Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Fallen Angels ❯ Fallen Angels ( One-Shot )

Fallen Angels

 

 

He trudged through the deep December snow, his hands clenched in his loose, baggy black jeans. Grotesque hair festooned down his back in separate spiked locks, white as the snow he walked upon. The recrimination he'd received earlier boomed in his head still after his long tirade. He looked up at the grey sky, wishing he didn't feel such contrite over the previous events. He was blatant, yes, but not heartless…in a sense. It wasn't his fault, he tried, but the light seemed so impalpable, so far away from him now. They were corporate, and now it seemed his belligerence nature broke that apart. He was irked at times, but never meant to induce what he did involuntarily.

He never meant to set that abyss between them.

He was inscrutable, not perceptible. Right now he felt opaque, so much that way that if the light came, he'd feel so oppressive that he'd break like a tendril. He was confused, his copper eyes node with irritation. He kicked a zinc-coated pole, releasing a tumult sound that rang in his head. It wasn't his fault, he didn't mean for everything to go downhill. Though they had made a tacit, he was still wishing to hear the susurration of a reply. He felt in need of chastisement for once in his life. He knew he did wrong, even though he was never taught wrong-and-right well.

Myriad crows flew above him, squawking in their own language. Putting a piece of detritus hair back behind his ear, he sat on a sepal bench and took in the feeling of wanting to evanescent, to vanish from this world. He was martyred at this moment. Everything that had happened was conspiratorial in his complex mind. He was full of antagonism then, but now he just wanted to stare up at the sky with a blank expression. He wanted to forget, he wanted to go back. He wanted to hear that castanet sound that he heard every morning in his ear, no matter how annoying it was, caused by that light. His dispersal of enmity was routine motif now. Lodgments had never been the problem.

He was the fulcrum of their troubles.

He'd wanted domination ever since he could remember. He never lived a decorous life like others he knew; he wasn't pliant like them, either. He was strident, furtive, and solitary. He didn't need to be proffered like them. He was already defiled, why build it up? He was differentiated from them; he didn't need them like they did. They all had a fair quota of the world, he didn't. He had to steal it, had to take it for himself. The swathing of their laws made that goal harder than it already was.

He looked down at his silhouette in the opalescence snow. Everything he knew was taboo, right from the massacre of the past. He wished for decades that it was just a mirage, but alas the incursion took over. The gyration of his memories started to flood with pain and hurt until he had to evacuate his own mind. Not even he could take that. No, there was no chance anyone could change that fact.

He stood back up, and hiked his way back. Back to where? Where was he to go? He closed his eyes and halted, ankle deep in snow. He was specious, sinewy young man, and even at this moment in bastion. What was there to go home to? Where was home? Was he still welcome there?

Fallen Angels.

He pondered on where that thought had come from. What did any of this have to do with angels, much less fallen ones? He began to acclaim his own insanity in his mind, his very own pit of Hell. He continued on walking down his broken boulevard, thoughts and memories swimming their own Olympics.

Then he heard a voice that had been etched into very soul; a voice that spoke in a soft whisper. It didn't actually speak to him, but he heard the tiny sigh that escaped the owner's lips. Those lips that stuck out to him, that banned his from them.

He spun on his heel, ebullience overwhelming him for the first time in ages. His mind was elsewhere, still sulking in the suffering memories and the loud, harsh thoughts that echoed through every crevasse of his realm of endless darkness. His face faulted at what he saw, and ventured back to his racing thoughts.

There was no one there.

He'd always been alone, even in the company of other ones like him, ever since his childhood. Screams. Blood. Terror. Massacre.

It sucked to be him.

He stared at his buried feet as he returned to his walking. What was he to do? There was someone to go home to, but they didn't want him there; he was sure of that. Sometimes for him he would be at loss for words, for apologies, when he was the one usually full of remarks, both sarcastic and serious. He needed something, but he didn't know what. He wanted something, he was well aware of that. He was alone and forbidden, he had to accept that.

That used to be so easy.

Where he once lived, no one dared question authority. Now, you could question all you wanted. Back then you were executed for thievery. These days you were tried in court if it was serious. Once upon a time, you never knew nothing but pharaohs, priests, wealth, heat, tombs, and those who robbed them and those who were raised to keep them. Today all you knew was life. Life was hard, and everyone knew that, even young children who learned to mimic their parents. Here you could do anything, there you couldn't. Home then was one of the most horrible places to live, home now was one of the best places. But, deep in the abyss of his heart, he actually missed his old home.

He missed the bright sun rising up every morning on the eastern horizon. He missed the grains of gold between his bare toes. He missed the scorching desert heat. He missed the thrill of life. He even missed the wretched smell of camel droppings. There was no place he would give his life to be at than that one place so long ago where he was born and raised. He was homesick almost every hour of every day of that Hellish place. That was home.

And home is where the heart is.

And his heart would lie in the warm sand for all the decades to come in that one place, at that one time. He would give everything to be there once more, even for just a moment. Just for a moment. That would be enough for him; but he knew deep inside he was lying to himself. One moment wouldn't do. Make it two moments, maybe even three or four, and he would be forever happy. Happiness…when was the last time those words came to mind? When was the last time he'd actually felt that?

The last time he was home with his innocence still intact.

But for fallen ones, it was hard to ever heal the scars. For the angels that remained high up, it was easy to recover from all that pain. Fallen had no place there, but the Raised did. To him it wasn't fair. He never stood a chance. He was Fallen from the murder. He was Raised before hand, but at that twist of fate, he was Fallen. Fallen Angels…at his feet. He could rule, he could dominate the Fallen. He could control them, could command them.

But the Raised would stop him.

They would hold him back, hold him to them. They would try to save him, pulling him up with all their strength. But he would decline their help. He didn't need it. He was perfectly fine being Fallen. The Raised would look at him with defeat in their faces and release him back into his Hell. Then they would try again, and each time they even got closer to bringing him to their place.

Today they almost succeeded.

He destroyed their trust, their willingness to raise him up. He challenged them, and no one knew if he lost or won. He didn't care anymore. He ruined whatever fallacies he had about his life. He lost all trace of hope. He stopped walking.

Hope was a horrible thing to lose.

He couldn't reconstruct what he worked so hard at. He was erroneous this time, believing he could so easily bend the light to his wishes without it breaking. He didn't want his light to be broken. He didn't want it to face his fate. He didn't want to entail that to that poor luminous light. It was too chimerical to let fade away to nothing and break into tiny little shards that cut him till he bled. He daunted on these thoughts and feelings for a while. He began his trudge with a specious languid expression when deep inside he was mottled with new scars.

He used to be so inclement.

He used to be heartless, used to be ruthless. He used to be merciless. He was so different now than then back where he once lived. He was as audacious as he ever was, taking on any dangerous task. This included him having to endeavor every bump in the road…and they were big, painful bumps, too. Everything was hurting. He couldn't help that. It wasn't his fault. The fight wasn't his fault. Nothing was his fault. Nothing…it wasn't his fault…

“IT WASN'T MY FAULT!!” he screamed at the grey sky above him. He continued his frustrated yell, lungs tightening. Then everything quieted. No one was there. No one at all. Not even a stray cat or dog. Not even a passing bird. No mortal being heard him. No one was around…

No one….nothing….no where….

He was all alone again. For the second time in his whole entire life, he was truly alone. No one to yell at him, no one to talk to him, no one to see him, no one to care about him. No one ever cared after they killed them. They cared about his death, however; they wanted it. Them. Those thieving, conniving bastards wanted him dead. Didn't they know who he was? Didn't they know where he used to live? Didn't they know why he did the things he did?

Keywords: was, used, and why.

He was a survivor. He used to live in Kul Elna. He did those things because of what they did, what that Pharaoh did; and his son…oh how much he loathed that new pharaoh. He was the son of that bastard who directed the massacre. Yes, after all these years, all these decades, many millennia, he was still unforgiven.

Neither was he, but at the moment that didn't really matter.

He'd endured so much, yet now he couldn't even handle this one fight. This one…little…fight…just this one…. He was fulsome then, and now he couldn't wash away this feeling of melancholy. He couldn't wish it away…just like everything else. This residue of that argument couldn't be eliminated off of him. He felt incredulously guilty about this, even when he told him self those four words:

It wasn't my fault.

It wasn't, it just wasn't! It couldn't be his actions to blame! He shouldn't be the one getting the fingers pointed at. It was an accident…it was all an accident…none of it was on purpose…he didn't mean to….it wasn't his fault….it just wasn't…. Then his mind traveled to angels again… The Fallen and the Raised. The Banished and the Saved. It wasn't his fault that happened…it was purely an accident…he didn't mean to…

He didn't mean to kill his light…

His eyes started to sting. It wasn't his fault! He didn't mean to! It was an accident! He was sorry! He was guilty! He was innocent! Please, forgive him!

The Fallen were always saying that…

He ran away, ran from that place that was already miles behind him. His breath was in gasps, crimson was still dripping off his face, and his eyes were hurting. He ran and ran, not knowing where he was going. He didn't know anymore….he just didn't. He wanted to take it all back. He wanted to turn back time. He wanted a redo.

He wanted his sweet light…

His gentle hikari, he wanted them back. He needed them back. He didn't mean to kill, he didn't mean to hurt, he didn't mean anything! He was broken, just as his light had been when he couldn't fix it. He couldn't fix them…he couldn't fix what he broke…he couldn't fix what he cared so much about…he couldn't fix the one he l-

“Stop.” a gentle coo whispered. He halted on the spot. Where had that voice come from? Who did it belong to? He spun around on his heel and the tears began to run.

Hikari…his hikari…

“R…Ryou….” he whispered. His light was before him, glowing a bright yellow and clothed in a pure white gown to match his soft hair. Angelic wings were emerged from his shoulder blades, with beautiful, snowy feathers. He was smiling, and his eyes could rival the warmest of hot chocolate.

“Hey, Bakura.” he said gently. Bakura stared with wide eyes, not believing what he was seeing. He turned his back on the angel.

“Just a mirage…” he muttered and took a step. But he was stopped by the feeling of arms around his waist.

“Please…don't go…” Ryou whispered. Bakura's tears wouldn't halt. They kept flowing a mile per second down his face. That was what Ryou had said so much earlier. The memory was still fresh.

“Ba…ku…ra…please…don't go…I'm…scared…” Ryou choked out. Bakura was crying, tears mixing in with the blood on his face.

“Ryou…I-I'm so sorry, Ryou!” he cried. Ryou had just smiled.

“Hold…me…'Kura…please…” he whispered. Bakura stared down at his dying hikari. He took him in his arms, and cradled him.

Bakura sniffed. Ryou had called him `Kura… He was scared… He wanted to be held while he took his last breath…

“Ryou…” he murmured and spun around in the embrace. “Ryou I'm so sorry!” Bakura cried, tears raining freely down his face as he held onto his angel. Ryou smiled down at his yami.

“Bakura…I forgive you…” he said. Bakura looked Ryou straight in his doe eyes. He had to break down, this was all too much.

“No….don't for…give me! I k-killed you, Ryou! I killed you even though I…I love you!” he cried again. Ryou wrapped his arms around Bakura.

“I love you, too, `Kura. I love you too.” he hushed. Bakura had never cried this much in his life. Even when he saw his family being killed in front of his eyes, he didn't cry so much. Ryou could read this, and he hugged his yami again.

“Ryou…I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…” Bakura whispered. Ryou started to slip from his grasp. He started to go away into his new home. Bakura whimpered as he hugged onto Ryou's knees.

“Bakura,” Ryou said.

“Don't go. Don't leave me all alone, Ryou. I don't wanna be alone again.” Bakura said, unable to hold back his sadness and pain any longer. Ryou saw the tears thundering down Bakura's cheeks. He felt one fall from his eye.

“Bakura…I have to. They're waiting for me.” Ryou explained. Bakura squeezed harder. “I'll never forget you, `Kura. Don't be afraid.” Bakura's grip loosened only slightly. “When you told me not to be afraid, I believed you.” Bakura buried his face into Ryou's shins.

“Bakura…I'm so scared…” Ryou whimpered. Bakura rubbed his hand up and down his hikari's back.

“Don't…be afraid, Ryou. Don't be afraid like me.” he said. Ryou sighed and coughed blood onto Bakura's back.

“You…afraid?” he asked. Bakura clasped more onto Ryou.

“Yes…I'm so scared, Ryou. But just because I am, doesn't mean you have to be.” he admitted. Ryou's eyes half closed.

“I believed you, `Kura, and now you have to believe me.” Ryou stated calmly. Bakura looked up into his angel's eyes.

“I…Ryou…” he muttered. Ryou smiled down at him with assurance. “I…I won't be afraid anymore…”

“Thank you, Bakura. It means everything to me.” Ryou told him. Bakura's arms began to release his legs. Soon, Ryou was being lifted up higher…and farther away. Bakura's voice was caught in throat as Ryou closed his eyes, and he was Raised.

“I love you Ryou…goodbye…” he whispered. He thought Ryou didn't hear him. “Bye, Ryou! Don't forget me! Don't let me be alone like them!!” Bakura shouted. Ryou opened his eyes and looked down at his yami. He knew who they were. He smiled.

“I won't, `Kura! Bye!” Ryou said and vanished. Bakura stared at the sky. Was…that real? Was that really Ryou coming to say goodbye?

“Ryou, don't die on me…” Bakura pleaded.

“'Kura…I'm not…sure I…can promise…you…that…” Ryou said hoarsely. Bakura's tears began to multiply.

“Ryou…my sweet Ryou…” he whimpered. Ryou's eyes closed just a little more.

“'Kura…” he whispered and his eyes shut.

“Ryou? Ryou? RYOU!!” Bakura cried when he no longer felt his hikari's life force. He shook violently. He lay Ryou down on his trench coat gingerly.

Ryou looked so peaceful…as if he were sleeping.

“I…I didn't say goodbye…Ryou…” Bakura whispered and stood. He ran away, sprinting as fast as his legs would carry him. He would have to live with those painful memories for as long as he now lived…all alone…

Bakura wasn't sure anymore. He wasn't sure of anything. He was sure that there was a mass of blood all over him, but other than that, he was numb. His bones were even numb. He was just…there.

Ryou was his last hope. His last line of salvation. And he destroyed him. He ruined everything for the both of them. Where was he to go? What was he to do?

Well, go to a payphone to report a murder, for one thing.

He would just give vague details, nothing that could tie him to it. He knew Ryou wouldn't want him to spend the rest of his life behind cold iron bars for his mistake. But, he knew he should go on death row.

“There's been a murder!” Bakura shouted hurriedly into the phone. “Th-the killer? I-I don't know, but the victims, I know them! Yes! They're Ryou Bakura and Bakura! N-no I don't know Bakura's last name. B-but the k-killer dragged his body off! I don't know what he did with it! The address? The alley behind Domino High!”

Bakura slammed the phone on its hook. He was dead now, too. He would from now on just go under a new alias, live in the apartment, no matter how many memories would haunt him, and try to explain things to the Egyptians.

His life was broken now more than it was before he met the one that changed his life, Ryou.

He was a fallen angel, bound to a piece of gold and all the memories he had left.

 

 

 

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

 

1