Reviewer Responses:
Pachelbel: (Laughs) Thanks for reviewing at last! Yes, I thought that the music was a nice touch. It shouldn't have had such a large hand in things but it grew on me. Might have been because I was listening to film soundtracks when writing all this out. Yes, Bakura does have a bit of a problem now that Ryou is of no use to him. He works around that, as you'll see soon. And where did I say that it was Yami tied down and being tortured? I'm not confirming or denying, but I didn't state who it was at all. ;p
Dark-Sephy: Thanks for the compliments! Very ego-warming. I'm glad suspense is coming across. I'm not too sure what constitutes as 'horror' so I'm just throwing things and hoping more hit than miss. Impish Pixie: I might as well post the review: 'This scares me.' All I can say to that is that I'm pleased.Amiasha Ruri: I'm glad that you think this new ficlet is interesting, and odd, which I've always taken as a compliment when applied. The double-plot thing is going to continue until the final chapter as it keeps things interesting for me as well as adding a bit of a spin on the fic as a whole.
DreamingChild: 'What makes Bakura so heartless' in this fic? Ah, the Big Question. It's one of the reasons I did this fic actually. You see, in all my stories Bakura is 'evil' to a degree but he's also lovable. His antics are amusing or fascinating and his quippy one-liners are a source of amusement and liking for a reader. We empathise with him, like you said. This happens in a hell of a lot of other fictions on this site. I wanted to try a different approach, make him as cold and deadly as he was in the original YuGiOh material, create an object of malice that could be hated for what he really is. The checkbook scene was exactly as you stated: it intensified his coldness. He doesn't care about the people around him, only about manipulating them for his gain. As for Bakura seeing Ryou's 'death' (he didn't die, I'll clear that up now. More like a temporary vegetable) as a waste, it would have referred to the loss of such a formerly powerful tool for no apparent reason, from him trying to wield him as he had done in the past. Bakura gained nothing from Ryou's gross mental trauma which rendered him useless, thus it was a waste. I must say that you're a very insightful reviewer, and I greatly appreciated your comments.
Krisskittie: Person being tortured is Yami? Well, there are so many twists ahead that that simple 'fact' might get boggled somewhere. Yami's Soul Room isn't in Yugi's head anymore, no, as the process happened to both former spirits. Yami's on his own now, although he does retain Shadow Magic. This would lead to the question of why Bakura isn't using monsters yet; it's more fun this way. I get to have him with a ball-bearing whip. What more do you want?
Original Sin: Chapter 3
"Bakura, please…"
It gurgles now through bubbles like its eyes, pleading. I haven't heard it plead yet. Such an interesting development. It's questioned, accused and threatened 'Bakura', but never pleaded with him. Stumbled over its pride before it could get to the words. Now pride has stumble over blood and pain. A big change over a short time, or however long has passed. Fascinating.
Moving closer to it, I see my shadow cast across it from the swinging light above us. I can't see why it would be swinging; I haven't touched it, and it can't. Maybe the whip's movements through the air made it swing, made small ripples and little breezes that pushed the bulb to the side, momentum taking over later. My shadow swings a little with it and I think I might sway to keep up. Swaying highlights how firmly my boots are sticking to the floor though, immersed in gore. I don't like the sound of my swaying.
It coughs, spraying more blood onto my left shoe, the toe of it only a few inches from its face. Changes the colour of my boots. I didn't tell it to do that, didn't make it. It moves in on itself when I mindlessly pull my foot back away from its mouth, the audacious movement urging me to send my foot solidly, angrily, into its ribs.
It doesn't make a sound at that. Certainly looks like it wants to; wants to groan, scream, howl, wrap snappy little fingers around my throat until the joints turn white. But it doesn't. It barely moves aside from the jerk my foot caused as it dented into its flesh.
Its ribs are soft, I noticed. Broken and malleable. I think it's dying. Did I want that? Do I actually want it dead? Why am I hurting this poor thing? Why do I torture this creature that is hardly my size with friends and a destiny? I don't have to...
A whimper escapes it, one that sounded like it was meant to remain trapped. So pitiful, so much so that I should pity it. Kneeling down with care, the solid grains of dirt biting through my trousers into my knees, I place the weapon down behind me. It 'clinks' down into the spattered pool of crimson, washes of it spread out thinly in some places where it has been smeared by the creature's writhing.
It looks confused as well as afraid now, which seems to make it look even more afraid than before. Ah, the beads of the whip are coiled about me, the darkened pearls lying just before its eyes. I pull them away with care, never lifting them from the ground.
Reaching out pale hands to it, I ignore its flinch of pain and begin to pry away shreds of its clothing. There's so much damage here it's hard to tell what's flesh and what's cloth. I make a mistake in pulling at a shred that comes away with difficulty, only realising that I got it wrong when the creature manages a shriek. Poor thing. I soothe it with a callused hand, smearing red down its pale cheek. It closes its eyes against me, in bliss perhaps. I don't know. I don't care.
****
Bakura didn't sleep when he got back from Ryou's house. His mind was painfully alert, snapping from one idea to another with a clarity that intrigued him. It was in part due to his fruitless violation of his Hikari's mind some hours ago, but mostly from the excitement. He had a clear idea of what he was going to do now, which made it all more tangible, more real. More horrifying in its starkness.
The music was playing again, the stereo set to loop over and over. The lights were still soft and unobtrusive, and he'd gotten out brandy now, celebrating the progression of events.
He had returned home only briefly from Ryou's, checking his e-mails and setting up a trade for later in the week to further finance his weaponry for this task. Then, he had walked another mile to Malik's home, breaking in when the bike grumbled to life and tore away from sight. The book hadn't been hard to find; it had an aura of power and potential. It hadn't been hard to steal either, and now it sat next to the papers with their carefully balanced figures, a glass of honeyed liquid holding the page open.
There were some other books dotted around now as well, small and marked, unwavering lines from a pen underlining the most significant of the old and powerful words. Malik would never have assumed that the Ring spirit would go to such lengths to cross-reference, to be sure. But Bakura had made mistakes in the past, big ones, and after being burnt that many times he had learnt. He had decided that he was going to research and carry out all of this meticulously or not at all. And under the circumstances, meticulous was more fun.
Meticulous meant a lot time being spent, time spent softening flesh and quivering a mind, savouring every moment like a sip of water with a gasp of air. Like wine has to be smelt before tasted to be appreciated fully, water has to be taken with air to get a full sense of its freshness. And blood must be spilt slowly to take in every pattern the rivulets make. It's very difficult to put it back in and start over.
Pressing down lightly on the edge of the page, Bakura lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip of the warm liquid before placing it back down, the ring of moisture matching the base of the glass perfectly once again. Casting his eyes back across the dried pages to the spell, he ran the tip of his finger further down the list. The paper surrounding the first five ingredients and incantations had already been sullied, notes from his other books decorating the elegant scripture with a sharper style. This one was problematic though. He'd heard of it, certainly used it, but he couldn't see how it worked in this context. It didn't quite fit with the rest of the list. It was too destructive.
The answer slotted into place minutes later as his hand laced the small cold glass and the violins reached another crescendo to be supported by trombones and a deep steady drum. Bakura's face belayed no surprise, no betrayal; indeed it belayed nothing. Instead, a soft smile eventually graced his features and he picked up the pencil again. Now he wrote in hard deliberate strokes, the damning letters two fonts larger than their counterparts. Placing the instrument back down parallel to the exposed centimetre of leather cover, Bakura regarded the new word next to the problematic ingredient. It read 'Penalty'.
****
Bakura finally slept after this discovery, choosing to consider it in his subconscious whilst he dreamt and then tackle it afresh in a few hours time. It certainly seemed more sensible than latching onto the precious snippet of inspiration and milking it for everything that it was worth with a pounding headache and burning eyes.
He slept easily; comforted that there was a purpose and a plan to his actions when he awoke. He only slept enough to refresh himself though, opting to sleep for short periods frequently and remaining at peak efficiency rather than becoming steadily lethargic and then useless for up to six hours.
It was just after noon when he arose, and he took his time to prepare some tea and eat an apple. When he finally returned to the desk, he was pleased to see that it was exactly as he had left it scant hours ago. He knew there was no reason why it would change at all; it was simply a residual feeling from when he had lived with Ryou. His Hikari was always carelessly knocking his stations of work and disturbing the instruments, the papers, the light, and it always irritated him beyond imagining. Now he was free from that and he still delighted in it. Still found it novel.
He regarded the sharp word, defined from the rest on the page. Sliding into the seat, the china of the teacup clinking gently as it settled on the desk, Bakura placed a hand to his face and settled his upper lip in the space of flesh between his thumb and forefinger. He was still eerily calm about the discovery, something that surprised him considering that he had been pondering it whilst he ate his apple, cleaned himself and changed his clothes. Perhaps it was because it had come as no surprise that he found himself so detached and resigned. Malik had tricked him.
Bakura was oddly pleased that he had picked up on this before he could become burnt this time. His meticulousness had paid off and had left him in a superior position. He was still going to carry through with what Malik had asked of him; there was no reason now for him not to and he wanted the Rod. The penalty could be worked around, that was no problem.
Malik had been partially honest when he had told Bakura that he would be a conduit through which the Pharaoh's Power passed before reaching himself. What he had failed to mention was that the spell demanded a price, as everything in the universe tends to demand in some way or another. Love demanded sacrifice, money demanded effort and the Pharaoh's Power demanded sanity. In this form the spell's penalty would be negligible, but that was plants. Draining away something as enormous as the Pharaoh's Power would have an infinitely more profound impact.
It seemed a fair trade in Bakura's mind. As the tormenter inflicted pain upon the Pharaoh, his magic would flare to protect him on a minimalist level –to slow bleeding and encourage clotting for example- and with the aid of the spell, the exposed magic would be captured and channelled through the tormenter and into the original spell caster. However, when it passed through the living conduit, it would take something away for it's trouble. A proportionate aspect of that which makes coherent thought possible. And as more pain was inflicted and more magic exported, the inflictor would become increasingly unstable to a degree where they single-mindedly caused their own destruction.
An interesting thesis, and one that posed something of a problem to Bakura whom had been quite looking forward to forcing the Pharaoh into submission. But every puzzle had a solution, every cage a weak bar, and it took a pleasingly short amount of time for Bakura to imagine a way to skirt this problem. It was naively simple but still doable, with the correct spell. Everything seemed to be hinging upon spells at the moment.
To get the job done and retain his sanity, Bakura would simply get someone else to do the dirty work for him. They would be the tormentor, the conduit, the lunatic in the end. And he would watch, collect the Rod and walk away feeling contented. It would be tricky though.
Bakura didn't have many friends through choice, which although saving on inconvenience previously now presented something of a problem. He would have to force someone to perform this act, at least in the beginning. As more power was stolen, their world would steadily deteriorate until it was just torture and blood and then he'd have very little input.
A mind slave was too obvious an approach although the basic premise held merit. He didn't have the skills or equipment to control another in the way that Malik could anyway, but he could improvise with the skills he did have. He could detach parts of his metaphysical self, break away small bits of his essence and hide them away in useful places.
He was still waiting for the opportunity when the piece he had hidden in the Puzzle would come, although with Malik's scheme potentially being played out he now doubted that that time would ever come. Still, there was no sense in wasting that which he didn't really need and would be little more than a distraction from the more important things happening at the moment.
Still, he could use this skill now. If he transported a large enough part of himself into another, he could integrate his intentions and desires into the other's personality. They'd willingly do his bidding, and it would be their mind that suffered. He would only exist in their mind as a powerful temptation, a guiding force undermining every other thought they had. His own body would still be under his control, his mind primarily where it should be, but his desires would be displaced. Even if it failed, which it shouldn't do, it would be a very interesting experience.
Opening his mouth around the bit of flesh it rested against, Bakura closed it again thoughtfully and used his free hand to trace the word, feeling the miniscule indents the dried inks rested in, driven into the aged paper. Like river scars mottling a land of a long-dead stream.
He'd have to choose someone appropriate for this task. He'd have to select them carefully. It would obviously need to be someone close to the Pharaoh, someone he trusted enough to be close. They couldn't be of an exceptionally strong mind, had to be fairly strong physically and preferably inexperienced in matters such as these.
It didn't take long for the perfect person to come to mind, and Bakura smiled about his hand. The weapons would arrive tomorrow so if he did this today, he could begin almost immediately. He already had a suitable location for his games to take place in, and now all he needed was the players.
****
The group was huddled like frightened sheep, or so they appeared from Bakura's vantage point and cynical mind in the alleyway across the street. It may have been a sign of their close relationships, their bonds of trust and friendship. Bakura preferred to consider them as sheep. They were easier to penetrate in his mind if he did that.
They seemed to be moving into a shop, his chosen target lingering towards the back but still too integrated into the group to be picked off without notice. He'd need to lure it away to snatch it. Clenching his fists and closing his eyes, Bakura forced the Ring into hiding before summoning strength from it, forcing a mask across his features and dragging his hair down from its horns and peaks into a smoother entity. It was harder to do this now, requiring more energy and he wouldn't be able to keep it up for countless days as he had before. He'd only need the disguise for a few minutes at most. It had to be completed first though.
Not hesitating a moment, Bakura moved deeper into the alley to the oblong metal drainpipe that ran down the wall of one building, positioning himself at its corner. Taking a firm grip of it with both hands to test its stability, he then snapped his head back and forward in a sharp motion into its surface.
The skin above his eyebrow split easily, blood gushing as it always does from a head wound into his eyebrow, the hairs guiding the viscous fluid across and eventually down the side of his face. Stepping away from the pipe, Bakura tore the cuffs of his shirt and ruffled his hair enough to make it appear dishevelled.
Satisfied, he moved into the street with an exaggerated limp, clutching at his side in a truly dramatic manner. The scuffing of his shoes on the gravel underfoot had the desired effect; so close to his victim and with its ears so attuned to the world around him, he broke away from the group with a pause and turned to face the white-haired 'teen'.
"Ryou?" A statement that evolved into an exclamation part way through, and he jogged towards Bakura with concern nibbling at his eyes. The rest of the group had already gone into the shop and were now quite distracted with the brightly coloured merchandise and appealing slogans. It was just them outside.
Bakura was aware that he had to be cautious though. He needed his quarry to be very close for this to work, close enough to touch. The other was intelligent and would probably scent deceit if he wasn't careful. He knew of the Ring Spirit's nature and was quite prepared for him. Bakura was hoping that today was the exception.
"Ryou, are you okay? What happened?"
Touching him now, large hands guiding his head back so that the taller man could see the split flesh before looking down the alley to his left to see if the perpetrators were still lingering. They were not.
Allowing himself a smirk that he intended his victim to see, Bakura released the disguise and barely felt the blood-matted hair lifting from his skin and clumping in cluttered spikes. His right hand snapped about the other's face, grasping at the corner of his bottom jaw and wrenching it to the side hard enough to risk dislocation. The flare of pain had the desired effect and whilst the other scrunched his face against the sensation, Bakura's other hand snapped up and pricked the skin of his neck with what would appear to be a white tack.
It was in fact a small carving of bone, honed to a point and magically primed. As quickly as Bakura had accomplished his task he receded, slipping down and back into the alley and hovering at its entrance, watching the other recover. Unblinking, he raised a steady hand at the man and murmured beneath his breath, the Ring heating and doing the rest.
As expected, his victim straightened and glanced appearing disorientated and bewildered, a stray hand probing the invisible puncture over his artery. Bakura smiled serenely, flicking his wrists to lower his cuffs and then straightening them blindly. He'd need to get back and meditate now, focus his essence and then force as much as he could manage through the doorway he had just created in the other's flesh. A doorway into the blood, the liquid memory of the body, and then a swift journey up to the mind. He hadn't done this before but he'd been very careful whilst consulting the books and carving the snippet of bone. It had gone right. There was no reason it wouldn't have.
In the light, Yugi peered about the shop doorway, squinting down the street in search of his missing party member. Upon sight, he called out and waved inanely, beckoning his friend inside. "Hey Honda, you coming in or what?"
Honda glanced about himself a final time with a frown, his fingers needing the warmed flesh on his neck a final time before he lowered his hand. "Yeah, I'll be there in a sec."
Bakura lowered his hand completely now as well, eyes scanning the sky for the sun and a low noise rumbling from his throat. That delivery truck should be arriving soon. He'd have to be back to be ready for the stock and to sign the clipboard after meditating, and he'd already lingered for too long. There was much to do.
****
Review, ask questions, place yer bets, generally display intelligence and your existence. Ego is currently a tad shrivelled and needs your help. ;p