Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! or Vampire Hunter D.
Hope everyone is having a good week! Two weeks? Not sure, but I have something for those who are still reading this at least. This particular interaction is lasting way longer than expected, but I'm sure you would rather I not rush it, right?
As always, feel free to share out how you're feeling about this story, it really helps me truck along, I swear. And we are slowly but surely trucking to the end.
Anyway, Enjoy!
Chapter Fifty-Four: While There's Time
Bakura reflected that little more could have been done to show just how inept they all were at moderating the situation at hand. As he stood at the forefront of the hangar which stored their only means of escape, his mouth betrayed the shock and horror of the scene mirrored in his eyes. An open-mouthed grin of disbelief and sick amusement at how terrible their condition was created the paradox of features that many would have argued expressed a descent into madness. A tear streaked against his scarred cheek as his mind tried to comprehend the situation before him.
"Otogi?" he whispered, cleared his throat and tried again.
"Otogi?"
To those ears with amplified hearing, even the whisper should have been enough. Yet in the throes of his feeding frenzy upon some unnamed victim, Otogi was deaf to Bakura's call.
'No.' Bakura's mind demanded, as if this thought negative could change the sight before him. How could any of this be explained? Would he have to hide a body? Could he do such a thing?
Could he risk it, for a friend?
If it risked…?
He gained control of his senses when he heard a hissing gasp come from the victim. Snapping to attention, Bakura leapt into action without a thought to his own safety. He grabbed Otogi's shoulder and pulled with all his might, hoping at the very least to distract him.
"No, Otogi! Stop it!" He belted, wrapping his other arm around the man's neck. The action had been difficult; his arm felt pincered between the two bodies. Pressing his elbow against the victim, the man tried to create a natural lever to release the pair, sensing the strain as his whole arm shook with effort. This feeling did not last long, however.
Bakura felt his body lurch back and he staggered. Unable to center his balance, he tipped to his left, a boon, since the punch Otogi landed barely clipped just above his right jaw. Still, the force of the strike left the man unable to think of anything other than retaliation. He swung with his left, knowing somewhere deep within that the other would outmaneuver it easily. He positioned his right hand during his attack, and as Ewan had cautioned him (in what felt like ages before) he twisted his body to add to the force at what naturally appeared to be a return to his fighting stance. Bakura did not have the speed, the eyesight, or the strength of a vampire; thus, he had to prepare and predict moves that held little rhyme or reason. He could not fight with patterns others could perceive. He had to remain unpredictable.
His strike was true, and while it caused little pain to Otogi, it jarred the man out of whatever frenzy he had fallen into. Bakura did not let up just yet, though. Otogi suffered a hit to his nose, and a knee to his gut before his friend was satisfied that sense had been knocked into him.
"Stop it!" Bakura shouted. Taking a step back, but not dropping his stance, he allowed himself to assess the body beside their short scuffle. It lay there, unmoving.
"Bakura, what the hell?!" Otogi shouted, his face betraying his previous gorging. "Why'd you stop me?!"
"You're killing someone!" Bakura hissed, dropping his voice low. Who knew how much that could echo? It was bad enough that they had shouted already.
"He tried to kill me!" Otogi accused, pointing a bloody finger at the corpse. The hiss had no doubt been one last exhalation. Bakura could see now that with the coloration that the skin possessed, there was little chance the person would ever wake up again.
"Kill you?" Bakura asked, and his eyes widened. They had already begun to suspect more, then.
"Yes, kill me," Otogi said, calming as his adrenaline petered through his system. He pointed to his back. His shirt had a tear in it, and even though the skin was blemish free, it was clear by the way the cloth stuck to his back that he had been punctured with something. "Bastard tried to jump me." His face fell. "He didn't give me much of a choice. With the way he was fighting, he was ready to go out."
Bakura nodded and then flinched. His right cheek throbbed; his jaw one large ache. "I'm sorry you had to do that."
Otogi shrugged. "It isn't something I plan on repeating. It's just hard, you know." He looked up pleadingly to his friend. "When the urge hits, it hits."
Fighting off the urge to let out a sob of sympathy, Bakura instead turned from the immediate scene to look out into the darkened night. Anyone could have come and suffered a similar fate. Otogi could have died, having been overrun. All this possible death and destruction, in the wake of misunderstanding. In the wake of hatred. A hatred that he could only proclaim his place in—his enemy the greatest of all humanity fought.
He just wanted to learn and understand. Why had any of it come to this point?
Why was that man in charge?
And what did that demon want?
His eyes burned and he worked to fight off the tears. Try as he might, though, his right cheek dripped with something damp. The pain throughout it throbbed in time with his heart, and the wetness seemed to puddle at his mouth. Containing the essence of himself had reached its breaking point. He stamped his foot in silent frustration, wanting answers and knowing there would be none.
Bakura's focus on his inner sorrow distracted him to where he only faced his friend once more when he saw a nervous repetition of movement in the corner of his brimming vision. "What?" he asked, rubbing at his eyes. He blinked in confusion when he felt near-dry lashes. The tears had never fallen.
"You might want to try lower," Otogi said, flinching. "I think I got you pretty good."
"Huh?" Bakura wiped his lips, knowing of the moisture there, and noted the smudge of dark red streaked across his hand. He blinked rapidly again and turned to the side to spit. Blood splattered the pavement. Staring blankly, Bakura rubbed his face once more, observing the spatter as if it had come from another; although he gave an apologetic raise of his hands when Otogi's attention snapped to the area. Clearly the man still hungered for more.
"Sorry," Bakura murmured. It was then that the pain really began. He pressed his chilled fingers to the corner of his bruising face and let out a short gasp of recognition. Otogi shrugged; it was his turn to face away.
"What are you doing here?" the dark-haired man asked, clearly forcing himself to contend with cleaning off.
"To check on you," Bakura said, trying to discreetly spit into a corner of his shirt. Made aware, he was surprised it took so long to realize he had been bleeding. His tongue found the gash in his cheek and it danced away to the other side, leaving his next words muddled. "And to warn you that people might be getting a little more cautious about us…"
Bakura quickly shared all he knew about the situation, unable to be anything but defensive of D when relaying the unexpected error—not that he needed to be. Otogi listened with a frown forming on his lips at the note that Mai and Anzu found, but his eyes spoke of deep compassion for the child's misfortune. His reaction was a welcome one, allowing the other young man to speak candidly about his own intuitive misgivings once more. There were no doubters here.
When Bakura finished, the pair looked to each other, and then to the body on the ground. The corpse lay in its cooling blood, the remains of one who could have ruined so much, yet whose death could destroy even more. Otogi gave a derisive snort.
"A little…I think they might have found out about me," he noted, sardonic.
"Not that it does their kind any good," Bakura added, and was silenced by his wording.
"Their kind?" Otogi goaded, although not in an unfriendly way. "Not feeling too human? Or are we sympathizer?"
"You know what I mean," he grumbled, then changed the subject. "How did this guy even get close enough to attack you?"
"I was distracted," Otogi said sheepishly.
"Distracted?"
"I'd been asleep," he said, pointing to the plane. "In the cargo hold. I heard a sound of a lot of shifting, and it woke me up."
"No one's scheduled to be here today," Bakura stated, understanding why the other had been concerned.
"So I went to go look—thankfully it wasn't light out, I've done that before; total dumbass move—and before I can even reach the area that I heard it in, I get stabbed in the back."
"He was waiting? A trap then?"
"No," Otogi shook his head. "He somehow creeped in on his own. How, I'm not sure, but these people do know their way around these buildings in a way we don't. Unless there were more of his people around, which I would have heard, he wasn't the one making the noise that made me go investigate. That sounded like a lot of wood being shuffled around. Those kinds of people also would have come at the sound of you screaming at me."
"How did you miss his arrival then?" he asked, tapping his ear. "Sure, he might have snuck in, but your hearing…"
Otogi shifted uncomfortably. Bakura raised an eyebrow at him. The tail-end fledgling vampire crossed his arms before shrugging. Bakura raised his brow a little higher.
"It's been three years, sure," Otogi blurted finally, causing Bakura to snicker against better judgement. "But I'm still not quite able to focus on all things at once. That wasn't what she trained me for. Strength is easier and dealing with the hunger is vital. I heard the weird sounds, I followed. I don't know how or when he got in there, or if the shifting threw me off that badly. But—"
"Calm down, Otogi-kun," Bakura said, still laughing. "I'm not blaming—"
His eyes caught sight of the body; the corpse sobered him to their predicament once more. Otogi followed his gaze and winced. The scene looked terrible.
"You were interrupted. Quick, before we move it, let's look together for what caused that sound," Bakura added. His friend only nodded.
Their storage had not been far, and it did not take them until getting there to realize something was amiss. Bakura gasped and ran to the darkened area with Otogi right on his heels, soon overtaking him, not that it mattered. They reached their destination and the same conclusion soon enough.
Boards had been pried from their positions atop the crates: some daintily cast off, like inconvenient doors, while others were smashed outward. Outward. The pair peered inside each of these crates with their disquiet mounting after each search brought up much of the same. Dirt and rounded imprints.
"This wasn't…" Bakura whispered, and then wheeled on his friend. "Did she tell you what was in these boxes?!"
"No!" Otogi cried, pleading even as he exploded with outrage at the mere thought of betrayal. "I was as lost as you when we counted these extra ones. Also, I wasn't the one who lied to anyone about who I was."
"I…you don't think…?"
Otogi shook his head. "I don't know. You had me fooled the whole time, if you remember, this could have been put in as some kind of secondary plot." He placed a hand on the outward punch of wood and shuddered. Something had been inside it, of that it was no question. How had he not noticed? "Or maybe she thought more of our—her people—might be needed."
"Why not tell us, then?" Bakura demanded answers of no one in particular. "What if it hadn't been us to open these crates…or what if they…got hungry?"
"Maybe that's what happened here," Otogi speculated, although he did not sound too sure of himself.
Bakura thought of all the secretive discussions they had held on the plane. If even one of them had been heard—he shivered, clutching at his arms as he leaned in to view the imprint upon the packed dirt once more. He could not fool himself; if they had been stored in hiding, they would not be as untested as Otogi had been. These would be her real fighters; his friend was no more than a glorified secretary, and someone pretty to look at to boot. Sure, Amelia had appreciated his company, had been teaching him her vampiric ways, and had trusted him. However, if one wanted a dirty job done, they did not use such honorable sorts to do so.
Why else had he been employed?
"Maybe she had faith in us before," Bakura muttered, while another sound caught Otogi's attention. "But if any of them caught wind of my conversations…or others…"
Should they have been more careful? Why was he asking himself such useless questions now?
"If they found out what had happened here…"
He felt his friend's hand touch his shoulder, urging him to turn his attention elsewhere. His mind refused; choosing instead to bemoan their failure. It just kept compounding—one right after another. The possibility of being sheer bad luck for those he came across flitted through his mind, teasing him in that secretive whisper of the damnable creature that haunted his dreams. It left him with a question he hated to ponder.
"What did we bring upon these people?"
"Bakura," Otogi whispered, and Bakura snapped out of his inner turmoil. Within a second, he heard what his friend had much earlier. Footsteps.
They felt so far away at present, but they signaled a swift approach. A very human approach. If they saw Otogi in his state—
"Find these others," Bakura urged, shoving Otogi away. "See what they know! Try to talk them into being on our side!"
"What about you?" Otogi balked, showing the quality that made him fit so well into Yugi's group. "What about the—"
"I'll take care of it! Trust me!"
"I can't just—"
"Otogi! They'll kill you!" he hissed. "Trust me!"
'I can't let them find you, too,' he thought, watching Otogi's hesitant retreat. He waved his friend off once more before running to the body. He knew he could not hide the blood, and his mind raced with an explanation for the pool of dark liquid while he fireman lifted the body and made his slow attempt to lessen the horror that would be found. He knew if he just hid, it would cause problems of a different sort. These people would have the freedom to search everywhere, and probably blame the whole thing on his party anyway. If he was there, at least he could attempt to sway them to view this disaster differently.
The smell of blood ebbing through the air filled his nose and left him feeling ill with the memory of his blood being drawn from him. Remembering that he knew just where it would end up. Conscious at least once as the metallic tangy scent wafted through the air when they tested it against impurities, hearing that cheer as those present took part in that liquid that rightly belonged to him. The look of those vibrant red eyes, watching the play of emotions on the young man's confused, raging features—a sudden snap to the snorting sound of the bearlike monstrosity with its human eyes—the strangled sound of the dying man as Otogi feasted—
No! He shook his head, forcing himself beyond that cusp of slipping into hopeless insanity. People were depending on him. He had a mission; one that would allow for no more mistakes. The weight on his shoulders kept piling on and it was difficult to tell the difference between the figurative strain and the way his muscles tired of carrying the lifeless flesh atop them. Still, he had to endure. He had to plod on.
Saying that the man attacked him without cause would only bring on more of an attack. These people trusted their own when they had someone else to blame, and that much did not take a genius to figure out. Common sense. Saying he just found the dead man would only work if Bakura turned around and walked toward the sound, but how would he explain the bitemarks? That he had not noticed? And if he turned, he would leave clear signs that he had been walking the opposite way. There was an answer to that: he heard them and turned around. But why had he been there in the first place? To open the rest of the cargo. Alone? Why? Where was what had been inside? What had been inside?
He cursed under his breath.
Bakura staggered halfway to a dim corner before he realized the futility, and he slackened his hold, letting the corpse slump to the floor. He would have to come up with a believable story of an attempt to help a dying man instead. Such a story would not have been a complete lie—he had tried to help—but how to explain the injury? He rubbed again at his sore jaw, realizing with a sudden burst of annoyance that he had his own to explain as well.
Just as he thought he had come up with something halfway decent, he heard the multiple footsteps come to a halt upon the scene. He sighed and turned. Better to face it with grace now, than make it look worse by stalling.
"Thank—" Not even a full sentence had fallen from his lips before their terrified expressions had reached peak levels. Some unfamiliar faces pointed to him, their mouths flapping like fish gasping for air. Known others, like Paul, gaped at him as if he wore some signage that bespoke of doom.
"Look what he did!" One of them squeaked.
Bakura blinked. He had not said more than one word. This person could not have been serious. Even those on the boat had given him more consideration—he thought.
"You bastard!" a woman shouted. "How could you attack an innocent!?"
"I told you they weren't to be trusted!"
"Look at the proof! And at what cost?"
At least let him finish lying.
"Proof?" he managed to ask in the brief silence of the one-sided deluge. It stunned them into momentary shock. "Proof of what?"
"Proof of what?!" Paul fumed, and Bakura wondered if he had been waiting for this moment since Yugi first cowed his unit. "Your face explains it all!"
"My face?" Bakura asked, raising his fingers to his throbbing cheek.
"We trusted you!" the older man raged. "We told you of our mission! And you let the devil into your heart and have taken one of ours!"
Bakura could have almost smiled at the absurdity.
"I can walk in the daylight," he said, pointing out the obvious.
"But you wear that hoodie all of the time!"
"It's cold."
"I've never seen you!" someone else shouted. "I'm about all of the time."
"I didn't eat him," the young man tried to rationalize, knowing other arguments to be fruitless. "I eat regular food. You've seen me." He directed the last comment to Paul, who only shook his head in disgust.
"They've evolved!" another howled.
"That's not how any of that works!" Bakura shot back.
"How would you know if you weren't one of them?"
His mouth opened and instead of words, a loud, derisive cough of a laugh left him. One of them? Here he had been wanting to save these ungrateful masses. Otogi must have found the others by now; his friend had heard the sounds fairly recently. Unlike these people, certainly the hidden soldiers of Amelia would listen to a former comrade. At least some. Hopefully.
A chill shuddered through him when he realized he had no idea of how long the struggle between his friend and theirs had actually lasted.
"We fight against a common enemy!" Bakura shouted, ready to drop calm for a forceful slap of reality. "You're misreading the situation. I'm an ally—"
But the crowd had made their judgement. Pleasure, only too obvious, coated their leader's face as he pointed to Bakura. The others held up their hands as crosses—the visual not repulsive to him in the way they imagined. They acted mindless in their fervor.
"Get him!"
'At least it's only me,' Bakura thought as he turned heel and sped down the hall. It didn't matter to them that he ran at their pace, or that his breath began to labor around the same time as theirs did. They chased after him in rabid pursuit. He forced himself to keep his eyes ahead, dodging a toppled trash can with a well-timed leap. If he could get them to tire, to get far enough away, perhaps he would have the chance to help them see where they were wrong.
Their humanity could not be that far gone.
Running past a window lit just right by a sliver of moonlight, Bakura saw at once what had frightened this congregation. In his reflection, a black streak went from his lips up to his ear, darkened further by the bruise that was running rapidly through its own healing process. A mark against him if they noticed. 'Damnit, Otogi!' he mentally chastised, knowing full well most of the fault lay with himself. 'You didn't tell me I was still bleeding!'
Was he becoming so numb to what his body did, or was he beginning to find he was becoming apathetic to his own needs?
Shaking his head, he freed his mind of everything but a familiar sense of fatigue. The smell of warmed rock and the taste of salt filled his mouth, and he borrowed a past experience of that other within to guide him to a safer position. He ran out of the building, his eyes searching for an alleyway. Feet pounding on the pavement, he was followed by the tapping crunch of others in hot pursuit. The being of Diabound flickered in his peripheral, and he told himself to wait. He shooed the image away with a thought. There was still a chance he could pull them further away. He had to try to speak sense to them, if only to save his own people. The argument of coexistence would have to wait, of course, and showing supernatural abilities would not help his cause just now.
Bakura ran and ran down silent streets, bringing an unwanted uproar in his wake. When he hit a mass of dying grass and concrete pathway, he followed the small line diagonally across the unkempt field. Icy wind flew past him, sometimes in great gusts. The moonlight blinked in and out of existence behind flowing, growing, cloud cover. His lungs were beginning to burn, but the further he drew them from the others meant a higher chance of survival, for everyone. And while he might have caused a disturbance down the neighborhood he had shot by, no one slept in this secondary park. There was no need. Plenty of houses to go around.
He skidded to a stop by a tall, strange, rounded building, gasping for breath. The air was pungent with the smell of the water, rancid with the stench of living and dead. He could curve around the building, exhaust the less athletic, but then they would not hear his plea. They still might not, if he could not catch his breath in time. He slumped against the structure, using the brief, precious seconds to gather his strength.
"Listen to me," he wheezed to those tired souls who advanced upon him. His back rested against the cool building. "You've got to listen before the real threat gets here!"
"The real threat is you!" The leader of their zealous band shouted. A soft stir of agreement blew past the lips of the tired.
"I can see why you think that," Bakura confessed. "But the real threat is—"
"You'd play us all for fools!"
"The real threat is a vampire that could raze this city in less than an hour!" Bakura screamed, slamming his fist against the wall. "I know this because that is what he did to us!"
"Then why would you run?!"
"Would you have listened?" he shot back. Energy filled him with confidence, much like the way the other man had been thrown off balance, and Bakura pointed an accusatory finger at the group. "It wouldn't take a leap in thinking to realize what you all have probably been doing. I get that you're afraid! But please, see reason! Not everyone is out to get you! Not even all of them!"
He wondered why he tried to help them regain a semblance of human decency, knowing that he would have rather disappeared with D, Claire, and the others before harm could come. The danger that he took on could come to bite him in this very instant. He toed the line between which lives he valued so precariously, wishing he could choose both—fully aware he, himself, was an enemy to all.
The answer was simple enough.
"Think about it," Bakura pleaded with them even as his eyes searched for his next escape route, "We're only cautious because we know the dangers. Our strange nicknames, only a means to protect ourselves!"
"Even if we dared to believe you," Paul said, his face a death mask, "Your face betrays your lie."
"I was injured…" he said, realizing his back was to the wall in another sense. Noting a small dark mass moving upward in the hand of one behind the leader of his aggressors, Bakura managed to dodge in time for the bullet to miss its mark. Part of the wall exploded beside him, the shrapnel of it barely scraping past the fabric of his jeans just by his groin. He fumbled, began to run again—
And slid to a stop when he heard the squelch in the first scream.
True terror filled him then, and he spun around to face what he had known would be there. Nothing else could have been so silent in their initial attack.
Red eyes gleamed from between long strands of sandy hair. Bloodied lips curled into a snarling grin glinted in the sparse light of the moon. Three people lay dead on the pavement, their blood seeping into the porous concrete. Others stood by, faces grasped between palms.
"Pull it together," Bakura heard a voice faded behind his thudding heartbeat cry out. He wanted to tell it to run. He would have done so, if he did not have that strong gaze locked onto him. With a focusing breath, he soothed himself. Only one. At least it was not him.
He saw hands raise in prayer, others grabbing things from their pockets in a planned assault. Bakura raised his own hand to warn them against it. It only took a cursory glance to show they were not up to this task. Could they have taken on Otogi? Probably. Him? Maybe. It was what he had been agonizing about. He was not a vampire, but he had tricks to employ and one too many experiences with death to have compunctions during this stage. Facing reality, they might have outnumbered this vampire, but their unpracticed collective attempts would only vex them. And vex it did.
With a growl and a swipe of their stiffened hand, the vampire sent a gush of blood up to the sky. The remnants of the group that had chased Bakura stared in shock, realizing that whatever they had encountered before was nothing like the being in front of them. Their leader, having fallen, took also with them the rest of their immediate bravado. Those that lived ran from the site, screaming street names to each other. Perhaps they had a contingency plan. None of that mattered to Bakura now.
"You naughty thing," the vampire crooned, and Bakura felt his blood run hot before it ran cold. Yet, just as he had with Otogi, he remained unmoved. He had dealt with worse.
"Shut up, and come after me you bastard," Bakura said, crouching low.
"We need the boy."
"I'll die before I tell you where he is."
"Oh, you'll die," the vampire promised. "But first, you'll tell."
"On God?" Bakura asked with a smirk. He was filling with that strange warmth in the prelude to violence. He made a quick religious motion, knowing it would gain further ire. He felt unlike those others, he could handle it. He would allow himself to feel ill about the choices these feelings would bring later. The vampire lurched back, and then hissed at him.
"Your god won't help you now!" They shouted.
"No, gods don't tend to," Bakura replied, nodding in agreement. "But you're the only one that seems to be bothered by it."
His muscles tensed, yet felt responsive and relaxed, ready to employ every skill he had learned thus far. He hoped this "exchange" would end well, but mostly he hoped those he cared for would remain safe.
He just needed time.
D, having just left the shared bedroom at the beginning of Bakura's trial, hurried with soundless steps to the front door. While he did not know how they managed to find them, the boy did not entertain any misguided hopes as to who might be sneaking onto their roof in the dead of night. It seemed their poor fortune just kept piling up.
'I want to hear nothing from you,' he thought bitterly to the creature in his hand.
Passing by the empty kitchen, D saw an abandoned knife resting on the counter. With quick consideration, he snatched it up with a great speed—staying as clear from the windows as possible, just in case they had been more thoroughly surrounded. He did not believe this to be true, but he would do his best to leave fewer blind spots in his rapidly formulating plan. The boy would never forgive himself if he were the continued cause for future sorrow.
Reaching the front door, he wondered how to alert Simon of the threat from above without giving them both away. He rubbed at his mouth, hesitated, and then shook his head. The thought that this was not fair flashed through his mind, but he stamped it down as fast as it arrived. Regardless of how fair it was, it was. He grabbed the cooled handle and cracked the door open.
Simon stood there in the darkness at the squat brick wall near the entrance, completely unaware to the position he and the others were in. Presently, he was fussing with his glasses, squinting at them in the near absence of moonlight. D scoured the ground beside the man and flicked his eyes upward. Not a shadow in sight. Blinded and deaf to the problem then.
The boy bit his lip in worry, wishing that the man would just turn around and make his job easier. Yet it was not to be, unless D wanted them all to be ambushed. He held in a sigh of aggravation and put his mind to work.
Searching for a way to catch his attention, the boy spotted a jacket hanging beside him—someone must have regretted leaving it—and saw the snap button at the wrist. It dangled harmlessly, a bit of fabric and metal meant only to cinch a cuff tighter. He tore it off and flung it with a measured force at the man's head, hoping it would land unassuming in the slight curse the strike would offer.
The metal-buttoned fabric struck true; Simon let out a brief hiss of annoyance and spun around to look to see what hit him. His shoe scraping the pavement in his turn and his voice covered most, but not all the soft ping that the metal left behind as it hit the cement. Waving wildly, D motioned for the man to remain silent, and pointed upward. The broad man replaced his glasses and looked up, squinting. Yet before it was clear Simon saw anything, D exited the building with a frown. He had heard someone running, and they were coming their way.
Simon turned his attention once more to where the young boy stared and lifted his hand in a confused wave as Wanatabe huffed down the road. D did not like the look of the man's expression, but he also mistrusted the creaking sound on the roof. He pointed for Simon to go check it out, not waiting for his shocked response that remained caught in his throat as D pivoted and darted back inside. What the man did then, the child did not know, for the crashing sound filled his ears and set his mind into a fight or flight mode. He was not about to abandon his friends.
"Quick, where is he?" A voice echoed down the hall, past the muffled shriek of D's more sensitive friend. D found he was at their bedroom door faster than he even realized he could go.
"There!" The voice shouted. D ground to a halt, wondering just what that statement meant.
There was a sudden sound of a spray, and a masculine voice joined Amami's cry with one of his own. Claire had employed her new weapon—risky considering their position and the off-chance it would not work. However, the boy could not blame her; they had little option for much else.
"Stay back!" he heard her command as his hand prepared to tear the door off its hinges if someone held it closed. There was another spraying sound and another scream. "I said stay back!"
D waited no longer. Gripping the handle of the chef's knife, he twisted the doorknob and yanked the wooden divide open to the sight of his two friends crouched amongst their things and the rubble of what the ceiling could not hold. Claire clutched Amami close, the dark-haired girl's face hidden in the crook of her thin, wiry arm. She held her unassuming weapon up, sighting her targets like she held a gun in her hand. Two vampires were shaking injured extremities, one an arm, the other tossing their face side to side. A third eyed the pair cautiously and that was all the young boy saw before his vision flipped upside down. This third had been prepared for an intrusion it seemed and tossed D aside like a piece of trash. His body slammed into the wall with enough force that he felt his ribs crack from the impact. He let out a pained gasp, realizing that they had meant to kill.
Why? His mind raced as he forced himself to view reality. Black dots peppered his vision regardless. Did they not know who he was? Could they not sense him?
"No!" Amami shrieked, sussing out what occurred based on the sounds, and Claire pulled her closer, glaring at their aggressors with such hatred.
"Give him to us," the one that grasped at his hand demanded. His pale skin sizzled, the liquid still tearing into his flesh.
"Him?" Claire cawed back. "Buddy, you've got an eye problem."
"What—"
Using that moment as his much-needed distraction, D stood, ignoring the terrible, grating pain that wracked his sides. With a practiced hand, he flung one of his handmade needles from his pocket and was not shocked that it missed its mark. They were dealing with full grown vampires after all. He was pleasantly surprised that it did hit some appendage, though.
"Stay away from them," he demanded with all the bravado he could muster between the indignant shout of their enemy, another wooden needle sliding into his palm. The boy's hair fell forward and shrouded his face, allowing himself a slight grimace of pain. He felt, and smelled, blood sliding down the back of his neck and the ache of some injury he had not noted in favor of his ribs. "Or else."
"Or else what?" the third vampire intoned. This one favored his hair short, D noted as an oddity. Most he could recall that hung about his father had a passion for Victorian styled clothing, or earlier, with hair that would make a hairdresser weep with joy to touch. He also seemed unaffected by the boy's display. D wondered if the being before him thought the child was running on pure adrenaline instead of being less harmed, of which he was the latter.
"Or your doomed," D said, his face still covered. It could not be. What were the chances? "You've got it wrong. All of it."
The short-haired vampire reached for D who barely side-stepped his grasp. He allowed himself to stumble on the rubble. Those clawed hands warned him: take the master's boy alive…not take him unharmed. The rest could die for all he cared.
No other captives. Focus them on him. Give his friends time to escape.
'Where's Simon and Wanatabe?!' he thought to himself. 'They were right behind me!'
'You want them to die?' the symbiont questioned with a curt thought. D revoked his wish for further assistance. Reality reminded him that it would only cause more death if more of those he cared for entered the fray.
"Are we certain they aren't lying?" the first vampire D had noticed asked, the only one cautious enough to wait for a more complex reply. This one wore more modern clothing. He touched his face with ginger fingers; Claire's attack a sure deterrent.
"The one that was always near that lying bastard had a red ribbon in their hair!" spat the third. "And who has the ribbon?!"
"Yes…but—" the second one, also dressed in more modern fare hesitated as he clutched his hand.
All three of the children's eyes widened in realization. D marveled at another fact—the ones Amelia had sent somehow had never met his father, or even seen an accurate painting. And they were relatively new! No doubt they could sense something off about him, but they could not place it. Never had been exposed to a dhampir! It was the only way for this madness to make sense. As much as he wanted to solely look like his mother, he knew his features were a dead giveaway. He was his father's child in that sense.
But why send someone that inexperienced? Their fighting prowess was up to par, the boy's wounds could attest to that, and they appeared to understand their weaknesses, hence their new caution in dealing with Claire…Yet, to not know what D looked like?
Unless…Amelia had trusted Bakura more than what they had assumed, and these vampires had only been insurance for her investment. Only to chance for the boy if, somehow, the hunted had snuck in and escaped into another land when her "allies" had made their grandiose dream come to fruition. She was spreading her people out to help her own master, but not to leave herself unattended. There had been that bizarre collection of truly youthful looking vampires during that one night of festivities. Clear deduction would prove that she valued growth. Yet, if that were the case…who ratted them out? How could they know Bakura? How could they have known the boy's disguise?
As the trio bickered, D jerked his head to the window, the only safe means of escape for the pair crouched and cornered. Claire's eyes answered them with a glance and an affirmative squint. There was no time to answer these questions for himself. He had to plan, just as she did. If Claire and Amami hopped through and he distracted their enemies…
"Now's not the time for arguing!" the third bellowed. The second vampire had just ripped the wooden needle from his palm and was analyzing it intently. "We could grab all three for all I care. Two for whatever he pleases and his son back by his side. That way everyone's happy, and we'll finally get to mee—ah!"
With a swift motion for his friends to go with the blade he still carried, D used his free hand to launch six more needles. It was his most perilous trick yet, and he had no time to relish his success. Each needle struck true into the gelatinous makeup of his enemy's eyes. A harmonious set of shrieks set them into action. D grabbed the packs nearest to him, while Claire and Amami scuttled out of the window with ones of their own. He heard the twang of Claire's guitar hit the sill, but he did not see who had the audacity to bring it. Not taking any risks, D sent his remaining needles flying, striking one in the knee and pinning the two closest to the ground by their feet. Not that such a thing would stop them for long.
"Run, run, run!" D cried, following their footsteps and cursing himself for not thinking to puncture the hearing of their foes. There had been no time, and he had the painful knowledge that he would not have been skilled enough to do all of what he wanted. Not yet.
They raced past newly flaming buildings, smoke choking their lungs as they ran directionless, but at least away from their attackers. The sounds of embittered screams mixed with shouts of madness, dousing the night with the gasoline of hysteria. The children gawked at the mayhem that seemed to have overtaken the city. D remembered Wanatabe running up to them; if this had been the reason, it would not have shocked the boy as to why no one had come to their aid. They were probably busy with, or trapped in, all this mess. As it stood, he could only hope his friends…his family…were safe. If he saw anyone not a part of their immediate circle, he would run—and drag his friends with him. There would be no time to explain. The boy felt fear take hold of him when he let his mind drift into memory. If they did not flee, child or not, they would be marked for death.
"A pier!" Claire coughed, smoke from a nearby house clouding her breath. "Someplace by a pier. Water!"
"What?!" Amami cried, being tugged along. "Why?"
"We need to escape! Something something seaside!"
"What are you going on about?! What seaside?!" D shouted back at her. She fired right back, her confident fury matching the flames that heated either side of them.
"We'll be safe there!"
Elsewhere, as the unexpected disintegration of the society they had landed in began its first torching of all everyone knew, Yugi's mother hummed the last few notes of a lullaby as she tucked in her grandchild into a cot. Etsu let out the soft snores of youth, in a deep slumber the woman wished she could still achieve. She sighed, resting her head against the cool wall of the makeshift hospital. It had been a long day, but thankfully she had been able to send off one of her patients with a generally clean bill of health.
She wondered when her son would be back to pick up his little girl.
A crash from a far room startled her, and she straightened, checking on the growing toddler, that soon would not be called such. The little girl remained asleep. Taking it as a sign that she should investigate the sound, if only for her remaining patient's sake, she stepped into the hallway and listened for any other noises that were out of the ordinary. A strange scent hit her, and she took in a breath to identify it. Smoke?
She heard another crash and went into motion, hurrying down the hall to where it sounded. She did not like the idea of leaving the girl alone, but she was alone herself, and if that other woman had awakened, her expertise was needed there. The other nurse-turned-doctor she was getting to know had left for the day and would not be back until around four the next morning.
She had not expected to see the redheaded woman stumbling past her door and down the hall the other way. A flurry of worry washed through her, and she called out to the inured woman.
"Wait!"
The woman paused. Swayed. Turned. Smiled.
Her motions disconcerted the woman.
"Kyoko…" her patient said, her voice hardly a whisper. "That's your name, right?"
"Kay-chan—no—Kay! You should be resting, not standing up!"
Kay smiled wider and slumped on the wall beside her. She closed her eyes. Her skin looked so pale.
'She's ill,' Kyoko thought. 'It only makes sense. Oh, what is that smell?'
Something was burning outside. Kyoko turned her head, her short mahogany hair flickered in the building light, her own red highlights coming into play. Her mouth slackened as she looked on in a fearful awe. The scene outside showed a blossoming fire next door, with people throwing anything flammable into the flames.
"What are they doing?" she could not help but to ask aloud.
"Dying."
Kyoko faced the woman who by all rights should not have been standing so well on her own. She was looking at her intently. Her eyes glimmered in a strange way, and for a moment Yugi's mother could not recall what the woman's eye color had been.
"Why would you—"
"Shhh…" Kay said, pushing herself off the wall. Her hand gripped at Kyoko's shoulder, painful and cold even through her clothing. "Because they are. You tried to help me, didn't you? I appreciate that. I didn't want to die yet. I'm sure you don't either. I can help you with that."
"What are you talking about," Kyoko stammered, twisting her shoulder away. It took a great effort and left a stinging bruise for her to consider briefly before the woman laughed.
"I guess we weren't the only ones on board," she said cryptically. "But it's not like most of us knew what was really really going on. You and I…we were innocent. Meaning we can live again."
"You were injured in a fight," the older woman reasoned. Part of her wanted to rush to the woman, but something deep within told her to run. She took a step back. "You should be lying down. Let me help you."
'I should be grabbing Etsu-chan and getting the hell out of here,' her mind resisted.
"No," Kay said and smiled again. This time her smile seemed a little too toothy…a little too sharp. "Let me help you, Kyoko. Your son sure hasn't."
Kyoko screamed as the vampire lunged at her.