The second installment is here, so without further ado:
The Most Dangerous GameCharacters: Malik Ishtar, Yami Bakura
Genre: Suspense, some Horror elements
Rating: 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 lay on the soft bed, mind focused on one thought: Malik is insane.
Naturally, he knew this before. It was only common knowledge during Battle City that the mind-controlling, power-hungry teenager was not quite right in the head, for it was home to both his father's Pharaoh-obsessed teachings and a Pharaoh-loathing darker half. During a duel in the Battle City finals, Rishid was knocked unconscious, and thus was not able to be there to restrain Yami Malik.
The darker half had consumed Malik, rendering him helpless to do anything about it. After Yami Malik had been banished to the Shadow Realm, it seemed as though Malik never completely returned to normal. If he could be called normal in the first place, with his taste for blood and death.
Which brought Bakura back to his original thought.
"I can't believe this." Bakura muttered as he rolled off the bed and stalked over to the window, hands jammed deep into the pockets of the tan cargo pants he had been given. He scowled out at the sunrise. "It figures that I'd get no sleep." He said to himself. He turned abruptly and walked as calmly as possible out the door and down to the main floor of the mansion. Rishid was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.
"Master Malik requests your presence in the dining room." He said before turning on his heel and walking into a room adjoined to the entrance hall.
Bakura was not surprised to see the gold-desert motif continued in this room as well. The tan walls had gold sponged over them, the furniture was all a rich, dark wood, and the table settings all apparently gold-plated. The golden tablecloth seemed to flow off of the edges of the table, and sitting at the head of the table, on a throne-like gilt chair, was Malik, decked out in full ceremonial costume, so to speak.
The violet robe flowed over his shoulders and the chair. He wore underneath it a black tank-top, not unlike the one he lent Bakura, which displayed his finely toned stomach, and a pair of beige cargo pants. The arm guards, bands, neck band, earrings and a golden band bearing the Sennen Eye that rested across his forehead were all shining in the early light that streamed through the wide bay window that overlooked the ocean. The Sennen Rod was clutched in one fist, which he leaned on, looking almost bored, and the other hand was drumming restlessly on the armrest. The moment the door opened, thought, he straightened.
"Good morning, Bakura. I trust you slept well?" His voice was almost mocking.
"Of course, Malik." Bakura returned, his pleasant tone mocked Malik's as he sat down in the chair on his right hand side. Rishid left and soon returned with two plates on a large tray. He set one before each of the 'game's' participants. Bakura glanced at the steak, potatoes and asparagus with a raised eyebrow.
"No, even I am not cannibalistic. But I believe that you could use a good, hearty breakfast in light of today's game." Malik said, his tone light as he delicately cut a piece of the medium-rare steak and placed it in his mouth, chewing slowly before swallowing. A lazy smirk spread across is face. "Eat up, my dear old friend. I would not want you hungry during our game."
Bakura looked at the steak before picking up the whole thing with his fork and ripping a piece off with his teeth. The juices dripped down his chin as he grinned. Malik cringed slightly. He was evil, malevolent, and slightly insane, not uncouth. Or so he liked to think himself.
"Something wrong, Malik?" Bakura asked in a tone that was anything but concerned. Malik restrained himself from rolling his eyes.
"Nothing, my friend. Please, help yourself." Malik said, slightly sarcastically. Bakura smirked. The meal continued in silence. Once Bakura had cleared his plate, taking an extra minute to further irritate Malik by literally licking the plate clean, Malik stood. He motioned to Rishid, who brought a tray into the room from just outside the door. Bakura remained seated, staring at the cart, which was cover by a (gold) cloth. Malik motioned for him to join him beside the cart. Bakura complied hesitantly. Once he was standing beside the blonde Egyptian, Rishid pulled the cloth off the cart with a flourish. Bakura's eyes widened at the array of bladed weapons, ranging from a broadsword (in a gold-studded leather sheath) to gold-hilted stilettos, to small(gold inlayed) throwing-knives.
"Take anything you like." Malik said, gesturing to the display of weaponry.
"Anything?" Bakura repeated, glancing over the knives. Malik nodded.
Bakura smirked broadly, picking up a long, light saber in a gold-studded sheath, attaching it at his hip, two long stilettos (golden handled) which he tucked into his boots so that he could easily grab them, about a dozen (golden handled again) throwing knives, which he tucked into various pockets, and an Egyptian-themed dagger, the handle of which was Osiris, the hilt was a Scarab with long, feathered wings, and the sheath was covered in hieroglyphics. It was, of course, gold. Bakura tucked this one into his front pocket, where it would be easily accessed, but also not too easy to lose.
"Good choices. Now, come on." Bakura was led out the front door. Malik turned to him.
"Nothing against you, old friend. You made a wonderful ally, so this is nothing personal." Malik explained. Bakura fought the strong urge to roll his eyes.
"As did you. I believe this will prove an interesting game. A shame you will not be around to revel in my success." Bakura said cordially, shaking Malik's hand.
"We shall see." Malik's voice unconvinced. "Three hours, begins now." He said, turning and entering the house, closing the heavy door behind him. Bakura only stared at it for a moment before taking off, not down the path, but through the obscure branches and tiny clearings in the dense forest.
He backtracked several times, choosing different directions, running in circles, deeper and deeper into the forest. Once satisfied that he had left quite a confusing trail, he jumped straight up into a tree and began to swing about the branches, deeper still into the forest. He sat in a particularly tall tree, just far enough from the ground to not be seen, but still be able to see the path.
A loud gong sounded, and Bakura assumed that that sound was intended to signal that his three hours were up. He unsheathed one of the stilettos and held it in his hand, wary. Not too long later, he heard someone through the brush. It sounded like cursing, quietly loudly, and in Egyptian at that. Bakura watched as Malik stood in the clearing below him, staring around. His eyes fell on the trunk of the tree that Bakura sat in, and Bakura tensed, tightening his grip on the stiletto.
Malik's eye traveled up the trunk slowly, stopping a little below the exact spot where Bakura was hidden.
Bakura prepared to jump down, thrust the knife cleanly through him. Had he jumped he could have cleanly put a knife through Malik's heart before he could say 'ow', but Bakura stayed still. He had caught a metallic gleam in his had. A small, automatic pistol.
'Cheater.' Bakura thought venomously.
Malik smirked slightly. He turned and walked away, returning the way he came.
Then it dawned on him.
Malik knew he was there! That idiot knew he was there, and didn't say a word. Bakura knew he would have to try harder. If Malik wanted a challenge, a challenge he would get.
Bakura jumped down from the tree, replacing the stiletto, and took off again into the dense forest.
'This time,' Bakura thought, 'I'm not going to go easy.'
He quickly found a soft spot of soil, and taking hollowed out branch which he cut the top of the end off so that it formed a kin of crude shovel, began to dig. He dug as quickly as he could, until the pit was about four feet deep and stretched from end to end of the path. He then went into the brush surrounding him and selected at least a dozen and a half of long, straight sticks. It was difficult, because he had to feel his way around. Even his incredibly sharp night vision didn't help too much, the forest was pitch-black.
Fishing out one of the throwing knives from his packet, he began whittling one end of each stick into a sharp spike. He then buried the blunt ends in the pit, then covered it with a roughly woven mat of underbrush. He scattered dirt across it until he was satisfied that it blended in well enough with the path. He then hid in the brush far enough that he wouldn't be seen, but close enough that he could hear what happened.
Daylight soon peeked through the canopy, thin beams of sun brushing Bakura's skin, which was paler than normal from stress. He was ever alert, having gone much longer without sleep before, eyes watching the path, and ears straining to catch the slightest sound. Malik didn't disappoint him, for soon after it became light enough for Bakura to make out the path clear enough, Malik came striding up it, hand holding the leash of a large, menacing looking hound.
The dog's nose was close to the ground, and he was straining his leash to follow the scent. Bakura decided that he should retreat further into the woods, and did so as silently as possible by jumping from tree branch to tree branch. He stopped the moment he heard an unearthly, howling scream. He smirked to himself.
'Finally.' He thought. 'The Tomb Keeper is dead.' Only the tiniest pang of remorse tinged his thought. He was about to jump to the ground when he heard it.
"Brilliant tactic, Bakura! You've claimed by best hound with your tiger pit! I believe that I'll next test you against the entire pack. I'm going home for a rest now. Thank you for a most amusing evening."
Bakura stared at the sky, the twilight was just fading into the pitch black night. He threw himself on the ground in exhaustion. The adrenaline that had pumped through his veins for the past day was now ebbing, and he was left feeling extremely tired. Before he knew it, he was asleep, laying on the leaves and undergrowth.
He was woken the next morning by the sound of barking and howling. Malik had returned with the pack as promised. Bakura jumped up, energy flowing through him again. He decided he had two options, stay and wait, also know as suicide, or run, also known as postponing the inevitable. He stood for a moment, running through his head all the worse situations he'd been in, but none helped, all of those close calls had been with guards in palaces, or traps in tombs.
Traps in tombs! Bakura launched himself through the forest with renewed vigor, desperately seeking what he needed. He traveled down the path the he had. He climbed a tree that reached quite close to the canopy, looking around. He saw Malik, and next to him, Rishid, holding the leashes of several more hounds.
Thinking quickly, Bakura thought of all the traps he could remember from the tombs, searching for one which could apply. The second one came to mind he jumped down from the tree and set to work, stripping a sapling of all its branches with one of this stilettos. He then found a long, thin vine and lashed the knife near the top of the tree, which he bent nearly backwards. Quickly rigging a trip line and then covering his tracks roughly, he took off towards the edge of the forest.
The sun pierced his eyes, nearly blinding him after the dismal light of the forest. He heard a distant scream. It was entirely bloodcurdling, horrifying, and disturbing. Bakura smirked, reveling in his success. The knife that had been rigged to spring down, once it had been triggered, had obviously killed his target.
There was silence. Then the hounds began their ominous baying and barking again, coming ever closer. Bakura took one look at the blue-green waters and dashed out, diving into the warm Caribbean water.
Quickly, he silently thanked Ryou for opting for a Caribbean cruise vacation, and not one of those Alaskan cruises.
Malik and his pack of hounds emerged from the forest onto the golden sands. His eyes scanned the water. He shrugged slightly, sitting down. He pulled a flask from an inside pocket of his cloak, and then a small, clear glass. He poured himself a glassful of red liquid and sipped it, letting go of the hound's leashes. The took off back down the path. Malik sat down on the sand, sipping blood, smiling ever so slightly.
Malik had an exceedingly good dinner, marred only by the loss of his quarry and of Rishid. He was saddened, no doubt, by that loss, but not overly devastated. He kept a professional distance from all of his servants. Bakura's escape, however, was another matter. The poor chap didn't even retrieve his Ring. Shame, really. He'd be stuck apart from his Hikari for quite a while, that way.
Malik finished his dinner called another man in, a timid black sailor, strong but terrified for his life. Malik had promoted him from 'next prey' to 'servant'. The man was quite please that his life had been spared, of course, but that didn't stop him from being terrified. Malik ordered him to clean up while he went to bed.
With a yawn, he climbed the stairs, and entered his room. He went over to the window, not bothering to turn on the lights. He stood by the window, framed for a moment by moonlight, looking almost like the royalty he wished he was. The hounds had made their way back to the courtyard now, and Malik smiled down at them.
"Better luck next time." He said. He then turned to climb into bed but his way was blocked by a ghostly figure.
"Bakura!" cried the Egyptian. "How in Ra's name did you get here?"
"Swam," said Bakura, smirking. "It was quicker than walking through the jungle."
Malik drew a deep breath. "Congratulations. You have won this game."
Bakura's smirk grew even darker, if possible. "I am still a beat at bay." His voice was low and hoarse. "Get ready, my dear friend. And I do use that term loosely."
"I see," Malik said. "Wonderful! One of us is to furnish a repast for the hounds. The other will sleep in this very excellent bed. On guard, Bakura…"
He had never slept in a better bed, Bakura decided.
#
TheEnd
###
And thus it ends. Yeah, sorry Malik fans, but I had to kill him! I didn't like it either, but the story just wouldn't work otherwise. By the way, I found a website where you can read the original "The Most Dangerous Game" by Richard Connell.
http:pages.pro krtq73aa/ danger.htm
Remove the spaces when you copy/paste the URL. I warn you, it's much better than mine, so if you would like to sustain the illusion that I am a magnificent writer, I suggest you not read it. Ha. I wish. Anyway… If you would like to suggest another two people for me to put in Zaroff and Rainsford's places, let me know. I may use your idea in my next version.