Ownership
Author: kayono (ffn) / mecomptane (lj)
Summary: How do you define the owner of a body? How do you define the owner of a power? How can anyone define the worth—or reason—for a life, for an existence?
Prompt: "The demon known as revenge"
Warnings: Reading scanlations of Conan (in America we call it "Case Closed" or something) makes for very bad plot bunnies and prompts. Especially while reading Edmondia Dantes.
Disclaimers: I don't own anything, except for the slew of textbooks I just had to buy. WHY do we need the whole stupid package for $130.00 when we just need the MYITLAB code? Boo on senseless spending- unless it's useless spending on Bubble Tea. Then I'm all for it.
At first, he didn't understand. He ignored what was happening, because it couldn't possibly be happening. There was no way that it could happen- not according to science, anyways. How many times had he run through the different options, trying to pretend that everything was alright—or at least that nothing was too strange? There were many possible scientific explanations—some were plausible, even—yet….
Yet he couldn't bring himself to believe it. There were some studies and tests and conditions that described his situation perfectly, but some part of him told him that it was impossible, that there was some other explanation.
He didn't want to believe it.
It was only after so many people had been arrested, hospitalized, or driven insane that he dared to believe that there was some connection between that and what was happening to him. It didn't take much research to find the information he wanted, his friends completely oblivious to his hunt. Whatever had happened to those people—all those people—had happened at the same time of his blackouts, and he had always been in a nearby area to the incidents.
Strangely, there were a number of empty spaces in his memory that did not coincide with anything, and that worried him more than anything.
It was when he met that strange Egyptian in the museum that a coherent idea of what was happening began to develop within him. He had laughed off the man's proclamation of the "Other Self", but, given time to think about it….
He hated it. He hated the idea that his body was being used and abused for something that he so completely disagreed with. He hated that he didn't know exactly what was happening at those times. He hated this "Other Self", for everything that it—he—had done.
There was no doubt in his mind as to what was happening anymore. The scientific evidence he had found to disprove his theory fell to dust when compared with what he was experiencing, and nothing he could do or say seemed to be able to stop it.
Something within him railed against the Other Self, rejected it and tried to remove it from his body. He couldn't understand why the Other Self hadn't left, why the blackouts still continued. They did, however, cease to be so frequent, which he took as a good sign. But, if the Other Self did realize that he and what he was doing was unwelcome, why didn't he leave?
He was confused, then. The Other Self clearly cared about what he thought of it, and—now that he went back and looked at everyone that had been attacked using his body—he noticed a fairly disturbing trend. He had recognized many of those people and those he didn't, his friends supplied the missing information: thieves and killers and gang members who had targeted him or his friends before or recently, heartless aristocrats and self-centered public personalities….
All those people, every single one, had—in some way—threatened himself or another. He disapproved still—completely and totally and would never, ever forgive what had happened—but, now that there was at least a motive behind what the Other Self had done….
His mind began to slowly accept the Other Self's presence, and something within—not the Other Self, but a deep, hidden part of himself—rejoiced at that. The part that had raged against the Other Self since the beginning, though, the part that had sensed that something was new and wrong and oh so horriblecruelsenselesssoullessdark still yelled and screamed and wanted it gone….
He had been so nervous that once, when that one part of his mind had told him to stop while every other part of him was saying go. He had decided that, if the Other Self did truly care about his opinion of him, then he wouldn't willingly go on a killing spree in front of hundreds of people, let alone his best friends. So, with Death T and the lives of his friends and his grandfather hanging on every move made, he told his friends to trust the other and just left himself fall….
Where he fell to he didn't know, but- unlike before, when there was nothing, not even consciousness, this was warm and kind and wonderful and evil. He felt a strange energy building up in his hands, but—what would happen? He didn't want to hurt the Other Self, especially if he was helping him. He held that power to his chest and spent the time keeping it reigned in, refusing to let it go, let it out….
He began to trust the Other Self, as much as part of him still hated the Other. There had been no new killings or bankruptcies or hospitalizations or insane people for weeks, but that the Other Self was capable—and willing—to do so continued to anger him, even as the other half of him continuously reached out to the Other, wanting to speak and look and know. It was only fair, after all. If the Other Self should reside in his body, shouldn't he know of him?
When he met the other Other Self… when he was small and weak and not in control of what was happening and he and his friends were imprisoned with the others and the Other Self and the other Other Self were tall and strong and powerful and held the dice of fate—literally—he saw. To see that, to go through that… he began, if anything, to hate the Other Self more, and yet grew to love him more. He could see the differences and, as much as he appreciated with his Other Self did for him, he could also appreciate what he could do—what he might do, what he might have done in the past without him ever knowing about it.
Those blackouts with no corresponding victims—or were they the attackers?—were still bothering him.
He wanted to confront the Other Self, but didn't know how.
When that happened to his grandpa and the Other Self did nothing, the bit of confidence he had in the other's abilities and intentions quickly slipped away, and that part of him that had always been railing against it began to rejoice, feeling as though it—he—might finally be free of the demon.
Yet, then on that island… the blackouts grew more numerous, until he could barely remember what happened between the duels, and remembered even less about those. His friends still smiled and supported him, so he was sure that nothing too bad or horrible was happening during those times, but no longer was there that warm place where he hid when the Other Self controlled the body, no longer was there that need to keep whatever it was wrapped up tight inside him.
When the Other Self was willing to sacrifice the elder brother's life just to get inside—to save grandpa, he later realized with a start—he had to make his stand. Although his friends had perceived that they were still close and willing to switch out, that incident showed that not everything was happiness and butterflies and rainbows between them.
The next duel, with the blond wind ruler, he wasn't sure what happened. One minute, he was dueling her, then the next he was back in that warm place. Somehow, he knew that no one else could tell that they had switched. This time, he didn't bother to hold back that power—whatever it was—from the darkness. He watched bemusedly as light seeped out from his body, attacking the darkness with a swiftness that would have impressed the Blue Eyes.
It wasn't long before he felt the Other Self calling out to him, asking him to stop and help and pleasepleaseplease forgive him. He was only trying to make it up to the other, losing his grandpa like he did, taking control and not wanting to let him get hurt and attempting to repent for all he had done….
He couldn't help but give in, part of him angered as he clutched the light back to himself, part of him ecstatic at the small amount of reconciliation.
The gold-eyed man, when it came time, was nothing compared to them. Their arguing and bickering and imbalance and equality might have distracted them, but it distracted their opponent and his cheating ways far more.
He wanted to be the one to bring back his grandpa, regardless of what the Other Self said or wanted. It was still so hard to trust him. So, when he finally fell unconscious, he couldn't help but despair that all hope at helping his grandpa escape was lost.
And, when he came to, he couldn't help but be amazed that not only had they won, but everything was fine and everyone was safe and—his breath caught as he felt it. He couldn't understand exactly what had happened, but suddenly the Other Self's presence was practically draped all over him, encompassing him, as though afraid to show him to the outside world.
He fought back, of course, with tooth and nail all the power of light he had, but the Other Self withstood it, refusing to give up the barrier and embrace, no matter how much damage he was dealt. It took a while to get used to it, but it became such an amazing buffer against those who normally would have singled him out for 'special attention' that he did not care. Slowly, he allowed the Other Self to become even more protective, more surrounding, more there. Part of him grew to resent that, while the rest came to rely on it.
He was surprised to find that the barrier wasn't equally centered around all of him, but focused around his heart, his head, his hands—and the Puzzle. The golden, ancient Puzzle that he had spent eight years working on, completing just as—just when he started having the blackouts.
The solution to his "Other Self" problem was made painfully clear, yet when he went to follow through with his plan, take off the Puzzle and take it apart, even that part that hated the Other Self stopped his hands, instead clutching the Puzzle to his chest. Well, if the Puzzle would be bound to him, he might as well make it obvious.
He wasn't sure if it was because he replaced that old, fragile-looking rope with the chains that the Puzzle was almost immediately taken from him, but the sudden loss of the Other Self's presence and barrier almost made him scream. He grew to quickly hate the ones who had been responsible—classmate or not, the Puzzle was his, and his Other Self should only ever belong to and protect and be hated and reprimanded by him.
His possessive thoughts scared him, but, for once, his entire self wanted the same thing regarding the Other Self, and he felt no reason to deny himself the pleasure of taking the Other Self back.
He found it amusing, pretending to be so weak and helpless. When the other Other Self appeared, he knew immediately that the other Other Self could see through his plans and knew what he was doing, but when the other only played along with his game, he was grateful. A bit of hope filled his heart then—if even the other Other Self could understand what he was doing, understand his wishes and desires, then surely the Other Self was not simply wanting to suck up to him so he could take over more often.
With the last of his doubts availed, he poured his entire self into winning that childish game—and win it he did. He somehow sensed what the other Other Self did to one of the pieces of the Puzzle but, unsure of the influence, he let it go.
But when the old man, cruel and twisted by the darkness he could see in his heart, slipped the chain around his head and pulled him into the back room, all thoughts of the two Other Selves were lost. All he could think of was the old man, what he was doing, and then—
He must have hit his head because, when he was next conscious, he was laying slumped against a wall. The chain he had used to bind the Puzzle to him was nailed to a table, the old man working on it feverishly. Even in the dim light from the candles, he could see the man clearly, as though he was standing in a spotlight. Yet, around the man, within the man, darkness—as pure and tantalizing and horriblecruelsenselesssoullessdark as he could imagine—swarmed and flowed. Only the faintest hint of light remained in the man.
He stood shakily, wanting the Puzzle. He needed to be the one to solve it, the Other Self was his and his alone and what was the man thinking, did he want to bear the Other Self's vengeance and anger? The part that had railed against the Other Self now began to grow again, but this time against the old man, and he felt that familiar surrounding of darkness, but it wasn't warm, it so cold, ice cold, freezing and still and—and that power he felt, that strength, that always warred against even the Other Self in the warm darkness, burst forth invisibly from his hands.
Darkness raised itself from the Puzzle, swirling and swarming and feeling so right to him that he couldn't help but take another few steps towards the old man and the Puzzle—the old man who was screaming in fright and throwing the pieces around the room and knocking over the candles and setting fire to the tablecloth and—
He wanted to be surprised but somehow wasn't. He wanted to feel guilty about what he was probably going to do, but couldn't. The Puzzle was his, the Other Self, that wonderful darkness was his, and this old man, this old mortal just comes along and tosses the pieces around like they mean nothing, thinks of the Other Self as only a thing to be gained, not treasured and loved and ruled over and ruled by and protected by…!
The fire spread, and he couldn't help adding his light to it. Let the old man burn, he thought, bending down to retrieve some of the pieces that had fallen by his feet, let him feel what is the only end for those who give into darkness and corruption. Let him know what it is to separate the light and dark, let the fool mortal understand the sins he committed by crossing into sacred territory and daring to believe that he had any power over the divine…!
The fire grew, and he smiled as he made his way to the table with the Puzzle still chained to it. He noticed the hidden doorway crashing open, the old man, already burning, already beginning to repent, the fool, following the group out. Part of him wanted to go with them, but the rest—even the part that hated the dark—refused to leave. The others, his friends, pleaded, they whined, they begged him to leave with them.
He grew angry, but hid it behind tears of sorrow of his imagination. If he left, what would happen to the dark? No- the Puzzle, the Other Self, his Other Self, his dark, his own heart, could not be left behind. No damage should ever befall that—that he understood.
When the one friend, the blond guard who was his most faithful aid of all, remained behind while the others escaped, he smiled and turned back to the Puzzle. He need not fear anything, now. His light knew as such, too, and focused only on finding—for once, not fighting—the dark.
Under his skilled, impassioned hands, the Puzzle began to take shape again, far faster than before. His light kept those few flames that were natural away from him, away from the blond guard. He felt the light, the unnatural flames, burning his hands, scaring and marring and cleaning the old man's corruption from the chain and himself and the Puzzle and the dark, and only continued to smile—with these marks, all would know that he, and the light and the dark and the Puzzle and the Other Self were all connected, all bound to the other. No one would dare to do this again.
With the Puzzle complete, and knowing his guard would take care of him, he retreated into the confines of that warm darkness, into his soul and power and strength, only wanting to know of the dark, of the Other Self. The Other Self only wanted to know of him, in kind. They met then, and fought—and, surprisingly, finally found an agreement, a balance, suitable to both.
With wakefulness came knowledge and understanding, and he smiled down tenderly at the Puzzle, then at the friends that sat around him, only the guard awake, sitting up quietly in the bed beside his own, recovering from his own injuries. He felt some remorse for the other's pain, and realized that, as he looked around, he couldn't see the dark anymore in the people who lay asleep, or wandered through the hallways outside, or even on the streets below.
He smiled, touching the Puzzle lightly, caressing it softly. A guard, he mused, was wonderful. Having the Other Self, the dark, was perfection.
Then and there, he and the Other knew, and swore.
He wasn't afraid, then, or confused, or angry, or unsure, or doubtful. He knew the Other, and the Other knew him. The Other wasn't a demon, not cruel and spiteful. If anything, the Other Self was kinder than he was, for he gave the people a chance to repent, not heaping down the final judgment until after all hope for redemption had passed.
He was the angel of vengeance, the judge and the purge. He knew he would one day seek revenge for all that had been done against him and others, but let it lie. The Other was still there, still in his heart, and there was still a long way to go before the Other would let him take those final steps. A sudden surge of gratitude and love washed over him, unrelenting.
He felt the emotions well up, and welcomed them. His light still warred against the Other, but only for practice, as it were, only to remember what pure dark is like so that, should it need to, it could lash out and destroy that which was defiled. Part of him dreaded that day, when he would no longer be able to ignore that which lived in people's hearts. But part of him, most of him, simply chose to find comfort in that warm, welcoming darkness for as long as he could. For, just as the Puzzle and the Other and the light and the dark were his—
He was theirs.
Wow, this was hard to write. I've spent about two weeks staring at this prompt. Boo…. I'm still trying to put everything together, though now I have an idea. Especially if it means I get to include fanfiction.
So, again, completely different from how I wanted it to go. To be honest, I didn't want to do another YGO piece, but here you go. It seems that all my prompts somehow come back to this—ah, that's probably because of my obsession with Ancient civilizations, conspiracy theories, and religious references and gods and goddesses that make cameos or on-going appearances in modern society.
So that's why I find MaLoRa so entertaining….
If you didn't understand what was happening… oh well. Go read the manga (the original 7 books and then 9 and 10 of Duelist. Review the end of DK, too, if you like, but I like warping that part too much to do anything serious with it. Hence the skimpiness).
Happy reading and reviewing!
EDIT: Just realized this only went up to pre-Battle City. If anyone would be kind enough to give me another prompt, I will happily continue this. Or, if there's a number of good prompts, I'll write more than one piece. The one that comes after this is really just a drabble, so I have to work a bit on that as well… merg. So, yes. Anything that you find cool or whatnot (even if it's a line from another story), send it to me… please? With credit. So that I can disclaim it (I don't want to rip people off). Thank you!