I realized I didn't have a story for this character, which was off because I had two for his other half.
If you really think about it, this topic doesn't seem really like his kind, but it's necessary.
Disclaimer: I don't own YGO!
Blood
For being a sociopath, the blood and murder aspect of it wasn't as satisfying to Bakura as it was for other mentally unstable peoples. He didn't really like to do the work himself; he preferred when his victims were their own murderers. He was always like this from the time he sealed his soul into the Millennium Ring. It was an infamous curse object; everyone who touched it died by the hand of someone else or was driven to insanity and committed suicide. He didn't touch them. That wasn't his style.
His host, on the other hand, was a separate issue. He usually kept the body neat, never injuring himself to hurt his host. The only thing he did was use the spindles of the Ring to occasionally prod his little landlord into doing something or getting near to someone. To his host, the blood from his chest never seemed to stop flowing, but he was only getting a flesh wound compared to Bakura's victims.
Though he didn't hurt his host—mostly—physically, little landlord was acutely mentally and emotionally scarred. How would poor little Ryou know what to do when he woke up in a pool of blood that didn't belong to him or covered in dirt because he wound up in a dark alley. Bakura never told Ryou that he physically did not kill each person or that he didn't kill randomly either. He let Ryou use his imagination, something far worse than bodily hurting the boy. It wasn't like Bakura let his host have control of his body anyway. He kept little landlord safe and hidden, locked up inside his own soul room, alone and isolated. Bakura rarely spoke to him unless he needed something. There was no point to getting to know a tool.
Tonight, however, was one of those nights where his victim, a poor member of the Rare Hunters, did not feel like relinquishing information about his leader. Bakura had to take drastic measures and pulled his knife on the man.
"That was a waste of my time," Bakura growled as he scrubbed the blood off his arms. He wasn't partially keen on being covered in blood. Messy also wasn't Bakura's style, at least when he was the one doing the killing. Ryou could be covered in blood, but Bakura? Not a chance.
He sighed noisily as he watched the water wash over the thick, red liquid. He knew some liked to bath in the blood of their victims—something he didn't get, however, he wasn't one to complain with some blood stained a shirt—but he didn't understand when people lost all sense of control when a little bit of someone else's blood dripped upon them.
"It's washable," he snorted.
Review?
Over and out,
Mahersal