Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! is the intellectual property of Kazuki Takahashi and Konami, and is being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect of the copyright holders of Yu-Gi-Oh! or its derivative works is intended by this fanfiction.
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Description: He wants a friend who'll treat him as if he were normal, and not as if he were dying, or made of glass, or spoke a completely different language.
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Gemshipping (Thief King Bakura/Ryou) written for Round 9 of Season 8 of the FFnet Fanfiction Contest.
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For Rua
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Bitter in Soul
by Animom
Why is light given to one in misery, and life to the bitter in soul,
who long for death, but it does not come,
and dig for it more than for hidden treasures;
who rejoice exceedingly, and are glad when they find the grave? Job 3: 20-22
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. : 1 : .
It was summer break and Ryou was determined not to fritter away the days, so as soon as he breakfasted and washed up he ran down the stairs and outside. The morning air was cool, with the hollow smoothness of recent rain, and though the sky was still overcast, the clouds glowed yellow with dawn instead of storm.
"I won't stop until I'm soaking wet too!" he announced to the birds strutting through puddles on the sidewalk, inexplicably happy as he watched them flap dripping wings and soar into the sky, their gleaming feathers golden.
He shaded his eyes and watched them spiraling up and up and then away until they were dots lost in the forest.
"Oh, so that's where the fun is?" he asked, and set out across the dewy field toward the trees.
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. : 2 : .
He could smell it before he saw it, a heady jumble of roasting meat and wood smoke, and while it was curious that it had arrived with so little fanfare – and was being set up so far from town – in the end all that mattered was that the Renaissance Faire was finally returning.
Everywhere he looked was activity. The blacksmith apparently had set up already, because the clang of hammer on anvil was like a metronome, setting the pace for roustabouts swinging sledges to pound in tent-pegs, for scrawny helpers unfolding canvas and uncoiling ropes, for wenches carrying wooden bowls of fruit and platters of meat.
He threaded through the chaos happily, wishing his eyes were bigger so that he could take more sights in at once, wishing that he'd been alive in this time. He knew, of course, that the Faire was just a idealized recreation, that the reality of the medieval world had been brutal, but that made him love the fantasy all the more.
He saw something at the edge of his vision, a blur of dark smoke, but when he turned his head it was gone.
Odd.
He made his way to the jousting field at the edge of the Faire and was leaning against the wooden rails, watching the squires exercise the horses by trotting them around the field, when someone or something brushed against his back pocket. He'd traveled with his father often enough to strange corners of the world, and recognized an attempted lift, so he put one hand to check for his wallet – had he even taken it this morning? No, that's right, he hadn't – and turned to see someone walking away, shaggy white-blond hair, a maroon hoodie lined in yellow, black shorts, dirty white sneakers. He followed, surprised that whomever it was didn't run. Then it occurred to him that running was probably what inexperienced thieves did, bad because it drew attention. The fact that this person was walking at normal speed meant that they were either innocent or smart.
The would-be pickpocket dodged around three men carrying a huge wooden floor loom, then made a sharp right just past the tent where the weavers were setting up.
Ryou, his eyes glued to his target, banged his shin on a spinning wheel and nearly fell; by the time he turned the corner the mysterious stranger was standing far down the causeway, watching him through a sudden swirl of black smoke. Ryou ran through the smoke – it stung his eyes and made his skin prickle – blinking his tears away in time to see a flash of maroon disappear into a wooden shed near the edge of the Faire.
The reasonable thing, of course, would have been to let it go, but Ryou had felt quite often recently that he was the mouse to someone else's cat, and he was tired of it. Putting on his determined face, he ran into the shed.
"Looking for me?"
Still blinking away the tears from the smoke, his vision adjusting to the darkness of the shed, Ryou resolved first the raggedly cut, improbably light hair, then eyes startlingly intense in their gray-violet-blueness, and finally, warming from the shadows, a young face with weathered skin.
"I, I thought – "
"You thought I stole something from you?" A wide grin formed as the stranger dipped his head down and to the side, as if self-conscious about the vicious scar that ran from his right eye down to his jaw. "That's not very friendly of you."
"No, I'm sorry." Ryou started to back up, wondering what had caused him to chase this person.
"Well, I'll forgive you." He held out his hand. "You can call me Kyomo. Unless you just want to keep calling me The Thief, the way you've been doing in your head."
"Ah, no, I'm, I won't anymore. Kyomo," Ryou said, shaking hands reluctantly.
Kyomo's hand was calloused, the long fingers strong, and didn't let go. "Want to help me with something?" he asked. "Unless you're afraid." He squeezed Ryou's hand a little.
"No, I don't think I am," Ryou said, but that wasn't completely true. There was some fear here, although it wasn't the mortal danger kind: it was more a things are going too fast fear. A this is unexpectedly intense fear. A why is my heart suddenly pounding? fear.
"Let's go then," Kyomo said, pulling him out of the shed and back into the golden sunlight, somehow turning the extended handshake into a hand-holding. Ryou was embarrassed at first to be holding another boy's hand even though none of the Faire people seemed to be bothered by it, but the more everyone waved and smiled the more he realized that Kyomo was popular here, and so he was flattered that such a person was holding his hand, and squeezed back. He tried not to think about how very much he'd like to see Kyomo again, be friends with him, because he already seemed like someone who would treat him as if he were normal, and not as if he were dying, or made of glass, or spoke a completely different language.
Out of the corner of his eye he caught another flash of darkness, like a wide silky scarf fluttering to the ground.
"What was that?" He stopped, and Kyomo tugged at him.
"Nothing, it was nothing," Kyomo said. "Don't look, just come along with me."
"Where are we going? What am I helping you with?"
"You'll see." Kyomo stopped, and Ryou almost ran into him. "You're going to help me warm up for my performance."
"Performance?" Ryou repeated. They were standing so close: Ryou dropped his eyes, but there was no place to look but at Kyomo's mouth, at how full the curved lips were.
Bad thoughts. Wrong thoughts. Stupid thoughts.
He tried to step back, but Kyomo's hold was too strong. "Don't be afraid," he said. "Stay with me and you'll be safe."
This was exactly like being on a roller coaster, Ryou thought as he was pulled once again though the ever-more crowded Faire. Once one made the decision to ride, went through the gate and sat down and was locked in, it was such a relief, because then it was okay to get swept up. No one expected you to do anything but go along, no matter how fast it went, no matter how scary it got.
"Over here." Kyomo led them over to a wall of weathered wooden boards, painted with the outline of a human figure, finally letting go of Ryou's hand. He knelt and opened a battered wooden box bound in leather, and took out a handful of knives, which he juggled expertly.
Ryou let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Oh, so you juggle."
"No," Kyomo said, his eyes on the knives in the air, "I throw." Without looking he threw each knife he caught after that, thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk, each embedding deep in the wooden wall, each a finger's-breadth outside the chalk outline.
Ryou gulped. "And I'm helping you how?" Was Kyomo going to ask him to stand in that outline?
Kyomo looked at him and grinned, a wide smile that was friendly but also sly, as if he and Ryou were old friends sharing an inside joke. "Just keep me company." He unzipped his sweatshirt and tossed it on the wooden rail behind him, swung his arms, rolled his shoulders.
Ryou stared at the muscles moving under the caramel skin. Shirtless, Kyomo looked like he should be in a magazine, advertising cologne or exercise equipment or surfboards or … underwear. Ryou told himself that he wasn't going to stare at Kyomo's backside as he walked to the wall to retrieve his knives, and he certainly wasn't going to stare as Kyomo walked back, because if he did that ...
"You feeling alright?" Kyomo asked. "Your face is red. Too much sun?" The tiniest of smirks lifted the corner of his mouth.
"No no, I'm fine," Ryou said. He'd noticed other boys and men before, felt attraction, but it had always been a delayed reaction, something he acknowledged only when he was safely alone in his room, frantically masturbating to vague scenarios in which he was open and unhesitating in his desire, the way he could never be in the real world. But this – he'd never before had the horrible ache of wanting someone when he was standing right next to them, an ache so strong that made him feel almost reckless enough to make the first move.
"Come watch my show," Kyomo said, putting his knives back in the box. Hoisting it under one arm, he took his sweatshirt off the fence, tossed it to Ryou, and began jogging toward the jousting field.
Ryou, hurrying to keep pace, noticed the envious glances the other Faire-goers were giving Kyomo – no, wait, the envy was directed at him. He was puzzled until it occurred to him that it might be because he was perceived as being with Kyomo.
His breath hitched a little at the concept.
At the jousting field, the announcer was talking, but Ryou wasn't paying attention; he was watching Kyomo walk to where a handler stood holding the halter of a huge, unsaddled gray horse. Kyomo rubbed the horse's nose, and then, after putting on a red vest trimmed with gold braid that was handed to him by an assistant, he hopped nimbly onto the fence rail and from there onto the horse's back.
"No saddle?" Ryou whispered.
Smiling faintly as if he'd heard, Kyomo leaned forward to pat the horse's neck for a few seconds. When he was done he held out his hand to Ryou.
Ryou glanced around at the other Faire employees, but they were all watching him expectantly, so he stepped forward and put out his hand to touch his fingertips to Kyomo's.
"No," Kyomo said, holding back a laugh. "My knives."
"Oh," Ryou said quickly, and, embarrassed now, stooped to open the box and gather up the clattering dull blades. "Here."
Kyomo stroked his fingers over the back of Ryou's hands before taking the knives, his eyes still crinkling with amusement.
Kyomo was amazing, Ryou thought as he gripped the fence and watched the performance. There was no other word. Just seeing him ride, hands free, was astonishing enough, but then, with the horse galloping full speed around the perimeter of the jousting field, Kyomo threw knives at a target in the center. Every one landed in the bull's-eye.
Then six archers in black armor came out on the field, spreading out to show deadly iron-tipped arrows to the crowd. Once this was done they all gathered at the opposite end of the field from Kyomo. At a signal he rode at them as they fired at him, his knives flashing through the air and taking the arrows out in mid-flight.
Ryou could barely pry his hand from over his mouth afterward to applaud.
"And now, for the final demonstration, we need a volunteer from the audience!"
Kyomo rode up to him, his hair like a helmet of spikes, his wide smile showing sharp white teeth. "Give it a try, Ryou?" he asked, four knives in each hand. He was sliding the blades together, sharpening them against each other, and Ryou couldn't breathe enough to talk: the sound of the blades was sparking something, a molten uncoiling low in his belly.
He nodded.
Someone led him out into the center of the field, and hung a big wooden disc on a leather strap around his neck. As they moved away Ryou could have sworn he saw another swirl of the black smoke stream by, behind the crowd.
Kyomo slid off the gray horse and then stood for a moment, waiting for the crowd to quiet. Then he lifted his arms, the knives like fans in each, and as he did this a group of musicians near one of the knight's tents began to play, sinuous desert music, flutes, drums, cymbals. The crowd began clapping, and Kyomo started to move, turning and sweeping his arms, high over his head, then swinging down low, the tips of the blades scarring the dust; over and over, faster and faster, closer and closer, until finally the knives began to fly toward Ryou, one after the other, embedding in the weathered wood so deeply that the tips pricked his chest. Three in the center, their blades forming a triangle, and five along the bottom edge, angled to appear as if they were hanging down.
Kyomo had created the image of the Ring.
"How do you know that shape?" Ryou asked, as someone took the wooden disc away. In answer Kyomo shook his head but took his hand, leading him to the horse as the spectators roared in approval, lifting him up onto the horse's back and then vaulting up behind.
"Not now," Kyomo murmured as he kicked the horse into a trot, casually putting one arm around Ryou's waist; with the other he waved at the cheering crowd.
Ryou, bending forward over the horse's neck, his fingers tangled ineffectually in the coarse hair, was hyper-aware of how the horse's bouncing motion kept rubbing Kyomo's body against his backside. He kept trying to sit far enough forward to break the contact, until he realized exactly what he was rubbing against – and then stopped fighting it. By the time the horse slowed to a walk Ryou's heartbeat was thundering in his throat, so he rolled up his courage, took a deep breath, sat up straight, and then leaned back against Kyomo's chest.
After a moment Kyomo put his chin on Ryou's shoulder and asked, "Oh, so is that how it is?"
And Ryou, to his amazement, found himself saying, "Yes."
"Well then…" Kyomo said, making a clicking noise that urged the horse into a gallop. He leaned forward as they approached the jousting field's fence, pressing Ryou down as they jumped over the rail and then thundered through the almost empty streets to a rustic, two-story inn.
Off the horse, through the door, up the stairs, into the tiny bedroom: it was just like going up a lift hill and over the top, it was out of his control and he wouldn't have stopped it even if he could.
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. : 3 : .
'I'm not too heavy, am I?" Kyomo was propped on his elbows, looking down at him.
"No," Ryou said, happy when Kyomo bent his head and kissed him.
He could not remember ever being this happy. Happy at the sight of Kyomo, his Kyomo. Happy at the deep, subvocal noises Kyomo made as they kissed. Happy to have his arms around someone, and having that someone's arms around him. Even the sticky, messy semen on their naked bellies made him happy.
Ryou was happy, too, with his new-found boldness. He could hardly believe that, a quarter of an hour ago, he had been the one to push Kyomo against the door for the first kiss; had been the first to pull at clothing, eager to feel skin; had been the one, once they were both undressed, to move to the narrow bed where they had held each other tightly, pressing together, sliding and grinding to a speedy climax.
Best of all was this contentment. Afterglow, he'd heard it called, and that seemed a perfect word for it: after the release of tension his body had become so relaxed he felt as though he was made of soft wax. Even his thoughts – Where are you from? How old are you? How did you get that scar? Why would you bother with me? – were lazy, non-urgent eddies.
Kyomo rolled on his side and then sat up, pulling the sheets and the faded blanket out from under their feet. When he settled back down, drawing the covers over them, he whispered – so quietly Ryou wasn't even sure he heard correctly – "Two as one." Then he skimmed his hand along Ryou's body, hip to waist to back, pulling him close and closing his eyes as they lay there and kissed, slow and sweet and warm, until they drifted off to sleep.
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. : 4 : .
It was a strange dream. He was standing on a stage of a planetarium. The thermostat on his wrist was broken, because even though it read 1200 degrees, the overhead fans were blowing very cold air. Yuugi was standing on the other side of the stage, and there was a huge red snake behind him which he didn't seem to be paying attention to. Before Ryou could say anything the snake uncoiled and reared up, arching past Yuugi toward him, biting his arm while a crackly loudspeaker blared, "Attack just! Stay cat is world the of fate!"
It was such a weird thing to announce that he grabbed his bleeding arm and turned around, looking for someone to clarify what the show was about – but then he was back in his bed above the inn at the Faire, only now the bed was a big wooden box filled with rocks. As soon as he pushed the rocks off his legs and chest and sat up the ceiling and walls melted away, leaving him in the middle of a strange, unknown place, exposed to a cold blue sky. His body ached, bruised all over from the rocks. When he called out his voice was a raspy whisper.
He managed to stand and shuffle to a massive steel tower nearby. He leaned against it and looked up: it was so dizzyingly tall that it disappeared into the clouds, like a road to the moon. It had a door which didn't open to him, but there was a path curving out of sight around the side. He followed it as it widened into a road that ran through a field of broken concrete, whose massive chunks were piled up like a frozen ocean of stone.
He was beginning to think that the dream had turned out rather dull when the road opened out into what looked to be a landing pad. There was a big airship, and from it an inviting gangway. As he hurried over to it, tired and hungry and needing to use the bathroom, it occurred to him that he might not be dreaming, even though, as had happened a few times previously, he had no clue where he was or how he got there.
The idea that he was in the real world – and hadn't heard The Voice since the day he met Kyomo – buoyed him up. He looked forward to telling Yuugi and the others about the knife-thrower, and hoped it would go well – he couldn't wait to introduce his new friend to his old friends.
He heard shouting coming from the front of the ship, muffled and angry, so he went in the other direction, passing numbered doors. "Or am I dreaming after all?" he asked, but he couldn't recall ever talking in his dreams, or at least not like this, feeling his tongue move as he made the words, feeling the vibration of sound in his jaw.
"Who's there?" A voice came from an open doorway.
He hurried in. A woman with long blonde hair was sitting on a bed, rubbing her eyes as if she'd just awakened. "I think I know you," Ryou said slowly. "You were at Duelist Kingdom, weren't you?"
She stretched. "You're a funny one."
"Funny?" Mai, her name was Mai.
"We boarded the Battle Ship together," she said, "You, me, Yuugi, and Jounouchi. And Kaiba's suits wouldn't let Anzu or Jounouchi's sister or the two guys on, but then Mokuba talked – " she stopped, tilted her head to look at him curiously. "You really don't remember? You were at the dinner for the first bingo. You talked to Jounouchi."
Don't you remember? So many people had said this to him lately, and he was more and more certain that it was related to the hiccups in time. "Sorry! I must have bumped my head, so I'm feeling a little out of it." He looked around, noting the other beds and the medical-looking equipment and supplies. "Is this the sick bay? Are you feeling alright?"
"Well, I'm a little fuzzy. I remember that I was dueling – " She seemed to freeze, her face blank and emotionless for several seconds, then with a shudder she came to. "Yes, I'm fine. But I have a wicked idea ..."
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Ryou was sitting primly by Mai's bedside when Yuugi and the others arrived in a noisy clump. "Hey guys," he said. "Good to see you!" Just as Mai had predicted, Jounouchi's face fell, becoming almost comically sad when he saw her.
Yuugi asked, "Bakura?"
"How's Mai?" Jounouchi asked, running to the bed.
"I'm so sorry," Ryou said, trying to keep from laughing, "but she stopped breathing. I did what I could, but …"
"Mai!"
Jounouchi threw himself over her body, sobbing and babbling until Mai opened her eyes and pinched his cheek. "Aw, you were worried about me!"
As Yugi came to stand next to him at the bedside to watch Jounouchi and Mai's antics, Ryou was startled to hear The Voice: The Ring can find anyone or anything. With the Ring you can find your knife-throwing thief anytime you want. Find the Ring.
"So, looks like you're feeling okay now too," Yuugi said. "We were worried about you."
"Yes," he said. "I woke up outside a little while ago." He put his hand to his chest. "Where did my Ring go?"
"If he gets it back," Honda told Yuugi, "he might turn into that other guy again."
"I haven't seen it," Yuugi said.
He's lying, The Voice said.
"Other guy?"
"During your duel," Yuugi said. "He looked like you, but he wasn't you. He said he was the Spirit of the Ring."
"He was evil," Honda added.
"Spirit of the Ring?" The Ring had a spirit, just like Yuugi's puzzle?
Just then someone shouted that they had to go and look for the Kaiba brothers before the island blew up. Ryou ran into the hallway with the others, but when Jounouchi and the others took off one direction, he went the other way. Toward the numbered rooms.
He ran from room to room, certain that he would find it – and sure enough, on the table in room 5 there it was, next to a short staff with a winged eyeball.
"Finally!" He hurried to put the Ring on, then tucked it under his shirt. He was a little annoyed that Yuugi had lied to him, but it didn't matter. He ran to help the others look for the Kaibas.
Good job, The Voice said.
"Are you the Spirit of the Ring they were talking about?" he asked. "Are you evil?"
Would an evil spirit make you happy by sending you back to your friend in the Ring?
"In the Ring? What do you – "
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. : 5 : .
– he had noticed them earlier in the week, of course, the rings that Kyomo wore – two gold, one red, one gold-and-green – but at the moment the sight absolutely mesmerized him, the jewelry emphasizing the way Kyomo's strong fingers were splayed on the wood floor as he braced himself. After they had collapsed into a sweaty heap Ryou rested his cheek against Kyomo's shoulder, put his pale hand over the knife-thrower's brown one, and said, "They suit you. The rings."
Kyomo turned over and sat up, studying his fingers as if noticing them for the first time, then tugged one of the rings off and held it out. "Take it."
Ryou shook his head. "Oh no, I couldn't." He didn't see much point, now that he knew that the ring, like Kyomo, existed only here, inside the Ring … but then again, to be honest, at the moment so did he. It was strange to think that he might live the rest of his life this way, relegated by The Voice to this dream-world. He wondered what would happen if The Voice decided to move on to a new host. Would the body that had once been Ryou Bakura die, collapsing like a stringless marionette when the Spirit within it left? Would that trap him here forever?
Was that where Kyomo had come from? Had he been flesh and blood once, until The Voice abandoned him in the Ring?
Kyomo raised an eyebrow. "Take it, or I will be offended."
Sighing, Ryou took the ring, the gold-and green one that Kyomo had worn on his left hand. It looked like two separate rings glued together side-by-side: a band of greenish stone, carved with a snake whose body zig-zagged between roosters and turtles, and a wide gold band set with a small green cabochon. "Is this an emerald?"
"If you like it, what does the name matter?" Kyomo asked, then shrugged. "The man I acquired it from said that the jewel was a Lemurian soul stone." He tapped the ring with his finger. "Hurry, put it on."
Ryou obeyed, and just then the sun outside came out from behind a cloud for a moment, because the light pouring in through the window at Kyomo's back gave him a momentary corona and made his skin glow.
And then it was gone.
"Ah-ha!" Kyomo laughed as he prepared to pounce. "And now, yatet, my payment!"
"Payment? For a gift?" Ryou started to roll away in mock-terror – and then he gasped. In a corner of the room a dark, swirling column of mist had appeared, seething like a swarm of hornets. After a moment it solidified into a pale mirror image of Ryou.
And then it spoke. "Hello, yadonushi. Hello, thief." It was The Voice.
Ryou gasped and hurriedly pulled a sheet over himself.
The Voice looked at Ryou, "This is the world you've built from your imagination? Huh. So small." He turned to Kyomo. "Nice work. Ready for your reward?"
"Work?" Ryou asked. "Reward?"
"Stop talking!" Kyomo said, his fists clenched. "He doesn't need to know!"
"I had things to do," The Voice said to Ryou. "I couldn't afford to have you interrupting me, trying to take back control, so I told him to keep you occupied. I didn't think he'd go so far as to let you fuck him, but hey, it worked." He squatted in front of Ryou, laughing unpleasantly when Ryou looked away from his naked, nearly transparent form. "You don't know your boyfriend too well, yadonushi, if you don't already know that he'd do anything in exchange for the vengeance he's wanted for so long."
Ryou, stunned, looked to Kyomo for confirmation, but he – clothed now in a long maroon coat, black kilt, and a tan headcloth – had turned away.
"You're pathetic," The Voice said contemptuously. "I should let this thief have your body after my business is finished. At least he started out as someone interesting."
"That's enough," Kyomo said angrily. "Leave him alone."
"Now now," The Voice said to Kyomo as He stood. "Is that any way to treat someone giving you a compliment? You have the excuse that you've been in here so long that your soul has evaporated, but our current landlord barely had any soul or personality to begin with. Though he does have a good imagination, I'll give him that. Actually," He said as he walked to Kyomo, "between the two of you there's almost enough pieces for a whole person." His ghostly form melted into Kyomo's.
Ryou, furious and miserable, pulled the green and gold ring off his finger and threw it at Kyomo, who caught it and started to say, "If I take – "
(a ripple, like a heartbeat)
– but then he was gone.
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. : 6 : .
Ryou woke up in his apartment, disoriented for a moment – had The Voice released him for some reason? Or had something gone wrong with the "vengeance" He and Kyomo had gone off to do?
Kyomo.
He curled on his side, numbly staring at the wall, clenching his fist.
There was something in it.
He opened his hand. Kyomo's ring? But – hadn't he thrown it back?
Did this mean – was there –?
He sat up, throwing the covers aside – surprised to find himself completely dressed – and ran through the apartment, down the stairs, and outside.
The still air was hot, and baked so dry by the noontime sun – merciless in a cloudless sky – that his eyes and nose burned. There was a bird on the sidewalk, its swollen, dusty body leaking maggots.
Across the dead fields, a line of trees marked what had once been the forest, their leafless branches reaching up like desperate hands.
"Are you still there?" he asked, and began to run through the pale brittle stalks toward the Faire.
But when he got there the Faire was silent. The cook fires were cold ash; the hammer lay neglected next to the anvil; the jousting field was deserted. The wooden shed was empty, as was the soap-makers' tent and the weaving pavilion.
And the inn. He stood looking at the rustic long tables and benches, the wood polished as if from long use; at the row of tankards behind the bar; at the kegs, until finally he was able to force himself to move his feet, to climb the flights of narrow wooden stairs to the attic bedroom.
Empty.
It was not until he felt the disappointment choking him that he realized how much hope he had carried.
Through the window of the tiny room, he saw the sky: instead of golden clouds, it was filled with churning darkness.
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. : 7 : .
It was strange, standing with the others in the shrine and watching Yuugi place the Items in the Millennium Stone: Eye, Key, Scale, Rod, Torc, Ring ... The Voice was gone, and with it's departure the Ring was dead, just a gaudy relic. Granted, a gaudy relic that had nearly destroyed several lives, but oddly, it no longer stirred any emotion in Ryou. No fear, no anger, no exhilaration.
Yuugi looked back at them, and then took the Puzzle from around his neck, removed the chain, and placed it in the Stone. The Stone began to glow, and then a small whirlwind swirled around it, blowing dust and sand and chips of stone off the dais and to the far corners of the chamber.
Something bounced against Ryou's shoe, and he bent to pick it up.
A ring, dusty and battered. Before he could get a look at it, a blinding light from the Eye of Wedjat shone on Yuugi, and then suddenly Yuugi had two shadows, and after that there were two Yuugis. Which was so amazing – Honda explaining to him that the one on the left was called Atem – that he slipped the ring on his finger without thinking.
The duel was intense, and somewhere in the middle of it – just after Yuugi defeated all three of Atem's gods – Ryou realized that, with The Voice gone, his life might get back to normal. He could go to school again, spend time with friends again – well, he might actually make friends that weren't endangered in the first place now.
As the light from Silent Magician's final attack faded, as the holograms dimmed and shimmered away, Yuugi fell sobbing to his knees. After a moment, Atem walked over to Yuugi, comforting and congratulating him. When he said, "You have the courage of tenderness ... I am no longer the other you – You are no one else but who you are!" Ryou found tears welling up over how wise and kind and supportive his friend's other self was.
As the Eye of Wedjat glowed again and the door opened to the Pharaoh's name, as Anzu, Jounouchi, and Honda ran up the dais to say goodbye to Atem, Ryou wiped the tears from his face, but when his tears touched the ring he'd put on it gave him a small electric shock and became almost uncomfortably warm ...
Night. Soldiers. Screams. Fear. Burning buildings. A cauldron of molten gold, and below it a pit of the dying. Their throats have been slashed to bleed them out like cattle. When the gold is poured it does not burn the corpses: it vaporizes flesh and bone …
Startled, Ryou put his hands over his eyes; when he took them away, it seemed as though smoke from his vision had filled the chamber and was pouring into the doorway that Atem had opened.
A moment later the air cleared, the door closed, and Atem was gone. There was a rumbling sound, and the ground shook. The Millennium Slate, no longer golden, looked as it had in his vision – brown with dried blood, sizzling from the heat of poured gold – and then shattered and disappeared. A moment later the pillars in the chamber began to topple, and they all ran.
Outside in the sun, as they all caught their breath before starting the long walk down the valley to the boat, Honda said, "Too bad the Millennium Items were lost."
"But at last the spirits of Kul Elna can finally be at peace," Ryou murmured.
Jounouchi looked around nervously. "Spirits?"
Ishizu looked at him curiously, and Mokuba asked, "Cool Elna? Who's that?"
"It was a village," Ryou said. "Where we were just now was built on top of its ruins."
"Really?" Yuugi asked as the group began to walk. "How do you know that?"
"Just something I picked up," Ryou said, and twisted the ring on his finger: two bands side by side and perfectly matched, green stone and gold improbably fused into a harmonious whole.
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~ The end ~
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A small epilogue to this story is posted at my Ao3 archive.
A huge thank you to my betas Rroselavy and ACE329. Detailed author's notes for this story are at my Dreanwidth and my LiveJournal (URLs in my profile) under the "author notes" tag.
(19) 20 July 2011 ~ Author's Notes moved to Dreamwidth/LJ.