WARNING! PLEASE READ BEFORE VIEWING THE CONTENTS OF THIS STORY: Please
understand that there is very graphic language in this story, high levels
of violence, and malicious plot structure present, as well as yaoi pairings
(Yami and Yugi, specifically), meaning romantic details of boys liking
boys. This is also a intended to be very psychotic literature, too, similar
to movies like Identity. If you are offended in any way, shape, or form by
this subject material.PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS FIC!
Now that you have been thoroughly warned about what to expect, come and delve into the mysteries of madness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~
Chapter One: The Devil's Disciple
"I wish I could watch this whole fucking city burn." the silver haired male whispered, his tone raspy from the numerous bottles of liquor he consumed. "That way, I could taste the stench of melting flesh on my tongue, delight in the countless bodies heaped up to the horizon, and breathe the scent of sticky slimy blood pooled beneath corpses in splendid wonder."
Heaving a vat of alcohol in front of his face, Bakura gazed idly at the remnants of the container. Dangerous as it was, the millennium spirit had broken the neck of the glass item before he was done drinking from it. Shards of the shattered material were littered around the brutal individual's body, some of the more jagged pieces actually slicing his skin open. In all honesty, he didn't care how many of the sharp scraps drove themselves into his scarred tissue. He welcomed the pain, the stinging sensations, and the whole perverted package of vicious self-destruction. Evil intuition was all the same to him, that sociopath disposition that desired to drag everyone else down with him, screaming into the endless abyss of oblivion. Nothing widened his sadistic smirk more than some wicked ambition, terrible thought, or cruel intention. That violent attitude, those warped ideas, provided his lifeline to the world of the living, not the maroon tinged fluid leaking from his veins onto the tiles beneath him.
Violet eyes, tainted with the curse of crimson accents, lolled over the italics scrawled on the jug's front. Wordlessly, his chapped lips read each and every word as if they were some obscure foreign language.
"Jose Cuervo, house brand tequila brewed in 1984by the Mexican government." Throwing his head back, the spirit of the ring let out a feral laugh, a sound that was so completely terrifying that it closely resembled a hyena's primal cries. "Why is it that the most corrupt assholes make the best stuff to get plastered with? Seriously, though." he told himself out loud, slowly regaining his composure, "this shit's pretty good. Why'd I have to be born an Egyptian? Looks like the Spanish have a better handle on how to really live it up."
Without giving his action a second thought, Bakura lifted the cracked edge of the bottle to his mouth. Taking a large swig of the harmful beverage, he didn't even notice the stream of fresh blood oozing from his frame and mixing with the liquid he was taking in. Oh, well, not that it particularly mattered, anyhow. He'd just think of the red fluid like syrup, a tasty little special ingredient that would be similar to liquefied sugar. The golden juice reminded him of a fiery river, washing down his throat and burning his sensitive insides with intense heat. Not even feeling the urge to cough a single syllable, the white-haired male pulled the sickening substance away from himself. It felt good, the wide ranges of warmth seizing control of his frame, scorching every one of his vital organs with the flames of hell. No wonder people found it so easy to turn to the dark side.being a demon was so alluring, so tempting, just so much damn fun most of the time. It proved to be more entertaining to tear off an angel's wings and play Keep-Away with them than to sing another boring hymn about how great God is, how he loves everyone and everything and thinks they're all unique in their own ways, that humans should paint hearts and rainbows all over each other and say "Peace be with you" so much that they die of dehydration.
"Yeah, well fuck it." spat the millennium spirit bitterly, clamping his fist around the severed seam of the bottle. A fountain of mortal red seeped out from beneath his palm, bathing his flesh in angry lunacy. Disregarding the new abrasion on his limb, he gripped the container even tighter. "Fuck Him, fuck society, fuck all those sorry-assed, bible-thumping psychos who cater to Satan himself when they're away from church."
Fueled by the ever-growing rage boiling underneath his skin, Bakura twisted his structure into a crouching position. Appearing to be a formidable predator searching for an innocent victim, he glared sinisterly out into the darkness. The horror of the shade violated his features, possessing his lilac orbs with wild ruthlessness. Smiling defiantly at his surroundings, he rose from the floor to his full height. Measuring in at six feet tall, the spirit of the ring was a horrifying sight to behold. Slightly hunched at the shoulders, the silver-haired individual loomed over his array of detrimental drinks with unspoken authority. Dressed in his traditional blue and white attire (school garments, nonetheless, he despised the prissy wardrobe of his pussy hikari), he was able to make the outfit look more like death shrouds than common clothes. As pale as a corpse from the morgue, his pasty skin remained stretched over his anatomy, his fine bone chemistry poking out of his tissue like a walking skeleton. He was the living dead, a soul without a master, a spirit without a home. Heaven rejected him, hell abandoned him, and every other realm of reality banished him from their vision. Yet he was not bothered by this, the constant state of being shunned or condescended. No plane of existence had any real impact on him, or genuine lasting impression that wished to be seen in his mind, for that matter. They all loathed him, were disgusted by him, just totally hated him with a passion greater than any emotion imaginable. That was fine by him, though. Just oh-so fine. The malicious grin he wore widened, exposing two sharp canine teeth in the process.
"Be you God or Lucifer, you shall fall before me." proclaimed the snowy- haired demon, his purple orbs glittering with the promise of cold revenge. "All of you, every single one of you, you'll all fall down.like fallen angels."
Without warning, he kicked the jugs by his feet, crushing the flimsy glass with the direct hit. Vodka and rum spewed out of the hazardous containers, escaping over the tiles and licking the walls with their sweet-smelling tongues. Watching the effects of his aggression with a hint of interest, he bent down to drag a ready finger through the damaging liquids. Bringing the strong beverage to his visage, he stuck the dripping limb into his mouth.
"Mmm.hell never tasted so divine." murmured the twisted soul, withdrawing his hand from his face while smacking his lips together. "Those illiterate Good Samaritans of this earth have no idea what they're missing."
Navigating his path through the shadows and broken tumblers, the lilac-eyed male headed towards the door that would lead him outside. It was getting late, so he reasoned to himself that he had obviously worn out his welcome here long ago. Besides, he had better tasks to accomplish than hanging out in some cramped little apartment that begged to be redecorated.
Striding comfortably through the gloom, he felt his fingers slide around a smooth, metallic sphere. Chuckling softly to himself, he rolled his hand across the cool surface. Slowly turning the knob with his palm, Bakura pushed the frame away from himself to receive moonlight in return. As silent as a shadow, he emerged from the living space and was engulfed by the night. Breathing in a new supply of oxygen, the millennium spirit inconspicuously checked his surroundings. The cool evening air toyed with his crazed silver bangs, causing the tresses to billow in the breeze. Due to the insanely early hour of the morning, not a single soul could be spotted for miles. Blanketed by the many sleeping people in the city, this part of the world had achieved a condition of dreamy tranquility, a type of stillness that dictated silent slumber was more important than anything else.
/Obviously they are mistaken. / thought the ghostly individual, detesting the stupidity of the human race. /No one should sleep when I'm around./
Baring his teeth venomously at the developed landscape, Bakura tipped the vat of tequila upside down. He listened to the slick, wet motion of the liquor, feeling the bottle get lighter as the alcohol gushed forth. When he was sure every last drop of his drink had hit the floor of the apartment, he threw the container into the living area. With his back to the complex, he dug his hand into his jacket pocket and fished out a book of matches. Easy to find, since it was the only possession he had on him. Flipping the paper lid to the instant fire sticks, he reached inside to pluck out what he wanted. In one swift movement, he struck the red head over the grainy surface of the package. Immediately, the match caught fire, dancing like an exotic fairy on the tip of the wooden rod. The orange and blue flames flickered, its mesmerizing glow reflecting in the ring spirit's deranged violet eyes. He loved playing with fire, worshipping its chaotic properties, adoring its devastating capabilities. The bigger the bonfire, the better, though.
"Go forth and sin no more." intoned the demented grim reaper-like person, imitating the phrases of a Catholic priest.
Showing the enchanting element one last look of psychotic admiration, he threw the composition behind himself. Burn it. Burn it all. Watch the place get leveled. Watch the whole fucking city just burn.
As alcohol met fire, the entire apartment became a blazing inferno. Everything from furniture to appliances began to smolder, converting themselves into ashen debris in no time flat. Glancing over his shoulder at the self-created boiler room, Bakura's gaze followed the fall of a picture frame with his eyes. Scanning the photograph casually, he made out the two figures in the image by squinting. Small and sweet Yugi Mutoh was perched high on his yami's shoulders, flashing the camera an award-winning smile. Looking g positively radiant in the afternoon sun, the miniature cutie pie had his bright blue violet spheres closed, emphasizing his child-like nature. Pretending to be frustrated by his boyfriend's weight, Yami-san actually wore a decent expression for this photo. Softened by the sakura petals drifting by, the king of the Nile seemed more like an angel than a legendary duelist. They always appeared to be a model couple, doing practically everything together under the sun.
/Damn them and their picture perfect lifestyles. / the jealous anarchist swore to himself, denying the utter envy he felt for the romantic pairing. /Their lives won't be such a bowl of cherries after I'm done around here./
Scowling at the cherished photograph, Yami no Bakura had to turn his attention towards the dimly lit residences in the distance to prevent himself from vomiting. How could a teeny kindergarten crybaby and some arrogant game obsessed freak ever make it as a couple? Did they really believe in that romantic smut fairy tales embellished upon, or did they simply engage in a relationship to enjoy the sex? Either way, their illusion happy existences were about to have a rude awakening, and their Cinderella dreams were going to go up in smoke, just like everything they owned, themselves included.
"If they don't mind dying for each other, than I suppose they wouldn't mind dying with each other. / reasoned the wild-eyed individual, the twisted logic making absolute sense to him.
Stretching his arm behind himself, the silver-haired spirit closed the door to the apartment. Without even looking back at the sennen lover's glowing living quarters, he calmly walked off into the street, leaving as abruptly as he had arrived. Within a few moments, that stupid picture of the immature brats would plummet to the tiles, breaking into little irreparable units before being smothered by flames. The same went for that snot, Yugi, and his egotistical boyfriend, Yami-san. They, too, would soon be eaten alive by the furious dragons of red, orange and blue, sending the two puzzle-wielding bastards straight to where they deserved to be.
"See you in hell." Yami no Bakura practically sang to the stars, hopping up onto a nearby sidewalk. "I bet you both will make nice bitches for me when I get there."
Laughing maniacally for the rest of Domino City to hear in their nightmares, the millennium spirit disappeared into the darkness as the devil's disciple.
Now that you have been thoroughly warned about what to expect, come and delve into the mysteries of madness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~
Chapter One: The Devil's Disciple
"I wish I could watch this whole fucking city burn." the silver haired male whispered, his tone raspy from the numerous bottles of liquor he consumed. "That way, I could taste the stench of melting flesh on my tongue, delight in the countless bodies heaped up to the horizon, and breathe the scent of sticky slimy blood pooled beneath corpses in splendid wonder."
Heaving a vat of alcohol in front of his face, Bakura gazed idly at the remnants of the container. Dangerous as it was, the millennium spirit had broken the neck of the glass item before he was done drinking from it. Shards of the shattered material were littered around the brutal individual's body, some of the more jagged pieces actually slicing his skin open. In all honesty, he didn't care how many of the sharp scraps drove themselves into his scarred tissue. He welcomed the pain, the stinging sensations, and the whole perverted package of vicious self-destruction. Evil intuition was all the same to him, that sociopath disposition that desired to drag everyone else down with him, screaming into the endless abyss of oblivion. Nothing widened his sadistic smirk more than some wicked ambition, terrible thought, or cruel intention. That violent attitude, those warped ideas, provided his lifeline to the world of the living, not the maroon tinged fluid leaking from his veins onto the tiles beneath him.
Violet eyes, tainted with the curse of crimson accents, lolled over the italics scrawled on the jug's front. Wordlessly, his chapped lips read each and every word as if they were some obscure foreign language.
"Jose Cuervo, house brand tequila brewed in 1984by the Mexican government." Throwing his head back, the spirit of the ring let out a feral laugh, a sound that was so completely terrifying that it closely resembled a hyena's primal cries. "Why is it that the most corrupt assholes make the best stuff to get plastered with? Seriously, though." he told himself out loud, slowly regaining his composure, "this shit's pretty good. Why'd I have to be born an Egyptian? Looks like the Spanish have a better handle on how to really live it up."
Without giving his action a second thought, Bakura lifted the cracked edge of the bottle to his mouth. Taking a large swig of the harmful beverage, he didn't even notice the stream of fresh blood oozing from his frame and mixing with the liquid he was taking in. Oh, well, not that it particularly mattered, anyhow. He'd just think of the red fluid like syrup, a tasty little special ingredient that would be similar to liquefied sugar. The golden juice reminded him of a fiery river, washing down his throat and burning his sensitive insides with intense heat. Not even feeling the urge to cough a single syllable, the white-haired male pulled the sickening substance away from himself. It felt good, the wide ranges of warmth seizing control of his frame, scorching every one of his vital organs with the flames of hell. No wonder people found it so easy to turn to the dark side.being a demon was so alluring, so tempting, just so much damn fun most of the time. It proved to be more entertaining to tear off an angel's wings and play Keep-Away with them than to sing another boring hymn about how great God is, how he loves everyone and everything and thinks they're all unique in their own ways, that humans should paint hearts and rainbows all over each other and say "Peace be with you" so much that they die of dehydration.
"Yeah, well fuck it." spat the millennium spirit bitterly, clamping his fist around the severed seam of the bottle. A fountain of mortal red seeped out from beneath his palm, bathing his flesh in angry lunacy. Disregarding the new abrasion on his limb, he gripped the container even tighter. "Fuck Him, fuck society, fuck all those sorry-assed, bible-thumping psychos who cater to Satan himself when they're away from church."
Fueled by the ever-growing rage boiling underneath his skin, Bakura twisted his structure into a crouching position. Appearing to be a formidable predator searching for an innocent victim, he glared sinisterly out into the darkness. The horror of the shade violated his features, possessing his lilac orbs with wild ruthlessness. Smiling defiantly at his surroundings, he rose from the floor to his full height. Measuring in at six feet tall, the spirit of the ring was a horrifying sight to behold. Slightly hunched at the shoulders, the silver-haired individual loomed over his array of detrimental drinks with unspoken authority. Dressed in his traditional blue and white attire (school garments, nonetheless, he despised the prissy wardrobe of his pussy hikari), he was able to make the outfit look more like death shrouds than common clothes. As pale as a corpse from the morgue, his pasty skin remained stretched over his anatomy, his fine bone chemistry poking out of his tissue like a walking skeleton. He was the living dead, a soul without a master, a spirit without a home. Heaven rejected him, hell abandoned him, and every other realm of reality banished him from their vision. Yet he was not bothered by this, the constant state of being shunned or condescended. No plane of existence had any real impact on him, or genuine lasting impression that wished to be seen in his mind, for that matter. They all loathed him, were disgusted by him, just totally hated him with a passion greater than any emotion imaginable. That was fine by him, though. Just oh-so fine. The malicious grin he wore widened, exposing two sharp canine teeth in the process.
"Be you God or Lucifer, you shall fall before me." proclaimed the snowy- haired demon, his purple orbs glittering with the promise of cold revenge. "All of you, every single one of you, you'll all fall down.like fallen angels."
Without warning, he kicked the jugs by his feet, crushing the flimsy glass with the direct hit. Vodka and rum spewed out of the hazardous containers, escaping over the tiles and licking the walls with their sweet-smelling tongues. Watching the effects of his aggression with a hint of interest, he bent down to drag a ready finger through the damaging liquids. Bringing the strong beverage to his visage, he stuck the dripping limb into his mouth.
"Mmm.hell never tasted so divine." murmured the twisted soul, withdrawing his hand from his face while smacking his lips together. "Those illiterate Good Samaritans of this earth have no idea what they're missing."
Navigating his path through the shadows and broken tumblers, the lilac-eyed male headed towards the door that would lead him outside. It was getting late, so he reasoned to himself that he had obviously worn out his welcome here long ago. Besides, he had better tasks to accomplish than hanging out in some cramped little apartment that begged to be redecorated.
Striding comfortably through the gloom, he felt his fingers slide around a smooth, metallic sphere. Chuckling softly to himself, he rolled his hand across the cool surface. Slowly turning the knob with his palm, Bakura pushed the frame away from himself to receive moonlight in return. As silent as a shadow, he emerged from the living space and was engulfed by the night. Breathing in a new supply of oxygen, the millennium spirit inconspicuously checked his surroundings. The cool evening air toyed with his crazed silver bangs, causing the tresses to billow in the breeze. Due to the insanely early hour of the morning, not a single soul could be spotted for miles. Blanketed by the many sleeping people in the city, this part of the world had achieved a condition of dreamy tranquility, a type of stillness that dictated silent slumber was more important than anything else.
/Obviously they are mistaken. / thought the ghostly individual, detesting the stupidity of the human race. /No one should sleep when I'm around./
Baring his teeth venomously at the developed landscape, Bakura tipped the vat of tequila upside down. He listened to the slick, wet motion of the liquor, feeling the bottle get lighter as the alcohol gushed forth. When he was sure every last drop of his drink had hit the floor of the apartment, he threw the container into the living area. With his back to the complex, he dug his hand into his jacket pocket and fished out a book of matches. Easy to find, since it was the only possession he had on him. Flipping the paper lid to the instant fire sticks, he reached inside to pluck out what he wanted. In one swift movement, he struck the red head over the grainy surface of the package. Immediately, the match caught fire, dancing like an exotic fairy on the tip of the wooden rod. The orange and blue flames flickered, its mesmerizing glow reflecting in the ring spirit's deranged violet eyes. He loved playing with fire, worshipping its chaotic properties, adoring its devastating capabilities. The bigger the bonfire, the better, though.
"Go forth and sin no more." intoned the demented grim reaper-like person, imitating the phrases of a Catholic priest.
Showing the enchanting element one last look of psychotic admiration, he threw the composition behind himself. Burn it. Burn it all. Watch the place get leveled. Watch the whole fucking city just burn.
As alcohol met fire, the entire apartment became a blazing inferno. Everything from furniture to appliances began to smolder, converting themselves into ashen debris in no time flat. Glancing over his shoulder at the self-created boiler room, Bakura's gaze followed the fall of a picture frame with his eyes. Scanning the photograph casually, he made out the two figures in the image by squinting. Small and sweet Yugi Mutoh was perched high on his yami's shoulders, flashing the camera an award-winning smile. Looking g positively radiant in the afternoon sun, the miniature cutie pie had his bright blue violet spheres closed, emphasizing his child-like nature. Pretending to be frustrated by his boyfriend's weight, Yami-san actually wore a decent expression for this photo. Softened by the sakura petals drifting by, the king of the Nile seemed more like an angel than a legendary duelist. They always appeared to be a model couple, doing practically everything together under the sun.
/Damn them and their picture perfect lifestyles. / the jealous anarchist swore to himself, denying the utter envy he felt for the romantic pairing. /Their lives won't be such a bowl of cherries after I'm done around here./
Scowling at the cherished photograph, Yami no Bakura had to turn his attention towards the dimly lit residences in the distance to prevent himself from vomiting. How could a teeny kindergarten crybaby and some arrogant game obsessed freak ever make it as a couple? Did they really believe in that romantic smut fairy tales embellished upon, or did they simply engage in a relationship to enjoy the sex? Either way, their illusion happy existences were about to have a rude awakening, and their Cinderella dreams were going to go up in smoke, just like everything they owned, themselves included.
"If they don't mind dying for each other, than I suppose they wouldn't mind dying with each other. / reasoned the wild-eyed individual, the twisted logic making absolute sense to him.
Stretching his arm behind himself, the silver-haired spirit closed the door to the apartment. Without even looking back at the sennen lover's glowing living quarters, he calmly walked off into the street, leaving as abruptly as he had arrived. Within a few moments, that stupid picture of the immature brats would plummet to the tiles, breaking into little irreparable units before being smothered by flames. The same went for that snot, Yugi, and his egotistical boyfriend, Yami-san. They, too, would soon be eaten alive by the furious dragons of red, orange and blue, sending the two puzzle-wielding bastards straight to where they deserved to be.
"See you in hell." Yami no Bakura practically sang to the stars, hopping up onto a nearby sidewalk. "I bet you both will make nice bitches for me when I get there."
Laughing maniacally for the rest of Domino City to hear in their nightmares, the millennium spirit disappeared into the darkness as the devil's disciple.
