Adult-FanFiction.org : Yu-Gi-OH

Original Sin	By : Borath Category: Yu-Gi-Oh > General Views: 1382 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own YuGiOh!, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Original Sin
- 2-Chapter 2
- 1
- 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Yugioh. Simple as.
Warnings: Swearing, torture, graphic violence and a creeping insanity hidden in words.
A/Ns: This is something that I�ve been toying with for some time and have written a bit of in dribs and drabs. I�m curious more than anything as to how something of this style would be received, so I�m offering this �taster chapter� to see what sort of response I get. Hope you enjoy it.

Original Sin

Chapter 1

The sound of pain being inflicted is such a beautiful thing, a gorgeous concerto of shrieks and howls before finally climaxing in the famous �death rattle�. In this respect, the past month has been wonderfully musical for me. I have never composed so much in so little time. But that�s down to having the actions of the past month assigned to me.
I resented that, I think. No� No, yes, I did resent it. No longer in control of my own actions and yet my dictated actions were enjoyable. So did I resent it with reason? Damnit, this keeps happening; thoughts spiralling around and around, seemingly further from any solid conclusion. Not that I care. I seem to have cared less and less over the past few weeks. I should care now. I�m busy. I�m busy with this task. This job. This purpose for being.
It�s now quiet aside from the little whimpering noises it makes in the dark. No, wait, I�m in the dark. The whimpering creature lies huddled in the only space of light I have granted it. It�s scared, has been for a while. I find that exciting. I put that fear in it. I hid in the shadows, oh so quiet for days and days, and now I bring it to a climax.
Stepping back into the light, grime and dead insects banking up at the sides of my shoes, I approach it once more. Ah, how valiant. It rears up against me, at least as much as it can, knees sunken into the filth and hands slack at its thighs. Its clothes lie in tatters, congealed blood just about holding the leathery shreds together. I want to change that.
My loosening and tightening again about the metal grip, assuring myself of its solidity, I swing it about behind my head, the long, glittering, string-of-pearls tail arcing with it. The creature flinches. I haven�t even done anything yet. I�ll teach it to wait, to be good and patient and act like it�s supposed to.
Snapping my hand forward over my shoulder, the beaded whip lashes out again. It cracks with a sick sound against its skin and it makes a howling, strangled kind of noise, wrenching against the bindings that are bolted to the floor. Sixty-three balls shattered its skin. I counted them this morning. Funny number. Certainly bloody enough, but still a bit odd. Sixty-five I�d understand, but sixty-three�
Damnit, it�s screeching again looking up at me, screeching. Desperately. Wrenching at its bindings, its bloody eyes click past me, its gaze running over and past the beaded whip raised to strike again to look at something over my shoulder.
Oh, its trinket. It�s nailed through the chain to the wall behind me. Did I do that? I must have. There�s no one else here aside from me and the creature. I could be mistaken though. I don�t remember very recent things well. I remember how this all started though, yes, quite clearly. I was in the dark, in my own home drinking a liquid that scorched my throat but warmed my belly. Yes, that�s right�
*****
The mood of the room could only be described as brooding. The two small lamps that struggled valiantly to penetrate the gloom had been smothered with material, and a sombre yet penetrating orchestral piece crept through thall all apartment. The lone occupant, young only in appearance, seemed to be absorbing the quiet music from where he had dropped himself. Sprawled in the poorly stuffed armchair, his head lay inertly over the top cushion so thtragtraggling white hair cascaded down in an unhindered descent.
His left hand was lax, fingers spread in a natural yet static manner and his wrist limp. His other hand loosely held a half empty glass of a clear liquid, the container being suspended only by the grabber-like shape of his fingers about its rim. Eye�s closed and mind gradually shutting down for the night, Bakura had little intention of drinking from it again.
An audaciously loud series of thumps against the front door snapped him abruptly from the pleasant stage of pre-slumber that he had been seconds away from achieving, and Bakura rose brusquely with a suitable amount of anger against his visitor for it. Approaching the door quickly, he changed his mind about opening it as he reached for the latch, deciding instead to wait until they demonstrated such impatience again before he reacted.
He presumed it to be a neighboring resident; no one else knew he was here. After abandoning living with Ryou and their �father� through exasperation and general aggravation several weeks ago, Bakura had managed to stay temporarily with a wide enough variety of people to be able to make himself and his skills useful in various ways, and as a result had built himself a tidy sum of money on which to live. He supplemented this through his profession of parting certain valuables from their owners, naturally, and this had allowed him complete independency from Ryou.
This newfound independency was still quite novel to him, meaning that he could enjoy it even more. He relished being able to return to his own home in whatever state he wished without being faced with a concerned or fearful look from his Hikari, which usually did nothing more than irritate him. However, he noted as the thumping began again, living alone did have its downsides. Having to deal with every mortal that visited himself was something that he had yet to develop the patience for.
A different noise to the thumping began, a hacking sound of metal being driven into wood. His tether run through now entirely, Bakura flung open the door just as the blade of metal swung down again. Stepping back so as to avoid being struck, Bakura glared through his fringe at his visitor. Tucking the Rod back into his belt and adjusting the thick book under his arm, Malik glared back.
With idle curiosity Bakura glanced about the door to see the damage, glaring harder at the blond Egyptian before grumbling for him to enter. Malik did so quickly, instantly moving to the center of the living room and looking about himself with interest. �Nice place,� he commented wryly, placing the book on the low table before crossing his arms and tipping his hip to one side.
Slamming the door behind him, Bakura strode towards Malik with the intention of punching him. Remembering the Rod though, he relented, settling for staring at him. �How did you know I was here?� he demanded after a moment.
�Word gets round. A white-haired arsehole isn�t something people miss,� Malik replied with a sneer.
Scowling, Bakura mirrored Malik�s aggressive stance before glancing at the book. It looked old and held a certain aura of power, as if its pages held untold mysteries within their faded confines.
�And you came for what? Cup of tea and a friendly chat?� He asked irritably, bitter that Malik had been the first person to track him down here. He mentally conceded that it was better than the Pharaoh knocking at his door.
Unexpectedly, Malik knelt down into the rug beneath the coffee table and opened the heavy casing of the book he had brought with him, intently thumbing through the pages. �Actually I need your help for something.� He looked up now, his index finger planted squarely in the center of his desired page.
Dark eyes fixed on Bakura�s glowing with barely-contained excitement, drunkenly veiled by an obvious power-high. �A way to attack the Pharaoh, and take his power.�
His laughter escaping as a snort of contempt, Bakura dropped back down into the battered chair opposite Malik. Rubbing at his face as his gaze danced about the room in disbelief, he finally looked back to the young man, and the book.
�A way that�s doomed to fail? Like last time? You�re deluded, Malik. No longer you�re being babysat twenty-four-seven by a grown man,� he muttered, already tired of this conversation. It was a clone of many conversations they�d had in the past, all predestined to fail. The book was a new twist though.
Malik scowled like a petulant child but was obviously not going to be deterred, lifting the book by the spine with his thumb on the page and handing it to Bakura. Idly curious, Bakura took the proffered object and looked over the page.
He instantly recognized that it was a spell; nothing particularly complicated or interesting. A basic healing spell wherein specific energies were taken from herbs to apply to wounds to encourage a faster response. It was like injecting a serum into a blood vessel as opposed to a muscle.
�And?� Bakura prompted, dropping the book back onto the table. Malik�s face twitched, seemingly from seeing the item treated roughly.
He restrained it though, his mouth becoming a thin line as he did so before curling at what corner. It was the forced half-smile. �I�ve found a way to adapt that spell to help us.�
�And I�ve found a way to get rich dancing as a gypsy in England,� Bakura scoffed, not at all convinced by Malik�s quiet confidence in this new spell, this new scheme. It was nothing new. He�d been less convinced of more promising spells than this. �And what�s this �us�? Where exactly do I come into this?�
�As I said before: I need your help,� Malik stated with unnerving patience. Standing and collecting up the book in one motion, he moved to sit on the low table inches from Bakura, holding it open in his lap. �I�ve found what the flaw was in what I was doing before, why it was going wrong.�
He left this sentence hanging, building up what he believed to be a suitable about of suspense before continuing. Bakura just looked bored. �I�ve been trying to take the Pharaoh�s power all at once. I�ve tried winning it, killing him for it, threatening him for it, but every time it has been impossible to achieve my goals.�
�That�s because he�s the Game King. He�s not supposed to lose anything, and that includes his �Power�,� Bakura droned, his expression not changing in the slightest.
Malik raised a silencing finger, a familiar flash of excitement appearing in his eyes. It made him look insane again. �No, he *can* lose it, but only a little at a time. He must himself sacrifice his *ability* to hold onto this power, but the power itself can be drained away.�
This idea had never occurred before: The legendary Pharaoh�s Power being a reservoir rather than a lump sum had never come up. It would certainly be a useful thing to know if it were true, and it was sheer confusion over its feasibility that drove Bakura to question it, and how it could be exploited to suit their needs.
A slender finger tapped the dried ink of the spell firmly, if only out of excitement if not for emphasis. �I can adapt this to work against him. It�s designed to steal energy from plants, so it will work to steal specific energies from humans, or spirits. However, it needs a catalyst, and that�s where I need you.�
Bakura was now honestly intrigued. Malik saying that his help was actually needed was a rarity. Usually he was just invited along for the ride, or used as some sort of pawn for a short time. �What do you want me to do?�
Malik appeared thoughtful for a moment, seeking the words to explain. �For this spell to work from plants, the stems need to be stripped and cut. It exposes them, which lets the magic penetrate them. However it will not work this way for a person. That isn�t a probleoughough, as when a Millennium Spirit is injured, its own energies flare to aid in healing. It exposes itself. It is simply a case of snatching that free energy from the air and storing it until we have it all.�
Bakura nodded slowly. It seemed a simple enough idea, too simply in fact. He knew what Malik had come to him for, and he didn�t mind it. Torturing the Pharaoh was something he could view as recreational given the opportunity. And he could understand why Malik couldn�t do it himself no matter how much he wanted to. The Egyptian wouldn�t be able to come within thirty yards of the Pharaoh let alone do any real damage. He on the other hand had the advantage of being able to infiltrate the group.
�You want me to disguise myself as Ryou, and inflict as much physical abuse on the Pharaoh as I can manage?� Bakura asked with a smirk, leaning back in the chair and regarding Malik down the length of his nose.
Nodding, Malik closed the book slowly and set it down beside him. �Yes, and I want to use you as a conduit as well.� Bakura frowned at that, less than enthusiastic about being used, particularly in a way that he didn�t understand.
�The nature of the altered spell will mean that as you harm the Pharaoh, his energy will pass through you and to the original caster of the spell: me. It will cause you no harm and it isn�t avoidable as it will naturally reach out to the inflictor. I just thought I�d let you know,� Malik explained, smiling thinly upon the latter in a manner than Bakura found most unsettling. He chose not to focus on that now though. He could muse about the finer points of Malik�s tone of voice later.
�I�m going to want something for all this. You want this done properly and that comes at a price,� Bakura stated, leaning forward slightly. His hands met in his lap, his fingers interlacing delicately.
Malik quirked a brow although he didn�t seem surprised. �The Rod?�
Bakura smiled, bemused to find himself so predictable. �Yes, and a slice of the glory when the Pharaoh is reduced to a mere shadow.�
The Egyptian considered this and nodded, extending a hand and an indulgent smile. �We have a deal?�
Bakura�s eyes darted to the hand back to the face of its bearer. He saw the excitement, the intensity and the insanity in the eyes, took in twitcwitch at the corner of his mouth and the stillness throughout his features. Grabbing the hand and continuing the forward motion of his arm, he shook it once and released it immediately after.
�Agreed.�

****
Thoughts? First impressions? Worth continuing?
- 1
- 2
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Original Sin