Author's Notes:
I'm sorry that it's two days late, but my dad turned 50 and then there was Easter and I didn't know that the chapter had been completely edited. But hey, better late than never.
Disclaimer: I own nothing (I don't even know if I own the plot…do I?).
Into the Caverns
People are staring.
Not at her though. No, she had escaped her pursuers for the time being. For the leader of this rebellion now stands at the door, attracting everyone's undivided attention and waiting for the row of half'n'halfs to part so that he may pass.
Whispers echo throughout the room, and in their haste to back away from their leader, many of the mixed breeds trip over themselves, stumbling to the ground. Yet, no one lands in the way of their master, their ruler. No one is stupid enough to even consider falling into his line of view.
The room darkens, the whispers cease, the shadows dance across the walls. And slow, staccato clacks reverberate against the ground. The room is silent, deathly so. Everyone waits for him, just about bursting from excitement though danger looks around him like a tangible, malignant mist. Everyone watches him.
He walks calmly down the aisle cleared for him. His face is shrouded by a mask, but it doesn't impede his long, aqua hair, which flows languidly behind him. He does not have an impressive build, but his stance is a domineering one nonetheless. All eyes snap to him, just as expected.
His wings are blood red, off-setting his hair horribly. But what catches Rebecca's attention is not the color of his wings, but the feather type. Contrary to his malevolent personality, his wings are feathery, not leathery, bat-like ones attributed to demons. He...has the wings of an angel.
A woman follows behind him, a wingless, perhaps a prisoner or maybe one of his many concubines. Or perhaps her wings are retracted. Regardless, it is impossible to tell what her species is with her appendages missing. Maroon hair is long to enough just brush her shoulders, and dark eyes scan the room wearily. Her arms are cuffed together; yet, she is dressed elegantly in a flowing aqua dress that matches the king's hair.
Her cocoa eyes turn and meet Rebecca's amethyst ones, narrowing in recognition. She shakes her head, perhaps in warning, perhaps she'll expose her. In the crowd of people surging forward, Rebecca attempts to take a step back, into the groping, outstretched hands of the King's followers. Unfortunately, the crowd is unforgiving, and as the procession moves forwards, those behind quickly follow, forming a single mass of people, all eagerly awaiting their ruler's speech.
The masked man finally arrives on stage, standing before a makeshift throne. The woman, the one with cropped maroon hair, kneels at his side, her head bowed as she listens to the cheers that consume the building. The silence has been broken, and the King looks down expectantly at his followers, soaking in the adulation.
Guards line the stage, each glaring out into the audience, daring someone, anyone, to charge at the King. But none are foolish enough to do so.
The King nods his head in approval, and a new wave of cheers erupts. With a flick of his hand the cacophony is quelled. No one dares to even take a breath when the Lord speaks, for he—he is most powerful.
"The first battle, it's ours!" The statement is barely out of his mouth when the room once again bursts into excited murmurs. The guards stomp their staffs, silencing the masses.
"We have had few deaths, for we have played it smart. And even our single death, Mai Valentine, was only an act to fool those insipid demons." Another roar, and a spotlight shines on Rebecca. The girl tries to back away, for that woman is staring at her once again. But she cannot. Those around her are all applauding her, congratulating her...groping her; she is trapped.
Another stomp. The audience is silenced.
"This marks day one of the fall of the Angel and Demon Empires. And day one of the rise of the Half'n'Half Realm." More shouts of encouragement. They are quickly silenced. "Too long have we been oppressed by those pure breeds. Those bastards who believe the world is theirs to control. We'll show them, we'll show all of them!" Another hurrah. Another thump. Another bout of silence.
"For too long we have been refuted. Us mix breeds (but he's not really one of them; he just pretends) we are the ones who need to stick together. We are numerous. For every generation more and more demons and angels fall off their set path and crawl to the dregs of our society. Together, us, them, their spawns, we are more numerous than all the pure breeds put together. And we will take them down while they're destroying each other!" A loud huzzah, this time uninterrupted. The cheer continues, the king letting it gain momentum instead of forcefully cutting it off like before.
Eventually, the ovation mitigates and the room falls into a pregnant silence. All are unsure of what to do now and turn to the king, awaiting their next set of commands. Their king, always the wiser, stares back at them, as though waiting.
He takes a step back and bows, which evokes more applause, although all the king does is recline upon his throne. Finished with his performance, he relinquishes everyone's attention, and they all go back to partying. With that final as if they weren't discussing a coup mere moments ago, and they had never stopped to hear their king in the first place.
Once again, Rebecca is jerked around by sweaty bodies. Many of them young half'n'half's hoping to cop a feel of the titillating, tantalizing body. Rebecca attempts to get away, but with the mass orgy that the dance floor has turned into, there is nowhere to run, and the half'n'half is left to struggle against the horny masses.
A hand reaches beneath her skirt, snapping her last straw. Rebecca turns quickly, thankfully breaking contact with many of her molesters in the process. Pushing past the hordes of people, she tries to escape the dance floor. But, like the sea, it is never-ending and wave after wave of people surge at her. Hitting her, slapping her, groping her, pulling her back into the masses, sucking her deeper and deeper into the crowd.
She's probably crushing people's feet. The heels on her boots are broken, and she's running on her toes now. Her breathing is a series of strained inhales and forced out hales. Her head is pounding from the intensity of her own heartbeats. Sweat trails down her forehead, dampens her armpits, and drips off her body as if she were a faucet.
Suddenly, the wave of people split, and Rebecca is left looking into the dark eyes of the maroon-haired woman. She doesn't say anything; in fact, she's just standing there, staring. Her cuffs are off. Her wings are still missing too…then again, they were never there.
Staring at the woman up close, she is relatively shorter than Mai, probably only slightly taller than Rebecca herself. She's not thin, but not thick, well fed. She looks like a child. She's probably thirteen, yet she stands there cool as a cucumber, even against the renowned healer, Mai.
She looks down, staring at Mai's broken heels and nods. She then turns and leaves, the crowd remaining parted as the girl exits, and Rebecca, unsure of how to react but not to look a gift horse in a mouth, follows the child. She stumbles over her boots, and after a few steps, removes said boots and carries them instead.
The laminated flooring is cool to her sore toes. She walks quickly, occasionally pricking herself on frozen cubes of ice spilt from martinis of still gyrating people. But the momentary burning cold is nothing when freedom is so close, and she stays close to the child, occasionally glancing back, the sea of people quickly closing behind her.
~.~
Bakura finally understood the term stasis.
As in not moving, inactivity.
As in: how the hell was the transformation supposed to take place while the angels were trapped in a tube that kept their body from functioning?
So now, all of the angels are freed, running around with their respective demon lovers. You know, since they can, and obviously the war ensuing is of no importance. Especially not to the Demon King and the Angel Prince, because they were spending the most time together and the least time worrying about the casualties they're racking up.
Well, their lavish existence of having sex (they even had it TWICE), being fed grapes, and going on a romantic montage every couple of hours obviously had to end. And it did. About three days into Ryou's reanimation.
~.~
Ryou stares at the bodies littering the makeshift morgue. One hell of a prince he is, allowing so many to die by falling for something as vile as a demon.
A thin, pale hand sticks out among the rest. Long nails painted a metallic purple, and a purity ring sitting on her left ring finger.
Few people wore purity rings in the Angel Kingdom. It was always assumed that Angels were celibate until marriage, but for Mai, who was a half'n'half, it wouldn't always be assumed. In fact, half'n'half's were considered more vile than demons themselves, willing to sleep with anything that moves simply because they were so often rejected by everything else in the universe.
"I once promised her that I'd marry her." Joey mutters, taking the pale hand and twisting the purity ring.
Everyone nods in remembrance. The group had been friends ever since they were brought to the castle. Mai had been found as a child, and being the smart girl she is, immediately noticed that there was a difference. She had different urges, different wants and desires than many of the angels, and she worked hard to overcome them, but at her core, she still had demonic urges. Joey remembered the first time that Mai experienced bloodlust. He remembered holding out his arm and allowing her to drink her fill. He remembered not knowing how much blood she needed and passing out afterwards. He remembered.
"Married but not mated." Malik notes, swinging a protective arm around Ryou's shoulders. He pulls the whitenette closer to him, knowing that he isn't the only one who needs the supportive arm.
"So you can still do it!" Yugi exclaims, tiny embers of joy sprouting in dark, grief-ridden eyes.
"Marry a dead person?" Joey questions, eyebrow cocked curiously.
"Sure, I mean there's a body—"
"And I know a spell to recall her soul!" Ryou interjects. Immediately the room silences, and three pairs of eyes focus on the Angel Prince.
"Ryou, are you okay?" Malik asks, stepping away from the angel to get a better look at him. The boy looks exactly the same, aside from suspiciously black eyes. Even his fangs seemed to have disappeared.
"Fine, why?" The whitenette questions, taking a tentative step towards Malik.
"You just seem different. Your eyes are black." Malik states, pointing at the boy's eyes as though showing them to him.
"As are yours." Ryou takes another step, now standing right before Malik.
Yugi, sensing the tension in the room rising, quickly steps between them. "Guys, we're at war, this isn't the time to be fighting amongst ourselves."
"The question stands: whose side is he on?" Malik sneers, his own eyes narrowing into slits.
"The same side you're on." Taking a step back, Ryou quickly leaves the room, giving his friend some time and space to think. Ryou's loyalty stands to his friends, not either of the kingdoms. His "side" solely depends on what they choose. Will they stay true to the kingdom they were born to? Or will they follow their lovers?
Reevaluating just how much power they have over him, everyone mulls over Ryou's statement. Joey heeds the still tense atmosphere but refuses to think over the power he holds on his shoulder, instead idly playing with Mai's hand. Every now and then, he turns the ring on her bony knuckle and runs his fingers through hers. Even among all the dead, he can still pinpoint her, feel her, like she is still right there with him.
"We're going to get married." Joey mumbles to himself. And for once in a long time, he can feel that old spark, that same childhood crush, that one thing that meant so much to him for so long. And in that moment, it seemed as if there was no one else in the room. It's just the two of them and their unbridled love from all those years ago. And in that moment of ecstasy, Joey leans down and kisses the frozen knuckle. His lips linger on the frigid finger as memories flash by. He and Mai talking, he and Mai playing, he and Mai studying magic, Mai tutoring him, Mai becoming an advisor, Mai becoming a senior advisor, he becoming an advisor, the jokes, the jabs, the flirts; they were all coming back to him. Mai had been his friend. No, by then, she had become more than a friend, much more than one. More than any of the others could ever be. She hadn't deserved to might be too late, but, he'd make it up to her any way he can.
And with that promise, a single tear slides down his cheek, leaving a salty path in its wake.
Author's Notes:
Once again, I apologize for the tardiness, but hopefully you guys aren't too bad.
Regardless, leave a comment, vote on the poll, show your love (or hate)!