Ryou's Story
By: ACE329
Summary: This story is mine to tell. No, not the one whom most refer to as Bakura, the spirit of the millennium ring, just me. He already stole my name but I cannot—will not—let him take away the one thing that I have left…my words.
Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-gi-oh!
A/N: There are so many ways to interpret what Nameless' (I mean, Bakura's) soul room looks like. I hope that I picked the right one. I had thought about it for a really long time, and I promise every detail I put in had a justification behind it. So I hope you will come to see this enigmatic soul room the way that I do!
Chapter Thirteen- Six-Feet-Under Secrets
The sun was too bright.
It was the first thing I noticed, apart from the fact that I was locked inside Nameless' soul room. I squinted my eyes up at the sky, raising my forearm to shield myself from the sun's glaring rays. It beat down on me, as if I were standing there for hours, smothering me with so much heat I could barely breathe.
And then I realized that there was a sky, just like my soul room. Did all soul rooms represent the outside world? This strange place could not be neatly boxed into a sort of cubicle; rather, it seemed to extend beyond my field of vision.
My eyes finally adjusted to the burning brightness of the sun, and I was able to lower my arm to get a better idea of what I was dealing with. As each detail registered in my mind, a combination of nausea, fear, and disbelief festered in my stomach.
The air around me was thick and sweltering. I could literally see heat waves wobbling up towards the sky. There was a hazy red hue coating everything around me, tinting my pale skin with a bloody cast. Every time I breathed in, my lungs struggled to grasp enough air to keep my thoughts coherent. But with each gasp, I picked up on heavy unfamiliar scents that reminded me of cloves, burning wood and cigar smoke. My senses were so overwhelmed I could feel my legs shaking, struggling to remain standing. It was a futile effort though, as I sunk down to the ground. The gravity of this place had to be stronger than what it is on Earth. My muscles were constantly fighting against some unseen force, straining just to function.
Sand enveloped me in grainy pools, collapsing over my legs and clinging to my skin. They carried the heat that sun-packed grains would if nights didn't exist to cool them off. I winced as I could feel my skin being seared against the rough sand. I struggled to push myself up, but the combination of the overbearing sun, collapsing ground and my sudden exhaustion kept me planted where I was. There I sat, in a crumpled heap, floundering for stability or some sort of reprieve from the obstacles that threatened me.
I flinched as one of my legs came down on something solid. It made a shallow clattering sound, like a child flinging plastic toys across the room. Reluctantly, my eyes trailed down to my leg, and then finally, to the source of the noise.
There was a skeleton buried in the sand.
"Ah-h!" I half choked, half gasped, as I kicked myself back instinctively. My hand flew to my throat, panting for air. My eyes, however, remained glued to the skeleton, as the image branded itself into my mind. The arm of the human carcass was extended, fingers outstretched, as if begging to take a hold of me.
A sharp gust of wind unexpectedly came, slashing at my face and tearing the sand into haphazard piles. The clattering that I had heard earlier returned again, only this time my leg wasn't the catalyst to the sound.
The wind had rolled the corpse over, causing a collective rattling of loose bones.
To my repulsion, I realized the horrible sound that I heard, that clattering, wasn't just coming from that one skeleton. It was all around me.
The wind unearthed not just one, but many skeletons, buried again and again by the sand. All of them seemed to have been frozen in their deaths begging for survival, their arms reaching up to the sky. All of their skulls revealed stiff grins, tragically plastered on for the rest of eternity.
I cried out in terror, this time forcing myself to rise. I started backing up, backing up for the door, when I realized something so horrifying it sickened me to the core.
The door was gone.
"Where did it go?" I moaned, panicked, as my eyes scoured the area in desperation. For all I knew, the sand could have swallowed up my only exit from the second I turned away. My heart thudded even harder in my chest, as if announcing it was still alive, but could be silenced at any moment.
My absent-minded scramble to escape caused me to trip over another object, forcing me to the ground. My hands instinctively slapped out in front of me to break the fall, then realized I had come in contact with the object I had tripped over. I fearfully looked down.
A mask.
Immediately my hands flinched away from the mask, as if zapped by an electric current. The mask looked disgusting and malicious, like a realistic voodoo doll made to stick pins in. Yellow eyes frantically bulged out at me, and a sickly mocking smile painted its leathery face, accentuated with a clownish red stained to the lips. What frightened me the most was that the face itself looked like real burnt skin.
A short distance way, I could see an edge of another object half buried by the sand. I didn't want to find out what it was, yet some inexplicable compulsion surged through me, urging me to retrieve the item.
Again, it was another mask.
This one didn't look nearly as hostile, yet equally passionate in emotion. It reeked of sadness, despair. The mask looked like it was torn out of a vaudeville film, only displaying black and white. The entire mask was made of porcelain, while thick black strokes burned into the face. Splotches streaked down the cheeks as if the mask were crying, even though there were no eyes. Despite how intently I stared into the mask, my hands involuntarily let go of it, allowing the sand to swallow it up again. It could have been an instinctive reaction on my part, because suddenly I realized that looking at that face was arousing feelings of misery in my heart as well.
I decided looking around was no longer a wise idea, and forced myself to stop searching the sand for other buried secrets that gave me some clue to Nameless' past. Already my curiosity had thrust me into far too much trouble and I had to focus on finding a way out. So I made myself stand and began to walk forward, keeping my gaze straight ahead.
But then I heard the whispers. Interweaving between the escalating sighs and moans, I could hear the faintest murmur of music. At least, I thought it was music. It was an unfamiliar combination of a shrill string instrument and the wail of some pipe. The two sounds circled around each other, lowly, eerily, brooding quietly from a far away distance.
Perhaps in my resolute disbelief, I thought this was all the wind at first, or maybe a mental trick, but as the sound continued persistently, I realized that stifled voices trailed through the air, begging to be heard, carrying with them the now shrieking stabs of music that lunged at me ruthlessly.
"I didn't want to die, I didn't want to die, and I was so close to escaping!"
"They could have just killed me, but not my son…"
"I never did anything wrong—what have I done wrong?"
"Please, Ra, no!"
"Make it stop!"
"The burning won't go away!"
"Just put me out of my misery now! Please!"
"Please!"
It was too much. I clasped my hands over my ears, squeezing my eyes shut, silently screaming for an end to this horror movie I had the lead in. I was too afraid to open my eyes, but I could have sworn I felt desperate bony fingers slipping around my ankles and pulling me towards the dead earth. I didn't want to find out if it was imagined or real, but it was enough to cause an actual scream to rip from my throat.
The feeling that engulfed me earlier prior to entering the soul room resurfaced again. It was as if every negative emotion known to man had merged into one crushing sensation, throbbing in my temples and wrapping around my body.
I was sure that a second longer of the mental and physical torture would force my mind to insanity.
And then it all stopped.
Silence.
It was so deliberately quiet that the lack of sound was deafening.
My hands slowly fell at my sides as I glanced up hesitantly. Everything was eerily still now, as if holding its breath. The sand had settled to one flat plane, making it much easier for me to maintain my balance. The wind stopped blasting around, and even the sun wasn't as unbearable as it had been seconds ago. The music was smothered to nothingness.
Most importantly, the whispers silenced, buried once more by the sand.
I released a heavy sigh, grateful for the relief from this mysterious place. The relief was temporary, though, as my sigh became strangled from a hitch in breath.
There was a man in the far distance.
I couldn't see much beyond that, but I noticed—with fear, of course—he was walking towards me. His stride was very deliberate, yet there was a swagger to his every step. He seemed unhurried though, as if he had complete control over time.
My heart seemed to rise to my throat as I took a step back. Who was he? Why was there a person in Nameless' soul room?
Was it a person?
I was debating whether or not to run away. I wasn't sure where I would run to—there was apparently no sanctuary in this odd hell—but trying to escape contact with this mystery person would have probably been wiser than staying put.
I turned my back for only a second, checking to see if the door had somehow reappeared. It had not. While I was fleetingly despairing over the loss of my only exit, the sound of footsteps sliced through my thoughts.
I whipped around, terrified when I saw that the man who I had seen miles away was now facing me. He now stood about an arm's span apart from me.
My jaw instinctively slackened as my eyes drank in the appearance of the potential threat.
How did he get so close within a second? How was that possible?
Instead of asking that, however, I was plagued with an even more disturbing question. Wave after wave of shock coursed through me.
"Spirit?" I choked out. Was it really Nameless that stood before me? This man, he looked exactly like him. Only…he didn't, as well.
The man did an odd thing. His head slowly tilted to the side, evaluating me. His eyes seemed to run over every detail of my body, which made me horribly uncomfortable. I took a step back.
"Ryou Bakura," he at last said, his voice a speculative whisper. He said my name with so much relish it made me cringe. The way he drew out every syllable was like he literally tasted them in his mouth. "I…was wondering when I would get to meet you face-to-face."
The feeling of nausea was swelling in my stomach again. As I shook my head, I felt dizzy. "But…no, you're the spirit of the ring, you—"
"Am I?" this man interrupted, still staring at me with such intensity it heightened my fear.
"T-then who are you?" This man's appearance really bothered me. I would have sworn he was Nameless, or at least, some part of him, until I was challenged with my thoughts. That was when I really looked at him, casting my memory of Nameless aside to start over with my perception of this man.
The first thing I observed was his eyes. They were a blank, throbbing black. (I couldn't help but notice that Nameless' eyes were like my own, only closer to the color of henna dye). Maybe under different lighting, this man's eyes would appear as an intense, cement-packed grey. Stretching down over the plane of his forehead, over his right eye and down his cheek, a deep scar stained into his darkened skin.
Yes, that's what was particularly different about him—his skin was noticeably darker than mine, like the color of rich soil. It could have been baking under the sun for years while I only encountered the sun while on my way to school or while running trivial errands.
His face was framed with thick pieces of hair the color of rusty silver. It was wild and windblown, cropped in blunt sections as if with a knife, and fell chaotically across his face.
He didn't wear much more than a white linen kilt, bound tightly by a cloth belt, and an oversized, ruby-stained robe bordered with gold trim. His shoes were simple flat slippers, worn and weathered down from walking in sand. Upon noticing the condition of his shoes, I also noticed the fraying edges to the rest of his outfit. Despite the poor state of his clothes, a staggering amount of gold ornamented his body, glimmering faintly from the sun's glare.
He looked like a picture ripped out of an ancient history book brought to life. There was something surreal about this man standing before me, as if he…well, as if he weren't real.
Taking his entire appearance into account, something finally clicked in my mind. I felt color draining from my face as my eyes dared to meet up with this stranger's once more.
"My dream…" I whispered incredulously. A flash of a nightmare I had days ago, a nightmare involving a blinding white room and a man with the red cloak, resurfaced in my mind. Was it some sort of premonition, was I supposed to meet this person?
The man smiled slyly at me, exposing his razor teeth. "Ryou Bakura, I wouldn't think too hard about it. Besides, I don't want the focus to be on me, but on you."
I felt unsteady, standing where I was. I felt like I could collapse at any second. "How do know who I am? If you're really not the spirit, then I haven't met you in my life—"
"But we are inside your body, no?" The man grinned. He looked like he kept some major secret, but was so excited about it he would reveal it at any second. "I think it would be safe to say that I know you so very well." The way he dragged out his last words was as agonizing as hearing a blade claw down a chalkboard. I was confused by so many things though, that I found myself speechless.
For whatever reason, I couldn't take my eyes off of him. My gaze remained glued to those enigmatic, unreadable eyes, trying to piece together what scarce information I was given. More than anything, I wanted to find out who this man truly was. I was sure on one thing, though: he could not have been Nameless. Even from the few words this man had spoken, he had proved to be completely different.
I suppose what caught my attention the most, what thoroughly shocked me, was that this man called me by my name.
Nameless called me "Vessel."
And just for that reason alone, I felt some bizarre connection to this stranger, even though my instincts screamed at me to run in the opposite direction.
So I did not run.
I allowed my curiosity to get the best of me. "Why is it I have never seen you before?"
I realized that this man had a very expressive face. He would appear pleased, then twist his features to speculative, then casually remorseful, all within the span of a few seconds. This was what I observed as I watched him compose an answer.
Finally, he settled on woeful, his voice carrying a humorous edge. "I don't believe I'm 'allowed' to see you." I could tell he was stifling his laughter, his eyes crinkled with amusement.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing at all, Ryou Bakura, not if I reeeally think about it. The concept of someone allowing me permission is highly entertaining. Ironic, I could say," the man replied with a shrug, idly examining the hem of his unraveling sleeve. He then let his arm drop loosely at his side, as if he were being held up by strings and one of them had been cut.
I wasn't sure how to reply to this man's statement—after all, what could I have possibly said about something so vague? I had no idea what he was referring to. And I also had a strong suspicion that asking him for details would be a futile effort.
I was forced to refocus my attention when the man drew himself even closer to me. Each step was slow, weighed down by his heavy swagger. He almost had the gait of a drunk person. Why was my heart pounding so forcefully it hurt? My natural response gravitated around this one man, as if he controlled every ragged breath I took.
My legs began to inch backwards. Something was telling me to not get too close, but I couldn't quite explain what. It made no sense, considering this stranger seemed a lot more personable than Nameless. He was definitely weirder, but there was just no way he could do that much harm. After all, anyone who addressed me by my real name had to be a decent person.
Alarm electrocuted my body when the man impulsively reached out to grab my wrist.
"W-what are you—"
"You keep edging away, Ryou Bakura," the man sighed, using his grip to pull me in closer. "I fear you may run. Just stay here a while, yes? It gets rather desolate out in this wasteland for eons on end."
He was too close. I didn't like the way I was forced to stare up at his face and his blank slate eyes. They were unnerving.
I quickly looked down at the ground, my face flushing. "May I ask you something?"
A saw a brief flash of teeth. "Anything."
"What's your name?" I used this question as a distraction, leaping at the opportunity to pull my arm out of the man's grasp the moment I asked. I really did want to know the answer, though.
A calculated silence spread out between us. I could tell he was thinking about his response, which made me apprehensive. How could such a simple answer become so complicated?
Finally, he moved his face close to mine, as if trying to be particularly convincing. "You may call me the Thief King."
"Excuse me?" The Thief King? That's what he wanted to be called? Why not his real name…?
"No need to repeat myself. Just call me as I've requested," the 'Thief King' replied, suddenly smirking to an internal joke. "Or, I suppose you could always call me—"
The Thief King was abruptly cut off when we both heard an unusually loud howl of wind, screaming in our faces. I closed my eyes against the gust for just a second, but when I reopened them, Nameless was suddenly standing in front of me, slicing through the distance between my new acquaintance and myself.
His back was facing me, but I didn't have to see his face to hear the pure anger in his voice.
"How dare you," Nameless quietly said to the Thief King. His voice was so low I could barely hear it above the shrieking wind, but somehow it cut through like a chainsaw. "Did you forget?"
The Thief King evaluated Nameless for a brief second before waving his hand away dismissively. "Don't insult me with such a silly question. Of course not. I never sought Ryou out on my own…no, he did that for me." The Thief King briefly considered his words before grinning dangerously. His eyes met with mine. "We had a nice chat."
From behind, I could see Nameless' shoulders tighten, his fists clenching. "Enough! I don't care how it happened, all I know is that it did." Nameless paused here before looking over his shoulder at me. "You. I want you to leave now."
I jumped at the sudden acknowledgement, too absorbed in the interaction between the two look-a-likes. I opened up my mouth to point out that there was no door, but on cue, one appeared beside me.
"You making poor little Ryou Bakura leave already?" the Thief King abruptly piped up, feigning scorn. "Really, Spirit of the ring, what are you afraid of?"
"We made a deal," Nameless answered slowly, emphasizing his final word. "If it weren't for me—"
"Let's not bring that up again, yes?" the Thief King interrupted. His gaze lazily trailed over to me. "I assume we will meet again, one way or the other."
Nameless' head snapped over to me. "You're still here? Damn it, Vessel, what the hell did I just tell you?"
"I—" I cut myself off when I caught sight of Nameless' face. It was so…white, so unnaturally white it scared me. Why did he look like that? I wondered if the Thief King noticed, too.
Without another word, I approached the door and exited. Between the short span of time that passed while I was leaving, I heard the haughty and sure voice of the Thief King:
"I will see him again."
"Vessel."
I flinched at Nameless' voice, hearing the sharp edge to it. Hesitantly, I turned myself to face him.
"What were you doing in there." As always, whenever Nameless threw out his question in a flat tone, I knew he was furious.
I shifted my gaze over to the apple tree a short distance away in my soul room, looking anywhere but at the spirit's face. I knew that the instant I stepped foot out of Nameless' soul room, I would be facing his wrath momentarily. I also knew that I had overstepped my boundaries a hundred times over.
"Spirit, I wasn't trying to—"
"I don't care what you're feeling now, I demand to know what made you think you could enter my soul room without any warning whatsoever."
"Well if you knew about it, obviously you wouldn't have let me in!"
"Exactly!" Nameless yelled, his eyes narrowed and dark. "I would never let you in because of at least a thousand reasons you would never even begin to understand. But understand this, Vessel: you are lucky to be alive."
My vision flicked back to the enraged spirit. "What?"
Nameless' lips twisted in a wry smile. "Did that get your attention? Good. If I hadn't come in when I did, who knows where you would have ended up." Nameless paused here, his face suddenly wringing into a livid scowl, spitting at the ground. "Argh! I should have let you die. You stupid host of mine, you deserved it."
I winced as I watched the spirit fume. Was I supposed to say "thank you"? I sure didn't feel grateful.
Nameless stopped glaring at the ground as he took a deep breath. His lifted his eyes to shoot daggers at me, taking a step closer. "You are never to go back in there, do you understand me?"
I looked away, suppressing my frustration.
As if you care about my soul, you just need my body, I wanted to say.
Instead I bit my tongue. "Yes."
Nameless' anger seemed to deflate somewhat, his shoulders sagging. His face was still contorted in rage though, which honestly confused me. His soul room was overwhelming, yes, but I couldn't see any threats capable of killing me.
And what, exactly, did Nameless define as a "threat"? My mind was spinning with so many questions I had trouble keeping them straight. But there were particularly a lot about what I experienced upon entering Nameless' soul room. I was determined to find out something.
"Spirit?"
"What."
"Why were there skeletons in your soul room? There were so many—"
"We're not talking about any of this because it's none of your business," Nameless coldly interjected. "Now go back out there in the 'real world' and try to make yourself scarce. I don't feel like doing a job that suits you so well."
I shot Nameless a dirty look. "Glad I could be of service."
Nameless said nothing in response to this, opting to turn around and leave the room instead. He announced his departure with a resounding slam from the door. I stared at it, wondering why the spirit was acting so odd. I really wished he could answer at least some of the questions I had, but I could easily tell he would never give me even a hint. He was just too stubborn, not to mention distant.
What really aroused my curiosity was the Thief King. Of course, judging from Nameless' explosive reaction to him, I was afraid to ask. Who exactly was he? Where did he come from? Why did Nameless act so…strange around him? Out of everything that I had witnessed in Nameless' soul room, it was his attitude around the Thief King that shook me the most.
And what was that emotion I saw linger so strongly in his eyes? Swirling within his dark mahogany orbs, there were traces of hesitation, maybe his usual rage, but most of all, there was something close to fear. And then I realized, I could handle his anger, and yes, even his arrogance, but not that. Not from the spirit of the ring. Nameless was this impenetrable entity, a boulder, that could not be moved or broken.
Thinking back on that one moment, the moment when Nameless glanced back at me with that odd expression on his face, I shuddered.
Something was not right.
Upon reawakening to the outside world I immediately realized I was crammed into a very tight space. It was dark, damp, and smelled strongly of mildew, all of which didn't lighten my mood. On top of that, the back of my jeans were thoroughly soaked through and my sweater felt increasingly scratchy.
It didn't take much speculation to recognize I was hiding in a storage room.
"Really?" I asked aloud, hoping Nameless would hear me. Maybe he did, but he didn't bother answering. I sighed, which then turned into a groan, as I tripped over a pair of broomsticks to reach the door handle. "Thanks for stuffing me in here!" I lightly called out. Still there was no answer. For whatever reason, even though I usually detested hearing from Nameless, his lack of presence annoyed me.
I decided not to dwell on it, more eager to get out of the storage room. Turning the handle, I gingerly peeked out to survey my surroundings. No one was nearby, which allowed me to sneak out without any detection from a bystander. Even I wasn't oblivious enough to stroll out of a storage room as if it were an everyday activity.
A warm gust of wind greeted me as I stepped out onto the deck, which I was grateful for. Already I could feel my clothes beginning to dry and my skin didn't feel nearly as sticky. Glancing about me, I realized that most of the people—or I guess at this point duelists—were gravitating around the lower floors probably to grab some food or check out the rooms. This was, after all, a cruise ship. I could imagine that Jounouchi and Honda especially would be taking full advantage of the meals. I briefly wondered where all my friends were and what they were doing. Yuugi, I was sure, was probably trading cards with some other equally enthused duelist.
I approached the railing of the ship, grabbing a hold of one of the bars. It felt wonderful to have the wind whipping past me and the warm sun to bathe me with its embracing heat; it was far more welcoming than the very same elements that existed in Nameless' soul room. To be out and away from everyone, just to stand there in solitude, gave me the peace I needed to calm down from the events that happened a short while ago.
I leaned my head into one of my hands, closing my eyes. The gentle rocking motion of the ship was making me drowsy, and suddenly I wanted to rest my eyes, if only for a few seconds. Off in the distance, I could hear the shrill cry of seagulls and the rhythmic sound of frothy waves collapsing against the boat. As the seconds leisurely drifted on by, I became increasingly aware of how tired I was…
An image of the Thief King drifted across my mind.
His throbbing black eyes and lazy smile appeared as I heard his soft and sure chuckle. "Ryou Bakura," his voice quietly resounded in my head, blending in with the sounds of the sea.
I opened my eyes, startled by the clarity of his face and voice. Unease began to lap at my insides, sloshing around like laundry in a washing machine.
As my eyes, delirious from exhaustion, took in the scene before me, fear suddenly wrapped around my body. I realized the image of the Thief King had come to me so strongly that I could see his face stained into the distant clouds for a few brief seconds until I shook my head. I had to remind myself it was only a hallucination.
I could, however, still hear that unnerving laugh and his smooth voice, so casual yet secretly serious with his words.
"I will see you again."
A/N: All right, so I've managed to update with yet another chapter, so I'm pretty pleased with myself. Of course, now the time has come that I have to leave for college again so updates will once more be scarce. As I've always said before, I'm sorry 1000xs over about once more falling off the face of the fanfiction planet and I'll try to be prompt with writing another chapter if I ever get the chance. Remember that no matter how long an update may take me, I'll never abandon this story, okay? But for the sake of my happiness, a review would be absolutely lovely :)