C. Marionette: Hello everyone and welcome to my first fanfiction, there are a just a few things I would like to say before you continue if you would please read.
1. I do not mean to be sacrilegious in any way, every one has their own believes and I enjoy that fact, please do not think I am trying to insult anyone's religion.
2. I do not support pedophilia, though I have used mild cases with it in this fanfiction, it is for a reason and does not get to serious.
I think that's all the really important things for right now, enjoy.
Disclaimer: I do not own Yugioh, any of the Yugioh characters I use in this story, I am just borrowing them. I also make no profit, what so ever, from writing this, I do this for my own enjoyment.
Demon in the Chapel
Chapter One
"He speaks of love and peace, but he goes home and beats his wife and children," the child tries to block out that sinister whisper, along with the sensation of warm breath on his throat, tries to pay attention to the priest's arid blahs like a good boy, it's impossible, "sick bastard enjoys it, too."
This is not the first time the demon had spoken to him, it's the third time to be exact, he wonder's if he has done something wrong to be able to see the evil being while other clearly cannot. He is sure he has done something wrong for the creature to look so much like him, only a much older and sharper version of himself, with ruby eyes, and no horns but a tail, not red like many state, it's the deepest shade of black, a long, thin appendage with what resembles a scorpion's stinger at the tip, he flicks that tail constantly.
"Ryou, you're not listening," though he passes through the pew the boy sits in and the person beside him, as if they are mere air, the hand that cups his cheek is solid and so very warm, bordering hot, "If you keep ignoring me I might leave, is that what you want?"
'Yes' Not only does the boy want to say the word, he wants to scream it, he wants this thing to leave him be. He does neither though, being quite clever for his young age of eleven, the boy knows that saying such a thing to no one, and everyone will believe it is to no one, will make him seem crazy, not to mention it is rude to speak during service. He suffers silently.
Ryou's head is turned without a bit of fight from the child, to face a brunette male in his early thirties, the man a well known member of the church, kind and smart, who glances at the child quite often.
The demon gets in the child's personal space again, always getting so close to him, as if closeness to the boy is a sweet drug that the white-haired devil is addicted to.
"He thinks you look more like your late mother every day," The larger male whispers in the boy's ear as if it is the greatest of secrets, though nobody else can hear. "He used to touch himself here-" Ryou barely holds back a cry of shock when he is grabbed in the most private of place, though he cannot stop his cheeks from heating as he's rubbed through his nice slacks, tears building in his eyes, blurring his vision slightly, "while thinking about her, now when he does it he only thinks about you."
"Please stop," the child whispers, blinking back tears, not wanting to let them fall, he is hushed from the left.
The demon pulls away from the child, face and body, leaving only his hand on the child's face, to look at the one who hushed the boy, an evil smirk comes to his lips.
"Ah, and daddy dearest," The monster finally speaks in normal volumes, turning the face in his hands to look at the man that he referred to. The man doesn't face his child, deep blue eyes refusing to leave the priest's form up front. "He thinks you look like your mother, too, that's why he hates looking at you, wishes you would just go away."
Ryou finally lets his tears fall, sliding down his cherub cheeks in mass at the creatures cruel words.
"Please," the boy repeats even more desperate than before, finally trying to break free of the hand holding his face, and doing so with surprising ease, letting his head bow so not to anyone see him, chocolate eyes shut firmly.
"Ryou!" the child is scolded in a hushed tone from his father, only furthering his distress.
"He looks mad," the words are bad but the thick voice speaking them seems only to radiate glee before he disappears.
C. Marionette: I am aware that this is very short, the first few will be like this, I have done it for a reason, not just to be a bitch, I assure you. Please be patient with me.