Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Freya's Snare ❯ Journey to the Gates of Hell ( Chapter 4 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Lady Nightshade 
Same has story summary
Anime/Manga: Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action / Adventure / Drama / Hentai / Fantasy / | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 04.04.2006 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.9K | Visits: 236 | Status: Completed
Same has story summary
Anime/Manga: Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action / Adventure / Drama / Hentai / Fantasy / | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 04.04.2006 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.9K | Visits: 236 | Status: Completed
Freya's Snare 4:
A Lifetime In Purgatory
Author's Notes: Okay this is another A/U Almighty One knows I should finish working on the stories I already have up before working on this any others. But *shrugs* I am working on several one shots. One will be for YYH a series that I haven't worked on in months. Anyways, I will try and get this story slightly historical accurate. But there will be some changes in dealing with certain characters.
YuGiOh does not belong to me
_____________________________________________________________
Ryou grunted and watched the smoke rise from his village has he stumbled closer and closer to the remains of what was once his home. His own blood trickled down the side of his face from the knife cuts that the Viking male had given him before raping his cousin.
Arora, his beloved cousin, he clinched his fist and stumbled deeper into the village searching for survivors. Any survivors, but there were none there never were survivors unless they were slaves. Slaves, his beloved cousin was a slave. Probably for that Viking male that took her purity from her. He shuddered to think about what else that Viking male would do to her body. He wasn't naïve he had seen the way the male had been looking at her and had been familiar with that look. It was only natural that males start looking at his cousin has an eligible wife, she was only one year away from being eligible to be married to someone of Bakura's choosing. He had been looking for eligible husbands and had found a few but none of them had approached him about marrying Arora.
Arora, Ryou sighed and collapsed to his knees in the town square. He had been selfish, he hadn't wanted to give his cousin up she had been all he had and he didn't want to share her. Their parents probably would have had them marry each other but Arora, he couldn't marry Arora. Could he? Ryou grunted he didn't have much longer to consider this because he lay on the ground and closed his eyes before the stench of the flesh under the heat of the sun was starting to get to him. He started to climb to his feet and stumbled his way about the village, trying to find himself some food to eat. Yet, he found no food, the Vikings had either taken it or destroyed it. He stumbled to his knees and wondered outside the village. He stumbled into the forest heading away from the ocean water. Heading deeper into the English Kingdom.
He traveled that way for several days, living off little more then roots and berries. He was weak and barely conscious when he reached a small house in the middle of the forest not far from the heart of the Kingdom. The old man seating on the porch with a young woman, in her mid teens sat on the porch steps pulling apart pea pods. Both she and the old man glanced up when Ryou collapsed onto the ground in front of the small herb garden. Curious the young woman placed the basket of peas and pods to the side and got to her feet removing the hunting knife from her belt and crept to his side.
“He is alive grandfather,” she said, poking the platinum blonde male with her boot foot. “But he is close to death's door.” She crouched down lower still holding the knife in case of attack. “He has a slight infection though, nothing to serious at the moment, surprising. “What should we do with him?” She asked straightening up and turning to the old man who remained where he was on the porch steps.
“Bring him,” he said, before turning to go into the house.
“Right,” the girl sighed and lifted him, draping one of his arms around her shoulders she dragged the boy to the house and dropped him, none to gently onto one of the straw mats. “What now then?”
“See to him granddaughter,” said the old man waving his hand at her.
“If I may ask grandfather,” said the girl, gathering dried herbs, bowls, water, and cloths. “Why are we helping a complete stranger? You never would have helped anyone else.”
“The boy looks like he was put through a deadly attack,” said the old man. “God would not have kept him alive if not for some reason. Who am I to question God's judgment on keeping him alive or killing him.”
“Ha!” shouted the girl. “Since when have you cared about God and his judgment?”
“Since the moment he was merciful to me for keeping at least one person in my line alive, even if it is you, you little imp.”
The girl snickered and went about clearing the wound and removing the puss from the slashes in Ryou's face. She then gathered her sewing materials and stitched the wounds closed. Then all she and the old man had to do was wait for the mysterious stranger to wake up.
Ryou blinked his eyes and looked around slowly sitting up, his mind trying to find out where he was.
“Good to see you are awake,” said a female voice.
Ryou turned to look the young woman with long brown hair that was in a long braid down her back and her brown eyes stared down at him coolly. She was wearing a red dress with short sleeves and a dark brown belt encircled her waist, from which hung a matched bag and a scabbard with a hunting knife.
“Who are you? Where am I” he asked. “And how long have I been out?”
“I am Arashi,” said the young woman, lightly. “And you have been out for a week in my grandfather's home.”
“I apologize for the inconvenience I have caused the both of you,” said Ryou bowing his head humbly.
“As well you should,” said Arashi, turning her back to him and leaving the room.
“Is he awake?” asked the voice of a gravely old man.
“He is indeed grandfather,” came the reply.
“Good,” said the old man. “Go out into the garden and gather some herbs and vegetables for dinner.”
“Yes grandfather,” said the girl leaving the house.
“Tell me stranger what is your name?” asked the old man, once he had had a seat.
“My name is Ryou Bakura sir,” said the boy. “And I come from the village of Chesterfield which was attacked by Vikings; I am the only survivor that was not taken into slavery.”
“I see,” said the old man. “You are lucky not to have been captured or killed.”
“I do not consider myself lucky,” whispered Ryou. “They have taken my cousin. I do not consider myself to remain free while my beloved cousin is held in captivity.”
The old man stared at him silently for several moments. “What would you like to do with your life now that everything you have is taken from you? If you could would you attempt to reclaim your cousin? Kill the woman's captures?”
“Yes,” whispered Ryou coldly, the dark and drug addicting feeling of hate and revenge coiling inside of him like a snake preparing to strike at its victims.
“Even if it means practicing harder then you have ever practiced in your life?” asked the old man.
“Yes,” said Ryou, his voice low and cold.
“I was once a great knight in the king's army,” said the old man. “That was centuries ago it seems. I know combat and sword play I might be willing to teach you. But for a price.”
“Name your price,” said Ryou. “For I will willingly pay anything for the price of revenge and to take back what little family I have left.”
I have no doubt that you would,” said the old man smiling strangely. “The price I ask is simple. Help my grand daughter take care of the farm.”
“Then I will have much to learn,” said Ryou slowly. “I know only how to forge things.”
“Indeed you do have much to learn,” said the old man. “And little time to learn it. We began a week from now until then build up your strength.”
“I will,” said Ryou. “By the way I gave you my name, but you have yet to give me yours.”
“Call me Solomon,” said the old man leaving the room.
A week had passed and Ryou found himself outside the small house facing off with the girl, Arashi, who was now clothed in dark brown britches and a loose tunic her breasts protected by a thick leather vest. He was clothed in similar clothing. Both of them held wooden replicas of swords.
“Ryou,” said Solomon. “You will start with these until you have built up your strength again to handle swords once more, this time in battle. Arashi will have to help you where I can not, due to a wound I received one year when our camp was attacked in the dead of night.”
“Well,” said Arashi, smirking wickedly. “Shall we begin?”
“Of course,” said Ryou.
Thus began Ryou's training, it would happen in the middle of the day when the sun was at it's highest, after the work had been done in the garden and the small farm and before more work was to be done. They practiced sword fighting, hand to hand combat, and knife fighting. All the while Solomon watched them like a hawk and pointed out where they went wrong or where they needed to improve, by whacking them with a long thin rod.
Within two months Ryou had taken to calling Solomon “Grandfather” and he and Arashi had started to get close. Close enough for Solomon to find consider living them the farm when he died, which he was expecting to happen within the next few years.
Solomon sighed, and watched Arashi and Ryou finish preparing the evening meal. He frowned at the youth's back, knowing and smelling, the taste of revenge on the boy's tongue. He saw it in his eyes and could smell it on his breath. He was wondering if he had been wrong to train him after all. Yet, there was still the hope that his granddaughter, Arashi, would be able to get him to turn from that path. Still Solomon wondered just how much Ryou loved his cousin. Surely not enough to go up against a group of Vikings on his own?
The boy wouldn't be that foolish? Would he?
A Lifetime In Purgatory
Author's Notes: Okay this is another A/U Almighty One knows I should finish working on the stories I already have up before working on this any others. But *shrugs* I am working on several one shots. One will be for YYH a series that I haven't worked on in months. Anyways, I will try and get this story slightly historical accurate. But there will be some changes in dealing with certain characters.
YuGiOh does not belong to me
_____________________________________________________________
Ryou grunted and watched the smoke rise from his village has he stumbled closer and closer to the remains of what was once his home. His own blood trickled down the side of his face from the knife cuts that the Viking male had given him before raping his cousin.
Arora, his beloved cousin, he clinched his fist and stumbled deeper into the village searching for survivors. Any survivors, but there were none there never were survivors unless they were slaves. Slaves, his beloved cousin was a slave. Probably for that Viking male that took her purity from her. He shuddered to think about what else that Viking male would do to her body. He wasn't naïve he had seen the way the male had been looking at her and had been familiar with that look. It was only natural that males start looking at his cousin has an eligible wife, she was only one year away from being eligible to be married to someone of Bakura's choosing. He had been looking for eligible husbands and had found a few but none of them had approached him about marrying Arora.
Arora, Ryou sighed and collapsed to his knees in the town square. He had been selfish, he hadn't wanted to give his cousin up she had been all he had and he didn't want to share her. Their parents probably would have had them marry each other but Arora, he couldn't marry Arora. Could he? Ryou grunted he didn't have much longer to consider this because he lay on the ground and closed his eyes before the stench of the flesh under the heat of the sun was starting to get to him. He started to climb to his feet and stumbled his way about the village, trying to find himself some food to eat. Yet, he found no food, the Vikings had either taken it or destroyed it. He stumbled to his knees and wondered outside the village. He stumbled into the forest heading away from the ocean water. Heading deeper into the English Kingdom.
He traveled that way for several days, living off little more then roots and berries. He was weak and barely conscious when he reached a small house in the middle of the forest not far from the heart of the Kingdom. The old man seating on the porch with a young woman, in her mid teens sat on the porch steps pulling apart pea pods. Both she and the old man glanced up when Ryou collapsed onto the ground in front of the small herb garden. Curious the young woman placed the basket of peas and pods to the side and got to her feet removing the hunting knife from her belt and crept to his side.
“He is alive grandfather,” she said, poking the platinum blonde male with her boot foot. “But he is close to death's door.” She crouched down lower still holding the knife in case of attack. “He has a slight infection though, nothing to serious at the moment, surprising. “What should we do with him?” She asked straightening up and turning to the old man who remained where he was on the porch steps.
“Bring him,” he said, before turning to go into the house.
“Right,” the girl sighed and lifted him, draping one of his arms around her shoulders she dragged the boy to the house and dropped him, none to gently onto one of the straw mats. “What now then?”
“See to him granddaughter,” said the old man waving his hand at her.
“If I may ask grandfather,” said the girl, gathering dried herbs, bowls, water, and cloths. “Why are we helping a complete stranger? You never would have helped anyone else.”
“The boy looks like he was put through a deadly attack,” said the old man. “God would not have kept him alive if not for some reason. Who am I to question God's judgment on keeping him alive or killing him.”
“Ha!” shouted the girl. “Since when have you cared about God and his judgment?”
“Since the moment he was merciful to me for keeping at least one person in my line alive, even if it is you, you little imp.”
The girl snickered and went about clearing the wound and removing the puss from the slashes in Ryou's face. She then gathered her sewing materials and stitched the wounds closed. Then all she and the old man had to do was wait for the mysterious stranger to wake up.
Ryou blinked his eyes and looked around slowly sitting up, his mind trying to find out where he was.
“Good to see you are awake,” said a female voice.
Ryou turned to look the young woman with long brown hair that was in a long braid down her back and her brown eyes stared down at him coolly. She was wearing a red dress with short sleeves and a dark brown belt encircled her waist, from which hung a matched bag and a scabbard with a hunting knife.
“Who are you? Where am I” he asked. “And how long have I been out?”
“I am Arashi,” said the young woman, lightly. “And you have been out for a week in my grandfather's home.”
“I apologize for the inconvenience I have caused the both of you,” said Ryou bowing his head humbly.
“As well you should,” said Arashi, turning her back to him and leaving the room.
“Is he awake?” asked the voice of a gravely old man.
“He is indeed grandfather,” came the reply.
“Good,” said the old man. “Go out into the garden and gather some herbs and vegetables for dinner.”
“Yes grandfather,” said the girl leaving the house.
“Tell me stranger what is your name?” asked the old man, once he had had a seat.
“My name is Ryou Bakura sir,” said the boy. “And I come from the village of Chesterfield which was attacked by Vikings; I am the only survivor that was not taken into slavery.”
“I see,” said the old man. “You are lucky not to have been captured or killed.”
“I do not consider myself lucky,” whispered Ryou. “They have taken my cousin. I do not consider myself to remain free while my beloved cousin is held in captivity.”
The old man stared at him silently for several moments. “What would you like to do with your life now that everything you have is taken from you? If you could would you attempt to reclaim your cousin? Kill the woman's captures?”
“Yes,” whispered Ryou coldly, the dark and drug addicting feeling of hate and revenge coiling inside of him like a snake preparing to strike at its victims.
“Even if it means practicing harder then you have ever practiced in your life?” asked the old man.
“Yes,” said Ryou, his voice low and cold.
“I was once a great knight in the king's army,” said the old man. “That was centuries ago it seems. I know combat and sword play I might be willing to teach you. But for a price.”
“Name your price,” said Ryou. “For I will willingly pay anything for the price of revenge and to take back what little family I have left.”
I have no doubt that you would,” said the old man smiling strangely. “The price I ask is simple. Help my grand daughter take care of the farm.”
“Then I will have much to learn,” said Ryou slowly. “I know only how to forge things.”
“Indeed you do have much to learn,” said the old man. “And little time to learn it. We began a week from now until then build up your strength.”
“I will,” said Ryou. “By the way I gave you my name, but you have yet to give me yours.”
“Call me Solomon,” said the old man leaving the room.
A week had passed and Ryou found himself outside the small house facing off with the girl, Arashi, who was now clothed in dark brown britches and a loose tunic her breasts protected by a thick leather vest. He was clothed in similar clothing. Both of them held wooden replicas of swords.
“Ryou,” said Solomon. “You will start with these until you have built up your strength again to handle swords once more, this time in battle. Arashi will have to help you where I can not, due to a wound I received one year when our camp was attacked in the dead of night.”
“Well,” said Arashi, smirking wickedly. “Shall we begin?”
“Of course,” said Ryou.
Thus began Ryou's training, it would happen in the middle of the day when the sun was at it's highest, after the work had been done in the garden and the small farm and before more work was to be done. They practiced sword fighting, hand to hand combat, and knife fighting. All the while Solomon watched them like a hawk and pointed out where they went wrong or where they needed to improve, by whacking them with a long thin rod.
Within two months Ryou had taken to calling Solomon “Grandfather” and he and Arashi had started to get close. Close enough for Solomon to find consider living them the farm when he died, which he was expecting to happen within the next few years.
Solomon sighed, and watched Arashi and Ryou finish preparing the evening meal. He frowned at the youth's back, knowing and smelling, the taste of revenge on the boy's tongue. He saw it in his eyes and could smell it on his breath. He was wondering if he had been wrong to train him after all. Yet, there was still the hope that his granddaughter, Arashi, would be able to get him to turn from that path. Still Solomon wondered just how much Ryou loved his cousin. Surely not enough to go up against a group of Vikings on his own?
The boy wouldn't be that foolish? Would he?