A/N: To be honest, I was actually dreading continuing this story, as I wasn't all that keen on it. But, astonishingly, it turned out to be really fun to write. Next chapter will be up in a few weeks, and don't forget to review!

Oh, and several people wanted to know how old Ryou is in this story. My answer is that mentally he is about eight, and physically…I think fourteen. That seems good.

Warnings: bad language, violence

Koe: voice

Ryou Bakura's Best Friend Chapter Two: The Voice in the Necklace.

Ryou Bakura was beginning to wonder if he'd finally reached puberty.

He'd heard, from odd bits of information gleaned from books, that reaching puberty meant growing taller, your voice breaking and developing a peculiar interest in girls; all things he'd classed vaguely in his mind under 'growing up,' and the prospect seemed as distant and unimaginable as winning the lottery. Neither of these unlikely-sounding happenings had approached him yet, for which he was exceedingly glad. But growing up also apparently included mood swings, of which he'd definitely been experiencing in abundance in the last ten or so minutes.

These sudden changes in temperament and outlook had varied between a bewildering confusion, unexplainable frustration, and fear. His headache was also steadily increasing – a persistent pounding in his temples of which the Calpol had completely failed to control. This worried Ryou a little. No one had said anything in those books about mysterious headaches.

He found some relief in his new necklace. For some reason, just looking at it gave him a vague but undeniable sense of pleasure and satisfaction, and he had decided he rather liked it. Sure, it was strange to look at, but that made it more interesting. He was certain that nobody else had a necklace like this one.

And he was right. No one did have a necklace quite like his.

They were the lucky ones.

…………

The spirit residing in the Millennium Ring was now Officially Bored. He was also on the Brink of Insanity but that, like the former assessment, was just an opinion.

He'd reached the limits of his wanderings already; not a hard thing to do as his environment now consisted of the dark room where he had first woken up and the room full of blinding light where he had first heard the Voices.

They weren't even all that interesting, for Ra's sake. Just kept going on about books and a necklace and Calpol, whatever the hell that was. Perhaps some foreign word his mind was unable to translate? Although it seemed to have coped well with everything else. He knew these disembodied voices were speaking a language he didn't know, and yet his mind understood them perfectly. He had ceased to question this, however. Like the darkness and the handle on the door, it was simply one of dozens of new mysteries to be in its turn pondered, dissected, frowned over and finally accepted.

His anger and frustration were beginning to bubble out of control, like a saucepan left on the hob for too long. And like that saucepan, which eventually lets vomits its contents and lets them stream and dribble down the outside, released, he let out his emotions in a single word:

FUCK!

This was followed by a long string of only partly intelligible Ancient Egyptian oaths, in which all listeners would find themselves damned to the Underworld for ever, and their ka torn apart by Ra's most faithful. He would desecrate their tombs beyond recognition, stripping the contents and selling them for gold. Lots of gold…

Having let out his anger, and producing a fantasy that was far more pleasurable to imagine, he took a moment to inhale several huge breaths of air. Moments later he was struck by the realisation that until now he hadn't been breathing at all. What was more, he hadn't felt like he needed to.

Before he could reflect further on this new strangeness, a silent cry erupted from somewhere and he became aware that someone was in pain. It was like watching someone drown, and all the while tiny waves lap at your feet, tugging you forward so you can feel something of the ocean's fatal embrace. Echoes of the pain, like a shivering in the air after a giant bell rings. He suddenly knew that it was his shout that had caused this reaction, like the way you clasp your ears when someone stands next you and screams in your face.

Uneasily he looked around, but could see no one.

What is it where are they how can I hear this am I going crazy O Gods maybe I am

((Where are you?)) The words didn't come out like normal speech; there was a floaty, echo-like quality to them.

He heard, no, felt someone give an exclamation. Then, almost predictably: There's a voice in my head oh my God oh my God how did it get there?

I only wish I knew, Yami Bakura thought to himself. Then, desperately, he was straining towards this silent voice, the only thing which had acknowledged his presence so far or perhaps only become aware of it –

The world exploded into view, images blinding him in their brightness, so that he almost fell back in shock. He was seeing the world, through the eyes of another. But the world had changed a lot since he'd last lived in it.

Ryou's room was nothing special – a bed with a cheerful Lion King duvet, shelf loaded with books and groaning under their obvious weight, a small wardrobe hiding modestly in the corner. But the colours, the brightness…for someone who had lived their life under the burning gaze of the Egyptian sun, and yet never been exposed to the precise whiteness of electric lights, Ryou's room was the most amazing thing created.

What is this place?

(That would be my room,) Ryou replied uncertainly, voice tentative and slightly apprehensive. (I-wait! What are you?)

((What are you?)) the other voice responded, somewhat unhelpfully.

(I don't understand. What do you mean?)

((What I mean is 'how in the name of Ra did I get in this place?')) the voice said snappily. ((I am asking you a question, and therefore you will answer me.))

(Th-there's no need to be so rude,) Ryou replied, slightly cowed. (I-I've got no idea how you ended up in my head.)

((What the-how the hell did this turn into me ending up in your head? I think it happens to be the other way round.)) Yami Bakura was annoyed and, when annoyed, tended to lose his temper. ((Fine, whatever. Lets start with the obvious. What is your name?))

Silence.

((Answer me, Ra dammit!))

Nervously: (My daddy says I should never talk to strangers.)

Your 'daddy' is a prick, just like you. ((I'm not a stranger. Well, I am, but I appear to be stuck in your head so you have an obligation to answer me.))

(I-I do? And what did you call my daddy?)

In the place which he would soon call his soul room, Yami Bakura stared. Of all the things in the world, I have to end up in the company of some little brat whose idea of being rude is probably telling someone they're mean. Why? Why?

((It doesn't matter. What is your name?))

(Bakura Ryou. What's yours?)

A snide laugh. And, behind that, thoughtfulness. We have the same name.

((What?))

(What's your name?)

He thought for a moment.

I am the darkness…

Bakura Ryou.

Of all the things in the world, I have to end up in the company of some little brat whose idea of being rude is probably telling someone they're mean.

((I don't have one. I'm just a figment of your imagination.))

Pause.

(…Okay.)

…………..

It was easier after that. He found that The Boy would talk to him more comfortably and therefore give more information if he thought as him as a figment of his imagination, so Yami Bakura played this for all it was worth. After a lot of pressing, he learnt a lot about The Boy (far too much, actually, for Ryou was so enthralled at the thought of having someone to talk to who didn't really exist – like an imaginary friend – that he 'spilled' practically everything he knew. Which was a surprisingly large amount.) and The Boy learnt very little about the spirit himself. Which was exactly how Yami Bakura wanted it.

It was Ryou who first began to refer to him as a 'spirit' (along with plenty of other more annoying names, most of them involving the dreaded 'f' word – and it wasn't even that 'f' word, the spirit thought in disappointment) and when he was asked why said simply,

(Because you're a voice in my head. Like in Harry Potter or something.) Ryou was used to using information and phrases from books to explain himself – he read a lot of books. They weren't an adequate substitution for friends, but it was all he had.

The spirit of the Millennium Ring, who had no idea who Harry Potter was and didn't care either, pondered on this. It was all very well if your soul was made up of darkness, which he was sure gave him some sort of power, but power wasn't any good if there weren't people around who could appreciate or be cowed by it. And if people were going to fear him (which would be a good thing), he needed a name. Something appropriate. Like…

This language he was speaking – its name for dark was 'yami.' The spirit still thought in Arabic, but when he spoke the words came out in a different language. He'd already found out from The Boy that they were in a country called Japan, and they were speaking Japanese. And if you wanted to make words possessive in Japanese, or put in an 'of,' you added a 'no' in between the word and the one it 'belonged to.' And so he styled himself Yami no Bakura. It was as simple as that.

(Koe, haven't you heard of Harry Potter? It's a book. Quite a good one.)

Yami Bakura blinked. Something in him stirred uneasily. 'Books' weren't common in Egypt – there was only a certain amount of papyrus to go round, and most of it was used for recording events, not wasted on children's stories.

((This country…is it very advanced? I mean, compared to other ones?))

(Um yes, I think so. But every country has books, if that's what you mean.)

Something seemed to explode in his head. Dimly, his voice seeming to come from far away, the spirit whispered, ((What year is it?))

(2004 AD. Why?)

………

Yami Bakura hardly spoke to 'The Boy' for the next few days, almost paralysed by shock. During the few minutes that he'd been knocked out, the world seemed to have zoomed forward three thousand years. Also, he'd ended up in someone else's head. Not really the sort of things that happen to you every day.
He watched the days go by without caring, viewing the passing of time in a sort of semi-aware trance. Everything he saw was through his host's eyes, like watching the world on an endless television screen. But what did it matter anymore? What did anything matter?

Ryou nattered away to him almost constantly, never seeming to be put off by the fact that the spirit rarely, if ever, replied. He couldn't really be blamed for this – even if he could have got a word in edgeways, Ryou's topics of conversation weren't usually the most fascinating in the world. During those days in which he spent the entire time lying on his back and staring at the non-existent ceiling in his soul room in a state of lethargy so complete he could barely summon the energy or enthusiasm to get up, Yami Bakura learnt more about The Boy's interests and opinions than probably anyone else in the world. Not that he ever made the effort to listen; the words had an infuriating way of leaking into his brain in neon capitals, lingering in his consciousness long after he'd groaned and turned over.

He first found out that he could control The Boy's body the second night, when Ryou had been chatting to a shopkeeper about something or other, and then suddenly mentioned his 'new friend.' His intentions appearing as clearly to the spirit as if they'd been written down in ink, (blue ink, drawn from long cartridges and used with that nice Parker pen from WHSmith that Ryou had bought a little while ago and was very fond of) Yami Bakura realised in sudden horror that The Boy intended to inform others of his existence. The despairing fact that Ryou was willing to pour out his secrets to a random person in town made him want to massage his temples, but it was more than that. He didn't want anyone knowing about him; they were familiar with this country, this language, this world, while he barely had any idea of who he was or how he had got into this Ra-dammed situation in the first place, and this meant he was vulnerable. He didn't like that word. Especially when it was applied to him.

But that was a digression of the mental kind, his thoughts straying to the questions that so frequently haunted him; and what he'd done had been very simple. As soon as it became clear what Ryou intended to do, he reached out, flailing wildly with his mind, and found that he was flexing it in the same way that had happened when he'd driven the blackness from his soul room. And before he could even register this thought, he was in The Boy, no, more than that: he was The Boy, taking his place, his body. Taking control. He could interact with this place for the first time, could feel thousands of trivial physical sensations that he hadn't even realised he'd missed. The slight pulling draught from the not-quite-shut door, rippling against his skin (pale skin, he noticed, in a mixture of surprise and peculiar disappointment); the unfamiliar feeling of synthetic fabrics caressing his skin; the harsh cold metal of 'the necklace' against his chest.

But he hadn't let these sensations overwhelm him, as he might have done (and looking back later, he was quite proud of himself for not doing so), instead shaking his head at the shopkeeper's slightly raised eyebrow and walking coolly out of the shop as if he'd done so a million times before. Indeed, it had been quite a disappointment to give Ryou his body back. He'd only done so because his cries of indignity and confusion were starting to get on his nerves.

Oh yes, that was another strange thing to add to his mental list: The Boy couldn't remember anything about it. Really. The spirit had been silently dreading his questions later on, not least because this would involve answering The Boy, which he didn't really consider a constructive use of his time. What would he say, anyway? He wanted The Boy to know as little about him as possible, but he also, despite what it may have seemed like, wanted The Boy to continue to think of him as his 'friend.' It just made things easier.

But when the evening had approached and no reference had been made to the incident of earlier, he had started to become confused. Why wasn't he saying anything?

So he questioned Ryou, only to be met with a blank stare. He didn't actually see the expression; he hadn't actually seen Ryou's face yet and had no idea about his appearance other than the fact that he was so alarmingly pale, but he could almost feel The Boy's mouth twisting into a blank question mark.

(What about earlier? What happened?)

((…Oh, nothing. Don't worry about it.)) Idiot, he silently added. He was managing to hide his thoughts from The Boy now, although he suspected some of the stronger emotions still found their way through. Like taking over the body, he couldn't explain exactly how he had managed to do it. It just seemed to come naturally.

But the long and short of it was that Ryou remembered nothing of what had happened. The spirit was to find that, although when he was in control Ryou was aware of it, in a perplexed, bewildered way, once the use of his body had been returned to him he could recall very little of what had happened. He kept this realisation to himself, hugging it to his body like a toy that is about to be confiscated by an adult, and made a mental note to himself to exploit it as fully as he could.

………

((Boy?))

(Yes, spirit?)

((What is the Japanese way of saying 'host'?))

('Yadonushi.' Why?)

Ya-do-nu-shi. The spirit repeated the words slowly to himself, tongue and lips lightly caressing the words. I like that.

((No reason…yadonushi.))

A faint flicker of unease. (Why are you calling me that?)

((I live in you. You are my host, my landlord.))

(…Oh.)

Nothing more.

………

The Easter holidays ended all too soon for Ryou, each minute a countdown marking the moment when he would return to school, and Them. Not that this haunted him a lot. It had been two weeks, after all, and maybe They would leave him alone now. It wasn't a big deal, anyway.

Yami Bakura got the shock of his life when, after school, three extremely large and muscular teenagers cornered Ryou in the toilets and proceeded to bang him against the wall. He got an even further shock when The Boy put up absolutely no fight; his expression resigned to the inevitable.

((What the- aren't you going to fight them?))

(I don't like violence. And they'll stop soon. Or later. Or eventually. It doesn't matter. They'll get bored and wander off. They always do.)

((But they're damaging the body!)) Yami Bakura's voice rose to a screech of fury. ((I don't care if you're too cowardly to resist them – I have to live in this body too!))

Silence.

The largest teenager grinned as he drew back his fist, ready to smash Ryou's face in, when suddenly he stopped, mouth turning into a perfect 'O' of surprise. Because all of a sudden Ryou didn't look as if he was going to put up with any more of this. His long mane of hair which so many girls drooled over had flared out crazily around his face, the top two spikes forming into mocking little devil horns. His soft brown eyes were tinted crimson, like blood. And few girls would be drooling over the diabolical smile on his face, mouth pulled back in a grinning rictus. He seemed taller too; eye-to-eye with the largest of his assailants (and that was rapidly becoming the wrong word to use).

"I'll teach you to fuck around with me, you…little…children!" For lack of anything better to say, Yami Bakura fell back on the obvious. And not just in words, but in actions too – he seized one of the three by the shirt collar and rammed him into the wall. There was a sprinkling, dusty sound of falling plaster, and he dropped the teenager in disgust, staring instead in interest at the large dent in the wall.

"That adds so much to the décor, don't you think?"

They gaped at him, mouths hanging open in a way which he found almost hilariously funny. And so he threw back his head and laughed – the sound grating, raucous. "Knew you would agree."

A quick punch to the chest took care of the second one – in, out, and then a bloody hole where his heart had ruptured from the sheer force of the blow.

The spirit turned his gaze to the last one, frozen with terror – and caught sight of the bulging veins in his neck, knotted and ropey. Then before he knew what he was doing he had grabbed his victim with a speed that was almost inviting and pulled him so their bodies collided in a rush of flesh and bones. The head was shoved back almost impatiently, fingers moving in a blur, and his teeth went to the pale throat.

The rush of blood produced an ecstasy so complete he gave a faint moan of pleasure; his canines buried in the teenager's neck. The schoolboy was screaming, but only for a moment, as Yami Bakura took a shuddering gasp of blood and sucked him dry, leech-like, before pushing him disdainfully to the ground.

His head calmed, senses returning more or less to normal, and he stared at the three bodies on the ground in front of him. After a moment, tongue moving unconsciously around his lips as he endeavoured to pick up anything that was left, he grabbed the corpse by the wrists and dragged him over to the toilet, before stuffing his head down it. Heh, someone would get a shock tomorrow when they went to shit.

He did the same with the other two, grinning as he pictured the reactions of schoolchildren the next day. Probably run home crying to their mummies, he smirked.

………

He waited until he had walked home before handing control of the body back to The Boy, not wanting him to see anything that could lead to awkward questions later on. And it was back home that he discovered another thing – he could become separate from The Boy – or rather his host, as he was increasingly coming to think of him as. Not totally separate; mind you – or rather, he couldn't be a proper person, have a proper body, but it was an improvement on having to act through Ryou all the time. He would end up becoming transparent, like a ghost. Well, like a spirit. The existence of ghosts hadn't been a very common belief in Ancient Egypt, but everyone believed in spirits. There was your ka, which was sort of like your soul, and there were the spirits of all the old guards who were supposed to haunt pyramids, and loads of other kinds which he couldn't think of at the moment. Hell, even the Gods were spirits, if you thought about it.

It was after he had become separate from Ryou that he saw the physical appearance of his host body for the first time. And what he saw did not please him. Pale skin, (it seemed totally unnatural that someone's skin should be that pale. And he had noticed that most Japanese people had olive skin, ranging in tone from lightly tanned to dark honey. But again Ryou was different, in his annoying way.) far too skinny, (and he was positive that that skinniness wasn't deceptive. There were no more muscles in that body than the ones required to stand upright) and that white hair which could be termed no less than bizarre. How the hell could someone have white hair? It wasn't right.

And he didn't bother getting started on the dress-sense. All right, when you had white hair it limited your options somewhat (bright orange was definitely out) but he could at least have made more of an effort. This was so non-descript, so safe, that it bordered on wimpiness. He had a good idea that black would be extremely effective, especially with his host being so pale. Hell, he was so pale he almost looked permanently ill. Having been born and brought-up in Egypt, Yami Bakura was completely unused to the idea of anyone being anything less than extremely tanned and with black hair.

Ryou had stared at him a lot when he had split off. Having the koe from his head appearing in front of him, suddenly extremely real, seemed to have unnerved him slightly. Until now his yami had been nothing more than an invisible friend to him, but now he seemed extremely un-invisible. And, especially later, un-friendly.

"You look like me," he whispered in disturbed awe. "Only…different."

"How?" Despite himself, the spirit was curious as to what he looked like. And, hopefully, it would be as unlike this little brat as possible.

"Sort of…stretched." This word was strangely appropriate. Yami Bakura was perhaps an inch or two taller than his host, and several inches thinner.

He looked down at his hands, and noted that they were slightly darker than Ryou's, although still extremely pale. The transparency of them gave his limbs an ethereal appearance, and he realised in frustration that he was just as skinny as his weak little host, although he knew from earlier that he was far stronger.

He watched as Ryou frowned suddenly. "There's a funny taste in my mouth." He put a finger inside, and when he drew it out there was a watery red liquid on it. He stared at it in confusion.

Yami Bakura, on the other hand, stared at it in sudden hunger, feeling the same feelings as earlier suddenly rise up within him.

"…What happened to…to them?" His voice carried the usual tentative note, but there was an undercurrent of what might have been wariness in his voice.

"They got bored and went away. Just like you said." The lie came swiftly and easily to his lips.

"…Oh. Good." Suddenly something changed in his expression. "I hope they didn't damage my necklace."

The spirit regarded him in a mixture of curiosity and bristling suspicion. "What necklace?"

Ryou put a hand down his shirt and slowly pulled out the Millennium Ring. He didn't need to give a reply.

Yami Bakura's eyes went wide on seeing it. Although on first sight it meant nothing to him, the object

No, I don't mean object I mean Item

seemed to strike a bass note deep within him, and he felt, knew, he had seen it before. What was more, he knew it was important

To my existence

To myself, my soul

It has my soul

Where did these thoughts come from? He tried to analyse them, tried to find out why they had formed in his mind, but they seemed to have come from nowhere and disappeared into the same.

Into the void

Stop it, he commanded himself uneasily.

"Do you like it?" Ryou asked eagerly, oblivious to the impact it had caused.

"…Yes. It's very nice." What the hell is it?

"I know. It's quite heavy though. I might take it off for a bit. I mean, seeing as I've been wearing it since last Tuesday and everything…" The boy burbled happily on, while reaching up and lifting the Millennium Ring from around his neck.

The spirit watched, and as his host lifted it over his head his vision began to swim and he lost his balance. "Don't do that!"

"Huh?"

"Put it back on. Now."

Looking slightly frightened, Ryou let go and let the Item swing back down. "Why?"

"Because…" Yami Bakura could have sworn the eye in the middle of it was winking at him. "…Because it's quite pretty so you ought to keep it on. All the time."

"…Oh. Okay. If it makes you happy." His host looked slightly bemused, but did as he was told.

The spirit silently breathed a sigh of relief. What the hell just happened? As soon as the boy had started to take it off he had instantly felt waves of weakness wash over him, and he had felt the physical world slipping away. What did it mean? Was his strength somehow connected to this necklace?

"…When did you get it?"

Ryou thought for a moment. "I think about five days ago."

Five days. He'd been keeping track of time since he'd woken up, and was sure that around four or five days had passed. And five days ago the boy had got the necklace.

Ryou continued proudly, "It was a present from my daddy. He got it in Egypt."

Yami Bakura's gaze snapped back to him. "Where?"

Mistaking his incredulity for ignorance, the boy explained hastily, "It's a country in Africa. With camels and things. It's supposed to be really hot there too."

"I know where Egypt is," the spirit snapped. He had to bite his tongue to stop himself from adding, you naïve little fool. But his mind had already moved on. He had already been sure that he had some sort of connection with this country, and having the boy mentioning that he got this mysterious necklace from it was strengthening his suspicions.

"Really? I don't. I just know it's somewhere in Africa." Ryou's tone turned doubtful. "Do the camels there really have three humps?"

"Some of them have four," Yami Bakura replied absently, his mind on other things.

"Wow! So you've been there?"

"I- what?"

"Have you been to Egypt?" Ryou repeated excitedly.

He thought he had, but wasn't sure. "No."

"Oh."

"Where is your father?" he asked slowly, wanting to know how many people lived in the apartment.

"He's gone back to work in Egypt."

"I see." So it was just the boy who would be around.

Having lost interest already, Ryou was consulting his school planner. "I should really get some homework done. More school tomorrow, you know. And I don't want to get into trouble. It isn't fun if you get into trouble."

"Of course not." Yami Bakura thought of the now probably-blocked school toilets and, unseen by his host, began to smile.

…………

A/N: Mwahahaha. What will happen tomorrow at school? (adopts singsong voice) You'll just have to wait and see…

Yami Bakura: Review! Or I will pulverise this puny little host of mine.

Ryou: Koe, what does 'pulverise' mean?