Saint³

A/N: Wagh! I wanna update AC, I really, really do, but I CAN'T! It just isn't HAPPENING! So y'all who are also AC readers must wait. I am a slave to my muse, muse says 'Saint³'. Stuffs, yet again, and AU much. T'will, of course, have shounen-ai, all the yami/hikari pairings in their own way, YxY, BxR, MxM… Will be blood, proly swearing…Have fun!

Thankyous to my reviewers: S3XuAl-ArTfOrM, midnite blaze, It'sHardToBelieve, and someoneyoudontknow (I actually planned to work on AC first, didn't turn out. And by-the-way, tis Saint Cubed, not Squared. Ignore me.)

Meef does this chapter have a long title. Couldn't think of anywhut else though… oh well. The writing-style for the first part of this is a bit… odd and the grammar might seem a bit off, but note that it is that way intentionally, please don't let it throw you off!

The Lone Memory of a Broken Childhood

School bells were ringing, children were yelling, and people were hurrying this way and that. Almost lost within this sea of children and teachers, was him.

He clutched tightly at his lunchbox and followed his classmates to room 107, right next to the library, three rooms over and across the hall from the washroom, ten meters from the nearest exit. He had come to this class every day from 8:35 to 2:10 since the day summer vacation had ended. He was seven-years-old and in grade two, though in his opinion he didn't need to go to school. He could read from the time he was three, write since he was four and could do both as good as any sixth grader. He knew his math, and though he wasn't as good at it as that boy in the back row, Seto Kaiba, he was better than all the other second graders. Everything else he'd already learned from his mommy or from books. But no matter how much he knew his mommy still sent him to school.

At the start of the year, he thought maybe the teacher would teach him something he didn't know. Mr. Gillian had started talking about strange things, about a world - the world - before the Saint. He hadn't understood, all this talk of 'countries' and 'government' and 'democracy'. But most of all, he didn't understand how there could have been a time before the Saint. His teachers had told him, his mommy had told him, his daddy had told him: the Saint was everything. The Saint was the world, the law, the order amongst chaos. He had wanted to learn more about this world, the one that was supposed to exist before the Saint, but then Mr. Gillian wasn't there anymore, just Ms. Brooke, and then he didn't learn anything new anymore.

The P.A came on at its normal time, and everyone rose to say the morning prayer.

"The Saint sees all," he rehearsed with everyone else, some kids mumbling, others yelling at the tops of their lungs. "The Saint knows all. The Saint is all."

Everyone sat again, and the morning announcements came on. He didn't really listen to them, instead thinking ahead to recess, when he and Seto and that sixth grader that wouldn't say his name would meet in behind the dumpsters at the back of the school and play their special game. The one with cards and creatures that he made real with the funny feeling in his head. The sixth grader called it magic, Seto said that was stupid. It was their secret game, though now and then there would be other players, other kids who could bring the creatures to life, but usually they'd go away after a few days because they could never win against him and Seto and the sixth grader. But no matter how many or how few times someone played, the sixth grader always made them promise never to tell about it, or talk about it, or show off their powers to anyone. Not even their parents. By powers, he guessed the sixth grader meant the funny feeling in his head. The sixth grader also said that if people did find out about their powers something bad would happen. His mommy had found out though, and nothing bad had happened. But now, everyday when his mom handed him his lunch and kissed him goodbye, her eyes would cloud up with tears and she'd say, "Come back to me, Atemu, please come back," and he'd just stare at her funny, because why by the Saint wouldn't he come back?

His ears caught snippets of what was coming over the P.A., something about Enforcers coming around the school for a special inspection. Ms. Brooke's eyes clouded up like his mommy's did, though he didn't understand why. He could remember the same thing happening last year… and the day after there were less students in his class and in the school. And apparently recess had been cancelled and no one was to leave their classroom unless it was an emergency. The class groaned and he sighed. There would be no special game today.

They were doing math when the first kid got called out. A big guy in a black uniform - an Enforcer's uniform - came to the door and called for 'Adams, Petra'. The man had a rod at his belt, a weapon. He wondered why someone would need a weapon in a school. A few minutes later Petra came back, and then 'Albert, Daniel' was called. They must have been going in alphabetical order.

He went about his business, trying to finish his math before Seto when he realized that one of the kids called out, Pierre Jameson, hadn't come back from his meeting with the Enforcer. He knew Pierre, he had played the special game with him a couple times, but then he'd stopped coming. He didn't really mind, because Pierre hadn't been much of a challenge. At least with Seto and the sixth grader he sometimes lost, even if he usually won. Though when it came to math, Seto always finished first. He made a face at the boy in the back row who was looking at him smugly. Seto made one back.

They were still making faces at each other when Seto was called out. Watching the boy go, he soon became bored, and so he thought. He wondered where Pierre had gone, and why he had not come back, and if he'd be gone forever like the kids last year. He didn't have enough information to make a conclusion, so he moved on. Earlier that morning he had noticed that the hole in the fence around the school had been fixed, and bringing up his mental map of the school, he fixed that detail. He had a very good mental map of the school, having explored almost every nook and cranny of it in his two years there, and he had never forgotten a detail. His mommy said that he had a photographic memory, though he didn't really understand what that meant. It wasn't as though there was a camera in his head. She also told him that he was more observant than most people, which was why he knew the house better than her even though she'd lived in it for much longer. He thought that he probably knew the school better than the janitors.

He didn't get much farther in his thoughts, because people started yelling in the hallway. Or at least one person, and it sounded like Seto. "Let me go!" he was shouting, and "You can't take me away, I have to take care of my brother!" and "Leave me alone!"

He rushed to the open doorway, along with more than half the class, trying to see what was happening. Down the hall was Seto, and the big Enforcer, and another Enforcer. They were holding Seto, who was struggling and yelling, but they weren't letting go. One of the Enforcers looked up and shouted, "Get those children back in their class!", and Ms. Brooke quickly shooed everyone back in. But he tried to stay, tried to look, and so he saw when the Enforcer grabbed the weapon at his belt and hit Seto with it. He saw how Seto went limp, how the Enforcer picked him up and left. And then he was ushered back to his seat and the door was shut and locked. Soon the Enforcer was back and the next kid was called out.

He had always been good with puzzles - jigsaw puzzles, word puzzles, math puzzles… any type of puzzle really. His mommy and daddy and teachers all praised him because of it, and the only time he'd actually beaten Seto at math was when it came to puzzles. And now it seemed like he had just found all the pieces to a puzzle, and they were starting to fit together. And what he came up with scared him. It scared him really bad.

Seto had powers, Pierre had powers, and both had been taken away by the Enforcers. The sixth grader had warned him about bad things happening if someone found out about their powers. His mother pleaded to him to come back every day after she found out about his powers. People who were taken by the Enforcers didn't come back.

He had powers. He didn't want to be taken away.

He knew he had to get out of there, but how? The door was locked, the windows didn't open wide enough… but maybe, maybe he could just ask? His hand shot into the air.

"Ms. Brooke, Ms. Brooke!"

"What is it Atemu?"

"May I please go to the washroom?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't let you go unless it's an emergency."

"But I really gotta pee!"

"I'm sorry Atemu."

He stared down at his desk, mouth drooping into a pout. His breathing sped up, but he couldn't panic. Panic made it hard to think right, and right now he needed to think really right. He just had to get out of the classroom, out of the classroom and to the bathroom. After that he could get out of the school, away from the Enforcers, back to his mommy. If he got out he would be safe, but he couldn't get out unless it was an emergency. What could be considered an emergency? His hand shot up again.

"Ms. Brooke!"

"No, Atemu, you can't go to the washroom."

"But I don't feel good, I think I'm gonna throw up!"

Ms. Brooke sighed and put on her stern face. He already knew he'd lost when she did that. "I already said you couldn't go."

"But-"

"No."

His pout deepened. What could he do? There was no way to get out if Ms. Brooke didn't let him go. Well, the ceiling squares did lift up, but there was no way to get into the ceiling without someone noticing him and stopping him. Unless he actually got sick, he was stuck. He was stuck and the Enforcers would find out he had powers and then he wouldn't go back to his mommy! He couldn't let that happen.

There was a knock on the door, and Ms. Brooke opened it. The Enforcer came back in, let go of the kid and took a new one away. His stomach knotted up, his time was running out, and he almost felt as if he would be sick. Which could actually be a good thing, and so he concentrated on the feeling and heaved. His stomach shifted, and bile rose in his throat, but nothing came up. The queasy feeling had grown, and he heaved again and his breakfast came pouring out of his mouth and onto his desk. His eyes filled with tears and it hurt and he hated it, but he'd hate it even more if he never saw his mommy again, so he heaved once more.

His classmates shrieked and laughed in disgust, Ms. Brooke yelled, and suddenly he found himself being hurried to the washroom by the other Enforcer. He was pushed into a stall, the door banging shut, and he found that even though he wanted to stop, his stomach felt so bad that he had to keep throwing up, so he did. He kept throwing up until there was nothing left in him and he heaved for a bit, making sick sounds. Then he turned around and locked the stall and heard the Enforcer say to get out as soon as he wasn't going to throw up anymore.

He wasn't about to come out, at least not that way, so he got down on his hands and knees and keeping right back against the wall he crawled from one stall to the next, staying oh-so-quiet. In the last stall he could climb onto the toilet seat, then onto the back of the toilet, then up onto where the pipe curved then onto the top of the stall door. He had to be really careful, really quiet. There was the vent with its cover that had fallen off, and he squeezed into it and it pinched around his shoulders and he could barely move his arms, but he had done this before and he could do it again and so he wiggled along until his feet didn't stick out anymore. Behind him he heard shattering, the Enforcer must have broken open the stall door and now he'd be searched for. He stopped listening to anything, because squirming through the vent was hard, but soon enough it opened up and he was in the ceiling. He had to be very careful, because not all of the ceiling could keep him up, and if he fell through the ceiling his escape would be ruined.

He was in the ceiling, in the dark, movingly slowly, carefully through the confusing mess that was above the ceiling, when suddenly he wasn't alone. He didn't know how he knew that he wasn't alone, he just knew. His heart pounded and it seemed too loud, and his breathing quickened but he forced it to stay quiet. He curled up against the wall, behind a beam and didn't move, barely breathed and for a second he saw it and it almost made him scream, but he didn't because if he did, it'd find him. It was a demon, a monster, a creature of the shadows themselves, and then he realized he'd seen it before, when he played the secret game and then he remembered what his daddy had said about how Enforcers had strange abilities, which must've been powers like his, and that the Enforcer had sent the monster after him. He couldn't fight a monster, only monsters could fight monsters, and sure he could make creatures alive with his powers, but this monster was really big and he'd never made a big monster, only little ones, no bigger than the length of a ruler!

But maybe he could try to make a big monster. He'd never really tried because the sixth grader said it was dangerous. But maybe he could! He had to be fast, and he had to be quiet, but he had to do it because his mommy had asked him to come back to her. He slid his hand to his deck, pulled it out, drew a card. He couldn't see what was on the card, it was too dark, but he knew what it was. How could he not know his favorite card, the Dark Magician?

He concentrated. Concentrated on the card, on the funny feeling in his head, on his need to escape, and with something that was there in his head and yet wasn't, pushed. And then suddenly it was as if a black hole had opened up in his brain and he felt himself, his mind - no, what felt like his soul being sucked from him, draining him and he screamed, because it hurt. Then the monster was there, and it lunged and he shrieked, "Help me!" and then… and then…

And then the world exploded around him.

And Yami woke up gasping for air.

Stumbling out of bed, the young man made his way to the bathroom and leaned over the sink. Letting the water run he splashed some onto his face, washing away sweat and tears. A nightmare, another nightmare… If it were only that.

He could handle normal nightmares, the strange surreal tangles of fear, pain and death. But this was no nightmare, not really. It was his life, his childhood. A memory of the worst day of his life, when the Enforcers had came to his school to find and collect students who exhibited psychic powers and force them to join their ranks.

He had managed to escape that day, manifesting his first true monster, the Dark Magician. A large portion of the school had been destroyed, but in the chaos he'd slipped away and run home. He'd found no sanctuary there, and he could still remember how his mother had looked, tears streaming down her cheeks as she forced him out of what had once been his home and told him never to come back. He hadn't understood then that she had done it to keep him safe and free of the Enforcer's clutches. He hadn't understood, but he'd still obeyed.

Moving back into the bedroom, Yami sat down on the faded sheets, gingerly plucking a worn picture frame from the bedside table. A man and a woman smiled up at him, hair black and skin a light bronze. The woman's green eyes twinkled merrily, the man's crimson pair shining with pride.

"Mother, father…" the man whispered, a stray tear trailing down his cheek. He traced a hand over the image of his parents, then moved it down to rest over the figure standing between them. A small boy with lightly tanned skin and spiky black hair, not so different from his own multi-colored mane, his eyes the same color as the man's and full of youthful mischief.

"Atemu…" speaking the name he heard now only in dreams. His muscles tensed and with a growl he slammed the picture, facedown, onto the table. There was no Atemu anymore. The boy had died more than ten years ago in an explosion at his school, and from his ashes rose a new being that could no longer be a child if he wanted to survive.

Now there was only Yami.

Covering his face with his hands, the young man began to cry, and as his tears fell they washed away the memory, the nightmare, that name, until all that was left was the picture. The lone memory of a broken childhood.