A little short to the tune of 'The Most Dangerous Game' by… someone. Dangerous Game is a short story that my class read in English, and I was so intrigued by the storyline that I figured this would turn into a good story. I may do several versions and post them all. This one I expect to be no longer than about 2-3 chapters. The beginning, the three days, and then the end a separate chapter if the three days drags on too long.
Characters: Malik Ishtar, Yami Bakura
Genre: Suspense, some Horror elementsRating: PG-13; death, blood
Summary: Yami Bakura, infamous Tomb Robber, is on a cruise. What is on this island that the sailors call Ship Trap Island, why do they speak of it with such fear? Bakura is not quite prepared for what he discovers.
Warnings: Death, naturally. What else do you get when you put Malik and Bakura together? Potentially disturbing content. Slight OOC possible.
Yami Bakura was a creature to fear. His ruthless tactics, merciless methods, and indifferent nature made his name feared all throughout Egypt and beyond.
But that was 5000 years ago, now, only those who knew him knew of his bloody past. And of those, only about 10 remained alive. Yami Bakura was a Spirit who had inherited a corporeal form in young Ryou Bakura, his almost identical descendant.
"They say we're nearing Ship-Trap Island." A young man who could be his twin said quietly as he shuffled up next to the Tomb Robber.
"I've heard." Bakura snapped back. "How can I not have, Ryou? The crew has been whispering ominously that we would pass by here ever since we left port."
"Oh." Ryou said, even quieter. The Tomb Robber's temper was not one to get on the wrong side of. "Would you happen to have caught why?" Ryou ventured to ask his counterpart.
"The name tells the whole story. Apparently few ships pass by here and survive to tell the tale."
"Really?" Ryou appeared interested.
"Yes." Bakura's tone indicated that the topic was closed. Ryou took the hint, quietly walking away. Bakura remained unmoved, staring into the ink black sea. He noted that even though the day had been cloudless and tonight was supposed to be a full moon, the sky was a pitch-black velvet blanket that he could not tell apart from the sea, even with his abnormally sharp vision.
Bakura's attention was caught, however, but the high-pitched scream that resonated through the night just then. It obviously came from somewhere off the ship. Bakura managed to pinpoint the sound as to have come from about 40 degrees off the port side of the bow. focusing his eyes into the gloom beyond the ship's lights, Bakura soon realized it was like trying to look into a Black Hole, it seemed impossible.
After minutes of straining his eyes, he leaned over the railing, futilely trying to get a better view. Another, piercing scream rent the air before it was abruptly cut off. Caught off guard, the Tomb Robber lost his balance for possibly the first time since he was a mere child. He plunged overboard and into the choppy sea, unknown to any other inhabitants of the ship.
Underwater for nearly two minutes before managing to surface, Bakura didn't have time to catch his breath and cry for help before the ship was too far away to catch or be heard from.
'It will be a while before they realize that I'm gone." He thought angrily, treading water. Resigned, he began to swim towards where he heard that last scream, it had been close to ninety degrees off the port side of the bow the second time.
What felt like hours later, but was actually only about a quarter hour, the Tomb Robber felt sand beneath his feet. He stumbled up out of the water and up onto the beach. Normally, the short swim would not have been so exhausting, but somehow he felt entirely drained, and had barely managed to crawl out of the water's reach before collapsing on the sand and falling into a deep sleep.
*
Bakura was woken by warm rays of sun brushing across his pale skin. Quickly brushing aside his snow-white hair, he sat up, staring around. He was on a beach, on an island that appeared to be uninhabited. There was not a sound anywhere, no birds, and no people certainly. Bakura stood up, taking a better look around. He noted, with surprise, an enormous house that was built seemingly on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean.
Ignoring the sense of dread, the stranded former spirit began to make his way through the dense jungle towards the mansion.
Upon reaching the stone building, Bakura didn't hesitate to knock on the giant wooden doors.
Moments later the heavy door creaked open slowly to reveal a grand entrance hall. The marbled floors were polished to mirror-like perfection, the cream walls were decorated with ornate gold statues on small shelves. A tall, imposing, man, bald save for a single lock of ebony hair, stood in the doorway, his face half-hidden in a deep violet cloak.
Amber eyes shone out of the shadow the cloak cast, suspiciously roving over the Tomb Robber's face, and the dark grey metal of the barrel of the gun he held was level at his chest.
"I need to use your phone." Bakura said. The man stood his ground, not moving an inch. "Your phone! You have one, don't you? I need to use it." Bakura repeated. The man did not budge, but cocked the gun. "Let me use your Ra-forsaken telephone!" the Tomb Robber demanded.
"Now, now. There is really no call for rudeness. Rishid, let the man in." A young man looking his descendant's age appeared before Bakura. He was dressed rather aristocratically, an unusual look for a man with wild, light blonde hair that reached past his shoulders. The outfit was accented by a violet cape nearly matching the one that the other man wore.
The blonde man had an apparently expensive array of gold jewelry, ranging from earrings, to a neck cuff, to what appeared to be arm guards covering his entire forearms, arm bands on his upper arms, and gold chains on his cloak.
He also carried what looked to the normal human a golden scepter, a long rod topped with a winged globe bearing the Eye of Horus.
"Malik." Bakura hissed, caught off guard by the appearance of the young man.
"Good afternoon, Bakura. Fancy seeing you here on my island?" Malik, for that was indeed is name, replied airily, as though he hadn't heard the venom lacing Bakura's voice.
"Fancy you owning an island." Bakura said, mocking Malik's tone. He then dropped the pleasant façade. "What in the name of Osiris are you doing here, Malik?"
"Come, now. Is that really the way to treat an old friend?" Malik grinned. Somehow, the expression wasn't the reassuring gesture he had intended. "Come in, Bakura. Make yourself at home. Rishid, go fetch us a drink. You must be thirsty, my dear friend. And entire night and almost a day without food."
Rishid nodded and left the hall by way of a left door. Malik led him through a door across from it, into a parlor decorated in warm browns, tans and golds.
"I'm beginning to recognize a decorating trend here." Bakura muttered to himself. Malik pretended not to notice. He seated himself comfortably on a tan chaise longue and gestured form Bakura to take a seat.
He did so on a low cream couch as Rishid returned with a small tray holding two fluted glasses filled halfway with a red liquid. Bakura noted the way that the liquid seemed to want to hold onto the glass, and how the opaque crimson fluid seemed to be thicker than wine.
Eyeing the glasses, Bakura smirked.
"You remembered, I'm touched." He said sarcastically. Malik only smiled the mysterious smile he had been wearing the entire time so far. Bakura took one of the offered glasses and sipped the dark drink, letting the slightly metallic taste of blood wash over his tongue. His smirk grew into a morbid smile of satisfaction.
"Body temperature still. How do you manage that?" Bakura asked needlessly. The look in his friend's eyes told all.
"Fresh victims." Malik replied, his voice that of a cold-blooded murderer. For a few minutes, the two reveled in their memories, reflecting on a time when they were essentially partners in crime, sharing the profits of their exploits.
"Well, Bakura. I suppose we should get down to business." Malik began. "Quite an unexpected surprise, your appearance. But I have decided to make the best of it. Bakura, tell me, what is my greatest ambition?"
Bakura looked at him in near disbelief. "You want to possess the three God cards and the Pharaoh's power." Bakura replied, as if reciting.
"And what continually thwarted me?" Malik pressed.
"Yugi and his imbecilic friends." Bakura said, his tone displaying clearly that he did not know where this was headed.
"And do you think that they would continue to discourage my plans had I pursued them?"
"I don't know. Wouldn't they have to break some time?" Bakura answered the question with one of his own.
"No, they possess the Pharaohs power. There was nothing I could do, fate was against me. So what do you think I did?"
Bakura shrugged, taking another sip of blood.
"I devised a game that would be fun, challenging enough to keep me interested, but still easy enough that I could win." Bakura was still lost.
"I'm a hunter now, Bakura. Haven't you heard the sailor's rumor of Ship-Trap island?" Bakura nodded tightly.
"Silly folk-tales, the lot of them." Bakura sneered over his glass.
"Or are they?" Malik asked.
"You." Bakura said simply. Malik nodded.
"Yes. I will often use the Rod to control ships navigators. They don't recover until it's too late to turn away from the shallow reef that surrounds the island. They crash, sink, and the crews are stranded." Malik began to explain. "Of course, they do just as you did, seek shelter and hope of rescue."
Bakura's mind mulled over this for only seconds before he understood.
"You hunt people?" He cried. Malik nodded calmly. Bakura stared at him with disbelief.
"You just murder them? I see no sport in that. Why?"
"Why not, Bakura? You, the King of Thieves! You've killed countless, why would you care if one more person dies?" Malik sat up from his reclining position. Bakura hesitated. Malik took the opportunity to continue. "I would be honored if you would participate in my little game, Yami Bakura."
"I will not simply kill without reason!" Bakura stood indigently.
"You haven't before?" Malik asked innocently.
"No! Guards, yes, they were after me. Police, yes, they were after me, thugs and gangsters, well, they were scum."
"But Bakura, none of that matters now. Now, It is just you an me." Malik said, the malicious smirk he wore now grew wider. Bakura's puzzled expression faded into one of shock.
"Malik! You can't be saying what I believe you are implying?" He cried in outrage. "The odds are against me, it would be no sport!"
"Nonsense. The Rod will be locked in a safe, as will your Ring." Bakura fingered the golden article he wore around his neck. He eyes Malik suspiciously.
"I don't trust you." He said simply.
"This is my game, Bakura." Malik said before falling silent. Bakura stared intensely at him.
"What are the rest of the terms?" Bakura said.
"Three days."
"I beg your pardon?" Bakura blinked.
"You'll have three days. If you can escape death for that time, then I will have a ship come and properly escort you off the island. If not, well…" Malik let the unspoken words hang in the air a moment. "You will be equipped with a knife set, and a canteen. And if you wish, a fresh set of clothes.
"You may sleep here tonight, and take breakfast with Rishid and myself in the morning. Then I will give you a three hour head start. The island is five miles long and a mile wide in most places. I believe you'll find that sufficient?"
Bakura stared at him, once again, in disbelief.
"And if I refuse to participate in this game?" Bakura said, distaste coloring the last word. Malik smirked.
"Then I will force you to participate." He said, tapping the golden scepter he held, the Sennen Rod. Bakura glared.
"You do have a certain way of persuasion." He said. Then reluctantly: "If you insist upon my participation, I shall."
"Good man!" Malik said, standing up. He clapped a hand on his back. "I'm sure you will prove more than a worthy opponent, my old friend."
With all hope. Bakura thought, for the first time in his life, feeling nervous.
~#~
R+R if you wish.