Hello everyone!

I hope you are enjoying the story so far... I know that not a lot has happened yet but that'll change I promise :) So please, review/comment/request/suggest, gimme love, gimme hate, whatever! (Love is preferred to hate haha)

Enjoy, and thank you again for your readership *sends interweb kisses*

~Jehbel


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Rage.

All he can feel is rage. It pricks at his skin like icy pins, scritching and scratching angry thin lines across his pale skin like razor-sharp spider legs. He grits his teeth and allows it to take him over, to permeate his being. It makes him stronger, harder.

He stands, running a hand fitfully through his thick white hair. He has taken on his Host's appearance; it's easier this way, and not so different to his once-flesh form. Smaller, weaker, younger, but still healthy and able. His eyes, the same rich chocolate, glare around him between his bone-white bangs. He looks about. A room has formed. It is cold and empty, walls of bricks, lit only by the flickering yellow that would come from a candle.

Or a fire.

Oooh yes, a fire. A raging inferno, consuming all in its path. His family, his friends, his home. Oh yes, they felt the fire. They felthisfire.

Aknamkanon.

The memory of the name fills him with rage anew; his fists clench by side until his knuckles are bloodless and aching. He paces like a caged cat, his teeth bared in a silent snarl against his dark thoughts. The room wavers, then takes on a more solid appearance. He is distracted by this.

\So, this is my Soul Room.

He knows it as naturally as he knows how to breathe. It has always been so with the Millennium Items- it was how he was able to lock himself away in the first place. It changes every time, reflective of the spirit who uses it. He had not expected that he would lose himself for so long when he locked himself away. He has seen through his Host's eyes and he knows this world is nothing like his old one; it is new, and full of lightness and frivolity. His Host knows nothing of pain or hatred; he may think he knows sadness, but it is the silly sadness of the privileged, not real.

\He never saw his family burn. But I'll make him feel my anguish before I take him.

"Bakura". He speaks aloud, the velvet voice almost startling him in the oppressive silence of his Soul Room. It has gone unused for so long. "Bakura." His voice is odd; what is his Host's dialect? He cocks his head to the side, like an inquisitive fox, considering.

"My name… Our name, is Bakura." He grins now, and adjusts his appearance ever so slightly. Taller. Slightly more solid. His hair bristles and cascades down his back in a thick mane. He always had untamed hair. Eyeteeth, slightly sharper, longer. Good.

His thoughts turn outward.

"Little Host. Aknamkanon may be long dead to this world, and I may have been robbed of my revenge, but you will be my gateway. I shall use you, and destroy this world with all the might of the Ancients. Thank you so much for your… hospitality." He sniggers, then giggles. Finally, a harsh bark of laughter escapes, and he spreads his arms wide as though in supplication.

He is ready to begin.


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Ryou began the long walk back home, his backpack hoisted high on his shoulders as he leaned into the fresh breeze. His thoughts were full of the day's events; his group activity with Maya and Cole was going well, and he was faintly hopeful. Cole, being a natural and obvious leader, had early on taken charge of the trio, and the white-haired teen was only too happy to take his advice and suggestions. Maya likewise was happy to take direction and the three had been working well together, joking about and sometimes losing track of the task because they had been caught up simply talking.

Maya had sat with Ryou at lunch, a first for the shy boy, and he had spent the entire period flushing to the roots of his hair and searching for something to say. Maya, for her part, had sat in a happy silence next to him, chattering away about anything and everything between bites of her bento and barely seeming to expect a response from him.

Ryou wasn't sure how to respond to Maya. She was clearly friendly and maybe slightly flirty with both he and Cole, but he could not bring himself to take it seriously. After all, she had never really had time for him before now, so she was clearly just trying to make the group project run smoothly. It was no more than that.

"I think you'll look really cute wearing it." She had said that, hadn't she? He recalled with faint embarrassment that afternoon when she had questioned him about the drawing, and his nose had bled. Gods, I must have looked like a fool! My nose never usually bleeds; I don't know what brought that on. Something tugged at the back of his mind however, and unbidden, a vision of those furious glaring eyes he had drawn came back to him. They had pulled him in, tugged at his attention, until he had been fixated, hadn't they? He remembered the heavy silence that had fallen over his hearing, and his sluggish reflexes. Ryou shivered slightly, wondering what might have happened if Maya hadn't have broken his concentration. Would he have just sat there staring at the page all afternoon? Surely they would have thought he was broken in the head. Thank goodness she startled me then! I don't want people to think I'm even stranger than they already do.

Ryou's pace slowed slightly, and he moved absentmindedly to the side of the footpath to let others past as he came to a stop, considering. Ryou turned slowly to peer at his own reflection in a nearby shop window, not really taking in the image but merely recalling the sensations he had experienced when he stared down at that startlingly-lifelike drawing of the ring. He had been transfixed. He felt a faint twinge of unease at the realisation. Is that normal? Why would I become so obsessed with a drawing? He thought about the flash of rage he had felt as Maya had taken the book from him. What was that? It wasn't like him to react in such a way. His brows furrowed and he tapped a slender finger against his lip as he considered this point. The anger he had felt was unlike him. It had been flash-pan hot, full of enmity and possibly… glee? Yes, he rather thought it had felt like delighted rage.

His scalp prickled slightly with an icy shiver. He had felt that way once before, hadn't he? That night- the night he had touched the ring, and then, then… he had had that dream. He shuddered at the recollection; it had been so vivid. He could still recall with absolute clarity every second of that nightmare. His hands, so strong, not his own. Crushing, squeezing, his teeth bared with effort and rage-

"-KID!"

Ryou started terribly, his head snapping up and around toward the source of the yelling. A large man was standing beside him, uncomfortably close, a stained green apron marking him as a shopkeeper, his beefy hands firmly planted on his hips as he scowled at the teen in front of him. Ryou gave a small gasp of surprise at his proximity and stumbled backward, stuttering. "I-I-I'm sorry; I didn't see you there."

The man's eyebrows drew low and his scowl if possible became even deeper. He had a cigarette clenched between his teeth, dangling at a precarious angle from the corner of his mouth. "Kid, I was hollerin' at ya for the past five minutes. I was sayin', if yer wantin' to buy something, you got three minutes before I close, 'therwise I advise you piss off and quit starin' in and makin' everyone uncomfortable." Ryou realised he had been staring through the window mindlessly this entire time, and he flushed pinkly with embarrassment.

"I apologise, Sir. I was just… caught up. Thinking. I'll go now." The man's angry expression softened ever so slightly, and he wearily flapped a hand at the teen in dismissal, grunting in reply. Ryou turned and hoisted his bag, and took a few steps before stopping.

Something was different, wrong. Ryou peered about him in mild confusion, wondering what had changed. Somebody pushed past him roughly and the white-haired teen stepped back out of the flow of pedestrian traffic. That man. He had a suit on. Ryou looked about and realised that not only had the amount of people increased, but they were mostly adults in business attire, heading home. He couldn't see any other students around.

Bewildered, Ryou whipped his head around, trying to catch sight of any other students; there had been plenty walking this way with him just before; surely they hadn't all cleared out so quickly? Usually students would loiter and take their time heading home, caught up in chatting, flirting and arguing right up until almost dinner time. At the thought of food, Ryou's stomach gave a great gurgle and he rubbed it slowly, his thoughts jumbled. He looked down at his stomach, his hand an orange tinge from the afternoon sun.

Wait a moment…. Afternoon sun? Ryou looked up now, and realised what was so different, that he had been unable to put his finger on.

It was almost dusk.

What…? He was utterly confused. It almost looked like it was six o'clock, not four o'clock when he had finished school! But there was no denying it- the afternoon shadows were stretching longer and longer like dark tendrils, and even in this last minute or two the amount of people had increased further, all weary adults heading home from work. Ryou swallowed past a suddenly very difficult lump in his throat and his heart thudded painfully in his chest. Turning with sudden franticness, Ryou scurried over to the beefy shopkeeper, who was carefully folding up his display sign from the front of his shop.

"Excuse me, Sir," Ryou called softly, his voice sounding panicked even to him. He tried desperately to calm himself down as the burly man turned to examine him, his expression unimpressed. "I, uh, I was just wondering… how long… I was staring for?"

The man raised a sardonic eyebrow, his mouth twitching slightly with amusement. "Kid, why d'ya think I told ya to piss off? You were standin' there for a good two hours. Just standin'. Freaked me out, to be honest. Me an' all my staff. We thought you were off yer tree, swayin' and talkin' to yerself like that." Shaking his head, the man heaved the sign up and walked it inside, muttering something unintelligible about pesky kids.

Ryou stood rooted to the spot, his eyes wide. He had suspected the man would say something like that, but he was still shocked to his core to hear it out loud. I stood there for two whole hours? Just stood, staring? How did I not notice that?

\Because you were thinking about the ring, Ryou.

Ryou jumped a little at the thought, and then shook his head. No. I was just distracted. I haven't been sleeping so well lately, and I'm just tired. I might have even nodded off. It had nothing to do with the ring. He shivered slightly as he remembered that he had been reliving the choking of his father in his sleep.

Only remembering, right? Not… revelling in the memory…? Ryou shrugged angrily as though to shake off his sense of deep unease. That odd thought came back to him and he scowled in rejection.

It has NOTHING to do with the ring.


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A chuckle, echoing in the cold expressionless room.

"Oh, my Host. You're correct, there. It has nothing to do with the ring."

He reclines against a sharp cold platform; his Soul Room has taken on more features. He sniggers again, almost lazily. Nearby, the outline of a door appears against the brick wall, gleaming momentarily golden. Then, the light fades, and the door slowly creaks open, nothing but the blackest of pitch beyond its gaping entryway.

He smoothly rises to his feet, his expression amused and curious. He glides toward the door, expression savagely expectant. "But this Ring, and what it can see and do... well, my little Host, it'll make you wish you were dead. I can promise you that."