One Man's Hell
...Is another man's heaven.
He grinned, stretching his back and breathing in the thick scent of brimstone and sulfur. It had been a good day.
There had been another uprising, sure, but they'd been getting progressively weaker since the beginning. Now, they were so laughably pathetic that they were nothing more than sport.
Of course, they'd never been strong enough to pose a threat. Not even the Pharaoh had done that.
His grin widened. Now there was a pleasant way to end the day.
He hopped lightly down the stone steps, demons scurrying out of the way. No one wanted to interfere with Zorc-sama's favorite pet.
After the final battle – if it could be called such, it was more of a slaughter – Zorc-sama had been kind enough to revive Bakura, and give him the pharaoh and his surviving priests as a plaything as thanks, and in exchange for his continued loyalty and aid.
Entering the dungeon, the dungeon master scuttled forward, sputtering a variety of "milord's" and "Would you prefer the lashes or the cat-o'-nine-tails today?"
Ignoring him, Bakura headed towards the cells. Today he thought he'd go the old fashioned way – red-hot metal.
Entering, he couldn't help another grin from appearing on his face as he spied the resident of the cell.
Hanging from the roof, clad only in his crown, hung the pharaoh. Of course, were it not for the crown and the hair – significantly more drooped than his time on the throne – one would not have recognized him.
The very first day, Bakura had cut the kings ligaments – there would be no running. After that, the pharaoh had lost his tongue. Bakura had then broken all his fingers – they hadn't knitted together correctly – and had torn his limbs out of his sockets. After that… well, suffice to say, there would be no blood heirs to the throne any time soon.
"Good evening, your highness." He said, the title a worse mockery than any other. He walked over to his tool bench, picking one up and examining it. "And how is my favorite guest doing tonight?"
The pharaoh shifted, his chains clanking, and made a strange, gasping sound.
"I'm glad to hear that." Bakura said, selecting his tool and putting it in the fire. "There was another uprising today, you know. Rather persistent, aren't they?"
The pharaoh's mouth opened and closed, like some pathetic fish.
"Of course, I slaughtered them." Bakura chuckled, "Zorc-sama is kind enough to let me continue to deal with those pathetic rescue attempts. Of course," He continued, "Even if they could rescue you, what could you do? You foolish, broken king." He grinned wider, withdrawing his chosen tool from the fire, the metal glowing softly.
A gentle hiss, and the air filled with the smell of burning flesh.
It was good to be on the winning side.
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End
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Closing notes: Hmm. Not sure if that's how I wanted it to come out.
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