AUTHOR'S NOTE
Here's the next chapter, the longest one by far and Ryou (kind of) makes his first appearance.
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"Didn't I tell you to wait for my arrival?" the man asked, his eyes glinted dangerously as a scowl appeared on his face.
Malik saw the other two men stumble for an explanation.
"Our a-apologies s-sir…b-but….err—you see…" said one.
The other replied at the same time, "We were j-just watching him, m-my Lord…but we—I mean…he was about t-to leave the house a-and we c-couldn't have allowed h-him to do so, S-sir."
A thin, almost inexistent eyebrow arched upwards, clearly not accepting their excuses at all. But then, a smile formed on the man's face, "I would've killed you just for this—"
The men's eyes widened under their hoods.
"—but then again…I'm in a particularly good mood…" his eyes flickered to Malik's form on the floor. "I think I should even congratulate you for restraining our boy here with no problem at all," he laughed.
Malik shivered. The laugh was so devoid of any true joy, empty in a sense, yet so full of bottled-up hatred, anger and…power. Yes, this man was certainly powerful, he could tell that much. How the others feared him so much was enough basis to reach such a conclusion.
Suddenly, he found himself being lifted up. The next thing he knew, the man's pale face was mere inches from his own, fiery red eyes pinning him down.
He glared, and even managed to growl, "Who the hell are you?" through the material between his teeth.
The man laughed in front of his face, causing his own to contort in disgust as the older man's cold breath blew upon his skin.
Finally, he stopped. "Forgive me," the man said and grinned, showing his pointed teeth, "I…am Lord Voldemort. Now…with our introductions over, let's get to business shall we?" he threw Malik roughly at the nearby couch, the boy grunting in response.
Voldemort took out his wand and pointed it directly at Malik, who was struggling to sit up. Now realizing that those 'wooden sticks' were some sort of weapon, he began to grind the edge of the knife against the binds behind him even more viciously, ignoring the accidental cuts he did to his arms. For some reason, he strongly felt that he should, by all means necessary; escape before Voldemort could use the rod on him.
The bonds snapped, and though completely surprised with his sudden success, Malik wasted absolutely no time in shrugging the now useless binds from his body. He had stood up, and in a flash, grabbed one of the men and positioned his knife against his neck.
"What the—bloody hell!"
Malik allowed the knife to just nick the surface of the man's skin.
"Stay back or I'll cut your little servant's throat."
Actually surprised by the unpredicted turn of events, Voldemort couldn't help but be impressed by the boy's actions. Really, the boy was taking his Death Eater as a hostage! No one has ever tried such a tactic before. Even the Ministry of Magic, intent on capturing him for decades now had never used his servants against him. He scoffed mentally; the fools were just too righteous for their own good. They were weak.
His eyes focused on the boy in front of him. This one however…Voldemort could see potential. Why, he'd even go as far as invite this Ishtar boy into his circle if he continued to impress him with things like this. He loved surprises after all.
The man in Malik's grip finally thought of reaching for his wand, which was in his robe pocket. However, having noticed this, Malik pressed the knife harder, earning himself a choked gasp from his hostage.
"Don't you dare move."
The man's eyes widened. He couldn't believe that he was being held hostage by a kid, in front of the Dark Lord no less. Not to mention that he felt an unnatural fear towards the boy. He's sure to be the laughingstock among the Death Eaters after this.
Voldemort watched with real interest as Malik held the Death Eater still with one hand, while the other searched the man's pockets. He saw the boy take out a wand.
Malik looked at the innocent piece of wood in his hand. It didn't look at all threatening. It looked normal enough, a thin piece of wood with a carved handle at one end. Could the tendrils it had conjured earlier be a mere trick? He deemed it possible. However, he could not say the same for the time it had stopped him from moving altogether.
"It's called a wand," a voice supplied, causing Malik's head to snap up.
Voldemort smiled. "It's quite similar to your Millennium Rod in some ways…"
Malik's eyes narrowed, "The Millennium Rod is long gone. If that's why you're here, then I'm sorry, but I can't help you…so get the hell away from my home!" he half-shouted furiously.
Voldemort laughed, "Or what?" he said, "You'll kill Jugson?" he laughed again.
Confused, Malik stared at the older man's display of laughter. It then hit him. How could he have thought that this Lord Voldemort person would care an ounce about what happened to his servant? He should've known better, Malik himself could care less about what happened to his Rare Hunters back then when he led Ghouls. But he was so used to being the one threatening and laughing at the dilemmas of others, as he did so many times when Yugi and the pharaoh were his enemies. It felt strange to be at the other end of the line.
But still, even though reformed, he was nothing like Yugi and his friends. He would not hesitate in hurting others when the situation demands it…
Voldemort wiped tears of laughter from his face, his shoulders rising and falling as he regained his breath. The other Death Eater beside him stood frozen at the spot, staring at his master fearfully, occasionally stealing glances at Malik with his companion.
"Well? Kill him if you will!" he said casually, as if waving a trivial matter off. To emphasize his indifference, Voldemort settled himself at the armchair behind him, resting his head on his hand lazily as he observed Malik, wondering what they boy's next move will be.
Malik refrained from biting his lip, he was trapped. Voldemort would feel nothing even if he did kill one of his servants. He had absolutely nothing to loose. He contemplated for a moment if he should kill the man, then take advantage of their surprise and try to escape afterwards. He gripped the knife tighter.
Voldemort smiled, mocking him, daring him to continue.
Inside Malik's mind, an almost inaudible voice whispered, do it, but was ignored.
He never actually killed a person, never directly at least, never by his own hands. He might've used his mind slaves before for such tasks, but he was never the one to actually grab a knife and stab a person to death. His other personality on the other hand was another story, his dark half would kill without another thought. Unfortunately, Malik wasn't like that, and therefore found out that he couldn't kill the man no matter how much he felt like doing so.
Meanwhile, Voldemort observed the boy as he had this inner struggle. He looked at Jugson, and ever so slightly motioned with his hand to move to the side. The Death Eater obeyed, and now, Voldemort had a clear shot of the boy. He raised his wand and shouted, "Legilimens!"
Malik only had time to widen his eyes before the spell took effect. Then, suddenly, he felt something start to hammer down his mental barriers, and then, the memories came…
There was his sister, teaching him how to read the hieroglyphics carved into the walls of their underground home…
"What about these, sister? What do they say?" he had said, pointing at the series of symbols underneath a magnificent carved pair of wings.
His sister's blue eyes looked at the wall for a moment and then looked at him. Malik was surprised to see a tinge of pity and sadness in them.
"Sister?" he said, concerned.
"I…I'm sorry, Malik…but…Father hasn't taught me these yet…"she lied.
There was his father, explaining to him the tomb keeper's initiation ritual…
"It is truly an honor, Malik. Not everyone is chosen to bear the pharaoh's memories into their very being."
But he didn't care; he did not want to bear someone else's memories. He was afraid.
"It won't be long now…your birthday's in a few weeks…we'll do it then," his father had said, completely oblivious to the now-shaking form of his son.
"The ritual? W-We'll be doing it on my birthday?" he choked out.
It was his tenth birthday, two lesser tomb keepers; the Ishtar family's servants were holding his arms, dragging him to the ceremonial chamber…
"No! I-I'll die! Rishid! Brother, help me! Stop them! PLEASE!"
But his brother didn't appear to hear him…Rishid kept his head bowed, not looking into Malik's pleading eyes.
His father was above him, a heated knife in his hand…the ritual was about to start…he was strapped on a stone table; there was nothing he can do…
"Now…hold still, we don't want to make any mistakes…" his father said, not really looking at the boy, his eyes were blank, and an almost inhuman grin was spreading across his face.
Malik was shaking beneath him, dry sobs coming from his frail body. He tried once more to reason with his father.
"F-Father….pl-please…I can't do this! I'm s-scared…"
"Don't worry; you'll survive, as did those before you…"
"B-but, father—AH!"
The knife made the first cut, driving deep between his shoulder blades before gliding outwards, forming the top of one wing. Tears sprang out of is eyes as he asked, begged, for his father to stop.
The hot blade mercilessly scarred the once flawless skin. Every cut brought more pain and caused more blood to pool into the stone surface. He couldn't take it anymore, he was willing to so anything to die, just to make it all stop.
Other half…weaker half…Malik…a voice came. It soothed him. Malik struggled to find out where it was coming from.
I'm here, my lighter personality…I'm inside you.
Who are y-you? He thought weakly, surprised that even his mental voice seemed hoarse from screaming.
Never mind that, whoever it was said flatly, let me help you, Malik, let me out.
H-huh?
I can help you, other half of my soul, I can make the pain disappear…you don't have to feel any of this…let me out, the voice persisted.
And Malik gratefully did, he felt himself relax, the pain disappearing from his senses until there was none left, except darkness, and a soothing voice, comforting him…
Voldemort let the boy's memories wash over him as he drank it as if he was deprived of water for weeks. He came to the part of the ritual and was watching the exchange between what seemed like another different entity within the boy and Malik himself. This was definitely something, Voldemort thought, he had never heard of a possession of this kind ever before. The voice acted like a totally different person.
Other half of my soul, the words struck him. Did this boy find a way to split his soul into two, similar as to how he did to himself when he made his Horcruxes? But the boy was only ten when this happened! How could he have the power to do so then? The only way Voldemort knew that could split one's soul is by murder, and he doubted the boy participated in such an act at such a young age.
He shook himself, deciding to dwell on it later and focus back into watching the fleeting memories.
He saw Malik visibly relax into the stone tablet, no longer screaming or struggling against is binds. When he looked a the young boy's face, he was quite shocked to see the once wide and innocent looking eyes now narrowed, pupils gone, now holding an even more penetrating stare. What unnerved the Lord more was that, as the father kept on carving the designs unto his back, the boy was smiling, as if he enjoyed the pain.
And then, Voldemort felt himself thrown out of the boy's mind with such force that he found himself on the ground, a gash bleeding at his forehead. He rose up, and saw that Malik was unconscious on the ground.
He composed himself. The boy's mind was indeed strange, entirely different than any he has penetrated before. No one has ever managed to throw him out like that enough to affect him physically, it was as if there was something protecting the boy's mind from within. It couldn't have been Malik himself, Voldemort had sensed the boy loose consciousness the moment he broke down the (quite strong) mental barrier that protected the boy's memories. He was surprised the boy had one to begin with.
He looked at Malik's unconscious form, then he looked at his two Death Eaters, Jugson having freed himself once Voldemort had assaulted Malik's mind.
The two looked fearful at the state of their master, the red of the blood contrasted with his bone-white skin, mimicking a dried-up corpse.
"Bring him…I'll…continue searching his mind at…home…"
A lone white-haired boy walked across the street. His face held a thoughtful expression; lips pressed tightly and a far away look in his eyes as if he was partly somewhere else. And he was, in a way.
Currently, he was on his way to a friend's house, his mind set on something he has been delaying for months now. He'd kept quiet about anything concerning Yami Yugi(or is it Atemu now?), knowing fully well that Yugi would need some time before he'd be fully willing to talk about his other half and their adventures together.
Technically, he wasn't really going to ask anything about the pharaoh, far from it.
You see…he was more curious about the other ancient spirit, the one in the Millennium Ring.
He knew the ring was magical; he even managed to harness its power back then when he helped Yugi and his friends escape that cave in Duelist Kingdom. But…he was never aware of the entity inside of it. There was that strange nagging feeling that someone was watching him when he was alone sometimes, but he did not worry over it. In truth, he liked it, it comforted him.
He probably had the least knowledge about his other half than that of Yugi or Malik; at least the other two had come face to face with their other selves, whether as friends or enemies was beside the point.
What he only had was the almost intangible feeling of another's presence.
As strange as it may seem, Ryou Bakura was on his way to the game shop, determined to squeeze the whole story of this 'Yami Bakura' out of Yugi. All he gathered from the others was that the spirit of the Millennium Ring was, in layman's terms, the bad guy. However, he's sure there could be more to Yami Bakura than, as Joey said, "A blood-obsessed freak that can't let go of some stupid grudge for a zillion years," he knew asking Joey wasn't the best idea since the blonde had a one-tracked mind when it came to people who threatened his friends, but this piqued his interest even more.
Was this grudge the reason why Yami Bakura did all those things that, even now that he's gone, still had the effect of making his friends mentally cringe in its memory whenever Ryou found someway to weasel the spirit's name in a conversation?
Ryou himself wasn't present during the times when Yami Bakura had brought grief and pain to Yugi and the others or during any of the spirit's escapades at all, so he doesn't really have anything that could help him determine what kind of person his other half was.
Yes, he knew that Yami Bakura could be deemed as a cold-blooded sadistic individual by the simple nature of his acts alone, but that can't be all there is, right? And being his reincarnation, Ryou felt that he had the right to know more about the spirit of the Millennium Ring.
A car honking its horn brought him back to the real world. He looked around and realized that he'd be at the game shop in a short while. Securing his backpack on his shoulders, he calmed his restless thoughts and continued walking, at a faster pace this time. He'd kept all his questions quiet for so long, he's determined to let most, if not all of it be satisfied soon.
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AUTHOR'S NOTE
Whew! That's a long one eh? Sorry if Malik's memories part is confusing with all the interchanging italics and normal style font. If you have any suggestions as to how I can do scenes like these better, please tell me!
Note: I'm basing everything according to the anime since I only own a couple of the manga. So…Ryou isn't really aware of Bakura's presence at all…..I think. Please correct me if I'm wrong.
Next chapter: Ryou talks to Yugi about Yami Bakura, and Isis and Rishi sees the massacre in their old home.
Please Review! Makes updating a whole lot easier, and chapters a whole lot longer!