Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Alive ❯ Prologue: Still there ( Prologue )

A/N: Hookay… it's been… beyond a freakishly long time since I've ever even wanted to write something... and then I started reading Yu-Gi-Oh! again. Weird how things happen, isn't it? Well anyway... I guess I don't really have much to say except… this is a prologue. Yay. It's short, it's vaguely pointless, and it's not meant to hold a massive amount of solid information. This chapter exists so that you don't have to sit through anything long to figure out if you're willing to sit through my drivel or not. I write weird. I have a bizarre vocabulary and I word things in a way that seems strange to a lot of people, I'm asking you to give me a chance, give me your opinion. Hate me, love me, it's up to you. I haven't written fiction in a long time, and I would like some feed back into how I'm doing. I have a lot of free time right now, so I should update this if I feel people would like to see more. Okay… I'm also not as drab and annoying as this A/N makes me seem… it's just three in the morning and my computer has crashed three times in the last five minutes… I'm not all there right now… when I am, I'll be much more pleasant.

 

Anywhoo… please enjoy… or don't… but I would enjoy feedback from either side.

 

Warning: This story contains violence, coarse language, sexuality and mature themes that are not suitable for all audiences, reader's discretion is advised. (aka: This fic will contain yaoi, sex, violence, maybe drugs, my deranged ramblings, swears (I say fuck a lot, fuckers.) and… well… bastardized Yu-Gi-Oh!… so, judge before you read… can you deal with this shit?)

 

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh, and all things dealing with it are copyright their rightful owners, I can take no credit for the characters, or any of the ideas behind it, so don't sue me for this, please?

 

 

I remember waking up quite suddenly with small yelp as my arm shot daggers down it through my body. Wincing I looked around, though a fat lot of good it did me though as the room was too dark for me to even tell the difference between when my eyes were shut and when they were open. I was stiff and soar all over, and cold down to the bones. A bizarre factor on my current health would have to be, despite knowing for a fact that they could not possibly be there, I could feel the tightness under my right eye of a scar that was lost along with my ancient body, as well as rattling difficulty to breath that had once come with living in the harsh deserts of Egypt. These things, these ailments I once had, it was impossible for them to be back. This body was long since dead… and while ages had passed since my soul had been separated from it, I could tell this body was the one that belonged to me. It irked me not to know what was going on. This was something I prided myself on… my abundance of information, my keen knowledge of my surroundings. It was how I was able to survive so long in my youth… though also how I became damned to this eternity. Either way… I could not conclude why I could possibly be here, in this dark, cold, mildly damp room, shackled to a wall as I was, with a body which should have long since rotted away.

 

A sound echoed into the silence, which I have been previously blessed with, causing my ears to twitch, straining to hear what it was. Eventually I made it out to be the light footfall of a person in boots. By the time taken for each stride I could assume it to be a male, and the sounds made by the steps I could guess it to be a person of importance, the way the heal snapped to the ground followed by the rest of the foot snapping after it. Year of hiding had honed my senses and my ability to judge these sorts of things, yet still I was unable to figure out who it could be… a man of importance? I knew many people who at least viewed themselves with outstanding importance… and even so there were many I didn't. It frustrated me.

 

A door or window must've been opened as the air in the room began to move, and the lighting changed just slightly, I could make out now, a rough outline of my surroundings, though they now seemed of minor importance as a familiar scent reached me. His scent. The strong musky scent that almost made it seem like he was on fire. I couldn't see him, but I could picture him perfectly in my mind. His eyes, deep and lifeless, expressing an almost perpetual boredom, tattooed darkly making their deep amethyst eyes stand out strikingly from his deep chocolate brown skin, deeply tanned yet untouched by the sun. His hair was styled as if a great flame was spreading from him, threatening to scorch you if you dared get to close to him.

 

Marik Ishtar.

 

He was alive.

 

Mind you I'm not sure that the phrase `alive' generally suits him, as to be honest the man was neither alive, nor dead to begin with. A case of a split personality mixed with ancient magic created him… and then banished him. Either way… I was unsure weather or not I wanted to throw my arms around him or punch him square in the jaw, but as neither was a possibility I had to settle for staring in the general direction he seemed to be approaching from.

 

“Marik…” I managed to choke between parched, bruised lips. I could hear him breathing, it made me want to scream at him to talk… just so I could hear his voice. I suppose you, oh noble readers, should probably be informed, seeing as many of you are probably far too incompetent to have already figured out, that the two of us did in fact have a history. Although you couldn't easily put a label on it. We couldn't have been `Lovers' as there was never so much love as there was lust. And putting the term `Boyfriends' seems far too chummy and all-round annoying… I suppose partners would be the closest term, as the only thing we ever did together was fuck. Yet at the same time we were connected. And not in your fucking pathetic `red string on the pinky' true love connected crap. But we were drawn to each other, always. Each of us knew hate beyond anything else, we were the same in many different ways. He called to me. And he drove me over the edge of obsession.

 

I had missed him.

 

“Hello Bakura.” Just hearing him talk sent shivers down my spine, imagining the mouth that spawned those deep sounds, tainted with insanity and the utter glee that only hatred knows. My arms twitched against the shackles, sending sharp shooting pain down them, I winced, but didn't cry out. I would never, could never, not in front of him. I was instantly ashamed of my position, I was weak, and seemingly helpless. I had no knowledge and no strength… it pissed me off. I felt his long slender fingers touch my cheek, it was not a loving touch, neither of us were capable of that, and I could feel the warm blood that was still covering them. He dragged them slowly down the scar on my face, tracing it with his blood stained fingers. I felt as if I was going insane all over again. He was so close, he was here, he was touching me, and I felt as if I would do anything to keep him there.

 

He moved his hand and it was all I could do to keep from letting a whine slip from my throat. There were a few clicks, and some painful shaking of my arms before they dropped to my sides. I very nearly shrieked in pain as the shocks flew through me, though after a moment or so I the blood was flowing properly through them and my fingers, which had swollen to the point that I could hardly move them, were nearly normal size. His strong arms wrapped under my legs and around my shoulders as I was hoisted up against his chest. I hated being carried that way but I couldn't move otherwise. I hated above all else being weak, and yet here I was… weaker than I could ever be; being carried like an infant by the only person who I actually cared about their opinion.