Author's Rant: For those of you following Celestial Congo, Dragon10 has drawn two beautiful pictures from the story; one of Desta (Atem and Heba's mother) and one of Yugi. xXHowlingwolfXx and Kitsune2006 have also drawn more amazing art for Fragile. Please check them out when you get the chance. Enjoy the next chapter everyone! Please excuse any mistakes.

Warning: Graphic Violence.

Calamity Erupts

"Yo', is this the last one?"

"Yeah." Yusei stared longingly at the two story classic Colonial Home. The top window light usually stays on, a dim stream of gold spotlighting where he stood. It wasn't on this time. The curtains were pulled shut; there weren't any lights or any signs of life for that matter. Yusei took a step toward the home and listened.

The house was quiet. No bicycles in the driveway, no dogs barking, not even a cricket chirps came out of the grass; the house seemed, abandoned. Yusei squeezed the spray can hard. Jaden hadn't moved away, had he? On the other hand, Zane could have evacuated him from the city. Just Jaden and his stepbrother and not that pussy, Jake, Jason or Jessie or whatever the fuck that asshole's name was.

After all this shit blows over, Yusei planned to get back what's his. Living without Jaden's phone calls, his loving voicemails, his text messages, it was driving Yusei made with want. He craved the other boy's touch, that yearning in those big brown eyes, anything involving Jaden. Fuck a damn Jessie. What'd that fool know about what Yusei and Jaden have gone through? There was too much history between them for it to end.

"Come on, Yusei!" One of the boys called from the truck.

"Hold on!" Yusei snapped behind him. He shrugged off his navy blue jacket and held it at arm's length. Jaden bought him this jacket three years ago. It meant a hell of a lot more than all the money in the city's treasury.

Yusei wore it loyally every day, but not this time. With the drama about to go down, he wouldn't dare get it stained with blood.

Folding it in a neat tri-fold, Yusei laid the blue blazer by the door and sprayed it with the necessary initials to ward off any potential harm. He paused a moment to collect his thoughts and made his decision. Pressing his index and middle fingers to his lips, he laid the kiss on his jacket collar and stood to leave. Jaden deserved better than Yusei always breaking his promises, keeping him worried all hours of the night, and lying.

Tonight, that'd be it. Yusei wanted out. He'll serve his duties to his street family, but afterwards, no more. Jaden mattered more than anything else. Yusei vowed to make that much a reality. He hoped inside the front seat of the truck and shrugged on the purple vest handed to him by one of the grunts in the back. He unlocking the safety on his gun, he gave the house one last look before motioning for the driver to pull off.

No mercy for the weak.

No pity for the helpless.

No care for the disabled.

All who breathed, everyone with a heartbeat, all those with blood were targets.

The reestablished Purple Fiends began their reign of terror one hour after marking all the houses deemed off limits. Family members were warned not to leave their homes. Friends were cautioned to leave town. Children were taken away from the chaos most assured to occur. The city life, so healthy with bustling citizens going about their daily lives, had no idea what to make of the creeping shadows, shooting through the alleyways, slipping beneath the sewer caps and hoping across rooftops.

They were aiming for the heart of the city. Darting through the streets unseen, unheard, the Purple Fiends gathered in throes masked under the long shadows and unnoticed by the people. Joey 'J.R.' Wheeler arrived first with a large pack of men behind him. Marik came in seconds later with a large brew of men. They waited, biding their time for the stroke of the tenth hour, when the city would be the most heavily populated.

Big sized cars suddenly came roaring in, parked on the side of the curbs. All were freshly painted plum, lavender, lilac, and indigo, shined and polished to perfection. The cars varied from 2008 Tahoe LTZ's, 2009 Cadillac Escalades, 2004 big-bodied Tundras, and 2010 Avalanches, anything that had enough room to carry half a dozen men at once. Seto lead the front of the tailgate, tossing up a purple glow stick to signal for everyone to dismount their vehicles.

He leapt out of his car, trench coat packed with loaded weaponry. He stopped next to Joey and reached inside his pocket for a cigarette. It was lit, smoked and passed. Joey took it without making eye contact, wanting to make sure all of his attention was on the hundreds of men and women gathering in the quietly abandoned construction site in the middle of town.

The streetlights were bust, streetlights wires were cut, and the surrounding houses with people inside were already killed. The surrounding area was pitch black, save for the purple glow sticks dangling around everyone's neck. It looked like a bunch of ghosts ready to ball at a gravesite.

Which was perfectly fitting.

"Where's Ryou?" Joey mumbled after taking a long drag and passing it to Seto.

"I sent him off."

"You told 'em 'bout his brother?"

Silence.

Joey chuckled. "Couldn't hurt 'em could ya?"

"Shut up," Seto grunted. "He's been through enough. You know he threatened to break things off between us if I didn't tell him what was going on?"

"What'd you say?"

"To fuck off."

"Quit lyin'. I bet he had you grovelin'. . . Ya know he's gonna need ya when he finds out about Thief. Make sure you don't wind up dead after all this." Joey looked at his partner this time with a hard look. "Don't let that happen, Slim. I'm not tryna' to lose another brother."

Seto smirked, saying nothing. He held out his fist. Joey pounded it in silent agreement to try their best to come out of this alive. Chances were slim of that happening though. As soon as they reached the halfway point, Zane will no doubt have his men surrounding the entire perimeter of the city. By then it won't matter. Joey already had that part worked out too.

"Why the sudden warm heart?" Seto said after a moment of silence. "Got someone waiting for you, Mutt?"

Joey ducked his head down sheepishly. "Somethin' like that." He turned to Marik. "If it's all the same to ya, Blondie, let's get this show on the road."

Marik smirked. "Damn right—alright boys, strap up!"

The men bundled up in random groups. The air speckled with the sounds of metallic snaps, clacks and clicks every few seconds. Magazines loaded into the chambers, gun sights were double and tripled checked for accuracy; hearing the slide pulled back, dragging as smooth as oiled ice, sent a thrilling chill in their blood. The maddening sensation crashed and flowed in their veins so deliciously, few could do nothing to contain their maniac laughter and excitement. Vengeance, protection, out for a kill, everyone had a reason to be out for blood.

Boxes of lead pipes were passed around for anyone who wanted more of a physical assault on their victims. Brass knuckle-dusters were slid on their hands, switch blades were tucked in back pockets, a small baseball bag full of wooden bats, clubs and nightsticks were divided among the group. The most favored weapon of choice, the one that'd cause the most damage were Molotov Cocktails, a classical favorite, all of them filled with petrol. The gang members fought for a set to carry on their persons.

The Blue Eyes supplied the hand grenades. The Red Eyes delivered a bunch of satchel bombs. Both guns came with an extensive selection of shotguns, long rifles, assault rifles, submachine guns, and handguns. Joey helped himself to two silent 9mms, and a loaded Tec-9. Seto only took two SMGs and a bag of magazines. Marik supplied himself with a combat shotgun strapped across his back and a sawn off shotgun. Yusei filled his pockets with switchblades, two desert eagles and an AK47.

"Ya'll ready, yet?" Joey impatiently shouted over the hustle.

A quick wave of cheers boomed in the air.

Joey grinned. "Good, let's blow this motherfucka' sky high!" He took the lead, sprinting toward a closed bakery across the street. He was handed an unlit cocktail. He reached in his pocket for a lighter, set the cotton tip on fire and slung it through the window.

A mighty explosion pounded through their chests and shook the ground. Glass shattered, the insides caught flame and micro explosions crackled inside the burning building. It brought the beginning of the new hell on earth. The revived Purple Fiends followed Joey's example and began flooding the streets with flying cocktails and gunfire. Many opened fire in the quiet homes of sleeping families, kicking the front doors open and forcing their way inside.

Valuables were stolen, husbands and wives were held at gunpoint, and children separated to the side. There were no rules as to what you wanted to do to the victims. Rape, molest, or murder, it didn't matter. They'd never know the pain all of them were submitted to for their fallen leader or the dying little girl.

Screams erupted up and down the streets like waves crashing upon a shoreline, strong and forceful before silencing to a weak whimper. Lightning flashes of remote explosives detonating inside buildings, in midair right outside the windows of apartment buildings.

An elderly woman made the mistake of venturing forth to investigate the sudden disturbance outside her home. She was immediately swarmed from all sides, young men taking her by her arms, holding them above her head and striking her sides with their fists and cracking sharp kicks into her knees. The woman shrieked a deafening sound feeling such an unrecognizable pain from all her body parts. Minutes passed, the beating quickened, turning harsher and brutal. Someone barked a command. She was released and fell to the ground, scrunching up her arms and legs.

The door opened to her building and a small child appeared, calling her out her name. A gun was raised up, no care for who the victim was and a shot rung forth. The bullet erupted out the back of his head and a stunned instant he saw his grandmother join him, bullets filling her, bouncing her off the sidewalk until darkness over took them both.

Unsuspecting night workers sleepily drove through the city, unaware of the blazing orange glow and hollering screams before their trucks and cars were surrounding in the middle of the streets. The driver's side and passenger doors were forced open and the victims dragged out on the asphalt. The shadowy killers lifted crow bars and brought them down hard on the night workers, slamming the metal hooks with much pressure; enough to bend a sheet of steel. They hadn't stopped until all that remained were twitching bodies and heads smashed to bloody pieces, clumps of brain and skulls.

A mother ran with her baby girl in her right arm, and tugged her toddler daughter with haste as a stampede of gang bangers sprinted after her, cackling in the dark, swinging chain links. She lost ground, unable to maintain the distance. In a hurry to think, she darted down an alley way, frantically scouring for a place to hide her children. She saw nothing near or big enough. In a last ditch of hope, she kicked her heel against a trashcan and emptied it of its contents. The footsteps echoed off the brick enclosed alley, signaling the approach of the killers. She thrust her toddler inside and ordered her eldest to hold the baby. Shrugging off her jacket, she threw it over the trashcan and quickly shoved trash and other debris around it to conceal it the best she could.

She managed a final attempt to throw more trash around it when a deadly snatch of her hair threatened to snap her neck. Out of her frightened brown eyes, she watched the circle of attackers close in, weapons drawn. The chain links were gone. Glinting under the night moon like starlight were razors, pocketknives and screwdrivers. She screamed, begging for mercy, shouting she had children to care for, but the pleading fell on deaf ears. Unbeknownst to the woman her baby and toddler witnessed the terrible assault, every blood curdling second. Knives carved into her flesh, searing off skin, jagged slashes gutting into her belly. They couldn't stay quiet, unable to stop the demands for their mother.

Someone heard. A nasty grin parted his lips and he staggered over to where he heard the noise. With one swift kick, he parted away the false trash heap and revealed to more victims. He whipped his blade out and lunged forth.

Elsewhere hiding inside a parked Honda Accord, two small boys and their older sister ducked away from the rush of running killers and helplessly watched their eldest sister's bakery burn to the ground. It'd taken years, hard blistering years to keep their father's bakery afloat and now, it crumbled before their eyes, glass shards glittering on the concrete. Tears bubbled in their eyes. Their eldest sister huddled down in the front seat and cried in her hands. The second sister growled and the twin smaller boys angrily glared at the amused destructors. One of them couldn't stand it any longer and jumps out, screaming for them to stop their madness. The other three siblings' eyes widened, looking between the smallest boy and the audience his outburst gained. They were on him in seconds. The eldest sister could do nothing but leapt in the back seat and cover the mouths of her remaining brother and younger sister as the gang members stomped the youngest child to death.

Joey raised his gun to his tenth victim and fired. The boy, close to Tristan's age dropped before his brother's eyes. Joey took the second boy out without hesitation. Blasts broke out behind him and he ran off to join the massacre. He caught up to Seto's side and together, they tore down the sidewalk, barking orders and waving for more men to follow.

"Go for the park!" Joey shouted, lighting the papery tip of a freshly loaded cocktail. He raised his hand and thrust it into a car repair shop.

Seto paused a split second when he saw a head peer from behind a corner. He smirked and sprinted to it. The fool thought he could run away. Seto allowed the man that little bit of false hope before aiming his SMG and let off a barrage of fire. Like a beautiful display of fireworks, his weapon battered into the man like nails. He fell to his knees. Seto's trigger finger hadn't let up, filling the upper torso full of holes. With that done, he hurried off to meet his waiting partner on the edge of the street.

"How ya feelin'!" Joey said loud over the mayhem.

Seto gave a deadly grin and cranked his gun. "Fucking great."

"You two can kiss and fuck later!" Marik shouted to the two from behind with Yusei close on his heels.

Yusei shot at a little girl running away from a group of runners. Another bullet went through a cowering man thinking he could hide between a couple of cars. He couldn't explain this wildness blooming inside him. This power buzzing in his head was incredible.

Marik slapped him on the back and pushed him forward to the flower park. "Light it up!"

Who was he telling? Yusei snatched a couple of cocktails from one of the grunts and thrust them in the middle of the field. The fiery fest spread into the gigantic flower park. Everything green caught fire, passing to the next and the next until a domino effect left the entire atmosphere a spread of hell. Flames rose to the smoke clogged skies.

The moon was no longer visible. Joey took it all in, turning in place to the slowly burning city. Ashes fluttered in the breeze of swishing flames. A huge grin split his face. It wouldn't be long before the destruction left the city's resident feeling the contagious desire for carnage. More havoc will spring within them all, to where friends will betray one another, mothers and fathers will sacrifice their children for the sake of their own lives and mass suicide will erupt.

Joey knew it was only a matter of time.

A tumbling man come from his house with his gun pressed to his temple and pulled the trigger, scattering his innards over his front lawn. Another man flung his girlfriend at the herd of running gang members in order to save himself. Two best friends stared at each other for a long time, old feelings of rage and jealousy surfacing in their minds from past incidents. They raised their fists and the blame of regret rushed through their fists.

Marik, Seto, Joey, Yusei and all the gang members laughed, and continued with their slaughter. The streets will swim with the blood of its people. Heads will roll, hearts will stop. It would have gone on forever until the boom of shrilling sirens came careening from everywhere. Other times there would have been a sign for retreat and order to flee.

Not this time. Joey and Marik stood firm until they caught sight of the first police car and reloaded their guns. The other members followed suit. When Zane appeared dressed in his vest and armor, shotgun raised and no call for surrender, the gang members knew it'd be war. It was going to be them or the police.

Joey cranked his gun. Yusei readied his aim. Both knew it had to the police. They both had someone to get back to. . .

Atem rode quietly in the backseat of a 2012 black Rolls Royce Phantom, head bowed in his hands, gaze away from the city's eradication outside the tinted windows. His car rode through, untouched, paved clear. Screams rebound off his car. He felt Seth's gaze hammering on him through the rearview mirror and Mahado's tenseness.

The doctor's voice wouldn't stop roaming inside Atem's head. Nothing he did could erase the image he left behind in the hospital. Atem went to see all of them. Yami, he hardly recognized, being strapped to every damn wire and tube in the hospital it seemed. A breathing tube had been shoved down his throat, pumping air in his lungs. His caramel skin had lost its entire brilliant luster. Atem's hand felt like it'd stroked over cracked dirt.

Then, he'd gone to see Yugi. Yugi . . . it'd been Atem's undoing, taking in the young boy's badly battered body, the hill of white gauze overlapping repeatedly around his neck . . . and still a center of blood managed to seep through. His face was twice the size of a cantaloupe, swollen and red with visible handprints. A breathing tube was taped right under the gauze, no doubt the boy's only route of oxygen. His mouth was open, gasping in his sleep and fists clenched.

Atem had been foolish, naïve, helpless to stop any of it from happening. So many should have scenarios roared in his brain. He should've never brought them to the battle. He should have sent Kisara away at Pegasus's first warning. He should have broken things off with Yugi early on. He shouldn't have wanted to rekindle his and Yami's old spark. He should have never given so much of himself to any of them. He should have left Kisara to that bitch woman. He should've let Yami died that day he found him as a child. He should have warned Yugi off the first day they met.

That's what should have happened. All of these jumbled fucked up feelings weren't for him. They left him numb, confused and insanely hungry for more. These emotions drove him mad, made him feel things he didn't want to feel.

Ushio. Zigfried. . . they were to blame for this. Their interference, the attacks, the threats, everything. Had they not gotten involved or caused any of this drama, Atem wouldn't feel nothing like this—like this absurd numbness that refuses to leave him alone. Making all of these—these fucking emotions—just—damn it.

Atem couldn't control the suppressed animosity for those responsible. They made him into this. Ushio. Zigfried. They stole away his dignity, stole away the final remnants of his cold heart, and made him realize these buried sensations arise. He didn't want any of it. The care, the fright that he could lose Yugi, Yami or Kisara. They'd tried. Those sons of bitches tried.

However, they won't have a second chance. Atem vowed that much. They'll suffer a hell unlike the next they'll surely experience after he was done with them. No, they didn't know what pain was. They didn't know what agony was like. He'll prove there is a pain beyond anything they'd ever known.

Atem curled his arm over his face, breathing harder, breathing faster in short ragged pants. This surge of anger was staggering. A dark, fire churned his belly in tight knots. His skin beaded with sweat. His nails dug like shovels into his palm and every moment his index finger twitched at the slightest sound. He wanted to shoot something, shoot someone.

His cell vibrated.

Atem cracked his knuckles trying to snatch his cell from his pocket. The blue screen flashed an incoming text message. He slid his finger across the screen.

From Pegasus? How long ago had he sent this? Atem frowned. He must've missed it when he was in the hospital.

Steel's cold as blue ice.

Blood bleeds red.

Collaborated sources of purple death.

Make Zigfried understand this. He's waiting for you at my house. You'll find another willing participate eager for a lesson as well.

Two for the price of one, is it? Well, then. Atem dropped his cell between his legs and leaned forward. So, Pegasus predicted the outcome of his own lover's plans. He knew what would happen. He always knew.

Atem's fists squeezed tight. "Son of a bitch," he grumbled. Pegasus was smart to split town when he had the chance . . . Atem would have killed him next.

"Seth."

The older cousin looked in the rearview mirror. Their eyes connected. "Yeah?"

"Go to the mansion."

Mahado's brow creased in confusion. "What's there?"

Atem chuckled. A dark, nasty sound. He didn't recognize it at all. "Hn, you'll see."

Son of a bitch. That son of a bitch got him. Joey couldn't believe it. He clutched his side to dull the stinging hole in his left side. That'd been an underestimated moment he'd foolishly walked into. Looking around himself, he saw now they should have planned for whatever Zane might have had in store for them.

The bodies of the fallen fenced him in on all sides. In the craziness, he'd lost track of Seto, Yusei and Marik. They were somewhere in the midst of this dark, smoky calamity. Dead or alive, Joey didn't know. He could only hope they were a lot better shape than he was, breathing then a busted lung and strangling off strings of loose blood.

The sheer magnitude of loss was astounding. Zane's men managed to wipe out three-quarters of the people here. He hadn't just had the police on his side either. The National Guard had arrived by order of the mayor for state level control. Enlisting help on the national level wasn't anything the Purple Fiends could handle. If they'd managed to recruit help from the outside families, the Red Eyes and Blue Eyes from the surrounding states, things would have turned out differently.

It would have been a draw at best. Not this time. They had been severely outmatched. The heavy artillery the National Guard owned made the Purple Fiend's weapons look like a bunch of pellet guns and butter knives. No way in hell of countering those.

And Zane wasn't taking any prisoners. Everyone was to be shot down like dogs. This was his opportunity to rid the city of the disgusting filth he considered virus that'd been around too long. He wouldn't risk this event happening a third time.

Joey laid motionless against his will as the suffocating gunshot in his side throbbed like a jolt of electricity. He'd walked as far as the edge of the street curb before collapsing between two cars, his eyes level with a bloody tennis from one of his comrades. Purple, lavender and lilac bodied figures littered all over the place.

"Come . . . on," he huffed into the dirt and struggled to pull his weight across the ground. "I gotta—I-I gotta—I gotta-a g-get b-back." Joey made a promise. He couldn't stay here, let it end this this. He couldn't die here. Hell no. He's always been a man of his word.

Tristan, he was home, waiting on him to come back. Tristan was safe from this. They'd barely started. Joey wasn't going to leave it there when there was so much for them to go through together. There was too much he wanted to say, things he wanted to do with that kid.

The gunfire renewed, popping by the two's and three's. The bullets were too narrow and sharp to be from his crew. They didn't have the connections or time to collect assassin ammo. But Zane had. Crooked and bitter to the very end. Joey closed his eyes and struggled to drag his weighty body as far under the car as he could.

The gunshots weren't hurried. No haste. Just a single blow to the head of each person they walked up too. No one would survive a penetrated skull at close range. Their numbers were dwindling to a handful. Joey heard the leather boots crunching the burn grass beneath the weight of a soldier.

Joey refused to stop trying. He hunched all of his weight on his right arm and forced it to carry him across the ground, scrapping his underbelly on the ground. No way. No way was he not getting back to Tristan. He promised that boy. He swore he'd come back. He had to fucking get back to him.

"Where the hell you goin', killer?"

Joey ignored the approaching soldier. His mind was on that smart-ass mouth, those maple sweet eyes, that wiry attitude—that sexy smile. That made him grin. Yeah, he missed that the most.

"We protect and serve from scum like you." A click. "You don't deserve to crawl back into your hole."

Joey imagined how warm and inviting it would be to hold Tristan in his sleep. Bet the pointy haired kid snored. What would it be like to wake up next to him? What kind of flowers should he buy him just to piss him off? Joey wondered if he liked chocolate or hard candy. What about a trip to Atlanta? Just the two of the enjoying the sights, or better, going to camping. He knew a good spot they could go and spend time under the stars.

What a great spot that'd be for their first time. . .

Joey closed his eyes on the idea. Him and Tristan experiencing their first love session. . . how beautiful that'd be.

He remembered the soldier chuckling and the echoing clack of the trigger being pulled.

. . . His last thoughts, he was grateful, were on Tristan's worried face and his relieved smile to see him home. . .

I'm comin' back to ya, kid . . . wait for me. . . I'm comin'.

In here, huh? Atem was out the car before Seth had a chance to park. The moment had arrived. He slapped a magazine in the cartridge and flipped the safety to rapid fire. Fast and quick or slow and painful. Regardless, both these motherfuckers were going to die.

The built in flood lights beneath the lawn were shut down. This part of town fortunately remained intact from the punishment. Pegasus knew it would. The mansion held a new sort of atmosphere from the usual festivities that took place during their annual meetings. It looked abandoned, haunted, dark all around.

Atem reached the front door first, jiggling the handle. He twisted once and pushed forward just a smidge. Mahado came up on Atem's left with his gun draw and back to the other side of the door. Seth flanked Atem's right with his gun held up the ready. The inside seemed as desolate as the outside. Not a soul in sight.

Cautiously, Atem beckoned Seth to cover him and Mahado to fall in last place. Atem kicked the door open and hunkered down, eyes sharply scoping out every black figure in the oversized structure. Silence rung deep in their ears. Atem straightened his back, holding his gun upright as he took the lead, scowling at every shadow and silhouette. He couldn't sense another dangerous soul in here.

"Zigfried's here," Mahado mumbled under his breath. "Isn't he? That's why you wanted to come?"

"Yeah," Atem answered back. "Check the house. Find Zigfried and bring him to me." He whipped around and glared, especially at Mahado. "Don't touch him. He's mine."

Mahado narrowed his eyes in the dark, wisely staying quiet. He left without a word and went to check the upstairs level.

"Go with him," Atem said to Seth. "He's Yami's man." Even with the truce intact, with Yami out of sorts there wasn't a guarantee Atem could keep a leash on these dogs.

Seth hesitated a small moment before double timing after Mahado. Now alone, Atem ventured forth, crouched low, gaze wandering left to right. The further he crept through the house the more his blood boiled. As he burst through each downstairs office and bedroom, he discovered none of them held what he was looking for.

The last office downstairs didn't have anything either. Atem slammed the door shut and hustled to check the bathrooms. They were empty too. Then, that left the kitchen. Atem checked his gun's chamber to make sure a bullet was lodged in before carefully investigating the opening to the dark kitchen. He padded his hand around for a light switch. Touching over a jutted tip, he flicked it up and stepped out, gun draw up.

His eyes unfocused, his vision blurred and once more, he was submerged in nothing but red. Seeing one of them sitting there with a blade laid flat against his wrist, bubbled a new universe of anger.

The Supreme—no, Ushio, smirked cockily, raising the freshly cleaned butcher light against the skylights. It gleamed like flat stars. "Been waiting for you, kid."

His deep voice roughly slithered up Atem's spine. He stood up straight and leveled his gun at his hip.

"Pegasus said he'd let me out of jail for your sake. If I managed to leave here alive, he promised to transport me to wherever I wished along with my wife. No one would ever hear from me again."

Atem only continued to glare.

Ushio Sr. shifted off the side of the island counter, gingerly swiping the blade's flat edge against his wrist. "However, we both know the chances of me living are slim to none don't we?" He chuckled. "You'll kill me before I can even think of a way to kill you."

Nothing.

"Tell me something, ragazzino. How is your daughter faring since our last encounter? Is she well? Is Yugi well?" Ushio lovingly rubbed the blade softly across his skin. Not once did it break the flesh. "Such sweet children, so ripe and innocent to our cold ways. You know, I couldn't get much done with her mouth when I had her. I tried, yes I did, but she proved incapable of such a simple pleasure. But Yugi, my, my, he on the other hand. He knew how to make your knees buckle."

Ushio saw it right when it happened. The tiniest flash of an animal on a bitter rampage in Atem's dark eyes. The darkness haloing his background only heightened his intimindation.

"I could ask about Yami's condition, but seeing how Zigfried turned his chest to swiss, it's pretty easy to figure out."

The anger flustered. Ushio smirked.

"You can stand there gawking like a pussy as you wish, but why prolong the inevitable, eh?" Ushio chuckled. "Why not shoot me, get the deed done. Otherwise, you'll lose out on a perfectly good chance to get your revenge. This blade is very sharp. I believe my mother had one just like it back in my home country. She used it to slice frozen salami and put it in her pastas. A human arm isn't as flimsy but it'll cut just as easily. Yugi's throat didn't feel like salamit. More like slicing through a stick of butter, so rich, so thick and supple—"

Ushio brought the blade closer to his vein. He'd thought for sure when Atem lifted his gun, he's shot him between the eyes. He didn't. A warning shot did zip by his ear, and pop off a crockpot. Ushio's grip loosened on the knife's handle as he tensed and squared off his shoulders, lifting his chin.

"What's wrong? Where's that mouth now?" Atem whispered, stepping closer. "Go ahed, try and cut yourself. You'll bleed, but you'll still have a heartbeat. And with that heartbeat, you'll breath, you'll live, and you'll feel pain." Atem's heart accelerated and slowed, accelerated and slowed, in a pattern so low it roared in his ears. He could almost smell the blood pumping in Ushio's veins, the sweat seeping from his pores. "Your trip to hell won't be all smiles and rainbows, motherfucka'. I'm gonna show you what it's like to be helpless, confused, defeated . . . by the time you draw your last breath all you'll remember is fear, and who put that shit in your heart."

Ushio stilled. Then he laughed, so harshly Atem almost shot him in the mouth just to mute the ugly tone. "By all means, go ahead and shot me wherever you want. Hit me in the good spots though. I like it quick and easy."

"You don't get to make that decision," Atem murmured and closed his index around the trigger with perfectly measured pressure, letting loose four fast shots.

The bullets wouldn't blow straight through a body that muscular when shot in specific places on his body. Atem learned that from years of torture and murderous taunts.

Ushio screamed. Blood spewed out of both his deltoids, and his thighs. He fell hard on the tile floor, a slippery wet smack, still squirming, still breathing. Atem narrowed his eyes as he stalked in, dropping the gun on the floor and cracking his knuckles.

Ushio toiled from side to side, holding the muscles between his shoulders and neck. His eyes were so bright with white pain, Atem refused to resist the smile creeping on his face. He kneeled by the older man's side and traced his index finger in the steady stream of blood pouring from Ushio's thigh. Little red circles, nice wide patterns were drawn by his thigh and, this has been the first time Atem has ever felt so calm and at least.

He almost felt like his old self again. That uncaring, dead hearted villain. He sighed a long wind and angled his head to the side to stare at Ushio's face.

"You pray, yeah?" Atem mumbled, but he didn't wait for Ushio to answer. "Let's say you do. All this time, you've been praying to some God who's supposed to save you from yourself. If you pray for your sins, he'll forgive you. What makes you so different from everyone else that he'll let you live and my . . . let them die?"

Ushio choked up a wad of blood and spat it by his head. "A God—a God doesn't answer to mortals. I'm free to sin as much as I wish because I have already risen to the Godly status, but you," he coughed. "you'll never know the glory it is to be a God."

Atem sighed. "Gods are so damn predictable, aren't they? Thinking they're so high and mighty that their actions are justified by their status. The sacrifices you make are fine because you're a God. If you're a God, you're immortal. But today, I'm the higher power. You'll answer to me." He looked to the side. Near his ankle was the discarded butcher knife. The edge was sharp enough to disrupt the flow of blood on the floor from Ushio's bullet wounds. A wide white space was left untouched in the shape of the knife as Atem picked it up and display it before himself.

"Ask for forgiveness," Atem looked at him. "Ask me to forgive you for abusing my child, for abusing Yugi, and for making Yami stoop to a low even too deep for him to climb out of." He mindlessly twirled the pointed tip on the end of his finger. "Beg me."

Ushio grinned despite the monstrous pain written across his face. "Make me."

Atem angled the blade down and jammed it straight through Ushio's thigh; the direct spot of the bullet wound. He didn't blink as Ushio flopped like a fish out of water, clutching at his wound. What a relishing sensation, hearing your victims screams that power it stirred in you knowing you were the cause. Atem was in control.

He grabbed the knife handle and jerked it up and down until the muscle ligaments let it go. Bits of skin and blood clung to the side. Cocking his head to the side, he examined it closely and shrugged.

"Gods don't bleed do they?" He asked over the harsh groans. "No, why ask you? You're someone pretending to be a God. What would you know?" Atem rose the blade and jerked it at an angle through Ushio's side, where Atem knew the kidney was. "Gods don't make people suffer like that," he mumbled calmly and snatched the blade back. "Gods don't cause confusion. They know better."

Atem lifted Ushio's cotton green shirt. All of those tattoos; three pointed crowns, five pointed crowns, the Brotherhood logos and symbols, street names and a death list, all inked across his chest.

"You're no God." The blade rose and hovered on its edge, an inch from Ushio's belly. "What God did you pray to that let you live this long?" He pressed the blade down and slid across. "Why aren't you clinging to life in the hospital instead of them? Why the fuck do you get special treatment?" He pressed the blade down—

Ushio jerked up, flailing his arms. One fist came straight for Atem's head. His youth gave him the advantage. He dodged the sudden attacked, rolling over to the side and climbing to his feet. He underestimated Ushio's weakened state by assuming he was down for the count. Something must've stirred a last minute energy burst because he was on his feet and charging like a bull.

Atem pulled to the side of him and staggered around his blind side. "That's how you wanna play it?" He was cool with that. "Come on then. Come on!" Whooping his ass the old fashion way was good enough for Atem.

He tugged on the hem of his shirt and ripped it off his head, tossing it to the side. Street scars and Blue Eye Ace tats on full display made the perfect open challenge.

Ushio, still bloody and wounded, didn't seem fazed by his injuries at all. The surprise change in his demeanor almost threw Atem's guard off, but he stayed ready, fists up and feet skipping in place. Ushio smacked his fist together as his smile unzipped across his face. He winked and beckoned Atem to come forward.

Atem danced on the tip of his toes, fists rocking up and down. His shoulders rolled, his head bobbed and then he was charging forward with much momentum and speed. The side of his head snapped to the side from Ushio's beefy fist connecting to his jaw. The pain traveled through Atem's head fast as lightning, but he was ready for that and jabbed his fist hard into knife wound above Ushio's kidney.

"Arg!" Ushio staggered, but caught his balance with two steps. His eyes were sharp and flashy and not the least bit scared. His fist rose and swung in a wide roundhouse punch.

Atem ducked under and came beneath. Ushio was wide open to an attack. The Blue Eyes leader took advantage and drilled his fists into Ushio's chest, one strong blow after the other. Each body blow had a terrible effect, weakening the strength in Ushio's knees.

With Atem's back open, Ushio hammered down a strong pound. Atem's knees wiggled under him, his weight like lead. He miscalculated, being bold and power hungry. That knocked the breath right out of him.

Get back, his mind screamed. But Ushio's arms were already hugging around Atem's slighter form and squeezing his half-bent position close to his stomach. Ushio's knee cocked up into Atem's stomach, dead into his old bullet wound, bringing with it, old pains and old memories.

Atem felt the agonizing sounds building in his throat. He never uttered even one, clamping his teeth down on his bottom lip. The pain was nothing. It didn't hurt. It didn't hurt. These pussy hits meant nothing. Atem thrashed and squirmed and bucked to get free, but Ushio's grasp was firm. Over and over he jammed his knee into Atem's stomach. His laugh stung Atem's ears.

Atem sucked in a deep breath. He drew his fists and legs in and sunk to the floor. The change surprised Ushio and he lost his grip. Atem crawled on his hands and feet to put some distance between them. Ushio grabbed one of his feet and received a swift kick in his chin. Atem cackled manically as he climbed up to his feet, whirled around and charged back in.

His feet kicked off the ground as wrapped his arms around Ushio's waist and tackled him to the ground. He shouted a string of incoherent words. Atem straddled the older man's waist and brought his fists down on his face. "You stole everything from me!" Atem howled, bringing the force of his rage into each blow.

Ushio's head snapped left and right. Bones crackled, his jaw loosely dangled, unhinged from the brutal assault. His hands were locked under Atem's knees, unable to block out the deadly blows. Blood splashed on Atem's cheek; saliva moistened his knuckles and a new bone cracked under the force of his fists.

But it wasn't enough. He felt the bastard's heartbeat racing between his thighs. Atem's eyes twitched, dull of life. His entire body was on autopilot, slamming like sledgehammers. The solid build of Ushio's head felt mushy, soft and squishy. The flesh on Atem's knuckles were eaten through, raw and burning as skull fragments cut into his meat. It wasn't enough. He deserved to feel a pain everlasting. He needed to feel all that he felt when Yami fell on the ground; when Kisara gasped out a cry no child should every experience, when Yugi looked up at him through those teary eyes.

"FUCK!" Atem screamed, battering harder and harder and shouting curse after curse. "Dammit, dammit, dammit!" He howled per punch. His fists were ramming straight through Ushio's mouth, cutting his fingers on teeth. There was nothing left of his face. So, why did it still feel like the asshole was smiling up at Atem, laughing at him.

"Cousin!"

Atem's fists stopped midair, chest rising and falling rapidly, air panting through his nose. He snapped his head up with wild eyes.

"He's done," Seth stiffly said from the kitchen entrance.

He saw Seth standing there with something in his hand. Mahado stood behind with his side turned and head looking elsewhere. Atem blinked, breathing harshly. He looked at his hands, all covered in blood and globs of flesh. Ushio's head was beaten in, eyeballs hanging off pieces of pink ligaments. Atem growled at the mess and slammed his fist down through to the floor. He didn't care. The asshole survived every damn minute of it.

Seth dropped whatever was in his hand. Atem looked up as the skylights circled over the head of lavender hair, darkened and wet—Atem's eyes widened.

He immediately cut his eyes to Mahado and knew he wasn't to blame. Then he blinked at Seth and saw the same grim disgust. Atem snarled.

Zigfried's head had a hole on the side. He'd killed himself. The fucking coward took away Atem's chance.

"No!" Atem shot up to his feet and grabbed his gun. He took aim and fired. "No! Son of a bitch! Wake up! Damn you, you coward, wake up!" He shot every round out of the magazine and reloaded it to unleash another barrage of gunfire.

Zigfried's body bounced and jumped off the floor. He wouldn't scream or beg or whimper or plea. He took that chance away. Atem rammed his foot on the side of Zigfried's dead head and sneered at the loud pop of neck disconnecting from spine. The son of a bitch. Atem shoved his gun in his pants and grabbed his shirt. He stepped over the bodies and stomped out the mansion. Mahado and Seth glared at the badly beaten bodies and left the trash for Pegasus to clean up.

They both knew coming here only healed a small piece of Atem. He was going to need a lot more to get him through this.

There didn't seem to be an end to the number of patients being emitted into the compound. They poured in, all bloody, beaten or worse. Dr. Hawkins hadn't seen such devastation in years. Women, men, children, all ages, and races arrived limping, crying, more injured then the last. Eleven straight hours he's been in and out of the trauma unit, surgery, and shouting orders to the nurses and interns to care for the newcomers and to relocate current patients.

The rooms were filling up. The waiting room couldn't accommodate all of the families, friends and waiting victims. Some perched against the walls, others held onto profusely bleeding wounds, cried in their hands. Their heads were bowed and frightened eyes shot to the sliding glass doors every time a new person entered.

Dr. Hawkins could only count his blessings that the violence stayed far from the hospital. Neighboring hospitals and clinics weren't so fortunate. Patients met horrible ends at the hands of the rampaging young people. Dr. Hawkins could see the ominous auburn flames grazing the heavens from the top story windows as he finished wrapping gauze around the eye of an elderly gentleman. He barely managed to keep the man's eyesight intact after removing the glass shards embedded in his pupil.

Wiping his brow, he prepared himself for another rushing round when one of the nurses pulled him to the side. The front of her blue scrubs were stained a deep brownish red. "Doctor, look," she panted, holding out a thick chart of documents. After delivering the paperwork, she was called off to help the victim of a car accident.

Dr. Hawkins kept his face neutral as he read over the findings. No one needed to know how much he wanted to make sure a certain someone received top priority in this mess. It could cost him his license, or worse, incarceration for tampering with the HIPPA policy but at the very least, out of all of this mayhem and killing, a small ray of hope would shine.

Hundreds of small children were brought in with various ages and dozens thus far have died. His eyes scanned the contents, scouring over the health conditions of many. Asthma. High Blood Pressure. Diabetes. AIDs. Too Big. Not enough blood. Too old.

Dr. Hawkins sighed under his breath after the pages began to thin. There had to be one . . . at least . . . one . . . He reached the third to the last page.

Naomi Victoria Stanton

Five-years-old.

Blood Type AB.

Thirty-one pounds.

Thirty-nine inches tall.

Lung size . . . 99.9999% match.

The doctor's lips pressed into a grim, saddened line. A blessing and a curse. A loss and a gain.

A life for a life . . . there still may be a chance.

TBC: See? I'm not entirely heartless. ^_^