Demons
By: Neko-chan
A/N: 'Ello, minna-san! Hai, hai--Neko-chan is a bad BAD cat girl for starting yet another chaptered fic. Buuut... I've had this idea for a while and I've been wanting to type it up. Sooo... Just bear with me, ne? *sweatdrops* And just to let you know--This will probably be one of my more serious fanfictions. (Not exactly angst... but not fluff, either.) Anyway, hope you enjoy! Many, many thanks go to DruidessQueen for beta reading! ^_~
Note: In the manga, eye coloring is different. (According to Pikachumaniac. =^_^=) Anyway, in the manga, Ryou Bakura has BLUE eyes. Yami no Bakura will still have his red eyes. ^_^;;
SUMMARY: Alternate Universe (AU). Ryou is an up and coming journalist for the Domino City Tribune. But what happens when he is forced to write about the case of a serial murderer named Bakura... who may or may not be as guilty as everyone seems to think. Ryou soon becomes entangled in Bakura's world--seedy and dark, with no end and no beginning. What to do when the spider finally catches the fly?
WARNING: SHOUNEN-AI and YAOI. Seto/Ryou and Bakura/Ryou
GENRE: Psychological/Angst/Horror/Twisted Romance/Mystery
RATING: PG-13 to R
DISCLAIMER: *stares at random lawyers and attempts to intimidate them into giving her Yu-Gi-Oh!*
Lawyers: *stare back, nonplused*
... _ ... *finally sics Yami no Malik on said lawyers*
Lawyers: *run and scream in terror*
... o.o;; ... *sniffles* Still no Yu-Gi-Oh! for Neko-chan... Mou. *pouts*
Chapter One
The crimson blood was still warm--but he could feel it begin to clot as he stepped around the body, studying his 'prey' with a malicious smile. The woman hadn't put up a fight; she hadn't been any fun. No, no fun at all. But it didn't matter. She was dead now and wouldn't bother him from that point on. No, never again.
His smile deepened and he kicked her, rolling her over so that she flopped bonelessly face down upon the asphalt. Stupid woman. He hated her when she had been alive and he still loathed her with a passion even in death.
Though...
As pathetic as it seemed, she was prettier dead than she had ever been alive. With all of her blood drained from her body to pool underneath her, the woman's skin was porcelain pale, bringing attention to dark, unblinking, green eyes and obsidian black hair. So full of contrasts was she--pale, pale skin; dark hair and eyes; and lips so dark a red it looked as if she had taken a strawberry's juice and stained her mouth with it. Beautiful, oh yes... But still oh-so unbelievably stupid. Stupid and unintelligent and so...
Well, that didn't matter anymore, now did it? She was as dead as she could ever possibly be. Never again would she take another breath. Never again would she open those red-red lips and utter a lie that naive fools would take to heart without ever doubting a word that she spoke. Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. And he was happy about that fact--when he could actually bring himself to _feel_ something about her death, anyway.
He hated her.
He hated everything about her.
He was glad that she was dead.
No regrets.
No--no regrets now.
Nor ever again.
He smiled merrily to himself once again, stepped over the woman's prone and lifeless body, and made his way out of the alleyway, whistling a happy tune as he once again rejoined civilization and culture. After all--to him, at least--it was all just another night.
He ignored the bloody footprints that trailed behind him.
~ * ~
"Ryou... Ryou, you have to let go. I'm going to be late for an early office meeting and they won't accept the excuse that my koi refused to let me go. They didn't last time and they sure as hell won't accept it for the second time in a row."
Ryou Bakura opened one blue eye, stared up at Seto Kaiba with an annoyed and put out expression, grumbled sleepily, and finally resettled his arms around his koi's waist.
For the umpteenth time that morning, Seto Kaiba sighed loudly and once again attempted to extract Ryou's arms from around his waist. "Ryou, let go. Onegai? It's an important meeting..."
The blue eye opened again and the white-haired youth's grasp tightened even further. "Iie. You came home late again last night and so that means that I get to kidnap you for an extra couple of minutes this morning. The members of the board can wait--after all, you _do_ own the company, Seto. That's why it's called _KaibaCorp._"
Kaiba's eyebrow lifted marginally. "Hai? Well, if you make me late to work that means that you're only making yourself late as well. And what about that new writing case your editor is having you start today? Shouldn't you head over to his office to find out _what_, exactly, you'll be writing about?"
Ryou pouted at this, but reluctantly let his koi go. "Fine. But you're sleeping on the couch tonight." With that said, the young man got up out of bed and went into the bathroom, slamming the door shut in a huff.
And Seto Kaiba was left all alone in the king size bed, blinking at the shut (and locked) bathroom door. "...kuso."
~ * ~
It was dark, but it was the closest thing he had to a home for a very long time. The sunlight filtered out through the window in broken pieces--looking for all the world so much like his twisted and shattered perception of reality. It was a dark world, true, but it was a world that he belonged to and that he took comfort in.
He liked his world.
Yes. He liked his world--very much so.
To him, it was comfortable and mundane. Nothing unexpected ever happened and everything seemed to fall into place, falling into a pattern that would repeat itself day after day after day. It was a somewhat boring pattern, but he enjoyed it. After all, it WAS his life. As boring and as repetitive as it all seemed--it WAS his life.
He smiled happily to himself, wandered around the small area given to him, and ignored the rose-red trail of footprints he left behind. It was, of course, his boring, repetitive, and mundane life. Just another day--and another kill. What more could he possibly ever want out of life?
His footsteps echoed eerily against the concrete floor.
And his smile broadened.
~ ~ ~
Have you ever wondered about urban legends? Have you ever questioned the implied fact that they're (maybe) true--or if they're only that... legend. But what happens if urban legends aren't all just that? What happens when urban legend becomes fact and that fact soon transforms itself into truth? What else is there to do with that fact and that truth but to... tell the story?
After all, doesn't every urban legend hold a kernel of... truth?
~ ~ ~
What is truth? What is a tale? How do you tell the difference between a true thing and a lie? Is there really such a difference in the end? Aren't they all just meaningless words coming out of a person's mouth? And there--look there, in the background--there is yet another person lying in wait, trying to tell the difference between the two. Ever wonder if that person ever becomes tedious of his job? Ever wonder what would happen if that person's perception of lies and truth becomes so irreparably impaired?
What would happen to the people that person is sent to judge? Would any of them become wrongfully accused? And, if so, would that wrongfully accused person rot away in jail, knowing that they were innocent, and knowing--without a doubt--that they were sent to wither away and die in the little hell hole that they currently reside in?
What would happen to that person's sanity?
Would that person ever truly _be_ considered sane?
And--in the end--what IS sanity?
~ ~ ~
Questions... Questions... Questions...
Hissing breath in the shadows. Which way did he go? Who is the real murderer? How to tell you all? Should we really tell it all? What would happen if we did so? What would happen if our _whispers_ did more damage than we ever truly meant to cause?
*Oh, did you hear?*
**Hear what? Tell me! You _know_ that I've been dying to hear ANY gossip floating around town! So, what have you heard that I haven't??**
*So that means that you _haven't_ heard the rumor! It's the new urban legend!*
**You mean about the dead bodies in the alleyways...? I heard about those _last_ week! Don't you have anything ELSE to talk about? That's old!**
Tsk.
Tsk.
Tsk.
Gossip mongers needn't sound so disappointed.
~ ~ ~
'The pen is mightier than that sword.' Or so says the great writers and poets of our day. True, the pen may (or may not) be mightier than the sword. Who are we to decide which is the mightier and which is the weaker of the two? But...
The sword is the one that rips your heart out.
The pen is only there to record your scream.
Now, answer me this... Which IS mightier: The pen or the sword?
A/N: Ne, please read and review and tell me what you think of it so far. As you know with all of my stuff... each chapter will only get longer and longer and longer. -.-;; Ja ne and see you in chapter two! =^_^=