And then it came—a ripping, tearing sensation—a separation of mind and body. Momentarily blind in a flash of the brightest light somehow born of the most debase dark. A scream was torn ragged from his throat, but he was beyond his father's ears by then. He'd felt this before. Half a dozen times before. Why now, why here?
Ryou saw through his own eyes but at that moment they were somehow not his own. His father trembled, hesitated, pulled back from the apparition before him—his son, but impossibly darker, hair slightly more disheveled, eyes older and more stern, posture slouched and strong and animal and seductive, shadowed eyes and serpent smile.
"Ryou?"
"You would be wise," cooed the apparition, and his voice was like poisoned honey, "to leave the memory of my dead mother in peace. I'm tired of arguing with you, old man. You try my patience."
/Please don't hurt him. /
//You know you want me to. //
/No I don't! Let him be! Don't you hurt him, please! /
//Silence! //
"Ryou, if I've angered you—"
"You have. Far too many times for me to go on pretending," he declared with a dangerous flicker in his eyes. "My whole life I've let you kick me around. If it wasn't mother or the baby, it was your job—there was always something, wasn't there? I was never important enough for you. It's making me sick."
/S-stop it. /
//You know I'm telling the truth. //
/…stop./
"Why do you hate me? I'm your son—why do you hate the sight of me, or the thought of striking up any pathetic conversation with me? I've never asked anything of you, but the simple fact that I exist keeps you at bay, doesn't it? I don't understand, and I'm tired of trying."
/Yami, please…/
//I'm only saying what you're too weak to admit. //
"Ryou, what's the matter with you?" his father asked, alarmed at the burning insolence, Cheshire sneer, and effeminate lean in his son's hips.
"You're right, old man. I've got a problem. It's you—a problem I am considering taking severe measures to eradicate." The rasp in his voice had worked itself into a growl. His eyes flickered dangerously with a furious light. He seemed to rear in preparation for some pending decisive action.
/Stop it! /
//Stay out of it! //
/No! Leave him alone, you worthless fuck! /
The apparition faltered, growled, lunged and was tearing the father to pieces, howling curses in a thousand ancient tongues, reveling in the feel of warm blood on his hands—except he clawed only at an empty wall. There was no apparition on the outside—there was Ryou, withdrawing at once from his frightened father, weeping, and falling to his knees. He'd torn away. He'd torn the apparition away—had forced him back to save his father. He'd torn, and it hurt.
His father left him crying on the floor.
