Stolen Innocence

Summary: A vicious attack leaves Yugi broken, but Yami's determined to pick up the pieces. Yaoi
Fandom: Yu-gi-oh
Pairings: Mainly Yami/Yugi, some side-pairings
Warnings: Yaoi, non-con, bad language
Disclaimer: Don't own shit - poor me. Except Hiroko, Yoji and Kaori…they're all mine, and I'll kill anyone who tries to steal them. I own Tenchi too, but you're welcome to him. He's an asshole
Author's Note: Yep, and now we come to the gore. Enjoy

Yami looked up and down the poorly-lit street with some satisfaction, crimson eyes almost glowing in the darkness. From his station at the mouth of an alleyway, he had a clear view of the only door out of his prey's apartment. Like many cheap, seedy properties in this part of the city it blatantly disregarded health and safety laws. There was no back door, no fire escape. Perfect.

This particular piece of scum floating in the pond of life – Kojiro Shotaro according to his file – was not home at the moment; that much was obvious. Yami leaned against the dank, crumbling brick of the building on his left and settled down to wait. The prize at the end of this hunt was more than worth a little patience.

Clouds scudded across the sky, revealing intermittent patches of stars. Moonlight shone through gaps in the clouds, lending an eerie, unearthly quality to the street. A police siren wailed in the distance…a few streets over, a woman and her husband were screaming obscenities at each other…somewhere, closer, a child was crying; the plaintive sound of pure misery going unheeded in the indifferent night.

As time stretched out and his quarry made no appearance, Yami's mind began to wander. Who was being arrested? What had the man done to make his wife shriek so and threaten divorce? Why was the child crying, and why did no parent move to soothe its fear? The tiny sounds of a thousand lives pressed in on his senses; each petty and insignificant, yet beautiful in its own unique way. Each tainted by the presence of the monster in their midst. Did he greet his neighbours as he passed them? Did he speak to the people living around him, perpetuating the lie that he was a normal person; a good person?

Not that it mattered. By sunrise the walls of that shabby apartment would be redecorated in a pretty shade of red.

For some reason it hadn't even occurred to Yami that the man would come through the alley rather than past it. But as he turned slowly at the sound of footsteps behind him, he recognised the face from the file instantly. And nothing, nothing he had ever felt before quite prepared him for the rush of pure, searing hatred he felt. The only thing that prevented him from ripping the man's intestines out and draping them all over the alley walls like gory christmas decorations was the fact that he wanted him to suffer. However the bastard died, it was going to be exquisitely, agonisingly painful, and excruciatingly slow. Disembowelment? Far too quick and painless. Yami was not feeling merciful.

Underneath his jacket his fingers wrapped around the hilt of a knife, and the two circled warily as they sized each other up. The man was tall – easily a foot taller than Yami – heavily built and very muscular. He was the first to break the tense silence.

"What do you want, kid?" he growled.
"You hurt one of my friends. I'm here for…payment."

The man's eyes widened momentarily in recognition – probably of the hairstyle – and then narrowed to match the nasty smile spreading across his face.

"Ah, that one. Cute little thing…" Innocent enough words twisted to fit his evil meaning. Yami felt a surge of possessive anger that dwarfed what he had felt before at the mere thought of those filthy hands defiling his hikari. He wanted nothing more than to very slowly carve that smirk from his face. To draw his death out over days until his soul finally fled to the underworld, where it would be tormented yet more for all eternity.

"Let's see if you'll scream as prettily as your little friend…"

Apparently he was still under the misapprehension that he held the upper hand. Yami gave a slow, evil smile; and the man backed away in sudden fear as the Third Eye flared into life on his forehead.

"I don't think so," Yami almost purred; "I think you'll be the one to scream…"

XxXxXxX

The apartment was tiny and dirty, and the ancient lock had been easy to pick. And there was the sole occupant, tied up like some heathen sacrifice on the bare floorboards. Yami sat on the sagging bed, sharpening one of Bakura's knives as he waited patiently for his victim to wake up. He was in no particular hurry – he owed this piece of scum a lot of suffering, and he didn't want to rush it.

When he finally did wake Yami drew a knife and stood over him, slightly overwhelmed by the pure hatred coursing like poison through his veins. The police would be there by morning – he didn't have nearly as long as he would like. But a few hours was more than enough to inflict a little suffering on anyone.

The first cut, made with great care across the chest, drew a satisfying gasp of pain. He repeated the motion from collarbone to waist, interlacing gashes dripping blood onto the warped wood of the floor. The pattern spread across arms, legs, face, stomach, until Yami inevitably grew bored. A quick search of his pockets turned up some sort of lead-lined club, and he took a twisted delight in the sickening splintering sound of breaking bones and his victim's screams.

But the most satisfying part wasn't the blood, or the screaming, or the pleas for mercy. It was the moment of awful comprehension in his eyes when he truly understood for the first time that he was going to die. That moment of pure terror and despair made Yami happier than he'd ever thought possible, and he threw back his head and laughed in a joyful, delighted, absolutely terrifying sound.

He glanced at his watch and sighed – he'd played for long enough. He made the deepest cut yet across the other's stomach, watching in gory fascination as his guts slithered out across the floor and desperate screams faded from high, keening disbelief to a raw, bubbling sound of pure agony.

It took him perhaps twenty minutes to die this way. Yami gave the gory corpse an indifferent look and emptied a bottle of lighter fluid over the bloodied, mangled mess that had once been a human form. He tossed a match onto it on his way out of the door, and it caught light with a whoomph and a smell of barbecued pork.

His feeling of euphoria lasted all the way through the deserted nighttime streets as he walked home, letting himself in through the back door. It didn't even occur to him that he was covered in blood and assorted gore until something smashed behind him, and he turned to see three pairs of shocked eyes staring at him. The smashing sound had been Yugi dropping a plate as he stared at his darkness in shock. Ryou looked slightly ill, but Bakura just smirked:

"Maybe you really are one of us after all, Pharaoh."

TO BE CONTINUED

Ooh, I had a lot of fun writing that chapter, sadistic person that I am. And I'll bet that I've made a great many of my bloodthirsty readers very happy. Show your gratitude – review! If I get enough nice reviews, maybe I'll get the guts to write the lemon I've been dithering over. (I get horribly embarrassed as soon as it gets good and can't write any more)

I don't know – should I make this an M? It didn't seem all that gory to me…