Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Fear ❯ Chapter 2

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Malik fell to his knees in shock and disbelief, his pale hair buffeted about his shoulders by the playful wind. He stared unseeingly at Bakura, his shoulders slumped and his deck scattered across the concrete of the alley. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Bakura's gloating smirk. He had lost the duel. He had lost Ryou. And now he was going to lose his life. It had all been going his way, Bakura was almost out of life points, and he had three monsters on the field… Bakura had played one face down card and a strong zombie-like monster… and then the world had fallen apart. Upon Malik's next attack, Bakura's trap had activated his monster's special ability, automatically destroying Malik's strongest beast. Bakura played a couple more trap cards, activated them and wiped out the Egyptian's remaining life points. Malik finally averted his eyes from the smirking tomb robber, fixing his stunned gaze firmly on the ground. It wouldn't do for Bakura to see him crying - he didn't want his last moments to show only weakness. “Oh dear, Malik, it looks like you lost.” Bakura sneered, walking over to the prone lilac-eyed teenager. “It was foolish of you to ever think you could take Ryou from me. You shouldn't have made such a high wager. You aren't ready to play with the big boys yet.” Malik glared up at the thief king, who merely smiled sarcastically and produced a small, wicked looking blade from his pocket. Malik stared at it, wondering who carried a knife around with them all the time before remembering his Millennium Rod and the knife concealed in that. “Go on, then.” He hissed, tilting his head to the side and exposing the opposite side of his tanned neck, ready for slitting, his eyes never leaving Bakura's face. “Go on, if you dare.” “With pleasure.” The thief retaliated. “I've looked forward to this for so long…” The knife flashed as it descended pitilessly downwards. Malik watched its progress towards his neck - it was three inches away… an inch… a centimetre… less… “Stop!” A voice called out, and both heads whipped round to Ryou, whose existence had been partially forgotten in the heated duel. The normally quiet, gentle teenager was striding purposely towards Bakura, who was still towering over the kneeling Malik. With one hard backhand at Bakura's outstretched limb, Ryou made his yami drop the knife, which went skittering away across the tarmac. Malik's breath hitched - was it possible that he would be spared? “What are you doing, Ryou?” Bakura snapped. “That idiot bet his life! I'm taking what is owed to me!” “Don't become a murderer, Bakura…” Ryou murmured softly, his wide, innocent brown eyes fixed on Bakura's narrowed ones. “Not for me. Don't kill him because he fought for me. I don't want that.” “But Ryou - ” Bakura growled, but was cut off by the mild-mouthed hikari. “But nothing. He wagered his life for me, right? That proves he cares, Bakura - please… show him mercy, if only for me. And there must be some way you can take his life without killing him - isn't there?” Bakura stared at Malik for a long time, scowling to an extent that the Egyptian felt his breathing hitch in nervousness. “Yes.” The tomb robber breathed at last. “I could use a slave.” --- Malik was actually thrown in to the house, barely managing to stay on his feet when he landed. He could vaguely hear Ryou's concerned voice from behind the threatening form of Bakura. What had happened? One minute he had everything where he wanted it, the next… “Pop-tart.” Bakura growled, glaring at Malik, who cowered. The tomb robber was holding his Millennium Rod, pointing it threateningly at him. “Get me a pop-tart. Now!” “B-but I…” The Egyptian began. “Do it!” The white haired yami snarled, using the Sennen Rod to send a large force of pulsating energy at Malik, who was thrown five feet or so backwards, landing heavily on his back. “But I don't know what a pop-tart is…” The lilac-eyed boy whimpered, eyeing Bakura warily, almost fearfully. Bakura deflated a little. “You don't know what a pop-tart is?” Ryou asked gently. Well, at least he was being civil. “N-no, sir…” Malik murmured. Bakura smirked. At least the scum knew how to talk to his betters. “I don't suppose you know how to toast one, either?” He snapped. Malik shook his head nervously. “Fine. Ryou'll show you this time.” “Come on, Malik.” Ryou inclined his head towards the kitchen, frowning at Bakura behind Malik's back. Bakura rolled his eyes and made his way into the lounge, switching on the television and flinging himself on the sofa. “This is a pop-tart.” Ryou's kind, gentle voice rung through from the kitchen, accompanied by the rustling of a packet. “You put it in the toaster, like this, and press the button down.” There was a muffled, murmured reply from Malik, who, Bakura reckoned, was being exaggeratedly meek, not wanting to cause the rest of his life to be miserable. The tomb robber wanted nothing more than to slit Malik's throat and be done with it, but he respected Ryou's decision. His hikari obviously had a soft spot for the Egyptian, though Bakura couldn't understand why. And speaking of Ryou, the mild-mannered one had just walked in to the lounge, obviously finished with his short tutorial on the arts of toasting pop-tarts. Bakura's lighter side flopped tiredly on the sofa next to him, brushing a stray lock of pale hair out of his eyes. “I wish you'd go easier on him, Bakura. Just because he's your slave for the rest of his life doesn't mean you have to beat him and belittle him every chance you get.” Ryou sighed. “We all live together now - can't we just all be friends?” Bakura smiled gently at Ryou's naivety, an expression many didn't know he could manage, and, ignoring the comment, reached to hug Ryou close and nuzzle in to the boy. “Bakura!” Ryou gasped in shock, jerking away from his yami. “What are you doing?” “Hugging you.” The tomb robber stated in a low voice. “Is that so wrong?” “N-no, but…” Ryou calmed himself slightly. “It was just so unexpected… I didn't know you cared in that way…” “Of course…” Bakura almost growled pleasantly. “Why do you think I was so desperate to protect you from Malik?” “Malik?” Ryou asked in confusion, snuggling against the warmth emanating from Bakura's chest. “But Malik's not dangerous!” “You don't know him as I do…” the yami responding darkly. “When I knew him he was willing to sacrifice your life, risk your health for his own needs.” “But he was willing to risk his life in a duel for my love!” Ryou protested. “Doesn't that prove he cares? People change, yami. You've changed - I never thought you'd ever care like this, not when you used to use me so…” Bakura caressed Ryou's cheek comfortingly and, at that moment, Malik walked in. Possibly only someone who was studying the Egyptian's face intensely would have noticed the flicker of pain through his lilac eyes, but it was quickly replaced by the blank submissiveness he had worn since his defeat. “What do you want?” Bakura spat, holding Ryou to him gloatingly, but Malik refused to rise to the bait, remaining emotionless. “How will I know when the pop-tart is done, sir?” He asked flatly, nothing in his tone or face to provoke the tomb robber, who raised an eyebrow. “Go and look.” The white haired yami snapped, dismissing the lilac-eyed Egyptian with a wave of his hand. “You'll know when it's done.” Malik nodded and walked back out of the lounge, brushing away a tear. Ryou stared sadly after the retreating slave, still wrapped in Bakura's arms. The Briton shook his head slightly and buried his head into Bakura's chest, the yami holding him closer lovingly. There was a yelp from the kitchen, followed by a pitiful whimper-like moan. Ryou sat bolt upright, staring at his chuckling yami angrily. “Good grief, Bakura, you might have at least told Malik that toasters shoot things out when they're finished!” “And miss this?” Bakura snickered, too busy laughing to see the sadness and pain in Ryou's eyes as Malik staggered back in with two pop-tarts on a plate carried in one hand, the other covering his bleeding right eye. “There'd better not be blood in this, scum!” Bakura hissed, his mirth evaporating instantly, checking the pop-tarts for blemishes. Malik gritted his teeth against the pain from his injured eye, blood and aqueous substance in the form of tears seeping out. “Are you all right?” Ryou asked concernedly, carefully removing Malik's hand from his face, studying the scratch just to the side of his tear duct carefully. “You were lucky it didn't actually hit your eye, or you might have been blinded!” Malik nodded silently, blinking away the blurriness of the tears, and Ryou was astonished how quickly the Egyptian had gone from confident Sex God to emotionless beaten-down servitude. “Go and clean the bathroom, Ishtar!” Bakura ordered suddenly, munching on a pop-tart and offering the other to Ryou, who refused. “Now!” Malik nodded and silently left. “What did I just say?” Ryou asked angrily, wringing his hands agitatedly. “I just told you to be nice to him, didn't I?” “Ryou…” Bakura breathed, stroking the Briton's hair gently. “Slaves… you have to be horrible to them, or they lose respect and don't work as well…” “Then let him go.” “Nani!?” Bakura's eyes shot wide open. “I can't! I'm taking what is owed to me, he bet me his life! You already stopped me from killing him, koi, don't make me give up his wager.” The conversation was interrupted by the tinkling of glass, and both pale-haired teenagers leapt to their feet, hurrying to the bathroom. Malik was standing, quivering, over a shattered mirror, staring blankly at Bakura, who had just arrived on the scene, Ryou close behind. “S-sorry…” the unfortunate Egyptian muttered, looking down at the floor. Ryou began to explain that it was all right, and that he had never really like the mirror anyway, but Bakura cut him off. “Stupid -!” He yelled, striking Malik across the face. “Why can't you watch what you're doing?” Ryou stepped forward, blocking out Bakura's shouts, staring at the shards of mirrored glass that were scattered over the floor, showing him many different reflections of himself. In the ones on the right, he could see himself and Bakura. Those on the left showed himself and Malik - those in the middle showed him alone. Not one shard showed him with both. “Get in to the kitchen and wait for me!” Bakura spat, pointing at the door. Ryou noticed the slump of Malik's shoulders as the platinum-blond teenager brushed passed and out of the bathroom. “Go on after him, Ryou, and make sure he doesn't touch anything.” The Thief King added in a much more gentle tone. “I'll sort this mess out.” Ryou nodded and, like Malik, took his leave. --- The hikari entered the kitchen hesitantly; still quite nervous about being in a room alone with Malik, though the handsome young Egyptian did not seem to be any threat at the moment. In fact, he was sitting at the table, his back to Ryou, his head buried in his hands and his shoulders shaking slightly. “Malik…” Ryou began, taking a step towards his slave. Malik straightened up in shock, turning round hesitantly. He brushed away the tears quickly, but he could do nothing to hide the prominent tracks down his cheeks. “I don't like to cry,” the Ishtar said in his flat voice. “Especially in front of other people. Sir.” He added respectfully at the end. “You don't have to call me “sir”.” Ryou said kindly in his heavily accented voice, smiling comfortingly. “You're not my slave, so just plain Ryou will do.” “Th-thanks…” Malik choked in gratitude, turning away and again taking up the posture he had when Ryou walked in the room, his hands entwined in his pale blonde hair, his shoulders trembling. Ryou found himself walking over to the other teen and placing an arm around his shoulders. Malik's troubled lilac eyes met Ryou's kind brown ones in shock, and Ryou reached his hand up to brush away another tear that was rolling down the tanned cheek. “You must feel so alone, being so far away from your family…” Ryou's hand moved down as he spoke, rubbing large circles across Malik's back. The Egyptian flinched at the contact and Ryou pulled away, frowning. “No.” Malik responded emotionlessly. “I don't have much of a family, my parents being dead, my adopted brother little more than a servant to me and my sister away doing her own things.” “Oh… I'm sorry…” Ryou murmured. There wasn't anything else to say. “For what?” Malik asked blankly. “You couldn't do anything to change the past and it is not you who has taken me and imprisoned me so. That is a fault of my own.” “I know, but you seem so… so broken, so hollow…” the British teenager commented sadly. “That is a fault of Marik's, and not of yours.” Malik answered, jerking his shoulder away from Ryou's soothing hand. “Maybe if his lust for sex and power were not so great, I would not have become so docile so quickly.” “You mean he-?” Ryou began, but was cut off by Malik's toneless reply. “This is not a conversation I wish to continue, but I will tell you only that the scars will remain.” “I - I don't know what to say…” “Then don't say anything.” Malik shrugged nonchalantly. Ryou stared at the other boy for a moment and then pulled the Egyptian in to a hug, feeling him stiffen in shock. “Wh-what…?” He began, but Ryou's finger was placed over his lips, the white-haired Briton staring in to his eyes. “This is all my fault…” Ryou spoke in to Malik's ear softly, apologetically. “If it weren't for me, none of this would have happened and you'd still be free!” “I fell in love with you…” Malik answered quietly, emotion filling his voice for the first time since his loss. “Not the other way round.” Ryou nuzzled in to Malik's cheek, causing the Egyptian to shiver as though cold. “You love me?” he asked amazedly. “You really love me?” Malik nodded, a slight brush creeping to his cheeks. Ryou was astonished when he saw this, to such an extent that he leaned down to gently catch Malik's mouth with his own. “Ryou!?” Bakura almost screeched in the doorway, and Malik and Ryou leapt apart like scalded frogs. “What the hell do you think you're doing, Ishtar!?” Malik backed away fearfully; Bakura was in a towering rage. “I - I…” He began. “You lost the duel! That's the entire reason you're here, you little fuck! Get out of my sight! Get out of my sight!” A plate shattered against the wall next to the fleeing Malik's head, leaving Bakura standing panting next to a frozen Ryou. The tomb robber turned furiously upon the other white-haired teenager. “Bakura…” Ryou began, an attempt to calm his yami down. “Shut up, Ryou! You should know better! He's a slave, for Ra's sake!” In his fit of rage, Bakura backhanded Malik's glass of water off the table, sending it splashing down on to the wire for the kettle. The tomb robber only just managed to shelter Ryou from the small explosion, standing in front of the hikari as the kitchen began to catch fire. The crackling of the red-gold flames and the smoke began quickly to overpower Ryou, and Bakura had to carry his light half out of the house himself, setting him down on the grass. It took about five minutes for Ryou to regain full consciousness, and he sat bolt upright, wide-eyed. “Malik!” --- Malik sat on his blanket in the room he had been given, a small, cupboard-sized space. At first when he heard the screaming from downstairs, he reckoned that Bakura and Ryou were arguing about him - a thought that caused him to bury his head in his hands in despair. He had torn Ryou's life apart when all he really wanted to do was love the boy. Then Ishtar looked up and saw the flames creeping round the doorway, they had moved so fast that they were already up the stairs. He didn't panic, because fire had never really been a threat to him before, but when he saw that there was no other way for him to escape, he began to feel slightly afraid. “Oh, Ra!” The young Egyptian cried out, feeling the heat as the fiery death began to lick closer. He cannot be called a coward, for even the bravest man will whimper when he sees his destiny so close. The floor beneath him began to shake. --- Bakura was nearly back inside the house when the first floor simply gave way and collapsed. As he coughed up the dust and fought his way through the rubble, he saw something that made his heart sink in his chest. Lilac and tan, platinum blond hair, bloodstains. Malik was lying facedown on top of the fresh rubble, unconscious, covered in his own blood. Bakura felt something twang in his chest at the sight of his mutual enemy looking so vulnerable. The back of Malik's purple top was smouldering, and, even as Bakura watched, it burst in to flames. The tomb robber whipped his own top off, beating the fire down, picking the limp body up in his arms and helping him to safety. --- Ryou cried out as he saw Bakura with his sad burden, rushing forwards and stroking the limp teen's cheek. “I-is he…?” He began. Bakura shook his head gently, setting Malik down on the ground facedown, careful of the terrible burns on his back. “No, he'll live.” He murmured in his low voice, before silently adding: Hopefully…