up figure. And it's beautiful. Because it's me, and you. And that's like, the ultimate truth. But it doesn't matter too," another spoonful. "'Cause there will be a time when the pain will hold no hurt. It'll just be so much air. And we'll be free, Ryou...Ryou? Ryou do you love me?"

"Y-yes...Bakura...of-of course I love you..." Ryou was exhausted.

"I knew it. I knew you did. I knew it."

So...yeah. In case you're wondering, the kid Marik murders ISN'T Malik. Just some random person. I just realized that maybe it could be construed that way.

I thought this was delicious. But that's just me.

Hehehe

R&R please?