Started out as the beginnig of a comic I really wanted to draw but was never able to get the beginning of. Now that I've thought of it I realize I don't have enough patience to draw it, so I'll convert all the characters and their personalities to somewhat fit this. Bakura is still a sadistic bastard, though.

Will probably be a side writer's block project or something until I finish updating Line, which please do not hurt me I am working on.

This is a prologue and like all other prologues will probably be confusing to you, so ask if you don't get it.

And the abused;

"Fucking slut."

Nine-year old Bakura smirked at the cry that emitted from the other boy's lips as he flew against the wall. There were tiny scratches on his skin, on his eyelids; Bakura sat back, and laughed.

-

Bakura bit his lips and kept quiet. This doesn't hurt, this doesn't hurt, this doesn't hurt…he repeated to himself. The man kicked a side of his ribs, and he cried as his mouth flew open in a scream.

"Stupid…"

Bakura curled up on his side. He knew he wasn't supposed to, but he couldn't help it. He wanted himself to stop, because everything that was happening was his fault and this is how he needs to pay.

His thoughts went blank as he was thrown over to his stomach. His side bended as he connected with the floor, a sickening crack and a white soar of pain searing around him. He shrieked, tears dry at the corners of his eyes.

"Fucking piece of shit! Can't even take one kick?"

It hurt to speak. Bakura spoke anyways, because he knew that if he didn't now he would never be able to again later. "S-sorry…father…"

He gasped as another kick landed to the same side, letting out a blood curling scream. It's not broken it's not, his mind screamed back at him, it doesn't hurt, it doesn't hurt…

-

Thirteen-year old Bakura laughed, drawing back his fists to throw another punch. Malik cowered against the wall, his hands drawn up to protect his face, which Bakura did not care to ruin. Making people uglier wasn't what he was doing this for.

When his fist landed, Malik screamed. Blood dripped out the corner of his lips, and now that his arms had thrown to nurse his stomach Bakura could see it clearly.

"Fucking bitch," he growled. He hated people like this, people who were so weak and stupid and won't stand up for themselves. Pretending they're completely fine and it doesn't hurt at all... "Can't even take a few hits?"

"S-sorry…" Malik whimpered, gasping and doubling over when Bakura punched him again in the stomach.

"Stupid piece of shit," he snarled, hands closing around Malik's neck.

Suddenly, there was a faint noise at the end of the hall. Footsteps drew closer, then a pair, and all too soon Bakura was looking into three shocked pairs of eyes—the principle, a teacher, and a familiar, angry face.

-

Bakura's body was convulsing on the floor.

His eyes fluttered open slowly. His head ached and he couldn't stand, but if he strained and did it carefully he was able to sit up. Suddenly there were soft lips against his cheeks. …Mother…? Finally steadying his vision, he turned to kiss back.

The lips were gone. Bakura snapped around, trying to find where they had gone. "Mother?" he called, panic seeping rapidly into his chest.

"Happy birthday, Bakura," a voice that was definitely not his mother replied.

Held by her hair in his father's hands was his mother's head.

Bakura screamed.

Five minutes later, his mouth was full and he couldn't speak, didn't want to move his tongue. "Is that all you can take?" he heard. Footsteps came closer, but all he could fear was himself and his mother's blood in his mouth. "Can't drink even a tiny bit more?"

Bakura nodded slowly, red liquid swirling around his tongue as he moved. He wanted to spit it out, spit it on his father's face and mix her blood with his, but she didn't deserve that.

"Fucking bitch." A hand lifted his chin, and Bakura did not clench his throat. "Drink it all…"

The blood flowed down and lower and Bakura could feel it inside him, sickening and horrible and making him somewhat happier. His mother's blood was safe.

-

Fifteen-year old Bakura threw harsh punches.

Ryou hit the wall. His head was throbbing and there were purple-black bruises on his arms. His legs were crippled against the floor, unable to stand. The world around him was silent as Ryou lay uselessly on the ground, breathing hard. Maybe he left…

Then there were hum. There were footsteps, dragging slowly across the ground, accompanied with something akin to splattering. Ryou could barely lift his head, but with his heart pounding in his chest, he clutched onto the wall and looked.

"Happy birthday, Ryou."

Cradled in Bakura's arms was half of Yugi Mouto's body.

When Ryou walked home, he could still taste the blood around his tongue.

And the abused

Please don't make me beg for opinions. Good start, bad start, so very confused? Should I continue or leave it?