Title: Taste of Fear
Characters: Vector, Don Thousand
Chapters: 1-1||Words: 1,000
Genre: Drama||Rated: PG
Challenges: Diversity Writing: YGO Zexal, B13, 1,000 words; zexal10thanniversary
Notes: This takes place in the episode where Vector and Black Mist first go to Vector's ruins.
Summary: Fear happens to other people, who aren't Vector. Vector causes fear – he doesn't experience it. Not until now, when the voices of the past whisper.
Vector knew exactly what fear was – it was what he made happen to other people. Assuming that he wasn't twisting their minds in some other fashion. But he knew how to cause fear so very well. If people were afraid of him, then they wouldn't interfere with whatever he had planned.
In all the long centuries he'd been a Barian – as far as he could remember – he'd never felt fear for himself. If anyone had ever asked him, he would have stated with pure certainty that nothing in this ridiculous human world could possibly cause him to fear.
I don't like this place. He wouldn't have gone so far as to call it fear even now, but the deeper he and Black Mist proceeded into these ruins, the more certain he was that he didn't like it at all.
This place should have been different. It was damp and cold – it should have been warm. Warm enough that not being fully dressed by modern standards wouldn't have bothered him. Warm enough that his jacket should have been too hot.
How he knew that he didn't know, any more than he knew which way to go. His body had moved without his mind's input. And his body told him he should be warm and he wasn't, and that felt wrong.
But Vector came here with a plan and he knew that sooner or later, Yuuma, Astral, and whoever he'd dragged along this time would show up. Better to get that Number found and be ready when they got there.
Other memories flickered through his mind as they entered another room. Scents that weren't there teased him. This place should have smelled of something that wasn't creeping vines and standing water. It should have been a mix of copper and perfumes – there had always been perfumes, dusted about to keep the stench of death down. He'd been the only one who actually enjoyed it.
How can you like that smell, Vector-sama? He could not have said where the voice came from or even if he really heard it. A memory, illusion?
But he knew the answer. There's no smell sweeter to me. Another.
At first he wasn't certain of who the first speaker was. But when he saw the Guardian of the Numbers here – oh, yes. He knew. He could not have put a name to them, but he knew who they were regardless.
The royal Executioner. The one who spilled so much blood at his command. One of those few who had been absolutely loyal to him.
Too bad Vector ended up killing him too. But it had been for the best – what he did was always for the best, even if no one else understood that. Which they usually didn't.
He could hear other voices, too. Screams of pain and terror, howls of madness, demands for clemency, begging for forgiveness. Through it all he knew the response – death for them all.
And he felt the hate that rose up from all the death. Hate of him – hate of what he did. He savored it as one would a fine wine, even if at the same time, he wanted to turn and flee as fast as he could manage it.
But he didn't. As Black Mist fought to capture the Number, he settled himself into the throne. It felt – different. But not wrong. There should have been at least two cushions there, but instead, the throne held only dust and shadows.
Vector tried to pay attention to the duel, but his mind wandered regardless. He could feel the presence of Don Thousand watching, but the Barian God said nothing at all to him. That was fine; he'd heard enough from him already. He wanted to work this out for himself.
The memories ghosted along – scents that weren't quite there, sounds on the edge of hearing, sights that came only at the edge of his attention. He didn't like it.
He knew that the Executioner had been a strong fighter as well. He would never hire someone weak. But perhaps when it came to dueling – not so much.
Did dueling even exist then? He thought it had, in some fashion. He wasn't entirely sure. The memories refused to come into any sort of proper focus.
But one thing slowly became certain the longer he sat there. He didn't like it here. He knew that he should have. It was a place of such death, and somehow, he couldn't quite understand how, he'd been responsible for all of it. But something else lurked behind it all, a growing sense that he wanted out of there.
Black Mist won the duel – not that he'd had any real doubts on that. As the Guardian began to fade away, its head swiveled, staring at Vector. A single phrase floated in the air, or perhaps in Vector's on mind.
My king...
He was a Barian. He'd never been human. He couldn't be human. But – the sensations he felt. The memories that brushed against him. The knowledge he had of this place.
Return here and thou wilt know more. But that can be for another time, when our tasks this day are done. Don Thousand advised him. Vector's hands tightened on the throne's arms and he nodded ever so faintly.
Though, perhaps it was that he just didn't know enough and that was why he was so uneasy here. Once he knew then it wouldn't be like that anymore.
Was that a hint of amusement from Don Thousand? He'd only had the Barian God as a part of him for a short time, but he thought he improved at reading the other's mood by the hour. He did think Don Thousand could keep things from him.
Yuuma, Astral, and the others approached. Vector got ready for them. Whatever else was going on here, he didn't care. He wasn't going to be afraid of ghosts, no matter what had happened. They were dead and he wasn't.
He wasn't afraid.
The End
Notes: Vector and his past life are fun to write! And writing this gave me an idea for an AU where instead of Alit being executed he's sold to Vector, and his Emperor ends up allying with Nasch in an attempt to rectify this.