Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh. I also have no life, but that's for me to argue about ^^()
Yup, its Zoo-chan here. Okay, you've gotten the drill. FC is doing the odd chapters, and I'm doing the even. We will be
covering different ideas. For FC, its Yuugi and vampires. For me, Ryou and werewolves. Well, enough about that –
enjoy the next chappy on a completely different idea…
Note: Ryou is the person you all love. Bakura is the Yami you all.. uhmm… *coughs*. It's slightly OOC right now,
but for a reason.
Warning: Graphic violence, death, hints of yaoi, excessive swearing.
******************************
"…And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight…"
- Matthew Arnold, "Dover Beach"
*******************************
Werewolves. Feral, destructive beings; demons of legend mingled with human blood. They were the lesser
humans, the ones possessed of a primal stupor.
Wrong.
Call them instead, the Darkwolves.
*******************************
Chapter 2 – Enter the Lycanthropes
~Shadow World, Third Blood Moon Phase~
"Shit!"
He stomped his foot angrily on the ground. Said tan-skinned being brushed a hand through his
coarse pale-blond hair in an almost nervous gesture. Again, he scanned his darkened eyes in hopes to locate
his target, though his gaze met nothing but a mass of sounds and colours.
He was a handsome youth, frame leaner and smaller than most of his kind. Only his slitted eyes
revealed his true identity, currently half-hidden under a jagged row of golden-white bangs.
Sometime during the morning, he had taken the thought to tame his unruly hair, though it now cascaded
down his back, fraying at the edges. It had the effect of making him appear mean and tough, ironic
considering what he was.
And now, said youth gritted his teeth in a grimace, pacing impatiently back and forth while
muttering incoherent words to himself. The only betrayal of his temper was the half-growl building in his
throat, emitting a low barely audible rumble.
"Damn that stupid jackass!" He continued to swear, roughly shoving several people aside when
they fell into his aimless path. "Stupid, damned-"
"- asshole." Another voice completed the sentence, this one in a calm and bemused tone. The
owner of this voice belonged to yet another light-haired youth, albeit with several noticeable differences.
Firstly was his skin, as pale as the other's was tanned. In fact, everything about the youth seemed to be
drained of hue, from his unnatural silver-white hair to his light coppery eyes. However, there was nothing
angelic about this being. The alluring dark eyes were fair game enough.
The other swore, turning around to face his newly arrived partner. "Bakura! You don't have to
scare the hell out of me!"
The white-haired youth, Bakura, simply shrugged. "Nice to know that you care for me." He
continued to grin, swinging with his free arm a large bulky bag of sorts.
The other, Malik, sighed, eyeing the bag. "You really should stop your thieving. You know the
Leaders disapprove of such actions."
"The 'thieving' is the only way my pack has survived." Bakura scoffed, shifting his pace to a more
comfortable lope as the pair began heading back to their caves. "My kinsmen have long fallen out of favour
since or early forefathers, and I'd be surprised if the oh-so-wise leaders even gave us a rat's ass of notice."
The pair continued to walk for a lengthy period of time in silence. They were now in a lush forest,
its canopy as still as the communication between the pair. Finally, Malik spoke up, trying to ease the
uncomfortable hostility Bakura was emitting.
"Look. If you ever need any help or support, I'd be glad to –"
"- Stop that crap." Bakura suddenly spat. Indignant amber eyes turned towards the other. "I'll
handle my affairs and you shall stay in yours."
The platinum-gold haired youth said though, though there was a curt, understanding, nod.
Bakura opened to mouth to add a smarting comment, when he was suddenly cut off by a long,
piercing cry. The howl continued to quaver for several seconds before abruptly collapsing into silence.
The white-haired youth's eyes widened. His heart began to pound dangerously in his chest, filling
his body with fear and unwanted adrenaline. "My pack! They're in trouble!"
"Wait, Bakura." Malik reasoned, restraining the other by the shoulder." How do you know for
sure? It could possibly be anyone's cry, not just those from your pack."
"Possible my ass!" Bakura spat. "If I couldn't distinguish the difference between my pack and
others, then I don't deserve to be the head." He wrenched his shoulder from the other's grips before
breaking into a neck-breaking sprint.
Malik sighed, watching the other disappearing into the thick forest trees. He pondered for a
moment whether or not he should follow the other. Perhaps he was just over reacting, and everything was
perfectly fine.
"Ah hell." The tanned-skin youth finally concluded, diving into the woods to track his comrade.
*******************************************
Bakura was running at a full sprint when another cry penetrated the somber forest. The white-
haired youth gritted his teeth, one hand clutching his chest while his lungs vainly tried to suck in enough
oxygen. Sometimes, a human body really put him at a disadvantage. Although more intelligent than his
lupine counterpart, it was terribly weak when it came to a contest of physical power. So now, Bakura
stopped his unruly trek to rest and recollect his wits.
He began focusing his attention inwards, towards the beating heart in his chest and the spiritual
power shifting in a tight mass inside his body. With a long-experienced approach, practiced to perfection
since childhood, the white-haired youth seized this shifting power and _twisted_. Freed from its internal
barrier, the power flowed and seeped into every branch of his body, filling it with energy. His skin tingled
and became bathed in a layer of warmth as coarse silvery hair replaced the bare pink flesh. He could feel
his jaw quickly lengthen; dull molars realigned themselves into a row of jagged incisors.
Yet, beyond the physical changes was the incredible internal transformation. In his human form,
Bakura felt as if the world had taken a dream-like trance; his entire perception muffled and incredibly dull.
But now, it sprang to life, lifting the blanket of fog around his senses and filling them with a million pieces
of information. Just from one sniff, his nose could locate the trails left by every specimen, or even
distinguish between two fallen leaves. And beyond that, the wind curling around his ears whispered every
piece of gossip, never ceasing its endless chatter.
Bakura allowed his transformation to complete while pacing himself at a half-lope. A few more
paces and the shift was complete; a lupine grin spreading across his muzzle. The pure silver wolf - not _any_ wolf,
but Darkwolf - resisted an urge to howl; digging his paws into the loose dirt to streak through the forest in a blur
of fur and limbs.
At long last, the dense trees and thick shrubbery cleared to reveal a rather crude, rocky brown
clearing. Bakura's fur bristled with apprehension as soon as his paws hit the broken dirt. From his angle, he
could see the entire vincinity of his pack's property. It lay shrouded by a thick, expanding ring of trees.
Strewn across the sun-dried dirt was a muddy puddle of water, and directly behind it loomed a makeshift
cavern. It was still incomplete, though the clay mud and random assortment of rocks had dried over time to
form a half-decent shelter of sorts.
Bakura trotted towards the "cave", taking a few experimental sniffs in hopes of locating any clues.
Only a vacant silence remained from the piercing howls. Narrowing his eyes, he again circled the deserted
site, paws plodding in agitated strides. And again, he found nothing: no unfamiliar smells; no foreign
sounds; not even a hint of a familiar presence.
His ears flattened along his skull, a confused half-whine escaping from his throat. The silver
Darkwolf shot a quick glance behind him and continued to pivot his head in agitation. _Where_ could the
others have gone?
Suddenly, a faint rustle of bushes broke the deserted silence. Hopeful and at the same time wary,
Bakura trotted towards the sound, poking his muzzle into the fringe of leaves. The bushes shook furiously,
a scuffling sound behind the thick green foliage revealing an escaping presence.
Bakura recovered his wits and shoved his frame through the tangle of leaves. Large twigs stung
and scratched at his face, angering the Darkwolf until he snapped the brittle branches apart, clamping his
jaws into the leaves and spitting out the acrid shrubbery seconds later. Finally, he squeezed through the
remaining branches, shaking his body to remove the leftover miscellaneous twigs. A blur of grey suddenly
caught his attention. Bakura shot his head towards the sight, ears pricking up and noting the muffled sounds
rapidly disappearing at a certain distance away. Without even a moment's hesitation, the silver Darkwolf
hurtled towards the source, expertly tracking the untidy trail left by the fleeing figure. Fortunately, Bakura
was more-than-familiar with this territory; so he moved in confident leaps and bounds until the escapee
was only several paces away. Now, he could smell the fear in the other's scent, and he idly wondered if he
should pursue the other a while more just for the amusement.
That thought quickly evaporated when he reminded himself of the situation at hand. _Someone_
had deliberately stolen or kidnapped his pack, and he could bet his life that this escaping figure was one of
the keys to the mystery. Yet, why had it been so easy? Bakura could have almost sworn that the other
unknown Darkwolf was purposely leading him into a trap. Unwilling to take such a chance, the silver Darkwolf
leapt into the air with a firm shove of his leg muscles. The targeted fleeing Darkwolf gave a startled yelp
as Bakura slammed his bulk full-force into the other's smaller frame. The white Darkwolf immediately shoved
his forepaws into the other's side, forcing the fleer to lose balance and fall into the dirt sideways.
Teeth bared in an angry snarl, Bakura glared at the struggling Darkwolf, digging his forepaws into
the other's exposed side to prevent escape.
The smaller wolf yelped again as he felt the claws raking into his flesh, consecutive crimson cuts
pooling and dripping down his light dull grey flank.
Bakura brought his face as close as possible to the other's. He knew from the soft whimpers and
feeble cries that this Darkwolf was barely out of childhood. Bile built in the silver wolf's throat as he
considered which idiot pack-leader would be willing to sacrifice so young a wolf in executing such dangerous
tasks. This "somebody" had to be stopped, even if it meant killing the half-cub below him.
"Listen to me." Bakura's tone was a half-growl, one of barely suppressed anger. He spoke the
ancient language of the Darkwolves, though he knew the other would understand. "I don't know what your
leader has done with my pack, but I want to see them healthy and alive, or else you shall she how pretty
your intestines look as a tree decoration."
Had the other been human, Bakura knew that his face would be bleached of all colour. The smaller
Darkwolf turned fearful eyes towards Bakura. "P-p-please don't hurt me anymore." He whimpered, bowing
his head in submission. "E-e-everyone else was afraid to do it."
Now, it was Bakura's turn to be shocked. "Everyone else?" He repeated. The anger suddenly
flowed from him, to be replaced with momentary confusion. And only now did Bakura realize that he
_knew_ this half-cub.
"R-Ryaksha?" This time, the silvery-white Darkwof's tone became an awed half-whisper.
Ryaksha. His half-brother's son.
Ryaksha's ears drooped in response to his name.
Though Bakura had never been considered emotional, the impact of this current situation swept
him into a void of unexplainable stunned silence, as if the earth and heavens had cracked apart and reversed
rules. An uncomfortable warmth spread throng his coat as his heartbeat seemed to pound erratically and
suddenly come still.
"Why?" It was a simple and all-too-plaintive question. He got no response. Angry, and desperate,
Bakura dug his claws deeper into the other's flesh, ignoring the cry of pain. "WHY?"
"Because you have failed us."
Bakura swiveled his head towards the source of the voice in surprise. And from the foliage
surrounding him emerged not one, but a whole pack of them. Each Darkwolf positioned themselves so that
they caged Bakura in a circle. The mass of bodies parted just momentarily to allow another Darkwolf to
stride into the center beside Bakura.
This Darkwolf was a pitch black, a scar running from the tip of his muzzle to its ear, effectively
blinding one eye in permanent closure. His fame was slightly bulkier than Bakura's, though not nearly as
refined.
Bakura took one glance at the intruder before averting his eyes. There was no way it could be him
– it was _impossible_.
"Look at him." Sneered another all-too familiar voice, addressing the black Darkwolf. "That
coward won't even look at you. Huh, some pack-leader he was."
"Silence!" The black Darkwolf snarled, forcing the jeering laughter of the others into a reserved
nothingness. He then began to pace in a tight circle around Bakura, his single yellow eye never leaving the
target. "Why, if it isn't my half-brother Bakura." His tone was sickeningly sweet, pleasant face a half sneer.
"Why, we were just out hunting together yesterday. I thought you would be _dying_ to see me."
Several of the others laughed at the joke, collective voices reminiscent of maniacal hyenas.
Bakura forced himself to look straight into the other. "Why, Ryu? Why are you doing this?" Never
in his life had the white Darkwolf thought such an act was possible. But now, it was painfully evident; the
faces leering at him; his trusted sibling _mocking_ him. Even the little ones watched with large anticipating
eyes, sheltered behind their protective parents.
It was that simple.
His pack had betrayed him.
And yet, even now, with the truth shoved into his eyes, a part of Bakura refused to believe it. He
simply did not want it to be true. It _couldn't_ be true!
"Awwww… what's the matter?" Ryu continued to mock. "Poor little Bakura too afraid to speak?"
The warmth had spread so that it was now a sickly-burning blanket of heat. It boiled and churned
through the white Darkwolf's veins and covered his vision in a blanket of rosy red.
Obliviously indulged in his self-pleasure, the black Darkwolf continued his taunts. "It's all _your_
fault, you know. All your fault that –"
Bakura leapt in an enraged blur of fur and flashing teeth. In one graceful movement, he dug his
claws into the black Darkwolf's back, sinking sharp ivory fangs along he ebony neck ruff. The black
Darkwolf responded with a cry of rage, shaking and buckling his body furiously.
Despite the other's efforts, Bakura clung onto the flesh, snarling and twisting his head in attempts
to break the neck-spine hidden beneath the layers of flesh. Thick red blood coursed into his mouth, mixing
with his saliva and dripping down his chin.
There was a considerable pause of silence before the other Darkwolves hastily leapt into action.
Their shrieks, snarls and growls melded into a chaotic symphony of indistinguishable sounds. In some
vague part of his mind, Bakura was aware of the weight and sharp stabs pummeling his body, though he
furiously blocked the pain, concentrating only on his single intention. This was his only intention, one
fueled by emotions of hatred and revenge. He knew that this sniveling, whining body below him was the
source of his hate. And as long as he knew this, the persistent power and anger in his body would continue
to churn and boil.
The white Darkwolf twisted his jaws one more time. Now, he could smell the presence of death in
his quarry, this knowledge giving him another vicious surge of power. Soon. It was very soon.
Suddenly, a turbulent force pummeled straight into the white Darkwolf, heavy weight forcing
Bakura to loose hold of his grip. His original target instantly thrashed with a newfound effort, the power
combined with several other tugging forces shoving the white Darkwolf off his quarry. With a defeated
snarl, Bakura fell to the ground, an overwhelming weariness suddenly consuming his body; the past
adrenaline accepting defeat to retreat.
The white Darkwolf's legs have a feeble shudder before he collapsed with a sigh onto the ground.
He could sense the triumphant voices dancing around his body. It had all been in vain. The massive wounds
and tears matting his beautiful silver fur into a dull scarlet mess confirmed the most painful scar.
He was dying. And he had failed: failed in the hands of his personal agony.
The whirlwind of excitement around him increased in fervor; echoes of roars, screeches, howls,
and shrieks piercing his sensitive ears. Then, they fell, dying into a rushed rustle and finally silence.
At first, Bakura thought that he was already dead. And yet, his lungs still drew in harsh amounts of
oxygen, a slight rasping gurgle escaping his mouth. Confused, the white Darkwolf forced his eyes open,
lifting his head just inches off the ground before his muscles gave in, his head painfully hitting the ground
once again.
Someone was rapidly approaching him, and Bakura knew that he neither had the energy nor will
to fend off this new opponent. He was as good as dead anyway. And the continuous sinking knowledge of
his failure only accumulated to his self-loathing.
The presence knelt beside Bakura, a comfortable pressure suddenly easing his profusely bleeding
side.
"Damn Bakura." A low, sympathetic voice muttered in the white Darkwolf's ear. "You just don't
know when to quit."
Bakura wanted to respond with his usual witty retort, though he managed only a weak gargle, light
scarlet foam collecting at his mouth. Glassy eyes lolled helplessly to one side, momentarily catching the
still-human form of Malik tending to his wounds.
Everything was truly disappearing now. The world around him began to waver and vanish, each
draw of breath bringing a longer lapse of darkness. Yet, he was not afraid of the darkness. He let it come,
let it choke the faint gasps of his lungs and squeeze the dull thuds of his half-beating heart. For though he
had failed life, death would always come to accept him.
Yet, someone did not want him to die. This someone pressed a soothing hand, already covered in
scarlet, against the white Darkwolf's muzzle, muttering soothing words in what seemed like an
ancient language. Bakura knew it was only because his ears had already began to fail, his mind cutting off
all recognition as his body degenerated from the lack of blood. The white Darkwolf felt the warmth and
comfort from this presence and closed his eyes in acceptance.
Someone had not rejected him. Someone still stood beside him.
Malik watched as his comrade closed his eyes peacefully, allowing Bakura to slide his shaggy
head onto his lap. The platinum-haired youth brought his face close to the silver Darkwolf's head, closely
analyzing his pitiful friend. He could vaguely make out the last attempts of breath, and could literally feel
the warmth and body heat escaping from the other's skin. As gently as possible, Malik clasped his bloodied
hands around the silver Darkwolf, burying his fingers into the soft, shaggy fur. He drew his face as close as
possible to the other's long muzzle before setting his lips into a soft kiss at the lower tip.
It was a strange sight; human and wolf together. However, the silver Darkwolf lingered on that
one kiss, a slight whining noise escaping from his once-paralyzed throat. The single touch between the two
mouths seemed to bring with it an unexplainable energy. It was as if Malik was transferring his warmth and
power to other.
A tingle of power surged through his body, spreading along his body in a soothing blanket of
strength. Bakura could feel his heart once again prancing with a newfound strength, taking several proud
breaths as the energy continued to course and extend to every layer of tissue and bone in his body. Fueled
by the supplied power, his body began to shift and re-assemble itself. His back arched upwards, hind legs
elongating slightly, silver fur disappearing until all that was left of it was a scruffy silvery-white mane of hair. And
still then, he had his lips interlocked with the other, feeding on the other's power until his body sighed in
satisfaction.
Malik pressed his fingers along Bakura's chin so that he could remove his lips as slowly as
possible. The platinum-haired youth saw the slight indignation in the other's eyes, though he only chuckled
at the sight and gave Bakura a good-natured pat on the head.
"I'm glad you're back."
Bakura huffed slightly and crossed his arms. "Great. I nearly die and all you give me is a quick
peck on the lips."
Malik only grinned at the other's piqued attitude. "If that's the gratitude you show me when I rescue
your ass…"
Bakura shuddered as he felt a pair of fingers slide under his shirt and across his
perfect ivory skin.
".. Then I'll make sure to do it more often."
The perfect pair rose and fell in harmony, twin silhouettes outlining the forest-green mountains
until the sun sank and nighttime came to claim their shadows.
*****************************************
Emerald-black trees whistled just slightly as a pair of luminous figures slid through their domain.
They glided and weaved through the forest like a pair of silent ghosts, though from their mouths emitted a
consistent frequency of whines, growls, and sharp barks.
Bakura nipped playfully at Malik's slightly dropping ear as he sidled beside the other, paws
trotting in intermittent bursts to match the other's pace. The other Darkwolf shook his pale golden fur in
mock fury. He turned around and clamped his jaws gently on Bakura's ruff, startling the silvery-white
Darkwolf into submission and then indignation.
The continuous cycle eventually shifted into a full-out romp, both wolves playfully challenging
each other until they fell, refreshingly exhausted on cool night ground. There, both of them watched the
stars sprinkle in the sky, watching until they fell asleep, furred heads resting against one another. Overhead,
the full moon stirred just momentarily to bathe its radiance over twin bodies of gold and silver.
It also revealed a set of shadows fleeting by, though it could echo no warning to the sleeping
figures.
***********************************
A stunning jolt of pain woke Bakura from his peaceful slumber. The silver Darkwolf jerked his
head in shock, feet planting themselves onto the floor. And yet, his feet were refused; held by a series
of coils binding all four legs in a crude restraint. More ropes were swathed over his collar and stomach, the
ends trailing off to anchor themselves firmly on the ground.
The first thing the silver Darkwolf saw, however, was not the multitudes of restraints, but a
sneering, glaring face in front of him. It was human now, though the single, scarred eye and lurid
expression remained the same. Bakura's chest began to tighten with apprehension at the approaching figure.
"Told you you couldn't escape." Ryu laughed, beautiful human face bathed with moonlight. "But
now, with you tied and helpless, I shall finally finish my revenge. And what a revenge it will be."
He suddenly shifted to one side to reveal a shrouded figure behind him. This figure was that of
another restrained Darkwolf, though even in the shadows its identity was easily recognized.
Bakura suddenly thrust his weight against the restraints and snarled. He continued to push against
them, feeling the coils rattle and shudder, though he knew he was still as trapped as before. "Let Malik go,
you ass!" He screeched in wolven-speech, twisting and squirming against his confines.
Ryu tsk-tsked. "Pain comes in many forms." He began to lecture, suddenly taking from a nearby
person a gleaming knife. It had a large, flat blade of pure silver, ancient runes scribbled down each of its
sides.
Now, Bakura could see the other members of his "pack", prowling restlessly in a circle around
him. Unlike their new leader, they were all still in their more powerful wolf forms, eyes laughing and
vulgarly cheerful. Upon seeing the sea of mocking faces, Bakura stopped struggling, slumping hopelessly
to the ground. This pack was _his_ pack – the pack he had raised, had supported, had nourished for so
many years. It was strange how everything could so simply turn against him. It was strange for them to
suddenly betray someone who had cared for them.
Malik, now awake, growled threateningly as Ryu passed by him, fur bristling in jagged spikes at
the "human" pacing around him. Ryu just laughed at the golden Darkwolf's attempts, throwing the knife in
the air a few times so that it glimmered and flickered with iridescence.
"You shouldn't have helped." Ryu mocked, fondling his knife as he spoke. "You could have lived
a nice, healthy, long life, away from this pain and misery."
"Yes." Malik suddenly said, vicious eyes locking with Ryu's face. "I shouldn't have helped. I
should have killed you in the first place."
Bakura jerked his head back in surprise. Malik had known about this incident all along?
As if hearing the other's thoughts, Malik turned his eyes towards the silver Darkwolf. "Bakura,
I'm sorry. I knew your pack was plotting against you, but I didn't want to say so. I didn't want to see you
hurt, because I knew you wouldn't have accepted the fact if I had told you."
Ryu threw back his head and laughed, turning towars Malik. "Such irony!" He brought a mocking hand to
his forehead and shook it. "You didn't want to _hurt_ your lover, and you end up killing him instead! Oh, this is
_grand_!"
What was a low growl became a full-fledged roar, the golden Darkwolf suddenly shoving his
entire bulk against the restraints, snapping his jaws viciously. Malik then dug his feet deeper into the
ground, straining against the ropes with such fury that they began to loosen and escape from their anchors.
His eyes glowed dangerously, burning with absolute rage, entire body glistening with power.
… and then, he stopped.
Crimson blood began to splatter like rain against the ground, pooling from the mess and trickling
in small rivulets against the gritty ground. It was warm and still throbbing with vitality. And for a moment,
Malik seemed to take a step from his paralyzed position. One of his eyes lay in a fixated glare of anger,
while from the other protruded a long, silver knife, blade still gleaming over the puddling mess of scarlet.
And then, the golden Darkwolf shuddered, his entire body collapsing with a dull thud onto the ground,
single eye still glazed with rage.
Ryu began to laugh. He laughed as he crudely seized the knife embedded deep into the dead
Darkwolf's skull, stabbing it a few more times into the once-proud face. The knife, covered in a precarious
layer of blood, gleamed wickedly, dripping its precious scarlet onto the tongue of its owner.
All this Bakura watched, with an indescribable paralysis. It was as if he was watching a vulgar
ritual, mind no longer in contact with his memory; unable to understand or recognize what had happened.
"What's the matter, _brother_?" Ryu mocked, licking the last remnants of blood from his shining
blade. He watched Bakura's frozen expression before breaking into a parodical pout. "Lost someone you
could fuck with?" Ryu began to step closer to the other, all but emitting radiance. "I'm a good fucker too,
you know. Don't you want to try?"
Bakura again said nothing. His body felt oddly boiling and freezing at the same time, a gigantic
pressure pounding against him and leaving him utterly helpless and weak. Everything became too loud, and
his senses were no longer keen, but an ugly blot of incomprehension.
"Awww…" Ryu grinned. Now, he was only inches away from the other. The knife gleamed
playfully in one hand. "You don't want to play anymore. What's the matter? Are you angry at me?"
Angry? No, Bakura wasn't angry. Anger was an emotion to describe an uncontrolled amount of
rage or bitterness. What Bakura felt now was not an uncontrolled amount, but an _uncontrollable_ amount.
It seethed and boiled in every tissue of his body, digging its claws painfully into his skin until it injected
wave after wave of frenzied rage. It effectively destroyed every functioning thought in his mind, reeling it
into a vortex of chaos, rallying even the calmest memories into rebellion. If what Bakura had felt was
anger, then he was as good as dead. This - _this_ was something else. Something indescribable that
demanded to be released.
The ropes and restraints snapped like dry straw, falling in scatters along the ground. Bakura didn't
even feel the knife fall in contact with his flank; he was already in mid-air, claws tearing at the single target
burning in his mind. His dull nails dug and twisted in the soft flesh, pinning the helpless figure before
anyone could consider blinking. And by then, Bakura had his jaws clamped onto Ryu's head, bringing his
serrated teeth down, grinding them a few times to break apart the hard skull between them. Blood dribbled
down his mouth, though another fluid blended in with the crimson, making the taste oddly
unbearable. The silver Darkwolf chewed a few more times before spitting out the undigestable parts in a
slobbering mess of orange-red. Infuriated red eyes could see the limp body, though it was useless as dead
and hastily discarded to one side.
He then turned his insanity-driven expression to the spectators, grinning with what could almost
be considered a playful grin.
They had no time to run. The first Darkwolf had actually tried attacking, charging with a valiant
howl right for Bakura. The moment of heroic-vanity was shattered as the demonic silver Darkwolf broke
the other's spine with a single snap, shaking the smaller body like a thick rag before tossing it effortlessly
to the ground. He brought his blood-stained muzzle towards the night sky, crying out a deafening
challenge. And then, he charged.
Bodies. They danced everywhere, arching in a pattern of beautiful greys and browns to
compliment the growing swirl of crimson. The warmth was everywhere – within the bodies, outside the
bodies, pooling and collecting on the ground or on someones' paws. At first, there was plenty of it, but as
the rush of chaos began to lengthen in time, it ceased, finally dulling into a stale cool mess along the
emerald grass.
A single figure still danced with warmth. He too had stopped now; chest heaving at irregular rates
while pacing restlessly against the tide of slaughtered bodies. The dead eyes gazed accusingly at him,
though he felt neither their pain nor hatred as he danced around them. Crimson blood allowed his dance to
be as smooth as possible, like sliding along a glass surface.
And then, finished with his dance, Bakura felt the rage slip from him, muscles contracting and
shivering uncontrollably. For many a moment afterwards, he stood, a still statue alone teeming with life.
From the dark clouds erupted the still moon. It rippled and pointed an accusing ray of light at the
sea of carnage, staying for what seemed like eternity.
There are many ways a Darkwolf could communicate. Sometimes, when together, they gather
around, and sing long melodies consisting of ancient legends. Sometimes, it is a simple laugh; a call to
strengthen the tie within a pack.
But for Bakura, a lone, quavering cry, breaking into a solo of emotions, was enough. And even
then, that died away.
*******************************
End notes:
Zoo: Whoo hoo! FC's gonna have my hide for this! *runs away laughing insanely*.
FC: *chasing after Zoo with rubber hammer* Die!! Ahhhh! How could you kill Malik?!?
Zoo: ^.^= Easy! I kill everyone!
Eevee muse: That's cause she doesn't have IQ to do anything else.
Zoo: Hai! ^_^V. That's cause I don't have enough IQ to… o.O;; Hey! Waiiiit a moment!
Flareon Muse: *aside to Eevee muse* Is Zoo always this slow?
Eevee muse: *snorts* You kidding? This is one of her better days!
FC: *puts rubber hammer away and gives readers a convincing grin* ^_^ Review time!
Zoo: Hey! ;_; What about my whack?
*WHACK!*
Yup, its Zoo-chan here. Okay, you've gotten the drill. FC is doing the odd chapters, and I'm doing the even. We will be
covering different ideas. For FC, its Yuugi and vampires. For me, Ryou and werewolves. Well, enough about that –
enjoy the next chappy on a completely different idea…
Note: Ryou is the person you all love. Bakura is the Yami you all.. uhmm… *coughs*. It's slightly OOC right now,
but for a reason.
Warning: Graphic violence, death, hints of yaoi, excessive swearing.
******************************
"…And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight…"
- Matthew Arnold, "Dover Beach"
*******************************
Werewolves. Feral, destructive beings; demons of legend mingled with human blood. They were the lesser
humans, the ones possessed of a primal stupor.
Wrong.
Call them instead, the Darkwolves.
*******************************
Chapter 2 – Enter the Lycanthropes
~Shadow World, Third Blood Moon Phase~
"Shit!"
He stomped his foot angrily on the ground. Said tan-skinned being brushed a hand through his
coarse pale-blond hair in an almost nervous gesture. Again, he scanned his darkened eyes in hopes to locate
his target, though his gaze met nothing but a mass of sounds and colours.
He was a handsome youth, frame leaner and smaller than most of his kind. Only his slitted eyes
revealed his true identity, currently half-hidden under a jagged row of golden-white bangs.
Sometime during the morning, he had taken the thought to tame his unruly hair, though it now cascaded
down his back, fraying at the edges. It had the effect of making him appear mean and tough, ironic
considering what he was.
And now, said youth gritted his teeth in a grimace, pacing impatiently back and forth while
muttering incoherent words to himself. The only betrayal of his temper was the half-growl building in his
throat, emitting a low barely audible rumble.
"Damn that stupid jackass!" He continued to swear, roughly shoving several people aside when
they fell into his aimless path. "Stupid, damned-"
"- asshole." Another voice completed the sentence, this one in a calm and bemused tone. The
owner of this voice belonged to yet another light-haired youth, albeit with several noticeable differences.
Firstly was his skin, as pale as the other's was tanned. In fact, everything about the youth seemed to be
drained of hue, from his unnatural silver-white hair to his light coppery eyes. However, there was nothing
angelic about this being. The alluring dark eyes were fair game enough.
The other swore, turning around to face his newly arrived partner. "Bakura! You don't have to
scare the hell out of me!"
The white-haired youth, Bakura, simply shrugged. "Nice to know that you care for me." He
continued to grin, swinging with his free arm a large bulky bag of sorts.
The other, Malik, sighed, eyeing the bag. "You really should stop your thieving. You know the
Leaders disapprove of such actions."
"The 'thieving' is the only way my pack has survived." Bakura scoffed, shifting his pace to a more
comfortable lope as the pair began heading back to their caves. "My kinsmen have long fallen out of favour
since or early forefathers, and I'd be surprised if the oh-so-wise leaders even gave us a rat's ass of notice."
The pair continued to walk for a lengthy period of time in silence. They were now in a lush forest,
its canopy as still as the communication between the pair. Finally, Malik spoke up, trying to ease the
uncomfortable hostility Bakura was emitting.
"Look. If you ever need any help or support, I'd be glad to –"
"- Stop that crap." Bakura suddenly spat. Indignant amber eyes turned towards the other. "I'll
handle my affairs and you shall stay in yours."
The platinum-gold haired youth said though, though there was a curt, understanding, nod.
Bakura opened to mouth to add a smarting comment, when he was suddenly cut off by a long,
piercing cry. The howl continued to quaver for several seconds before abruptly collapsing into silence.
The white-haired youth's eyes widened. His heart began to pound dangerously in his chest, filling
his body with fear and unwanted adrenaline. "My pack! They're in trouble!"
"Wait, Bakura." Malik reasoned, restraining the other by the shoulder." How do you know for
sure? It could possibly be anyone's cry, not just those from your pack."
"Possible my ass!" Bakura spat. "If I couldn't distinguish the difference between my pack and
others, then I don't deserve to be the head." He wrenched his shoulder from the other's grips before
breaking into a neck-breaking sprint.
Malik sighed, watching the other disappearing into the thick forest trees. He pondered for a
moment whether or not he should follow the other. Perhaps he was just over reacting, and everything was
perfectly fine.
"Ah hell." The tanned-skin youth finally concluded, diving into the woods to track his comrade.
*******************************************
Bakura was running at a full sprint when another cry penetrated the somber forest. The white-
haired youth gritted his teeth, one hand clutching his chest while his lungs vainly tried to suck in enough
oxygen. Sometimes, a human body really put him at a disadvantage. Although more intelligent than his
lupine counterpart, it was terribly weak when it came to a contest of physical power. So now, Bakura
stopped his unruly trek to rest and recollect his wits.
He began focusing his attention inwards, towards the beating heart in his chest and the spiritual
power shifting in a tight mass inside his body. With a long-experienced approach, practiced to perfection
since childhood, the white-haired youth seized this shifting power and _twisted_. Freed from its internal
barrier, the power flowed and seeped into every branch of his body, filling it with energy. His skin tingled
and became bathed in a layer of warmth as coarse silvery hair replaced the bare pink flesh. He could feel
his jaw quickly lengthen; dull molars realigned themselves into a row of jagged incisors.
Yet, beyond the physical changes was the incredible internal transformation. In his human form,
Bakura felt as if the world had taken a dream-like trance; his entire perception muffled and incredibly dull.
But now, it sprang to life, lifting the blanket of fog around his senses and filling them with a million pieces
of information. Just from one sniff, his nose could locate the trails left by every specimen, or even
distinguish between two fallen leaves. And beyond that, the wind curling around his ears whispered every
piece of gossip, never ceasing its endless chatter.
Bakura allowed his transformation to complete while pacing himself at a half-lope. A few more
paces and the shift was complete; a lupine grin spreading across his muzzle. The pure silver wolf - not _any_ wolf,
but Darkwolf - resisted an urge to howl; digging his paws into the loose dirt to streak through the forest in a blur
of fur and limbs.
At long last, the dense trees and thick shrubbery cleared to reveal a rather crude, rocky brown
clearing. Bakura's fur bristled with apprehension as soon as his paws hit the broken dirt. From his angle, he
could see the entire vincinity of his pack's property. It lay shrouded by a thick, expanding ring of trees.
Strewn across the sun-dried dirt was a muddy puddle of water, and directly behind it loomed a makeshift
cavern. It was still incomplete, though the clay mud and random assortment of rocks had dried over time to
form a half-decent shelter of sorts.
Bakura trotted towards the "cave", taking a few experimental sniffs in hopes of locating any clues.
Only a vacant silence remained from the piercing howls. Narrowing his eyes, he again circled the deserted
site, paws plodding in agitated strides. And again, he found nothing: no unfamiliar smells; no foreign
sounds; not even a hint of a familiar presence.
His ears flattened along his skull, a confused half-whine escaping from his throat. The silver
Darkwolf shot a quick glance behind him and continued to pivot his head in agitation. _Where_ could the
others have gone?
Suddenly, a faint rustle of bushes broke the deserted silence. Hopeful and at the same time wary,
Bakura trotted towards the sound, poking his muzzle into the fringe of leaves. The bushes shook furiously,
a scuffling sound behind the thick green foliage revealing an escaping presence.
Bakura recovered his wits and shoved his frame through the tangle of leaves. Large twigs stung
and scratched at his face, angering the Darkwolf until he snapped the brittle branches apart, clamping his
jaws into the leaves and spitting out the acrid shrubbery seconds later. Finally, he squeezed through the
remaining branches, shaking his body to remove the leftover miscellaneous twigs. A blur of grey suddenly
caught his attention. Bakura shot his head towards the sight, ears pricking up and noting the muffled sounds
rapidly disappearing at a certain distance away. Without even a moment's hesitation, the silver Darkwolf
hurtled towards the source, expertly tracking the untidy trail left by the fleeing figure. Fortunately, Bakura
was more-than-familiar with this territory; so he moved in confident leaps and bounds until the escapee
was only several paces away. Now, he could smell the fear in the other's scent, and he idly wondered if he
should pursue the other a while more just for the amusement.
That thought quickly evaporated when he reminded himself of the situation at hand. _Someone_
had deliberately stolen or kidnapped his pack, and he could bet his life that this escaping figure was one of
the keys to the mystery. Yet, why had it been so easy? Bakura could have almost sworn that the other
unknown Darkwolf was purposely leading him into a trap. Unwilling to take such a chance, the silver Darkwolf
leapt into the air with a firm shove of his leg muscles. The targeted fleeing Darkwolf gave a startled yelp
as Bakura slammed his bulk full-force into the other's smaller frame. The white Darkwolf immediately shoved
his forepaws into the other's side, forcing the fleer to lose balance and fall into the dirt sideways.
Teeth bared in an angry snarl, Bakura glared at the struggling Darkwolf, digging his forepaws into
the other's exposed side to prevent escape.
The smaller wolf yelped again as he felt the claws raking into his flesh, consecutive crimson cuts
pooling and dripping down his light dull grey flank.
Bakura brought his face as close as possible to the other's. He knew from the soft whimpers and
feeble cries that this Darkwolf was barely out of childhood. Bile built in the silver wolf's throat as he
considered which idiot pack-leader would be willing to sacrifice so young a wolf in executing such dangerous
tasks. This "somebody" had to be stopped, even if it meant killing the half-cub below him.
"Listen to me." Bakura's tone was a half-growl, one of barely suppressed anger. He spoke the
ancient language of the Darkwolves, though he knew the other would understand. "I don't know what your
leader has done with my pack, but I want to see them healthy and alive, or else you shall she how pretty
your intestines look as a tree decoration."
Had the other been human, Bakura knew that his face would be bleached of all colour. The smaller
Darkwolf turned fearful eyes towards Bakura. "P-p-please don't hurt me anymore." He whimpered, bowing
his head in submission. "E-e-everyone else was afraid to do it."
Now, it was Bakura's turn to be shocked. "Everyone else?" He repeated. The anger suddenly
flowed from him, to be replaced with momentary confusion. And only now did Bakura realize that he
_knew_ this half-cub.
"R-Ryaksha?" This time, the silvery-white Darkwof's tone became an awed half-whisper.
Ryaksha. His half-brother's son.
Ryaksha's ears drooped in response to his name.
Though Bakura had never been considered emotional, the impact of this current situation swept
him into a void of unexplainable stunned silence, as if the earth and heavens had cracked apart and reversed
rules. An uncomfortable warmth spread throng his coat as his heartbeat seemed to pound erratically and
suddenly come still.
"Why?" It was a simple and all-too-plaintive question. He got no response. Angry, and desperate,
Bakura dug his claws deeper into the other's flesh, ignoring the cry of pain. "WHY?"
"Because you have failed us."
Bakura swiveled his head towards the source of the voice in surprise. And from the foliage
surrounding him emerged not one, but a whole pack of them. Each Darkwolf positioned themselves so that
they caged Bakura in a circle. The mass of bodies parted just momentarily to allow another Darkwolf to
stride into the center beside Bakura.
This Darkwolf was a pitch black, a scar running from the tip of his muzzle to its ear, effectively
blinding one eye in permanent closure. His fame was slightly bulkier than Bakura's, though not nearly as
refined.
Bakura took one glance at the intruder before averting his eyes. There was no way it could be him
– it was _impossible_.
"Look at him." Sneered another all-too familiar voice, addressing the black Darkwolf. "That
coward won't even look at you. Huh, some pack-leader he was."
"Silence!" The black Darkwolf snarled, forcing the jeering laughter of the others into a reserved
nothingness. He then began to pace in a tight circle around Bakura, his single yellow eye never leaving the
target. "Why, if it isn't my half-brother Bakura." His tone was sickeningly sweet, pleasant face a half sneer.
"Why, we were just out hunting together yesterday. I thought you would be _dying_ to see me."
Several of the others laughed at the joke, collective voices reminiscent of maniacal hyenas.
Bakura forced himself to look straight into the other. "Why, Ryu? Why are you doing this?" Never
in his life had the white Darkwolf thought such an act was possible. But now, it was painfully evident; the
faces leering at him; his trusted sibling _mocking_ him. Even the little ones watched with large anticipating
eyes, sheltered behind their protective parents.
It was that simple.
His pack had betrayed him.
And yet, even now, with the truth shoved into his eyes, a part of Bakura refused to believe it. He
simply did not want it to be true. It _couldn't_ be true!
"Awwww… what's the matter?" Ryu continued to mock. "Poor little Bakura too afraid to speak?"
The warmth had spread so that it was now a sickly-burning blanket of heat. It boiled and churned
through the white Darkwolf's veins and covered his vision in a blanket of rosy red.
Obliviously indulged in his self-pleasure, the black Darkwolf continued his taunts. "It's all _your_
fault, you know. All your fault that –"
Bakura leapt in an enraged blur of fur and flashing teeth. In one graceful movement, he dug his
claws into the black Darkwolf's back, sinking sharp ivory fangs along he ebony neck ruff. The black
Darkwolf responded with a cry of rage, shaking and buckling his body furiously.
Despite the other's efforts, Bakura clung onto the flesh, snarling and twisting his head in attempts
to break the neck-spine hidden beneath the layers of flesh. Thick red blood coursed into his mouth, mixing
with his saliva and dripping down his chin.
There was a considerable pause of silence before the other Darkwolves hastily leapt into action.
Their shrieks, snarls and growls melded into a chaotic symphony of indistinguishable sounds. In some
vague part of his mind, Bakura was aware of the weight and sharp stabs pummeling his body, though he
furiously blocked the pain, concentrating only on his single intention. This was his only intention, one
fueled by emotions of hatred and revenge. He knew that this sniveling, whining body below him was the
source of his hate. And as long as he knew this, the persistent power and anger in his body would continue
to churn and boil.
The white Darkwolf twisted his jaws one more time. Now, he could smell the presence of death in
his quarry, this knowledge giving him another vicious surge of power. Soon. It was very soon.
Suddenly, a turbulent force pummeled straight into the white Darkwolf, heavy weight forcing
Bakura to loose hold of his grip. His original target instantly thrashed with a newfound effort, the power
combined with several other tugging forces shoving the white Darkwolf off his quarry. With a defeated
snarl, Bakura fell to the ground, an overwhelming weariness suddenly consuming his body; the past
adrenaline accepting defeat to retreat.
The white Darkwolf's legs have a feeble shudder before he collapsed with a sigh onto the ground.
He could sense the triumphant voices dancing around his body. It had all been in vain. The massive wounds
and tears matting his beautiful silver fur into a dull scarlet mess confirmed the most painful scar.
He was dying. And he had failed: failed in the hands of his personal agony.
The whirlwind of excitement around him increased in fervor; echoes of roars, screeches, howls,
and shrieks piercing his sensitive ears. Then, they fell, dying into a rushed rustle and finally silence.
At first, Bakura thought that he was already dead. And yet, his lungs still drew in harsh amounts of
oxygen, a slight rasping gurgle escaping his mouth. Confused, the white Darkwolf forced his eyes open,
lifting his head just inches off the ground before his muscles gave in, his head painfully hitting the ground
once again.
Someone was rapidly approaching him, and Bakura knew that he neither had the energy nor will
to fend off this new opponent. He was as good as dead anyway. And the continuous sinking knowledge of
his failure only accumulated to his self-loathing.
The presence knelt beside Bakura, a comfortable pressure suddenly easing his profusely bleeding
side.
"Damn Bakura." A low, sympathetic voice muttered in the white Darkwolf's ear. "You just don't
know when to quit."
Bakura wanted to respond with his usual witty retort, though he managed only a weak gargle, light
scarlet foam collecting at his mouth. Glassy eyes lolled helplessly to one side, momentarily catching the
still-human form of Malik tending to his wounds.
Everything was truly disappearing now. The world around him began to waver and vanish, each
draw of breath bringing a longer lapse of darkness. Yet, he was not afraid of the darkness. He let it come,
let it choke the faint gasps of his lungs and squeeze the dull thuds of his half-beating heart. For though he
had failed life, death would always come to accept him.
Yet, someone did not want him to die. This someone pressed a soothing hand, already covered in
scarlet, against the white Darkwolf's muzzle, muttering soothing words in what seemed like an
ancient language. Bakura knew it was only because his ears had already began to fail, his mind cutting off
all recognition as his body degenerated from the lack of blood. The white Darkwolf felt the warmth and
comfort from this presence and closed his eyes in acceptance.
Someone had not rejected him. Someone still stood beside him.
Malik watched as his comrade closed his eyes peacefully, allowing Bakura to slide his shaggy
head onto his lap. The platinum-haired youth brought his face close to the silver Darkwolf's head, closely
analyzing his pitiful friend. He could vaguely make out the last attempts of breath, and could literally feel
the warmth and body heat escaping from the other's skin. As gently as possible, Malik clasped his bloodied
hands around the silver Darkwolf, burying his fingers into the soft, shaggy fur. He drew his face as close as
possible to the other's long muzzle before setting his lips into a soft kiss at the lower tip.
It was a strange sight; human and wolf together. However, the silver Darkwolf lingered on that
one kiss, a slight whining noise escaping from his once-paralyzed throat. The single touch between the two
mouths seemed to bring with it an unexplainable energy. It was as if Malik was transferring his warmth and
power to other.
A tingle of power surged through his body, spreading along his body in a soothing blanket of
strength. Bakura could feel his heart once again prancing with a newfound strength, taking several proud
breaths as the energy continued to course and extend to every layer of tissue and bone in his body. Fueled
by the supplied power, his body began to shift and re-assemble itself. His back arched upwards, hind legs
elongating slightly, silver fur disappearing until all that was left of it was a scruffy silvery-white mane of hair. And
still then, he had his lips interlocked with the other, feeding on the other's power until his body sighed in
satisfaction.
Malik pressed his fingers along Bakura's chin so that he could remove his lips as slowly as
possible. The platinum-haired youth saw the slight indignation in the other's eyes, though he only chuckled
at the sight and gave Bakura a good-natured pat on the head.
"I'm glad you're back."
Bakura huffed slightly and crossed his arms. "Great. I nearly die and all you give me is a quick
peck on the lips."
Malik only grinned at the other's piqued attitude. "If that's the gratitude you show me when I rescue
your ass…"
Bakura shuddered as he felt a pair of fingers slide under his shirt and across his
perfect ivory skin.
".. Then I'll make sure to do it more often."
The perfect pair rose and fell in harmony, twin silhouettes outlining the forest-green mountains
until the sun sank and nighttime came to claim their shadows.
*****************************************
Emerald-black trees whistled just slightly as a pair of luminous figures slid through their domain.
They glided and weaved through the forest like a pair of silent ghosts, though from their mouths emitted a
consistent frequency of whines, growls, and sharp barks.
Bakura nipped playfully at Malik's slightly dropping ear as he sidled beside the other, paws
trotting in intermittent bursts to match the other's pace. The other Darkwolf shook his pale golden fur in
mock fury. He turned around and clamped his jaws gently on Bakura's ruff, startling the silvery-white
Darkwolf into submission and then indignation.
The continuous cycle eventually shifted into a full-out romp, both wolves playfully challenging
each other until they fell, refreshingly exhausted on cool night ground. There, both of them watched the
stars sprinkle in the sky, watching until they fell asleep, furred heads resting against one another. Overhead,
the full moon stirred just momentarily to bathe its radiance over twin bodies of gold and silver.
It also revealed a set of shadows fleeting by, though it could echo no warning to the sleeping
figures.
***********************************
A stunning jolt of pain woke Bakura from his peaceful slumber. The silver Darkwolf jerked his
head in shock, feet planting themselves onto the floor. And yet, his feet were refused; held by a series
of coils binding all four legs in a crude restraint. More ropes were swathed over his collar and stomach, the
ends trailing off to anchor themselves firmly on the ground.
The first thing the silver Darkwolf saw, however, was not the multitudes of restraints, but a
sneering, glaring face in front of him. It was human now, though the single, scarred eye and lurid
expression remained the same. Bakura's chest began to tighten with apprehension at the approaching figure.
"Told you you couldn't escape." Ryu laughed, beautiful human face bathed with moonlight. "But
now, with you tied and helpless, I shall finally finish my revenge. And what a revenge it will be."
He suddenly shifted to one side to reveal a shrouded figure behind him. This figure was that of
another restrained Darkwolf, though even in the shadows its identity was easily recognized.
Bakura suddenly thrust his weight against the restraints and snarled. He continued to push against
them, feeling the coils rattle and shudder, though he knew he was still as trapped as before. "Let Malik go,
you ass!" He screeched in wolven-speech, twisting and squirming against his confines.
Ryu tsk-tsked. "Pain comes in many forms." He began to lecture, suddenly taking from a nearby
person a gleaming knife. It had a large, flat blade of pure silver, ancient runes scribbled down each of its
sides.
Now, Bakura could see the other members of his "pack", prowling restlessly in a circle around
him. Unlike their new leader, they were all still in their more powerful wolf forms, eyes laughing and
vulgarly cheerful. Upon seeing the sea of mocking faces, Bakura stopped struggling, slumping hopelessly
to the ground. This pack was _his_ pack – the pack he had raised, had supported, had nourished for so
many years. It was strange how everything could so simply turn against him. It was strange for them to
suddenly betray someone who had cared for them.
Malik, now awake, growled threateningly as Ryu passed by him, fur bristling in jagged spikes at
the "human" pacing around him. Ryu just laughed at the golden Darkwolf's attempts, throwing the knife in
the air a few times so that it glimmered and flickered with iridescence.
"You shouldn't have helped." Ryu mocked, fondling his knife as he spoke. "You could have lived
a nice, healthy, long life, away from this pain and misery."
"Yes." Malik suddenly said, vicious eyes locking with Ryu's face. "I shouldn't have helped. I
should have killed you in the first place."
Bakura jerked his head back in surprise. Malik had known about this incident all along?
As if hearing the other's thoughts, Malik turned his eyes towards the silver Darkwolf. "Bakura,
I'm sorry. I knew your pack was plotting against you, but I didn't want to say so. I didn't want to see you
hurt, because I knew you wouldn't have accepted the fact if I had told you."
Ryu threw back his head and laughed, turning towars Malik. "Such irony!" He brought a mocking hand to
his forehead and shook it. "You didn't want to _hurt_ your lover, and you end up killing him instead! Oh, this is
_grand_!"
What was a low growl became a full-fledged roar, the golden Darkwolf suddenly shoving his
entire bulk against the restraints, snapping his jaws viciously. Malik then dug his feet deeper into the
ground, straining against the ropes with such fury that they began to loosen and escape from their anchors.
His eyes glowed dangerously, burning with absolute rage, entire body glistening with power.
… and then, he stopped.
Crimson blood began to splatter like rain against the ground, pooling from the mess and trickling
in small rivulets against the gritty ground. It was warm and still throbbing with vitality. And for a moment,
Malik seemed to take a step from his paralyzed position. One of his eyes lay in a fixated glare of anger,
while from the other protruded a long, silver knife, blade still gleaming over the puddling mess of scarlet.
And then, the golden Darkwolf shuddered, his entire body collapsing with a dull thud onto the ground,
single eye still glazed with rage.
Ryu began to laugh. He laughed as he crudely seized the knife embedded deep into the dead
Darkwolf's skull, stabbing it a few more times into the once-proud face. The knife, covered in a precarious
layer of blood, gleamed wickedly, dripping its precious scarlet onto the tongue of its owner.
All this Bakura watched, with an indescribable paralysis. It was as if he was watching a vulgar
ritual, mind no longer in contact with his memory; unable to understand or recognize what had happened.
"What's the matter, _brother_?" Ryu mocked, licking the last remnants of blood from his shining
blade. He watched Bakura's frozen expression before breaking into a parodical pout. "Lost someone you
could fuck with?" Ryu began to step closer to the other, all but emitting radiance. "I'm a good fucker too,
you know. Don't you want to try?"
Bakura again said nothing. His body felt oddly boiling and freezing at the same time, a gigantic
pressure pounding against him and leaving him utterly helpless and weak. Everything became too loud, and
his senses were no longer keen, but an ugly blot of incomprehension.
"Awww…" Ryu grinned. Now, he was only inches away from the other. The knife gleamed
playfully in one hand. "You don't want to play anymore. What's the matter? Are you angry at me?"
Angry? No, Bakura wasn't angry. Anger was an emotion to describe an uncontrolled amount of
rage or bitterness. What Bakura felt now was not an uncontrolled amount, but an _uncontrollable_ amount.
It seethed and boiled in every tissue of his body, digging its claws painfully into his skin until it injected
wave after wave of frenzied rage. It effectively destroyed every functioning thought in his mind, reeling it
into a vortex of chaos, rallying even the calmest memories into rebellion. If what Bakura had felt was
anger, then he was as good as dead. This - _this_ was something else. Something indescribable that
demanded to be released.
The ropes and restraints snapped like dry straw, falling in scatters along the ground. Bakura didn't
even feel the knife fall in contact with his flank; he was already in mid-air, claws tearing at the single target
burning in his mind. His dull nails dug and twisted in the soft flesh, pinning the helpless figure before
anyone could consider blinking. And by then, Bakura had his jaws clamped onto Ryu's head, bringing his
serrated teeth down, grinding them a few times to break apart the hard skull between them. Blood dribbled
down his mouth, though another fluid blended in with the crimson, making the taste oddly
unbearable. The silver Darkwolf chewed a few more times before spitting out the undigestable parts in a
slobbering mess of orange-red. Infuriated red eyes could see the limp body, though it was useless as dead
and hastily discarded to one side.
He then turned his insanity-driven expression to the spectators, grinning with what could almost
be considered a playful grin.
They had no time to run. The first Darkwolf had actually tried attacking, charging with a valiant
howl right for Bakura. The moment of heroic-vanity was shattered as the demonic silver Darkwolf broke
the other's spine with a single snap, shaking the smaller body like a thick rag before tossing it effortlessly
to the ground. He brought his blood-stained muzzle towards the night sky, crying out a deafening
challenge. And then, he charged.
Bodies. They danced everywhere, arching in a pattern of beautiful greys and browns to
compliment the growing swirl of crimson. The warmth was everywhere – within the bodies, outside the
bodies, pooling and collecting on the ground or on someones' paws. At first, there was plenty of it, but as
the rush of chaos began to lengthen in time, it ceased, finally dulling into a stale cool mess along the
emerald grass.
A single figure still danced with warmth. He too had stopped now; chest heaving at irregular rates
while pacing restlessly against the tide of slaughtered bodies. The dead eyes gazed accusingly at him,
though he felt neither their pain nor hatred as he danced around them. Crimson blood allowed his dance to
be as smooth as possible, like sliding along a glass surface.
And then, finished with his dance, Bakura felt the rage slip from him, muscles contracting and
shivering uncontrollably. For many a moment afterwards, he stood, a still statue alone teeming with life.
From the dark clouds erupted the still moon. It rippled and pointed an accusing ray of light at the
sea of carnage, staying for what seemed like eternity.
There are many ways a Darkwolf could communicate. Sometimes, when together, they gather
around, and sing long melodies consisting of ancient legends. Sometimes, it is a simple laugh; a call to
strengthen the tie within a pack.
But for Bakura, a lone, quavering cry, breaking into a solo of emotions, was enough. And even
then, that died away.
*******************************
End notes:
Zoo: Whoo hoo! FC's gonna have my hide for this! *runs away laughing insanely*.
FC: *chasing after Zoo with rubber hammer* Die!! Ahhhh! How could you kill Malik?!?
Zoo: ^.^= Easy! I kill everyone!
Eevee muse: That's cause she doesn't have IQ to do anything else.
Zoo: Hai! ^_^V. That's cause I don't have enough IQ to… o.O;; Hey! Waiiiit a moment!
Flareon Muse: *aside to Eevee muse* Is Zoo always this slow?
Eevee muse: *snorts* You kidding? This is one of her better days!
FC: *puts rubber hammer away and gives readers a convincing grin* ^_^ Review time!
Zoo: Hey! ;_; What about my whack?
*WHACK!*