He walked carefully down the corridor made of limestone that was
roughly hacked at by slaves too exhausted and weak to do a better job. Oh,
by Set. If he didn't move faster, the Royal Guard would catch up and then
an unpleasant scrimmage would take place and perhaps a trip to the Pharaoh.
That would be unwanted as well as unneeded. Last time—
But his train of thought was abruptly derailed as one of the Royal Gravekeeper's pole-arms inserted itself neatly into his abdomen and lifted. As much as he would have liked to, he didn't, or rather, couldn't, blast this insignificant creature into the Realm of Apoplis or sap his soul or do vast legions of numbers of things he would have liked to do as his consciousness swirled down the gutter. All he could do was scream and scream and...
* * *
Ryou Bakura woke screaming loud enough and shrilly enough to wake the dead his yami continually threatened to bring upon him. His yami had also awakened and, in pure instinct had separated himself from his hikari.
Ryou's head was lashed back, his mouth wide open emitting the only thing he could: the scream. His pale, frail body was convulsing and his hazel eyes were squeezed shut, tears leaking from them. His bony hands clutched his abdomen where the spear had been only moments before... or at least in his dream.
It took a good, sharp slap from his yami to stop him from screaming, though how his yami could slap him when he was incorporeal would have been beyond him at any other given time. "Stop it!" the Grave Robber said with vehemence, giving the boy a choppy, if unneeded, shake, also what should have been beyond the Spirit to do. The shake woke Ryou finally up; his eyes were wide and frightened and he was shaking and drawing in scared, shuddery little breaths.
"Father?" He gasped. His darker half smirked. His vessels' dependence on that mortal scholar was amusing, but right now there were more important things to exploit. Ryou, on the other hand realized it really wasn't his father and shrank back from the Spirit. In contrast to other Spirits, the Tomb-Robber was solid looking, but slightly misty around the edges, and the fact that most of his time he spent sleeping within his vessel made him mostly unknown to Ryou. The young man knew, however, when this Spirit appeared it meant trouble. "What do you want?" He said in barely more than a whisper.
"What happened in your dream?" His Spirit answered in the same tone and pitch. Ryou, as if to counter plunged back under the covers and pulled them over his head. "Cream puff." Growled the Tomb-Robber and withdrew back into his Ring. Ryou didn't go back to sleep, however. It was dawn before the adrenaline rush wore off and when his alarm clock rang, he didn't even feel sleepy.
* * * *
It had been far too easy to find the information he wanted. All he had to do was walk from his own Soul Room, across the corridor of their minds and, easily breaking the lock that kept Ryou's Soul Room closed, walked into the adjoining Room. His vessels' Room was an odd mixture; the walls were made of stone, but they were painted white, with a few odd grey ones. He had a lush Illiad carpet adorning the floor and a polished mahogany table, but something about the room, as always, wasn't quite... right. There were masks of a most fanciful kind hanging from the walls; their faces were awful and fantastic all at the same time, beautiful and terrible, some with animalistic faces, some with human, and others yet of a kind not identifiable. They perched there on the walls, all grinning in a knowing manner as if they were judging you.
But then, there were the children's games scattered on the floor, the drawing tablets, the coloured pencils, the cushions and a number of books and comics that set your mind at ease. The Spirit had no trouble finding the new ornament; it sat on the table, lovely and repulsive and sad. The Spirit picked up the object and stared into it, then trudged gently out of the Room, afraid, as he always was, that there were traps. He'd never tested to find out, but he knew the Masks were there for a reason. As usual when he exited his vessels Room, there was the customary sigh, much like the dying of a breeze. He'd never thought on the sound much, but now with the old, battered bracelet in his hands, it made his own mind swirl down a hundred different corridors.
The bracelet was punctured in the center, forcefully, the metal puckering out as though something from behind had stabbed through with amazing violence. Slowly, with only one object on his mind, he walked back into his own Soul Room.
* * * *
The migraine hit at the worst possible time; he was outdoors, playing baseball in Gym. First the headache hit him so badly and thoroughly it felt like his brain had turned to instant mush, then the nausea came only a second after, then the blinding pain, caused by the light.
They've never been this bad before... Ryou thought hazily as the ball whipped towards him and he passed out, the bat falling from his fingers as his body tipped sideways. He could still hear the people around him, their uproar at seeing the batter faint, and after a few seconds he could feel the people touching him; someone was shaking his arm, shouting his name in a high, scared voice, someone else was taking his pulse and shouting in a gravelly voice to the gym teacher to call the infirmary.
But his train of thought was abruptly derailed as one of the Royal Gravekeeper's pole-arms inserted itself neatly into his abdomen and lifted. As much as he would have liked to, he didn't, or rather, couldn't, blast this insignificant creature into the Realm of Apoplis or sap his soul or do vast legions of numbers of things he would have liked to do as his consciousness swirled down the gutter. All he could do was scream and scream and...
* * *
Ryou Bakura woke screaming loud enough and shrilly enough to wake the dead his yami continually threatened to bring upon him. His yami had also awakened and, in pure instinct had separated himself from his hikari.
Ryou's head was lashed back, his mouth wide open emitting the only thing he could: the scream. His pale, frail body was convulsing and his hazel eyes were squeezed shut, tears leaking from them. His bony hands clutched his abdomen where the spear had been only moments before... or at least in his dream.
It took a good, sharp slap from his yami to stop him from screaming, though how his yami could slap him when he was incorporeal would have been beyond him at any other given time. "Stop it!" the Grave Robber said with vehemence, giving the boy a choppy, if unneeded, shake, also what should have been beyond the Spirit to do. The shake woke Ryou finally up; his eyes were wide and frightened and he was shaking and drawing in scared, shuddery little breaths.
"Father?" He gasped. His darker half smirked. His vessels' dependence on that mortal scholar was amusing, but right now there were more important things to exploit. Ryou, on the other hand realized it really wasn't his father and shrank back from the Spirit. In contrast to other Spirits, the Tomb-Robber was solid looking, but slightly misty around the edges, and the fact that most of his time he spent sleeping within his vessel made him mostly unknown to Ryou. The young man knew, however, when this Spirit appeared it meant trouble. "What do you want?" He said in barely more than a whisper.
"What happened in your dream?" His Spirit answered in the same tone and pitch. Ryou, as if to counter plunged back under the covers and pulled them over his head. "Cream puff." Growled the Tomb-Robber and withdrew back into his Ring. Ryou didn't go back to sleep, however. It was dawn before the adrenaline rush wore off and when his alarm clock rang, he didn't even feel sleepy.
* * * *
It had been far too easy to find the information he wanted. All he had to do was walk from his own Soul Room, across the corridor of their minds and, easily breaking the lock that kept Ryou's Soul Room closed, walked into the adjoining Room. His vessels' Room was an odd mixture; the walls were made of stone, but they were painted white, with a few odd grey ones. He had a lush Illiad carpet adorning the floor and a polished mahogany table, but something about the room, as always, wasn't quite... right. There were masks of a most fanciful kind hanging from the walls; their faces were awful and fantastic all at the same time, beautiful and terrible, some with animalistic faces, some with human, and others yet of a kind not identifiable. They perched there on the walls, all grinning in a knowing manner as if they were judging you.
But then, there were the children's games scattered on the floor, the drawing tablets, the coloured pencils, the cushions and a number of books and comics that set your mind at ease. The Spirit had no trouble finding the new ornament; it sat on the table, lovely and repulsive and sad. The Spirit picked up the object and stared into it, then trudged gently out of the Room, afraid, as he always was, that there were traps. He'd never tested to find out, but he knew the Masks were there for a reason. As usual when he exited his vessels Room, there was the customary sigh, much like the dying of a breeze. He'd never thought on the sound much, but now with the old, battered bracelet in his hands, it made his own mind swirl down a hundred different corridors.
The bracelet was punctured in the center, forcefully, the metal puckering out as though something from behind had stabbed through with amazing violence. Slowly, with only one object on his mind, he walked back into his own Soul Room.
* * * *
The migraine hit at the worst possible time; he was outdoors, playing baseball in Gym. First the headache hit him so badly and thoroughly it felt like his brain had turned to instant mush, then the nausea came only a second after, then the blinding pain, caused by the light.
They've never been this bad before... Ryou thought hazily as the ball whipped towards him and he passed out, the bat falling from his fingers as his body tipped sideways. He could still hear the people around him, their uproar at seeing the batter faint, and after a few seconds he could feel the people touching him; someone was shaking his arm, shouting his name in a high, scared voice, someone else was taking his pulse and shouting in a gravelly voice to the gym teacher to call the infirmary.