Pairing: Geminishipping
Prompt: Yugioh Fanfiction Contest Season 10, Round 6
Word Count: 1,000
Warnings: Probably some canon mangling. Last-second entry because con ate up my entire week and my extension, and I've got to take cats to the vet first thing in the morning. Thief King doesn't get a name in this one, because I couldn't decide on something I liked. 8D;
Everything hurt.
Somehow, 'hurt' didn't seem like an adequate description, but Yami no Bakura's mind was so far gone, so distracted by the burning feeling in every nerve he'd ever known, that he couldn't be bothered to find another one.
The more his mind came back to him, the more acutely aware he became of how much everything hurt.
Three thousand years worth of planning, preparing, arranging everything just so-all down the drain. Lost forever. There was no coming back from defeat this time, and the taste that thought left in his mouth was almost acidic.
Against all logic, and despite his flawless planning, the Pharaoh and his container had bested him and Zorc both. And this time, as much as he still yearned for vengeance, there would be no do-over's. Understanding that made the blow that much worse.
"You failed me."
Yami no Bakura wrinkled his nose in distaste. He knew that voice. And turning his attention toward it didn't make him feel any better. He did notice, finally, through the haze of defeat and pain, that there must have been something supporting him-and that 'something' was probably the source of the voice he'd tried to forget.
Not that he wanted to open his eyes to find out.
"I fought for Me," the former Ring spirit grumbled, "Not for a worthless mortal like you."
The response was greeted with a low chuckle, and Bakura felt it rumble all too close to his ear. Large hands tugged at his bangs, pulling them back almost gently, but the sensation felt like a thousand needles. Yami no Bakura growled, as if in warning, but knew better than to be surprised when the ogre of a man ignored him.
"By now, it's the same thing," the King of Thieves whispered tiredly, staring down at the face that had been his, long ago. It was strange, seeing pale skin and soft features instead, but he had known all along that the dark lord's shadow wasn't much more than a mirror. The face he had now belonged to the boy with the locked door, much the way the Pharaoh's face had belonged to his vessel. "We both lost everything."
The spirit sneered, cracking an eye open to glare up at his first host, to no effect. "Rub salt in the wound more, why don't you?" Yami no Bakura snapped, twisting to get out of the man's lap. His vision swam-not that there was anything but darkness to gauge it by, other than the way his companion blurred and twisted before him-and he slammed his hands down on nothingness, trying to find purchase to push up from. The air gave, but pushed him back a little, and he had to remember to right himself before he spun.
The King of Thieves nearly smiled, but it never reached his silver eyes. "Nothing left to do but accept it," he said, shrugging his massive shoulders slightly. "We're dead."
"To hell with accepting that! Nothing can kill Me!" Yami no Bakura's voice rose an octave as he spoke, feeling an icy weight settle into his stomach. He knew that feeling; knew that it meant the other was right, that dead was the only explanation for this kind of stilled nothingness. If he'd left any piece of his soul anywhere else, he would have awoken there, alone. Some part of him cursed his stupidity; wished he'd left a fragment inside Malik, or perhaps lodged somewhere inside his little Landlord, but he had been so close, so sure of his impending victory…
"You die," he went on wildly, ignoring the pain in every fiber of his being as he gestured with one arm. He wondered when he'd grown so weak, so much like his pathetic hosts, and tried to push the thought aside. "You rot on, along with the rest of your worthless kind! I am the darkness, I won't die!"
A roar of laughter answered that, and Yami no Bakura didn't like it one bit. The Thief King grinned crookedly, inclining his head as he studied the once-demon. "Tell me what this is, if we're not dead?" he challenged finally, "It's not my room. It's not yours. It isn't the hall. This is death."
"I refuse," Yami no Bakura snarled, forcing himself up on shaking legs that he refused to acknowledge were trembling. He caught the thief's eyes trailing down his frame, toward his traitorous legs, and spun on his heel, perfectly aware that he was using the black coat he'd stolen to hide behind. Not that it mattered. Not that it was anyone's business whether he hid or revealed himself.
Not that he thought for even a second that the thief couldn't see through that.
It was a mistake he'd learned too late, several Ring-bearers later. There were some vessels that needed to hear lies to understand, to accept him, to make proper contracts with Zorc through him. Those fools had been easy to manipulate; easy to play with, easy to break and shove aside, to bury so deep that they never saw the light of day again.
His big mistake with the thief, however, had been honesty. Because for some damnable reason, at six-years-old, the boy had wanted the truth. The dark, gritty, terrible truth, that should have driven him mad, and somehow hadn't.
Instead, the child had asked for everything he could offer; all the magic, all the trickery, all the power that came with darkness. And he'd given it in exchange for his obedience and loyalty.
Loyalty that, apparently, lasted past the death that should have parted them.
Yami no Bakura knew without having to look back that his protégé was grinning, and as he began stalking away, he didn't need to listen for the soft rustle of fabric, or the jingle of gold bracelets in the distance to know that he was following. Not that there was anywhere to go.
But as long as they were stuck together, he'd surely follow.