Disclaimer: I own nothing involved in this story unless I invented it myself. This is written for fun, not for profit. All forms of feedback eagerly accepted. Concrit is loved the most, but everything is welcome.
Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh DM
Title: Not My Job
Characters: Yami no Malik
Word Count: 788||Status: One-shot
Genre: GeneralRated: PG-13
Challenge: Written for the Diversity Writing Challenge, section B11, write a fic between 750-850 words; Written for the Yu-Gi-Oh All Seasons Non-Flash Bingo, prompt #144, untidy
Note: I refer to Yami no Malik as Malik because that's how he thinks of himself. Be warned, this story has references to someone being skinned, to Rishid's horrific beating by Mr. Ishtar, blood, the tasting of blood, and Yami no Malik.
Summary: Freshly born and freshly introduced to blood and pain, the dark side of Malik Ishtar decides on what he will do.
Really, this place was such a mess. How could anyone expect to get anything done in here?
Of course, it wasn't his job to clean the place up. He had one goal in life and he'd already made the best beginning toward it that he could.
He took a step back and examined his work with a critical eye. For it being his first time, he thought he'd done rather well, actually. Granted, the blood and bits of skin did add to the mess on the floor, but he hadn't put all of it there himself. Some of it came from the whimpering fool in the corner, who hadn't made a serious move since his own arrival.
Just as well. If he stayed like that, then it would make killing him that much easier, and Malik had every intention of killing him once he was done with his dear father.
He lifted the Millennium Rod to his mouth, his tongue darting out to caress against the blade. More importantly, against the blood that stained it.
He'd never actually eaten or tasted anything before. He found that he liked the coppery scent of blood in his nostrils and against his tongue.
I want more of it. But where to go? These two weren't going to be around long enough to really make it worthwhile. There were, however, other people in the clan, ones that could be useful to him for this.
He smiled. He could start with his sister, that foolish girl. He could already envision the sound of her screaming. She would weep as well, he didn't doubt it, especially at the sight of Rishid and their dear father, broken and torn apart as they were. As they would be once she saw them. They weren't yet; he still had to get on that.
He really had made such a good start with father dearest. A careful check revealed that he was still breathing, though he wouldn't be for that much longer. Even if Malik didn't touch him again, he'd lost more than enough blood to ensure that he died before another hour passed. Malik just hadn't decided if he would let him have that hour of pain or if he'd reduce it to a few minutes of raw agony.
It was so hard to decide on what to do sometimes. He did have time to make up his mind, but so many options, so many choices, and not nearly enough people in the world to try them all out on.
He turned his gaze for a moment toward the corridor that would lead, eventually, to the surface. He would go out there. He would find the upper world and bring it into a crushing, all-consuming darkness that would terrify everyone who set foot into it, starting with that foolish other personality of his.
He was far more aware of him than the other was of him, even though he'd existed for a much shorter period of time. He knew how much the other Malik, the original Malik Ishtar, feared the dark. He drank in all of that fear and ached for more. More fear and more darkness.
If the world is nothing but shadows, there will be only fear for him. And when there is fear for him, I am there. If he can only fear, then I will rule.
It was a simple bit of logic and he committed himself to it without fail in that moment.
When the time came, this small room wouldn't be the only place littered with blood and blood, skin and shadows. The entire world would be wrapped in all of that, and he would enjoy it all to the hilt. Oh, people would try to stop him. That annoying Pharaoh, wherever he was, would be first on the list without a doubt.
That just meant Malik would have to get rid of him first. The prospect of doing so offered pain and power beyond all reason, though it was the pain that tempted him the most. Pain would mean more blood and more fear.
He was a simple creature, in the end. He wanted what he wanted and that was pain and blood. So he would take what he wanted and if anyone tried to stop him, then they would give him what he wanted instead. Whether they wanted to or not.
One more look around the room solidified it all in his mind. He would begin as soon as possible. He could already imagine his calling card being rooms like this, filthy with the remains of his pleasures.
His job wasn't to clean up messes. His job was to create them. And he so longed to get to work.
The End
Note: Thank you for reading and I hope that you enjoyed the story. Please let me know what you thought of it if at all possible.