Of all the chapters I've written for this story, This is the one I am most proud of...it was tough to organize and looking back carried a lot more weight than I thought, but I am very proud of the emotional depth and how it was handled.
this whole story started off as a random one-shot idea that quickly evolved into something much deeper and more profound, and I greatly enjoyed writing it. It was definitely an experiment for me in turns of addressing and writing trauma and tackling different narratives and I'm very proud of it as a whole.
Is it the most groundbreaking piece I've ever written. No, not really.
Was it fun to write and experiment with? Hell yeah!
am I glad I wrote! of course!
Despite it all, it was nonetheless enjoyable to write and I enjoyed the concept of playing with past lives, reincarnations, vampires, the Gothic etc. Especially considering each one was inspired by Aurelio Voltaire songs!
Song: Goodnight, Demon Slayer by Voltaire Vampire
Epilogue
Goodnight, Demon Slayer
I
I won't tell you, there's nothing underneath your bed
I won't tell you, that it's all in your head
This world of ours is not as it seems
The monsters are real but they're not in your dreams
— Aurelio Voltaire , Goodnight, Demon Slayer
Yugi collapsed back against his mattress with Marik on top of him. He gazed up lovingly into those mauve eyes, cupped his cheek and kissed him again: slow and chaste, then relaxed in his arms. Marik laid his head on Yugi's chest, humming as those long fingers stroked his hair.
Gazing about the room that had not changed in two hundred years, Yugi's eyes widened and sat up. "You kept this room intact?"
"Hmm?" Marik asked half-dazed.
"My room.. our room." Yugi gestured sitting up: the pictures, the furniture, the simple furnishings. "You kept it the same?"
Marik sat up beside him, looked around the room where he'd first met the beautiful angle now in his arms. The room where his life transformed and his broken heart had started to heal. The room he'd stayed in every night since that fateful night, with only his sister' word and a desperate hope that one day his lover would return and they could share this room again and fill it with new memories.
He heard a sigh and paused as Yugi deflated in his arms. "What is it?" he asked, worriedly, not liking the frown on Yugi's face.
"Were you…waiting for me…this whole time?" The words were barely whispers yet vibrated with their own weight like stones dropped into a still pool. His eyes, glassy. "I just…can't stand the thought of you alone all that—"
Marik pulled him into his arms and kissed him again. Yugi blinked when he pulled away: bronze hands cupping his face, a warm forehead pressed against his, rich lilac eyes, shimmering with love, leering into his amethyst ones.
"It doesn't matter," Marik whispered. "You're here now, and we're together again. That's what matters." He kissed Yugi's cheek. He giggled under the ticklish treatment, a cherry blush blooming across his cheeks. "Besides," Marik chuckled. " One of us had to stay awake, and as much as I hated not having you with me…" he paused, trailed off. "I knew you would return. Ishizu promised, and I…I wanted to see how the world changed and I wanted to…take your advice and, well, try living again."
Stunned realization bulged Yugi's eyes. Then he smiled, sighed and allowed the others warmth to envelope him. With a sigh he added. "I still can't wrap my head around how you could fall in love with me so quickly….I mean…yes, I am Ujalah Van Darkholm, but I'm also not…I'm Yugi Mutou. I lived an entirely different life: I'm a completely different person."
There was a sadness to his smile, an uncertainty juxtaposed with the hope in his eyes: the peace, the love.
Marik chuckled. "Well, in that case," he teased, eyes a half-lidded leer. "I'll just have to fall in love with you all over again." And kissed Yugi's nose.
Yugi laughed and playfully pushed him away.
And then something he'd said struck him like fireworks. "Wait! You said Ishizu promised we'd be back?"
Marik's expression froze. A nervous chuckle escaped him and he rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah…there's a bit of a history there, but it's best to explain it to both of you. Point is Ishizu knew you two would be reincarnated and when, so all we could really do was wait. Bakura…" he paused again, his face a frown so grim it spoke only of bad news. "Well, I'll let him tell you, but he basically decided to sleep until then…in all honesty we weren't expecting you two for another two days…"
"That was our plan!" Yugi interjected. "We just finished signing the deed with the lawyer and were going to see the property once it was all done so we could decide what to do about it, but I…I saw it and I just…I couldn't stay away. I just knew we belonged here. That this was…home."
"Seeing it again must've triggered your memories," Marik observed. "Just like you kissing me restored your memories of your feelings for me." A knowing smirk crossed his face. "Thank god that was before you could open the drapes and attempt to burn me alive."
Yugi blushed, horrified and tried to cover it with a nervous laugh. "Oh…um…you knew about…that?" he stuttered, hesitantly.
"Points for creativity and cleverness," Marik teased. Yugi head lobbed, and he buried his face in his hands.
"Don't worry love, it wouldn't have hurt me much. My ancestors did originate in the desert, if anything the sunlight would've just drained me a little." He relaxed back against the pillows, his arms folded behind his head, all cocky grins and boisterous smiles. It almost made Yugi want to smack him with a pillow.
Yugi giggled, then sighed. "I wish I could remember more." His fingers clenched and spread wide in frustration. "There are still gaps in my memory and I…" A deliberate pause and he gnawed on his lip. "I can barely remember what happened that night...I remember yelling and screaming, and pain and then...just...black." He shivered, arms crossed over his chest, fingers digging into his shoulders. "Part of me doesn't want to remember...but…"
Marik frowned and tightened his hold around him. "It's alright," Marik mollified. "It's okay to forget...to put it behind you…" he frowned. "To let go of the pain and allow yourself to move on. Even if the loss never truly goes away." He buried his face in Yugi's soft hair. "You taught me that."
The comfort was small but profound. A small smile curled across Yugi's lips. "Thank you. But I...I'd still like to remember."
Marik sighed. "Unfortunately, you're going to have to ask your brother. He's the only one who knows what really happened. By the time Bakura and I got there...there was fire and smoke and…" His voice broke, overcome with the emotions. The memory was still fresh in his mind: the blood, the vacant eyes, the deathly pale skin, the unmoving limbs. "I saw your body."
Yugi spun around in his arms and pressed their foreheads together. "It's alright. I'm here now aren't I?"
Marik grinned, nodded. Only Yugi could heal his pain with just a few simple words. Yugi had been the light and the love and the laughter and the hope in his life. The spark that had found the ember still smoldering in the ashes of his soul and coaxed it back into a roaring flame. That hope, that memory: it had kept that flame burning, even when hope had become a flickering candle in a cold, dark windstorm.
Untangling himself from Yugi, Marik offered his bemused expression a knowing wink. "You might be able to ask Ishizu, if you really wanted."
Yugi's expression brightened immediately.
"Is Ishizu here? And Mahado? Mana? Everyone?" Yugi asked excitedly.
Marik's smile curled. "Someone had to keep this house maintained for so long."
Overcome by excitement, Yugi hopped out of bed and raced for his wardrobe, not surprised to find it filled with all of his favorite outfits perfectly preserved in clear specialty bags, their colors and fabrics still intact after all this time.
"Then let's go greet them!" He grabbed the first thing he could and started undoing the zippers. He paused when he caught Marik admiring him.
"What?" he asked with a coquettish tilt of his head.
"Just stunned you can still walk after being pounded into the mattress so many times."
He just barely dodged the pillow thrown at him.
II
Tell the monster that eats children, that you taste bad
And you're sure you'd be the worst he's ever had
If he eats you, don't you fret, just cut him open with an axe
Don't regret it, he deserved it, he's a cad
— Aurelio Voltaire , Goodnight, Demon Slayer
Yami sank down into the steaming waters allowing the heat to submerge his entire body in warmth. The house was old: the Master bedroom Atem had inherited from his grandfather done in the style of a lord's suit complete with a separate water closet and an old gigantic claw-foot bath tub with a painted black hull. Of all the old things in that house, the tub was Yami's absolute favorite—whatever renovations he and Yugi might make, he would fight them all to the death to keep that tub.
There had always been something beautifully relaxing about being under water. Stretching out his body and allowing the liquefied heat to cover his limbs and face and allow all the stress and worries to evaporate from his body once he came up gasping for air. Eyes closed, limbs lithe and weightless, holding his breath: all the world went away, safe in his own silent, secret world away from everything. It had comforted him so often in his first life and the tradition had carried over into his reincarnation as well.
Even now Yami found the damp smoldering soothing—both in his tumulus spirit and his ghastly sore body. He smirked despite the hiss of pain in his lower back. His vampire truly was an insatiable creature: all hunger and domineering desire and Yami devoured every single second of it with just as much passion and delight. The memory sent a pleasant thrill shivering up his spine. The night had been so spectacular.
And yet there was a weight upon his chest that no amount of passionate love making or smoldering wet could truly evaporate.
"I know that look." A shadow swept over Yami's face. His eyes popped open to soulful russet red eyes staring down at him. Bakura leaned over the rim of the tub, his expression dark, his eyes penetrating like they were reading his soul. Yami shivered, unable to hide anything from that gaze. The intensity, the indigence, the cold rage.
"Don't you dare blame yourself for what happened! For what that man did." He hissed, dangerously low, pouring all his fury into those final words. Anyone else would've flinched under the force of that tone, but Yami knew him too well to feel any fear.
"It isn't that," Yami confessed, voice low, his gaze focusing on the steamy waters, the ripples, the way his hands disappeared beneath the murky water though his fingers still twitched, reddened by the heat as if ashamed. "He was an awful man. What happened that night… to Yugi was entirely his fault. He deserved to die." His fingers clenched into furious fists; anger consumed him at the memory.
And then he deflated and sank into the water. "But I'm not…" His shoulders shook, he couldn't bring himself to form the words. "That rage…it just…overcome me. That blind, murderous anger…" He fisted his eyes, to stop the flood of tears. Memories flashed behind his mind: fire and shadow, blood and screams. His fingers curled tighter and yet he still felt the skin squeezed beneath his hands, the flesh beneath his nails. "Even now that side of me…still...terrifies me."
Strong arms wrapped around his shoulders: the strength bruisingly tight as well as heartbreakingly gentle. Yami sank into the comfort, pressed against the hard chest, feeling the muscles of his lover against this back.
"That part of you is not who you are," Bakura whispered reassuringly. "Your remorse is proof of that." He lifted Yami's chin to face him. "You're a thousand times the man he was."
Yami chuckled, melting into the embrace. "You always did know how to make me feel better."
"Hmm…nah," Bakura sassed, all snark. "I'm just brutally honest." He slid his upper body along the rim of the tub, the naked corded muscles of his arms and chest bugling beneath hills and groves of tight burnt umber skin, his eyes half-lidded and leering. "The past is passed. Even if we never truly lose our pain, we can accept it and let it help us focus on the future." Bakura chuckled and leaned forward, gazing deep into those deep crimson eyes, smile glittering, ready to devour.
Yami's fingers stroked the pale scars of his chest and cupped his chiseled cheekbones. "I still can't believe you waited all this time for me."
Bakura wrapped his hand around his wrist, wove their fingers together. "I'd wait forever for you, my Princess." He pressed their foreheads together, their lips a whisper away.
Then Bakura abruptly pulled away. Yami's eyes popped open, surprised by the absence and infuriated by it. Damn tease!
"Now hurry up and get dressed," Bakura flashed a cocky smile over shoulder. "Everyone else is waiting downstairs to meet you…well, re-meet you, and I suspect your brother's already there."
The fury vanished from Yami's face as he rose from the tub. "Everyone…is…here?" The cloaked figures from the night before returned to his mind. "That's right!" He grabbed the towel Bakura offered him and returned to their room—kept exactly as Yami has remembered it, loaded with trinkets of their love and their past lives, soon to be complete with memories of Yami's previous life: a union of the past and the present.
"Yup," Bakura swooped behind him and placed his hot hands on Yami's slim shoulders. "Which reminds me, I have a surprise for you."
He guided the naked boy towards the wardrobe. His t-shirt and jeans gone forever and the remains of his black wedding dress a mess of tatters on the floor in evidence of their love making. Dominating the wall, the wardrobe stood proud and vibrant: the dark wood freshly polished to a shine, its intricate carvings appearing alive. Securing the towel in one hand, Yami pulled on the latch, and opened the doors and gasped.
A flamboyant collection of colorful smoking jackets, long coats, tailored pants, trench coats and all manner of Victorian pieces, impeccably tailored with a rich embroidery and in more colors and hues than Yami thought possible.
"You…" he gasped. "Kept them…all…how?"
Bakura shrugged. "Seto was in charge of the upkeep. These were no trouble. I knew you'd want them when you 'woke' up."
Yami didn't know whether to laugh or cry so he did both and hugged his vampire lover tight in thanks. "Whatever happened to letting go of the past and moving forward into the future?"
"I am ! According to Marik, your flamboyant Victorian fashions are now all the rage?"
"All the rage?" Yami chuckled. "Damn, you have been asleep for a long time. But thank you." He kissed him on the cheek, then backed up towards the colorful menagerie. His towel slipping from his hands. "Now the question is…what do I wear?"
III
Tell the harpies that land on your bedpost
That at the count of five you'll roast them alive
— Aurelio Voltaire , Goodnight, Demon Slayer
To his credit, their father had no idea his sons were plotting his destruction.
Oh, he was well aware of their mutual dislike, but saw it as nothing more than a constant annoyance, a pebble in his shoe. Never did he suspect them capable of treachery: they were too insignificant in his life to be preserved as anything that might be akin to a threat, and he himself, was too arrogant to view himself as an object of scrutiny.
It made all the more easier for the boys to plot against him.
His avoidance of the house worked spectacularly in their favor. In all honesty, it was months before he found the courage to venture back out onto the moors with his entourage of followers. He never came to this place alone—always surrounded by admirers and in the company of friends and associates. His wife's ghost haunted these halls: her presence disturbed his dreams and rattled his waking hours with her wails of rage and betrayal, her constant threats and the smoky essence of her spirit he spotted fluttering around the two children she'd bore him like ghosts themselves embodying her rage and her anguish.
He saw her in their faces: her rebellious fire and uncowed confidence blazing in Atem's scarlet eyes, the shade inherited entirely from her. He saw her poise and self-respect in the angelic features of Ujalah's quiet confidence: his eyes though big and expressive, reflecting every emotion and hurt his own words wrought upon him were not a display of weakness but a mirror of the man's own insecurities thrown back at him. It did not help that Yugi had her face: her round cheeks and full lips and graceful beauty (secretly it was why the younger of the two he disliked the most), Atem had her eyes; her fierce, fiery, ferocious eyes that promised exactly what they delivered. But Yugi's eyes were silent. A sharp, daunting silence that swallowed all sound and promised everything and nothing, and it made them all the more terrifying in their boldness. They were both her ghost and the embodiments of her, and just as her spirit protected them, so did the house itself, as though it was in fact the first of their ancestors. It was why he never stayed long at this place, and never at night, and why he would confess to no one, that he despised the children he was ashamed to call his own.
The worst irony was just how little his own dislike actually meant. The weight of it was as threatening as the power that he wielded and that was none. This house, this title, this fortune that gartered him the long sought after respect and dignity he coveted, the respect entitled upon himself, the last in the line of an old bloodline whose ancestry included Dukes and Kings while his wife's were nothing but merchants and traders—so what if his family's entitlement had reduced its fortune to ashes and made its estates worthless. Their blood along should have been enough—but it meant nothing to the banks and the monarchs. It infuriated him to marry beneath his class and take a New Rich bride, and had taken all of his charisma to convince her father it was a worthy match (as though the girl were such a prize! The old fool should've been grateful for the suggestion!) though he suspected the old man regretted it soon after.
Only the birth of his grandsons rescued him in the man's eyes. But not even the marriage or the old man's death afforded him the promised security he'd longed for—not when she'd had two strapping sons, who were both quiet beloved among the household and the town and the courts. Very few people invited him to their parties without his wife or the boys present, and even fewer came to his if the presence of the three was not guaranteed. In truth her death had offered him the chance to charm and seduce all manner of her friends and associate to his side, but nothing he did could command the two sons to him. Not when Atem possessed both her temper and her boldness and Yugi her willful spirit and silent eyes, a mirror and a damniation.
And so he all but abandoned them in that creepy old house that was their mother's family estate, built by some long ago ancestor who founded a fish market when they decided to establish permanent roots after years of traveling and the loss of their homeland. The most infuriating thing about the whole thing was that he could not even sell it—not that anyone he knew would want an ancient Victorian house situated in the moors on the cliff side where the cold winds bit like they had teeth and the fog rolled in like a devouring specter every morning and the only town was across the death trap of bog ready to swallow you whole if you were not careful. For both her and her father left the house and the fortune evenly between the two boys. Only the title was his alone, and he did everything within his power to disguise just how shallow and empty it actually was.
The two brats loved it and the household ran smoothly, and so he was content to leave it—and them—to rot alone in the desolate moors while he, himself, delighted in the glittering courts and ballrooms across Europe, charming sympathy and profit out of both strangers and friends alike, returning only when it benefited him and usually with company and demanded a feast and a ball prepared as if they'd had weeks to plan the whole thing.
To his outlandish relief and infuriated annoyance the house staff delivered spectacularly. For though they despised him in secret openness with their impudent glares and lifted noses, they adored those boys—for them, they would do all and never complain.
It was this zealous disdain that allowed the plot against him to truly thrive.
For ever since the night of the storm, when he purposely canceled his plan, superstitious enough to believe it his wife's doing and lying to his guests that it would be rude to make them all travel in such weather—that two vampires who sought the destruction of his very soul, stole away into the house determined to seek their vengeance with the blood of his children in retribution for the loved ones he'd killed. If he had ever loved them, things would have transpired so much differently that night. But he did not, and perhaps the worst irony of all was that disdain had ultimately saved not only both his son's lives, but the lives of the two vampires who'd come to kill them—and instead made love to them.
It was an awkward morning, the dawn after that storm, when both Atem and Ujalah found not their lives, but their hearts successfully stolen by the two vampires, who for the first time in over a decade had felt the monsters raging beneath their skins calm and retreat until at long last the beast of grief that had burrowed its way so deeply into their hearts, finally found peace and death in acceptance.
Ujalaha in particular, seeing his brother's burning red eyes could only imagine the plethora of things his brother had wanted to say, the scoldings and complaints he wanted to give—and the sheer and utter frustration at being unable to say a single one of them, less he, himself, be seen as a hypocrite. It was both amusing and refreshing, but in his heart he knew his brother loved him too much to be truly upset with him. It did not stop him from glaring at Marik every chance he got, or from all but literally bursting into a flame of rage whenever he caught them together, either snogging in the garden, making out in the hallway or one particular time where he'd caught them hiding in the corner beneath the stairs with Marik's hand beneath Ujalah's skirt.
It was quite fortunate for the two that Bakura possessed a sixth sense when it came to Atem's bursts of temper, as he was always there—swooping in from around the corner or materializing in a swirl of shadows—catching his lover round the waist with nary a twitch. More often than not that strong arm was the only thing separating the both from Atem's legendary rage. His kisses silencing the rants and melting the boy into a puddle. It was truly jaw-dropping the effect the older vampire had on his lover: how with but a few sweet words or vulgar phrases Atem would blush—his legendary resolve crumbling. How all it took was a single kiss to seduce him into his arms. This did not mean it was easy, more often Atem was the one who initiated the play only to stop all together and leave the vampire in a state of frustration and rage. Atem knew well how to read his moods, and knew well Bakura liked to dominate and to possess just as he liked to taunt and tease. It made their nights far more entertaining to the disgruntlement of the rest of the house.
But it was more than just physical emotion between the four as well: though the fights and the tears and the sex and breakdowns, the boys and their partners had formed a bond based on trust and love as well as passion. More than once Atem calmly found himself on the other end of Bakura's angers, unflinching in the presence of the other's grief and rage: he let him rant, let him rave and then soothed away his insecurities and made no effort to brush away his tears, knowing doing such would only embarrass him. Only then would Bakura allow himself to be vulnerable, only then would he allow Atem to hold him and his tears to fall freely.
And Bakura was the only one allowed to see Atem without his mask. Ujalah knew well his brother trusted him and was not afraid to share his feelings and insecurities with him, but deep down there was still that barrier, the mindset that he, as the older sibling, needed to be strong. The confident personal he portrayed was merely a part of himself, but not his true self. In public he presented an aura of confidence and resolve and charisma. A magnifying personality that attracted all others to him and he wore it well. But only those closest to him knew this was only a small part of his personality. The true Atem was artistic and kind, a side he showed only within the safety of this house—and the deeper part himself still, the wild and untamed part of his being, the part that bore his unrivaled temper and his sharp-tongue and his mischievous fire. Free of all concerns and allowed to embrace his true self and his true wildness—that was the part only Bakura saw. The part of him where he broke down in tears of heartbreaking relief, no longer required to be strong or impressive: the fun, carefree moments when he explained the beauty of things no one else could see. Bakura listened to it all with a mixture of fascination and empathy.
Marik and Yugi's bond possessed a more mutual division: Yugi was not afraid to show his tears or speak his insecurities to Marik: his fears that his father was right about him being inadequate, how he sometimes felt jealous of Atem's strength, and how guilty he felt when their father sought to use Yugi, himself, against him. Marik would banish those fears with a furious passion that so fierce Yugi had no choice but to believe the truth of them. Marik praised him for his strength and his wit, his cleverness and his quiet confidence, for Yugi needed not flash or flare to prove how strong he was: he was a creature of passion whose power came from his heart and his spirit, and only those worthy enough were privileged to see it. Those who underestimated him were stupid fools who would burn up like moths in the presence of his superior light. There were other, happier moments too: Marik shared his love of games, enjoyed the hide and chase games they would play across Yugi's beloved moors, Yugi possessing a spirit that was as fun and carefree as it was wild and kind. He offered a helping hand to everyone in town and treated his staff like they were family and friends. His humility often brought Marik to shame with how arrogant he had once been.
Ujalah, his sweet Yugi, was indeed his better half. If there had been any truth to love at first sight it was his eyes Marik had fallen for: the plethora of emotion and understanding that swam within them, the secret depths and traumas that perfectly mirrored his. He saw through all of Marik's shields and defenses and never let him shy away from feelings, but never did he push him beyond his limits. Always did he listen and never spoke unless Marik was finished. Sometimes all he did was listen and that Marik loved more than anything else. Their love was a mutual bond based on trust and emotion, their passion and intimacy born from the fact they did not judge the other nor let the other hold themselves back. Marik delighted the way Yugi would smile so brightly whenever he wore dresses, and Yugi loved the grin that came across Marik's when he spoke of places he'd been and places he'd wished to see—the two of them making plans to see them together.
The four of them: through shared stories and secrets, through memories of childhood and lost loved ones, through painting sessions and cold nights by the fire reading books, and collections of poetry and discussing their fascinations the four of them had learned the language of family. The two vampires becoming a permanent part of the household. Becoming constant annoyance to Mahad the housekeeper and Cook (Bakura more than Marik) and the delight of his adoptive daughter Mana. Yugi and Yami became surrogate brothers to Ishizu, Marik's vampire sister whose prophetic powers had set all this into motion and his older brother Odian whose calm control over every situation earned him both respect and a place among the staff. The household had become a surrogate family. It was not long before Ishizu and Mahad fell in love—two fierce but loyal and loving personalities, it was only a manner of time.
It had been Yugi and Atem's dream to fill the big house with family and that was exactly what had happened. Even the rare annoyances when their father returned, it was quite entertaining seeing Marik and Bakura slip in among the guests: their darker skin prominent among their father's chosen company. And yet the two men brought with them none of his sheltered, single-minded companions possibly could: Bakura a sharp, piercing wit and Marik a worldly and sophisticated perspective. It made the fools of the old man's court feel shallow and common by comparison-they flocked to both men in earnest admiration, both desperate and eager for a taste of attention from such pristine company.
It was a revenge far sweeter than any bloodshed—letting the man live knowing despite all his wealth, all his resources, all his title and reputation he was still, beneath it all, just a man. A spoiled, silly man no better than an entitled child, with no true worth or worldliness to speak of. It became a favorite game of the four of them whenever the man was there: Atem and Yugi slipping in among the crowd, disguised, of course, Atem in his favored flamboyant fashions and Yugi in his glittering dresses, and spiraling across the ballroom with their lovers before stealing away up the steps to make love (and perhaps after on that god awful throne the old man treated as a status symbol). Never once did the old man suspect his sons were right under his nose. Never once did he suspect the two low-born but well-spoken, dark-skinned commoners he hated were fucking his children just above his head in his own house. That open secret between them was by far the most entertaining of all.
They all remembered one night after the last dance, as the boys kissed their loves good night and headed upstairs, how the vampires, needing to sedate their hunger and not wanting to bite their lovers while they still healed, stole off into the night to hunt.
They were gone for less than an hour—and that was all it took.
IV
Tell the monster that lives 'neath your bed
To go somewhere else instead
Or you'll kick him in the head
— Aurelio Voltaire , Goodnight, Demon Slayer
He found Yugi standing in the far corridor outside a room he did not recognize. His face looked distressed and he was squeezing Marik's hand tightly.
"Yugi?" he called running up to him, Bakura not far behind. "What is it you-"
He stopped, paralyzed by recognition and memory. Unlike all the other rooms in the house that had been lovingly restored and refurbished in their original style, this room was empty of all its furnishings and trappings: the walls had been stripped bare of paper, the paint dulled to an ashen gray so whatever color it may have been was no longer visible, the hardwood of the floors had lost all shine and been nearly rotted. Scorch marks dotted the walls and charred the beams. The built in bookcases were reduced to charred broken boards, the fireplace stones were stained black. It was vacant and empty of furniture and the large windows had been smashed open exposing it to wind and weather. The stench of mildew and ash and death consumed the space.
Something terrible had happened in this room—had scarred it completely, unable to heal or repair.
Yami stumbled back shaking in horror and all but crashed into Bakura's comforting arms.
"Yami?" Yugi asked, concerned.
"This is where it happened…" His voice broke on that trembling realization. "Where you… and I…and we…" He felt two sets of arms wrap around him: Bakura's fierce embrace around his shoulders and Yugi's comforting arms about his waist. Yugi looked up at him with eyes so gentle it broke his heart, but Yugi caught his tears before they could fall.
"I need to remember what happened, Yami." Yugi told him, his smile weak and his eyes sad. He looked away for a moment, then met the worry in his older brother's eyes with hope. "Otherwise, we'll never be able to move on." He offered Yami his hand without expectation. "Whatever happens, whatever you did, whatever he made you do, you'll still be my brother, Yami. I'll still love you."
He hesitated, uncertain.
Bakura squeezed his shoulder: the pressure comforting. His smile is firm, but his eyes are earnest. At Yugi's side, Marik nodded, silent but ready to act.
After some hesitance Yami nodded and took Yugi's hand. "Please don't think less of me, Yugi."
With nothing but confidence Yugi nodded and together they stepped into the burnt out remains of the rotted room. With each step, the room transformed: past and present colliding as the memories of the past resurfaced to repaint the hollowed out image of the present with the substance it had been in life. The angular beams restitched themselves in a spider web of a tower. Rich wallpaper climbed up the walls, the lower layer overshadowed by dark oak wood paneling. Expensive furniture erupted from nowhere to fill in the gaps in the walls. The fireplace roared to life, the ornate mantle and elegantly carved bookcases intricate in a plosh, modern manner compared to the natural, antiquarian charm of the rest of the house. The centerpiece of it all was a huge overpriced desk carved from an expensive dark wood. Dominating the space, its intricate detailing spoke not of visual storytelling and skill but of money: the craftsmanship utterly lost in the size of it, the constant specifics of the detailing so that it was not a work of art it was meant to be, but a statement piece. A gaudy display of wealth and power as uninteresting and obnoxious as that despicable thrown in the downstairs ballroom.
It was their "father's" desk.
And this was his study.
V
Tell the devil it's time you gave him his due
He should go back to hell, he should shake in his shoes
— Aurelio Voltaire , Goodnight, Demon Slayer
He caught Atem helping Yugi change out of his dress.
His own disguise forgone but the costume he still wore, the tell-tale sign. The shock had worn off as quickly as it appeared, replaced first by horror, then by shame until finally it all accumulated in a furious rage. Whatever it was that had the man brave the haunted halls alone, let alone venture upstairs to find them, was forgotten in the torrent of anger and disgust that utterly consumed him in that moment.
He was on them before either boy could react. Seized them with such force and violence that they had no choice but to, for once, obey him. He dragged them both from the room and into the furthest recesses of the house to the one room that was truly his: the single turret he'd converted into a study.
It was the only room in this ancient, unwanted place that he called his own—far enough away from the Master bedrooms and the grander corridors and the rest of the house and the ghosts of this place that he could comfortably bring his guest and business associates in there to conduct his schemes, and just rich enough to convince them all that whatever the truth maybe it was he , not his children or his wife, but he and he alone, who was master of all this. He threw them both to the floor, Yugi's dress was still unzipped and he had to hold it shut to preserve some dignity. Atem growled at him, glaring savagely like a beast and dove to protect his sibling with a fierce, life-bound loyalty that he never showed the man who sired him.
The howlings of his wife's phantom were for once silent against the whispering demons of wrath and shame and disgust spitting their lies in his ears. "How could you two do this to me! Embarrass me like this!" he parroted their words, so overcome he was both blind and ignorant that he was little more than their puppet. All his failures and his griefs, all of his insecurities and his frauds, all of his disgust and shame: all of it bled into his words and spat like acid all, blaming both boys, but one boy more than the other, for all his faults.
And for the briefest moment, when Yugi stayed silent, his features twisted with absolute triumph convinced, at last he'd cowed the brat whose existence did nothing but humiliate him. Atem glared at him like a mad beast ready to pounce and claw but in his expression the old man also saw the hidden darkness of pity, grief for the sibling he foolishly loved in spite of his uselessness.
And then Yugi stood. Fixed his dress and the old man stumbled back seeing not the wet, submissive violet eyes he'd been expecting, not the expression of a guilt-stricken, shame-faced apologetic child desperate to beg forgiveness. He saw none of that: instead Yugi stood before him, tall, strong and unyielding, and amethyst eyes blazing in triumphant defiance.
"The only one who shames you is yourself," he spat. Gone was any hint of the timid child, heartbroken by this unworthy man's comments. Gone was the child who hid behind his brother's far bolder strength, too afraid to embrace his own. Gone was the child who hid behind the mask of what everyone else expected of him and everyone else wanted him to be. No longer. Standing there, radiant in one of his mother's dresses, staring down the man with the audacity to call himself a father,.
"You pretend to be someone important, you surround yourself with all these gaudy expensive things because they make you feel powerful, because you think they make you look powerful but they don't, and none but you believe they do." He gestured to the room, the room specifically designed to feed the illusion he'd created.
"This is not your house, it's our house. This fortune our grandfather built is not yours . Everything you are is a lie, a fabrication, but me….I'm my true self, Atem is his true self. We never tried to be anything else. Maybe not everyone will accept me, but I don't care. I need their approval no more than I need yours. You are the one we don't need. You are the one whose shameful and you are the one whose nothing!" Yugi spat. All the old man's insecurities, everything he tried to blame on everyone else but himself, all that those masks he worse to protect himself from the ugly truth: Yugi snatched them all, ground them up in to ashes and threw back in his face
Besides him, Atem's face glittered with pride. Before him all confidence the old man had summoned fled, his courage abandoning him, as did the demons who whispered in his ears, no longer finding him worthy of their taunting, so all he was left with was his own mediocrity, his own worthlessness. And in that instant it all boiled to a single emotion and it became a living thing inside of him and lashed out with a single word "NO!"
Atem saw him preparing the blow before Yugi did and dove to protect him, but Yugi saw it as well, and shoved his brother out of the way, oblivious to the danger. He took the full force of that strike. Was sent spiraling back with such force he struck the desk hard. So hard that for an instant all his sense were alive: the brightness of color and lights dancing in spots before his eyes, the vibration shaking through his entire being, Atem's horrified screaming piecing the air, the plushness of the carpet rising up to greet him, the coldness of the air like a ghost had phased through him.
And then there was only blackness.
VII
Cause the mightiest, scariest, creature is you
— Aurelio Voltaire , Goodnight, Demon Slayer
The soft thunk of Yugi's skull hitting the desk, of his lithe body dropping to the ground, unmoving: it echoed in Atem's world with the force of a thundercrash, an explosion so powerful nothing could survive its destruction. For a single, sickening moment, the perpetual silence stretched on for an eternity and then reality came crashing back to him along with the horrible, insidious truth that his beloved younger brother was not getting up.
That he would never get up again.
His screams were a living thing: they beat and tore and clawed at his throat, gutting him from the inside out. The horrible sound, a monster of grief and pain and horror and denial and anguish and loss and defeat. He screamed as he dove for Yugi as if he could somehow save him from what was already done. Screamed as his knees hit the ground. Screamed as his trembling hands held Yugi's body. Screamed as he found only vacant empty eyes staring back at him, his sweet face a mask of shock, a red stain blooming across his face in the shape of a faded hand print and liquid redness streaming over Atem's fingers.
He screamed until his throat bled and until he had no voice left to scream with.
The sounds summoned the rest of the house. He barely heard them calling out to him as they searched the upstairs. Their concerned cries were little more than ghosts, silent in Atem's ears. He no longer had the voice to call them—and his father did not even bother.
That single action more than any others awakened the beast within his bones.
With a dangerous calmness, he set his little brother's corpse down. Stood on shaky limbs, did not hear his father's stutter. But when Atem looked at him, his shaking fingers straightened, uttering explanations to himself, brushing aside his guilt as if it were dust on his coat...
"You…" He glorified in the fear on the old man's face. Heard the beast in his voice, the savagery, the fury. "You…" His fingers twitched like claws, his soul shattered: gone was love and hope and peace and thoughts of freedom. Humanity, hope, forgiveness, empathy: gone. All that was left was rage-and vengeance.
The old man looked not guilty, not remorseful but annoyed. It was his own fault , those timid, narcissistic eyes said. Atem could have forgiven him for everything else.
But not this.
"YOU MONSTER!"
The beast was alive inside of him blinded by rage and hungry for blood, for vengeances, for retribution. The beast pounced, claws outstretched, teeth bared. The screams of its words were monsters clawing their way out of his throat, drinking in his horrified scream of their victim as he fled, swiping at the candles on the wall and hitting the floor as he tripped and stumbled in his own cowardness. But the beast was savage and there was no escape.
Blinded by redness: by rage and by Yugi's blood staining his hands, those claws fisted and struck, found flesh and bone, found throat and breath and squeezed. Squeezed until the screams quieted, the lies ended and the begging and pleading finally stopped. The prey kicked and fought, desperately it clung to the lash threads of its life, clung and scratched at the claws holding it down, but the beast had justice on its side and it did not stop until it's prey collapsed.
Only then did the red fade from his vision. Only then did his fury fade, and his denial give in to reality and all there was left was anguish.
Atem pulled his hands away from his father's throat, looked at the shaking, bloodied fingers. He did not know if the man was still alive or if he was dead. He did not care. Tears streaked his cheeks in rivers, his face was hot and wet with their grief but he made no effort to wipe them away. Like a soulless corpse that did not know it was dead, he rose, stumbled and dropped at Yugi's side.
Looked once more on the vacant face of his brother's beloved face: the face that would never again smile, never again laugh, never again sing or speak or fill the world with its warmth. Gone now was the light and the laughter and the hope and the love in his life, and as he pulled Yugi's corpse into his arms, cradled it close like a parent did a child when they slept and fell against the ground.
He didn't hear the crackling of the fire as it caught the broken pieces of wood and books scattered in their scuffle, or see the candle flames lick at the carpet and tendrils of the curtain before they burst into roaring tongues of red flames. He didn't smell the burning of ash and charred fabric. Did not feel or see or smell the thick clouds of smoke billowing all about them or hear the banging of the door. Did not hear Mahad and Odian and Ishsizu's screams on the other side or the roar of the fire as it consumed the room.
All he felt was the hot tears on his face, the dizzying heat, Yugi's body in his arms.
And then there was only darkness.
VIII
Learn what you can from the beasts you defeat
You'll need it for some of the people you meet
— Aurelio Voltaire ,Goodnight, Demon Slayer
They were gone for only an hour. A God be damned hour . And that was all it took.
They were returning from their hunt when they smelt the smoke. Heard the screams. Found the far turret of the house burning.
Inside Mahad and Odian had pried the door open and were met with a curtain of flames. Ishizu grabbed Mana and fled to the town to get help while the two men rushed and returned with buckets of water to quiet the flames but it did no good. They screamed for Atem and Yugi but they could see nothing through the haze of heat.
Ishizu met them outside. Told them what had happened: the shouts and the screaming, their suspicions that their father had found out about them or worse. How they rushed upstairs when they heard the old man's shouts and then Atem's horrible screaming. The fire that broke out in the room. How they could not see the boys.
The two vampires wasted no time. As Ishizu fled across the moors with her daughter, and her brother and husband made mad, vampiric dashes to quench the flames, Bakura and Marik leapt and flew to the turret. The glass was hot under their touch, clouded with smoke, but through it all Marik could see them both. He saw the old man in the corner, struggling to get up and crawl to the door but he was beaten and bruised, smoke and flames consuming him as he struggled desperately to the last fabrics of life—a victim to his own cowardly shame.
And then Marik saw them. He saw Atem hunched over, a broken smile and a look of utter defeat as he leaned against the wall, too weak to even beat the smoke. But what utterly destroyed him, what tore the savage scream from his throat and tore his soul to pieces, was who Atem held in his arms.
The limb, lifeless, vacant-eyed, unmoving corpse of his beloved Yugi.
In that moment, Marik's entire world shattered: his soul shredded and there was nothing left within him. Gone was hope and light and laughter and love, died with his beloved Yugi. The old man, finally slumping over and sputtering in death, he did not even have rage or vengeance or grief left.
No, all that remained, was the empty gaping hollow in his chest where his heart used to be.
The window exploded next to him.
Ignoring the pain of glass piercing his skin and the fire that was the enemy of all vampires, Bakura crashed through the glass pains and rolled across the floor: all pride and self-preservation gone from his wild-eyes.
Marik shouted after him, and dove into the swirling swamp of smoke and flames. Huge black pillows of smoke exploded out the window, a beacon for the town that something was wrong, long before Ishizu arrived begging for help.
He called after Bakura, who thrashed about wildly, sniffing the smoky air and darting about like a wild beast. Marik lunged for his friend, begged him to leave. But Bakura fought with the unrelenting vengeance of a man who had lost everything, and he clawed his way through the burning flames, ignoring the blisters and scars littering his skin until his hands found Atem's body and pulled it into his arms. He grabbed Yugi's as well, and Marik was quick to catch it.
Smoke choked their lungs and a wall of fire exploded behind them.
Mahad and Odian's efforts had cleared enough of a path for them to escape.
By the time the town arrived with relief efforts the room had been destroyed, the Old man's body was gone and that had managed to save the rest of the house from its destruction. Not even bones were left of him—as if the ghosts of the manor had raised the fires of hell and consumed all traces of the man for his sins. And yet the rest of the house remained unscathed.
The same could not be said for their beloved lords.
The blood leaking from Yugi's head, a tell-tale sign that he had died before the fire. The blood and scratches on Atem's hands and the tears in his clothes: evident that the boy had fought and fought valiantly, but had lost to the smoke that stole that last of the breath from his lungs. No attempts to revive them worked and the family that loved them were left with the devastating truth that they were gone. Their bodies remained perfectly intact, preserved, the flames of hell unable to touch them.
The town had left them alone to mourn their dead.
But their hopes had not been in vain. Mahad's wiccan past and Ishizu's visions provided them with the hope they needed. She predicted their souls would return—perhaps in different bodies. Mahad knew the incantations to awaken their memories—knowing well, the circumstances of Atem's death would make his own memory more difficult to restore.
So they kept the house alive and safe and maintained. Waiting for their beloveds to return.
Bakura could not wait so long—already once in life he had lost everything, and he could not survive doing so again. So with Isizhu's prediction the last fragment of his hope, he crawled up the stairs to the bedchamber he'd so lovingly shared with Atem, collapsed upon the pillows and sheets, inhaled the honey-spiced scent of his beloved and allowed the dark, black abyss of sleep to consume him and he slept for almost two-hundred years.
It would've been so easy for Marik to do the same. To fall into despair and wait for the end, holding on to the faint hope that his beloved would one day return to him and the light and the love and the laughter and the beauty that was his darling Yugi would return and bring all of those things back into the empty abyss of his life.
But he couldn't.
Not when he had made Yugi a promise.
And so he chose to keep that promise.
He chose to wait.
He chose to live.
IX
Goodnight demon slayer, goodnight
Now it's time to close your tired eyes
There are devils to slay and dragons to ride
If they see you coming, hell they better hide
— Aurelio Voltaire , Goodnight, Demon Slayer
They both came spiraling back to reality with a crash of horror. Yugi fought to catch his breath. Besides him Yami was on his knees, crying. The sight of his older brother so broken, made Yugi knees wobble and he dropped by his side and wrapped his arms around him.
"He killed me…didn't he?" he asked no one in particular.
In the doorway, Marik nodded, his trembling hands and fallen eyes the proof Yugi needed. Besides him Bakura was slumped in the doorway looking defeated, but knowing better than to interrupt them.
Not yet.
"That's why you…attacked him…isn't it?" he asked.
Yami nodded and sat back on his knees. "It was my fault he died."
"Bull shit!" Bakura snapped, causing them both to turn. Anger flashing across his face and thundered his voice. "Whatever happened he made his own mistakes and he deserved his fate—you two were innocent. And whatever your sins, Yami…you suffered enough for them, and the fact that despite that, you still feel remorse for them...for him…" He charged for them with long, sure strides, dropped to one knee and brushed the tears from his lover's face. "That alone makes you a better man than him."
Yami stared at him for a long moment, his face twisted and untwisting with grief until he finally burst into tears and threw himself into Bakura's arms.
Deciding to give them space, Yugi stepped away and slipped his hand in Marik's and allowed himself to be pulled into a tight hug.
"Don't," Marik whispered.
"Huh?" Yugi blinked.
"I know what you're going to say, Yugi. You were going to apologize again for making me wait so long. You don't have to. None of this is or was your fault and even if it was, it's over. You're here now. And that's what matters."
Yugi could've laughed. "You really do know me, don't you."
Marik kissed his forehead. "Yes, I do."
Their two companions stepped out of the room.
"Yami?" Yugi ran to Yami, his eyes still red from crying but he was smiling now. "Are you…okay?" It sounded like such a stupid question but he did not know how else to say it.
Yami's smile was small but there. He wiped his eyes. "I will be."
The four of them walked in silence down the halls. Their eyes wandering to the halls and the rooms, so full of old memories. Already the wheels were turning on how to incorporate new ones.
Bakura broke the silence. "So I take it you two are keeping the house?"
"Of course," Yami chimed in, and spun around, pondering. "Although we will certainly have to update a few things…"
"I agree," Yugi chimed in. "I think we should turn that study room across the foyer into a game room. And then move that desk somewhere up here. I want one of the turrets for a writing space."
"Deal," Atem promised. "But we're keeping the other study where it is."
"Sounds good," Bakura wrapped his arm around Yami's waist, the salacious look in his eyes, evident.
Yami playfully shoved him away. "Speaking of which, I want the conservatory for my art studio. I love the natural light and the view over the moors."
"Of course, you do," Yugi snorted.
"You know," Marik offered. "The turret by our room has a way better view if you want that for your writing space: looks out over the ocean and everything."
Yugi's eyes glittered as they rounded the staircase and descended the steps to greet the rest of their eager family. "That sounds perfect."
Marik nodded. "I don't think Mahad will mind converting the lounge into a game room."
"Speaking of which," Yami chimed in. "We'll need to ask him if the house gets wifi out here."
Bakura blinked. "What the fuck is Wifi?"
Yami, Yugi and Marik burst into laughter
I love that final joke.
And that is the end of Through Fire, Storm and Shadow. Hope you enjoyed it. Not sure if I will expand on this one or not. I do like the idea and the Gothic setting and I would love to come with something more but can't help but feel it wouldn't have much plot beyond the "Will they or won't they but we all know they will" ideas or suggestions I am all ears :)
thanks for reading!