Summary

Death is simply part of the process. Every death - the most cruelest of deaths - they all drown in front of the nature who stares in apathy. I hate it. It is a loveless voyeur. It can bear everything and goads us to to commit greater atrocities. So allow me to be the tragedian to tell you tales. Stories that today's festive cannot compete. Tragedies of one Ra duelist: Dimitri.

The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.

― Edmund Burke

Horror and tragedy have been recurrent throughout human history. So what's the point in marking a date for my story? Let's say, the time this misfortune that I'm about to tell, a popularizing theme was reoccurring. Back then, and arguably today, many pseudo-intellectuals and Philistines were exploring the doctrines of transmigration. These artistes mainly used the idea of reincarnation to investigate their self-indulgence. Blessed with powers so godly, they transcend from human to god - and alienate themselves from us mortals. These hedonists, profane the sanctity of love and abandon themselves to the corporal pleasures. These lowbrow lummoxes created themselves worlds to escape into their unsophisticated fantasies.

Whether the doctrines themselves - that is, of their validity or their probability - I have nothing to say. What I will say, however, that much of our disbelief stands because no system is so simple and so little repugnant to the understanding. Now, with that said, I have my argument on reincarnation, I may even revisit it, but that will be for another time. This story, I will tell, explores my relation and my first experience with the process. Be warned. It does not end well.

To my utmost sincerity, I cannot remember how, when, or even remember where, I first became acquainted with, Jaden Yuki. Too much of my life has since passed, and particularly on this night I find my memories feeble and lacking. I dare not provoke myself to imagine the scene. Even to this day, I feel an insufferable gloom when I remember my last days in Duel Academia. I emphasize the word "insufferable" because the event will never invoke the sublime; that duality in enjoying the other half of what we perceive as pleasure. The odd state of consciousness where we feel a sense of the poetic, the sentimental, a humbleness in seeing that particular desolate or terrible image.

I should know, I was the first one to see him. For sure, I remember looking upon the scene before me - upon the small room, and the simplicity of the furnished apartment - upon the lamp, that glowed a dull light in the back - upon the bare, faded yellow walls - upon the stereotype of a teenager's bed; messy and unkempt. Each thing I saw in that room oppressed my soul with depression. Sorrow I can not compare to anything other than melancholia. It's a feeling I have always felt when the high comes down - the comedown - the bitter lapse into the mundane - the moment when the fun stops being fun and realize that the world is ugly and cruel. Cliché and deplorable, just like these lines.

Funny enough, the first thing I saw was his dirty socks. His feet covered in white, pristine, wool socks that loses its unspoiled-ness at the sole of his feet. His pants, stained with some sauce I can't identify; it matched with his vibrant red blazer. His hands, relaxed. His head, limp. His neck, contorted. But it was his face; his gaunt, ghastly face - whiter than those disgusting porcelain makeup. Those tiny glasses did nothing to cover his lifeless eyes. They were glossy. Blank. A drool. Was that a drool? I could not tell. That scares me.

Allow me to explain. What terrifies me is not remembering the posthumous state, but how vicarious I feel whenever I imagine it. There is an iciness, a sinking, a sickening feeling in the heart when I picture his body. Just recalling it makes me ill. There was no grand meaning in seeing death, no existential revelation, no message of comfort that would whisper me soft nothings like: "don't worry, everything will be alright."

My friends, death brings despair.

I sincerely do apologize for taking too much of your time for expositions. As I said earlier, my memories are feeble and lacking. These are no exaggeration. I have died too many times to remember if this was how the story went.

Eyes shuttered - capturing the false image of serenity that is in front of me. Wilderness of glass. Death's domain, never stirring. The horrendous tranquility of the sea - and here I stand, in front of this calmness, in front of the little cliff. The "little cliff," I hope you understand the difficulty in writing sarcasm on paper, grew. It was a sheer unobstructed precipice of a cartoonish beige colored rock. Probably twenty or thirty hundred feet from the ocean to the crag that I was standing on. Ordinary people, sane people, would not have been tempted to be within half a dozen yards of its brink. Me? I'm practically asking fate to push me over - leaving them my duel disk and my handbag. In there, my effect and my recent score.

To be quite frank with you all, I guess I'm not normal. Worse, an event to this day, I would find myself in absolute rapture in taking in the terrible majesty of tonight. Occasionally, I would dream about my perilous position. Often time, I would look for a cliff like this and stare beyond the horizon. Sometimes I would throw myself upon the ground, cling to the grass around me, and never look up. In rare cases, I would have my hands on my eyes, prostate, and cry.

A verisimilitude of my sonorous heart - full but fast staccato heartbeats - as I vainly attempt to not listen to the impish voice in my head. That radical, primitive, impulse that maliciously whispers in our ears: "aren't you at least curious about the butterflies you'll feel when you fall?" Perhaps the reason you may disagree with me is that of our philosophies of perversity.

Another aspect that I'd wish to brush up on is the aspect of perversity. Recently I've read horrendous fictions that distort perversity to only focus on the physical aesthetics of one's body. To think of perversity just as this is erroneous to the highest degree - and I wish to dissuade that thought. Perversity isn't merely sexual deviance. At its core, perversity is immorality. It is the absolute contradiction to what is right or proper. It is to be wicked and depraved. Let's say, for example, there is something we had to do - and it's in our best interest to do so. We know delaying it will only make things worse. We remind ourselves every day we're going to do it. We're consumed by a particular obsession to start our work, with the anticipation that ignites our soul to action. And then, we push it aside for tomorrow.

I too argue that there is no answer other than feeling perverse - the irony being that I use this word without full comprehension of the world's principle. So now it is tomorrow. Now we're impatient to start on our work - our anxiety begins to grow - we need to get this thing done. With our concern also comes an unexpected guest. An unwelcome guest. A guest, who is nameless that urges us to feel an unfathomable craving for us to say: "eh, not today." What's worse, is this urge become stronger as time passes. Now we only have an hour left. Our mind, split between the dichotomy of getting started with our work - and saying, "screw it." The clock rings the knell of our fate. That unwelcome guest flies - it disappears - we are free. Our spirit reignited. We are going start our work now.

... but it's already too late.

If this sounds familiar to you, then it should - I've directly referenced the Imp of the Perverse from Edgar Allen Poe. Mr. Poe's insight on perversity is something to note. After all, I did take Yugi's deck. There was no reason for me to do so. The notes specify how my fate was to be determined. I was supposed to lose earlier in the morning. To someone dead nonetheless. I have the tickets in my pocket. I'm not on academic probation. I've managed to accumulate enough points to advance to Obelisk Blue. I have friends by my side to be the most optimistic whoreson of an impersonator.

So why did I do it?

Mr. Poe may be the only one who understands that I, in this tragic story - as I warned that this tale would not end well - am a victim of the Imp of the Perverse.

Hm, rereading this draft, made me realize that I haven't mentioned the notebook. How silly of me. The most crucial McGuffin that made me descend into this madness. For you see, the journal I found laying precariously outside of my room - could be described nothing else other than the Necronomicon. This old book, so typical of a 70-page notebook (it even have the number of pages on the cover), held the secrets to my world. It allowed me to succeed immensely in this world, and it was all because of this book.

Dimitri!

I didn't even turn at the shout. What was the point? I left a figurative crumb trail for them to catch me. It was a matter of time before they came here. I thought I was quite amusing when I left Mr. Poe's copy of Descent into the Maelström at the crime scene. It would clue them the possible locations I would be. Now why would I do that, you would ask. Well, sometimes we need to fulfill an urge. The urge to descend into the perverseness. The joy of being the master of your fate; while puppeteering others. The immorality of such action, only the imp could malevolently plan and supplant. It was just the pure joy of - oh what do kids call it these days?

Oh yes. I remember now. It was to "fuck with them."

The breeze died down; there's no need for my scarf to cover my mouth at the very least. I heard more clattering footsteps - crunching the grass underneath their feet. Strange, I don't recall the notebook that noted more people than Syrus and a few others. Then again, is anything the same after that day?

"Dimitri, the gig is up! We know you have Yugi's deck!" I continue to ignore them. My attention focused more on the serene scene before me. The moon, split in half - a two-faced beauty. Drown in a kaleidoscope of stars - Ursa wrestling with Polaris. The vastness beyond what our imagination could fathom. Once I thought the world beyond this galaxy would be wondrous and bright - do you recall seeing a collection of impressive pictures, detailing the intergalactic space? The tragedy in discovering that astronomers have to make many adjustments, such as adding color and patching multiple photos together, to that raw data before released to the public. Our eyes have not evolved enough to see the vibrant hues that the Hubble telescope captures. The misfortune in discovering that most celestial objects, such as nebulae, emit colors that are too faint for human eyes to make out. To us, it'll forever be a black pit of emptiness.

"Fun times are over!" A girlish voice snapped out petulantly. I continue in immerse myself in the skyline, the dark sea, and the greyish black skies. The moonlight is shining down on the cliff. There was no special significance in it. I just thought it looked pretty to mention. The seas were starting to churn. The tides slammed onto the jagged rocks below. The voices whisper again in my head: "Go ahead, jump head first. Don't you want to know what it feels like when the base of your skull smashes open like a watermelon?"

"Give the deck back, right-"

"It's a nice night isn't it?"

"-now - huh?"

The waves became tumultuous. Now that, I admit, is more ominous than the moonlight imagery. I took a deep breath and absorbed the sight. The once still sea - self-agitating to regain the life it once had - heaved and roiled waves after waves. The once dark abyss, now intermittent with white ruptures of salty ocean foam. The clamorous white horses stampeded into the sandy beach of Duel Academia - the night sky, covering us from the vast audience that looms over us. My eyes narrowed at the starry night sky. Are you entertained? Is my tale original enough for you gods?

"Gods? Hey, Dimitri? ... You okay there buddy?"

Oh dear, did I think aloud the last two questions? No matter, I'm already perceived as a madman by half the school, what does it matter if the other half is now starting to believe it too? I - a madman? That is one outrageous joke. A joke so stupid, it almost broke my serenity.

Oh no, my self-amusement - it is no longer containable. A chortle escaped from the corner of my mouth. Something light slowly climbed its way out from the pits of my stomach. It scales up to my diaphragm, up to my throat, and finally to the largeness of my mouth. A quiet chuckle. A chuckle I could not stop. Though I tried, I could not find the will to mask the hilarious idea - that I am the insane one. I must have disturbed my guests with my laughter because the only noise I hear other than my maniacal laughter is the stormy sea that is starting to build upon momentum.

Dimitri?

My laughter - it just would not die. I needed to show dignity. I need to find zen. Imagine the body. Imagine the grotesque corpse that hung on that disgusting molding ceiling. Imagine that boy's sad fate in allowing Fortuna to weave his fate. Wallow in the misery of that feeling. Take that revulsion and find the phlegm. Breath in, and breathe out. Phlegmatic. The ghastliness - the stiffness of his body when they brought him down.

"Sorry," though my heart wasn't genuinely feeling it at all. "It's been, an unusual night."

I finally turned to my audience. There, in the center stood Jaden Yuki, our spectacular hero. The optimistic one. The one that never shuts up, even when the atmosphere is at it's worse. The blissful one that nearly everyone wants to choke in their sleep. Well, that is, if this was the world where tragedy didn't mar all of us. Without his friends, much of that has died. What stood in front of me is another tired Slifer.

Someone who wants to go home.

Alongside him, were the star pupils. Now I hope you caught that bit of sarcasm there. I could never stomach these morons after I realized who they were. The notes were deliberate in emphasizing how they did not belong in this world. There were countless of scratches and evidence of discontent as the previous author that wrote this book hinted. Whoever wrote the notebook did their damnedest to attempt to make them mesh with the world. The more I pondered on this issue, the more I saw this alienating experience. Dialogues that I initially believed to be normal were nothing more but extras meant to enrich the background.

The first of these stand-ins that stood out in front of me was a tall young man - and I do mean tall; where most children stand around two to five inches short from six feet, he seemed to have passed that boundary. Obsidian black hair, with eyes to match his handsome face. Even at a young age at sixteen, his families blessed him with incredible genes. Baby fat non-existent, he seems to appear in his early twenties rather than looking awkward like many students that attend here. Like I, he wore a yellow blazer - signifying his status as a Ra student.

But make no mistake, the man in front of me is no comrade of mine.

The second of these extras - a pair, a blue-blazer couple, oh me; Shakespeare, could they be the star-crossed lovers? Are they doomed to die, hand in hand as well? When I see such a romantic sight, I feel disgusted. A nauseating spectacle, two people who see nothing but the good in each other. How long will that last? I scoff at the idea of a perfect duo. A pair who never fight with one another. They signal as the lovers on the hill. Look at us, their actions proclaim. Look how much love we have for each other. How quaint. How naive. How dare they. How arrogant for them to think so. What makes them so much better than our parents? Who has suffered for us to live with privileges that not many have? Just telling this story - a story that would've never existed if it weren't for the patience and what I'd describe as "tired love" that my family have for one another. Look to in the mirror and see your mother and father staring back. Every day I thank them. Who are they to say that their love is superior to that?

How do they look like you ask? Google image "cute couples." Pick one. Don't worry; I'll wait. If you want to make them gay, go for it. It does not matter to me. If they're going to be miserable together for the rest of their lives, who am I to stop that?

There were many other I can describe, but to my absolute shame - there was two that did catch my fancy - but for all the wrong reasons. The notebook did warn me she would be my shadow. I severely underestimated the contempt I am capable of containing. My opposite. My first impressions of her from that notebook was nothing but hostilities. In the manuscript - it depicted every move, every step she made with each duel. Even against me; with Yugi's deck; with the legendary Black Luster Soldier by my side; I still lost. It was there I knew I'd despise her, show her no respite for my detest. I knew tonight; I will have my cake. I will have it, and I will eat it. I will savor that damn cake. It'll be the best damn cake I will ever eat.

Oh look, she's hiding behind Zane, how endearing.

So who is person number two behind the mysterious duo?

"Dimitri, you little shit."

Why it's none other than my Co-Dorm Head(mistress) - Julia Chung. She may appear to have a tough exterior, but I know the truth. That woman is a man - and she did not belong here. The notebook had proclaimed it too - the vile words, the vomit-inducing disgust the person had for this woman. It held nothing back to dismantle the woman I once respected. Once a goddess to impress. Now a chimerical monster to reject. A man from a different world. I may have once mentioned earlier of the caustic opinions of what many of these artists do to the fantasies of metempsychosis. He was no different. Rancid trash - that has overstayed his welcome here.

"Okay, it's official." The bratty one of the couple began, "Dimitri is one-hundred percent being an evil duelist. I mean, did you even see the way he stared at-"

Hm? Oh my, it would seem my malice for the two wretches were noticeable. What a droll I am for making them terrified. Then again, I must keep myself composed. I mustn't ruin the surprise. After all - they still think I'm someone else. Then again the skank has a point. I harbor atrocious thoughts; none of them are savory to tell to the public domain. I believe I had written earlier the questions of my mentality; now, I do believe I am quite insane. Or haven't I? I can't seem to remember.

But I have to concede that the Virago has a point. The girl that abnormally looked more mature than she appeared, she never wronged me. She had never insulted me. She was always cordial with me, and I to her. For her identity or popularity, I had no desire.

It was the mere presence of her in that book - the consequence which resulted from me in a humiliating loss; and making me imitate her of all people.

Whenever her eyes fell on me, I only imagine the future that laid for me. Someone who would forever be the fool that merely copied. Someone who had nothing ahead in life. He was solely another chapter for someone else's book. Another stepping stone for someone else's glory. Their time and fortune to shine upon them. They are the pantheons of this golden era.

Yes, now I remember why I loathe her. Her naivety and unbreakable optimism that rivaled Jaden. Even with Black Luster Soldier, she still didn't break. She kept fighting. Fortune smiled upon her and granted her that victory. A Deus Ex.

Well, not today. That I'll guarantee myself. No amount of gods intervening our duel will change this outcome. Their eyes trained on me as I picked up to my duel disk. Or rather, the earliest prototype. Unfortunately, for my plan to fall into place, some sacrifices had to be made. For one, all the decks I've built to imitate these so-called "best" - I sold them. What's worse the resale value was below than average. I needed to sell my Duel Academia issued duel disk to compensate the funds necessary for this. It matters not what happens after this night. Success or not, I will leave here by expulsion at the end of this just for purloining and profiteering school property.

"Okay, you thief. You had your fun, but now it's over." The handsome one, yes I admit it - he's handsome, I can appreciate that as much - rebuked. "Hand over the deck right now."

In any case, in replacement of the standard duel disk issued by the school, a beaten round disc was attached to a rusted-steel bracer. It did look pathetic compared to the multifunctional uses of the current duel disks. It was much trickier to use - and I will explain why - but for now, let's not keep the eye candy waiting.

"Well if you want the deck so much..." I pulled my satchel next, bringing two items. The first was much more valuable than the latter. At first glance, it looks like a half-face Venetian mask. A rip off of the Phantom of the Opera. But as the metaphor goes, don't judge a book by its cover. It may seem like the most melodramatic-cliche device, but there is a reason for everything. Be patient, and you'll get your answer soon enough. For now, all of you know that the first item I pulled from my bag is that mask. For now, it was going back. It's not needed for now - it'll have a much more crucial role to play in the future.

The second, and more worthless of the two is Yugi's deck.

"...here it is."

...hm? It looks like they're relaxing. That won't do. I need to keep them on their toes. I need to make sure to them that I have control of this situation, no matter what it is. So what does someone do to demand that attention?

The shriek that erupted from Professor's Crowlers frothing mouth almost broke my placid facade. Everyone's reaction was something to behold. It was worthy to take a photo of and frame it on a countertop. Then joke about it with friends in the twenty-hundred dollar rent-a-month apartment in the border between Berkeley and Oakland - where you can walk ten minutes down Shattuck to the Berkeley Bowl. Buy the most expensive produce available. Walk back - you did your daily cardio. You come back to your old-ass apartment on Haste street, and you see your buddies there. Waiting and sitting next to the front gate. They give you a wistful smirk as you smile back. Your room is up to the first flight of stairs. Luckily, underneath you is the garage, so bringing in a one night stand is entirely not awkward. In any case, you bring them in, and your friends would ask: "Why the hell do these guys look like morons?"

You tell them:
"I dangled Yugi's deck over a cliff."

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOUR DOING!?" a collective scream from ten of the - oh, I want to say… about thirty-nine? There were a lot more people that came while I dueled, almost like we were dueling in the agora. But enough of that, you now know that I have Yugi's deck parlously hung over the ravenous tides below - waiting to devour it as it did with Exodia.

"Dimitri you little shit! I swear to god if you drop that I will"

"You will do nothing Joshua."

She stopped dead - and for a brief moment, I felt a feeling of half-pity, and half-awe as I watch her expression morph right before me. Her face took a cadaverousness complexion; her eyes widened - large, and luminous; twinkling, like the starry night sky. Her now ghastly pallor of the skin, with her sudden luster in the eyes, told me everything. That one sentence had shaken her world. I virtually exposed this woman's secret. For five years she stayed in this world as a woman. The notebook never mentioned her coming to terms with her renewal. Once an eighteen-year-old teenager -heading to his university of choice. Now - in a technical-and-biological sense - a five-year-old woman. Whose body - if I were to infer from the first few pages - was on the cusp of womanhood. That sounds like a lovely time.

For a brief moment, I felt sorry that I had to silence her like this. Then the thought of me of worshiping her expletive personality killed that empathy like a sniper shooting center mass with an M200 Intervention. That will forever and honestly be mind-boggling - more so than the verbal abuse she threw at us nearly every day of our lives. Making us better at dueling? By calling us, shitheads? Because she cares? It sounds more like you're projecting your insecurities for having your life being taken away so absurdly. So what? That gives you the justification to say whatever, and be whatever you want to be? You think your actions don't have consequences? Look at what I have done. I killed someone. All because

No.
Not yet.
It's not time to reveal that yet.
Kudos, Mr. and Mrs. Sherlock, you have solved this mystery.
To the unfortunate ones, don't you worry about that.
Everything will fall into place.
Soon.

"Now," I cordially announced - bringing the deck back away from the edge, "that I have your attention," pointed glares from the masses, "here's what's going to happen. You get three chances to beat me."

"Three?" the pedantic half of the couple inquired.

"Three," I affirmed. "However, I'm not entirely merciless." A scoff from one of the star pupils made me pause. For a moment. "Best of fives. But for safe measures, best me three times, and I will voluntarily surrender and return the deck to your care."

"And if we don't?"

I gave a glance over to the crowd of duelists that were slowly assembling. It looks like there is going to be a second demonstration.

"To those that have just arrived, I welcome you." I lifted the strap that held the box with Yugi's deck. "This is what you're all here for; to speed you all into what is happening - I am giving them you all an opportunity to beat me. Beat me, you get this deck back. You lose…"

A collective gasp the moment the strip slipped an inch from my grasp. The box jolted, swinging dangerously above the cliff's edge.

"Do we all have an understanding?"

A much slower, non-harmonizing, but still a collective nod.

"Good. Now - other than the standard duel rules - if you want to go twice, be my guest. It won't change the outcome."

"Geez, arrogant much?" the obnoxious half of the couple sneered as I put the deck back into my bag. "You haven't been coming to our classes - and you still think you're going to beat us?" Nastily dusted the leaves off the pristine blue blazer and stepped forward. "I'll be straight with you, I never liked you, Dimitri. God, you're such a weirdo in every evil sense of the way."

Oh?

"Copying other duelist's ideas and strategies? That's a low even Weevil wouldn't go. Cause even a pest like him knows that to succeed, you need your original ideas and strategies. Something that people would never expect." It harrumphed, "And you think, your cookie cutting copy-cating cancer is going to be a challenge? Get over yourself, you attention whore - if this about what happened with

Okay. The joke ends. Now.

"Finish that sentence." I contemptuously forewarn - a bestial snarl escaping from the dark depths - in the recesses of places reserved only for those I deem for the wicked and a threat to my life. "I'll not only throw Yugi's deck - but I'll come over there, rip your tongue out and feed it to the monkeys living here in the jungle."

Dangerously close in making that a reality.

I felt shameless watching the repercussions. The abominable creature squealed loudly, a pitch only found in certain ringtones you fine on phones. Even stepping back and hiding behind it's signif- wait no, that's too generous to say; it's boresome half. It made me snigger that made my diaphragm tickle. I tried to be as polite in suppressing it, but there are just some things that are meant to be heard.

"You dare threaten my beloved?"

"Ladies and gentleman, someone with a fetish for cliche English."

I felt the glares. They tried to pierce through my rather tough exterior. Wonder if the blades are sharp enou- nope, looks like an overgrown baby about to erupt into a tantrum. Thought the fanfictions involving Vernon were terrible? This one had their fists clenched, but the wrists were bent to point (from my point of view) eastward with the left hand and westward with the right. The cheeks puffed, like a puffer fish trying to dissuade its prey from eating it. The only difference here is that I could care less what it does.

This, as I have stated, is for the simple pleasures of "fucking with them."

"I guess someone will have to teach you," snaps the fingers - three mechanical spider-arms emerged from a back-mounted pack. The mechanism quickly dismantled the metal pack - disguised as a technological-oddity of a backpack. Each piece is attached to the wrist at a rapid pace. The arms placed it's the last piece onto the wrist - completing the custom duel disk. "your place." The smugness with which it announced those last two words - while it marched to the center - amidst the duel disk creation - the showmanship indeed made the thing in front of me an ostentatious but a fantastic braggart.

Then again, I can completely understand this one's intentions. I, too, am a man of theatrics. Even when my life is in peril, and even when reality falls beneath my feet, the show must continuously shine onto the protagonist - a fate we all sorrowfully believe that we are "the one." I hate knowing that no matter what I will do, I will forever be an extra for the backdrop. My lack of interaction, amongst these inbred monstrosities, of God's mental fart, just shows how precious they are to my heart. I hold no humbleness to anyone in front of me. Oh I know I am hated by many on this campus. Whether it's due to my cynicism, narcissism, pessimism, or a combination of the three - I know that my attitude made me many enemies. It only grew worse after the suicide. My personality exacerbated, I fluctuated from characters to characters - to try and forget. But nothing I did could get me to forget that hanging arabesque project that I saw in his dorm.

One time I dressed up as him. Nobody laughed at that. I didn't even bother to justify it. I just did it. I knew I shouldn't have, but I did it anyway.

In contrast to this gaudy performance, I pushed the power switch - located not-so-conveniently under the right widget. (responsible for holding the cards that are removed from play) While that one's duel disk was sleek and perhaps new, my substandard duel disk in contrast slowly sputtered. Dying while it's activating. That's what it looked like. The LED flickered - outlining the four shoots; each signifying where the cards were supposed to go into:

Deck
Hand
Graveyard
Removed From Field

There were two pads on the disk that sandwiched the monitor that gave me an overhead view of the digital board. Although I've asked the functionality and the purpose of the device, the scientists were hush-lips on the content. It wouldn't be much later in this tale that I discover the meaning. But once again, that tale is for another time.

I pulled one of the smaller devices that were attached to one of the ends of the duel disk. Gingerly, I put the little gadget to the left greater wing of my sphenoid bone. Those monkey scientists warned me that this was still in beta testing - sparks and all the warning hazards they rattled off in my head as I allowed the device to sit on my head comfortably.

What I did not expect was it to suddenly - and sporadically, shoot hooks directly into my skull. That made me curse. Oh, you wish to know which one? Well - as I said, I can't seem to remember much about that night. Oh but I have not forgotten the pain. The pain in which those gelid steel hooks pierced through my skull, and shot hot electric fire throughout my body. Jolts that made my head twist and twitch sporadically. The jerks were agonizing. Any movement that I would make - even a flick of a finger - would shock my muscles to overreact. It made me fall unceremoniously onto the ground.

[Neural Link Establishing...]

Quite embarrassing, now I think about what happened during those few minutes in adjusting to this new sensation. I was rolling - left to right, not even rolling my body over a full three-hundred-sixty degree. Just rocking myself as a sound - not the voice from the Imp of the Perverse. A voice so robotical, so professional; a tone that suggests merely its purpose. The purpose.

[...Crystal Cloud Network Online…]

"Oh honey," I venomously drawled out. A sound - not of my own. A cyberpunk excrescence to the auditory experience. A crossbreed between man and technology. A joining that defied all logic and meaning. A blight to the natural law of creation.

I relished it.

[...Dual Link Established: Accept Challengers Duel Request?]

The blood spilling from the side of my head, half my vision clear and still able to capture their horrified expression in seeing such mutilation. My eyes never blinked - my gaze locked onto every single one of them. Tonight is my night.

My final hurrah.

What I see with my left eye - it was at that moment I finally realize just how far I had committed to this plan. I could see the outer area of my eyes - three digital sapphire colored lens - sizes that aren't lined linearly - locked onto my opponent.

Finally finding the bearings to stand fully, I gave my answer.

Yes. I accept.

[Confirmed; Match Starting in 3...]

Data practically outpoured from his duel disk. Windowed small, but in a neat organization; the information that laid before I; it genuinely unleashed the Machiavellian in me.

[...2…]

To summarize what I saw - the tabs revealed me everything. Wins. Losses. Histories of the style of deck it ran throughout it's life. Signature cards. Everything to learn about the little duelist in front of me. The poor schmuck in front of me has no idea what was going to come. The contemplation of the pain I would inflict upon this poor unfortunate soul...

"You don't even know ... your place."

[...1. Duel Commence.]

Dimitri: 8000
Enemy 1: 8000

Dimitri Kagurazaka presents,

A five year project finally coming to fruition.
A tale -told countless of times - retold.
From a man whose minds are filled with terrible, terrible nightmares
Stories That Have Nothing But Tragedies

Traegodia