I wasn't going to write a sequel but boyfriend insisted so whatever he wants he usually gets.  This chapter is shorter and more battle-orientated with death and destruction.  And swearing.  Bakura is still an idiot in this fic so go away if you like him.

Bakura vs. Furball 2: Revenge of Furball

Not three hours after dropping the Satan-spawned mutant furball at the Game Shop was I interrupted in treating my wounds by the doorbell.  I swear, if it's Ryou I *will* kill him.   Nice to my Hikari my arse.  It's *is* fault I have layers of skin missing from my hands and face.

I open the door and blink a second before recognition hits.  It's the Pharaoh, only now he's sporting the 'two-black eyes and a swollen jaw' style.  His hands have been turned into mittens or summut because the bandages are so thick.

I take it back.  They're not mittens; they're boxing gloves, emphasised by the way he just put the left one into my already abused face.  I let him have his one shot before socking him back and leaving him dazed as I close the door in his face.

I've had a bad day.  I can't be bothered to deal with the fern-head.

Rubbing at my eye a little surprised that the shrimp had that much strength in his scrawny body, I only catch the movement into the kitchen out of the corner of my good eye.  It was small, golden and furry. 

The fucking bastard gave it back.  I don't think I can take this.

Snarling, I storm after the creature and follow it into the kitchen.  Nothing.  Not a trace.  Well, I don't suppose I can hope against hope that it's drowned itself or been killed by a rat in here, so I'm going to have to look for it.

There's a fizzling sound and a squeak before the best thing all day passes my eyes.  It's the furball, but it's now singed and airborne as it whizzes past my face and lands in a smouldering heap against the fridge door. 

I'm so happy I could cry.

Obviously it bit a wire and electrocuted itself, poor titbit.  Might have to rip its satanic head off to put it out of its misery now.  Ah well.

Approaching it slowly, because it's a crafty sod and this could be the first step in its master plan to kill me and take over the house, I tentatively pluck it off the ground using my thumb and forefingers around its scruff, lifting it away from my body and holding it at eye-level.

Glancing around the room after glaring at it with a victorious smirk, I spot a certain appliance and get a better idea.  I did threaten to microwave it earlier after all.  No sense in contradicting myself.

As if it can sense its doom, the furball starts writhing in my fingers albeit in a daze, gnashing its long teeth at my fingers in vein.  But I have learned too much now for that to be able to work.  I have become wise in the ways of furball treatment and now I take my spoils for my title as victor of this battle.

Flinging open the door of the microwave, I chuck it inside and slam the door shut again good and quick so the little shit doesn't have the chance to get out. 

It stares at me from inside and tries to pull the cute act by washing its blackened face with its paws. 

Not gonna work.  You're had this coming and now I'm going to sit back and watch with satisfaction while you explode.

Holding my finger a few inches ahead of the button to build up a healthy level of terror in the furball, I give it a final blood-curdling laugh before I jab it.

Ow!  Damnit-shit it burns!  Ow, skin…  Independent is of body in tingliness.

It's mocking me.  I swear.  Sitting on my arse three foot from the microwave, I slap at my face a few times to get the feeling back and carefully avoid looking at my finger.  Stupid archaic microwave. 

It's watching me, laughing in its little furball mind. 

Obviously it chewed through the wire that would have ordinarily prevented me from getting electrocuted by the stone-age contraption and it knew it.  I *knew* it was planning all of this! 

In a fit of rage I lunge at the microwave-prison and heft it up off the counter, fully intending to throw it across the room, which probably was *not* such a good idea.  Damn.  I didn't know it was *this* heavy.

Toppling over backwards, I land awkwardly with the microwave on my chest and the furball sitting staring at my through the little window. 

It blinks.  I blink.  Its nose twitches.  I snap entirely.

Reaching to my left, I snap the wooden leg off of the chair through brute force and start hammering on the microwave with it.  Once this wall's out of the way I can get to pasting the furballs' smug little face to the side through the act of beating it.  It scampers around all scared and pathetic.

Excellent.

Finally cracking the casing, I ram the wood lengthways into the microwave and set about trying to stab the creature.  The angle's a bit awkward, particularly as the weight of the bloody thing is still on my chest, so I pull the stick back out and shove the microwave off sideways before kneeling next to it.

Bruised a rib or two there but war always has casualties.  I'll live, unlike the furball.

Looming over the busted microwave, I turn it around on the spot so that the window is facing me. The hole is in the top and I want to see my target rather than jabbing blindly through the gap. 

Only I can't see my target.  It's gone.

Sitting back and dropping my weapon, I lean sideways to get a better look inside only to come to the same conclusion.  Hmm.

I wonder if there was another electro-thingie inside that it touched making it, I dunno, *vaporise*.  Ra I hope so.  Damnit it I wanted to watch it suffer!

Sitting up in a huff, I practically crap myself when I feel something land between my shoulder blades and scurry up to my neck.  And then under my shirt.

Oh Ra get it *out*!  Damnit-shit-buggery-fuck *no*!

In panic, I leap to my feet and scramble around as I try to get my hands at it as it slides and claws along my back.  Bloody gravity!  *Not* the belt-line.  *Not* the belt-line.

Oh bugger it's in my trousers.  Huh.  Psycho-furball is also a pervert.  Note my surprise at this new revelation.

Not daring to breath or move, I just stand there with my arms up behind my back and my legs bent at odd angles, feeling with an impending sense of doom as the thing scuttles down the back of my left thigh.  At least it's going  *down* and not *up*.

And the little shit just read my thoughts and did a U-turn.  I can't win.

Deciding to perform a pre-emptive strike *before* I resort to near-castration, I carefully lean to the side whilst keeping the leg it's moving up as still as possible.  Curling my fingers around the chair-leg, I pick it up and hold it above my thigh a few inches ahead of the furball.

Ra hates me.  He must do.  What did I do to deserve this?  Even *I* don't deserve this abuse.

Taking a deep breath, holding it and closing my eyes so as not to see this, I wait until the furball is in the precise spot before slamming the stick down hard.

Ow.  *And* I *missed*!

I swear this thing is telepathic or something because it is *no* ordinary furball, that's for sure.

To say that I hit my own leg hard would be an understatement as the chair-leg has now been reduced to two chair-legs and some splinters.  Urgh, that's gonna bruise. 

But at least the furball isn't under my clothes any more.  In fact, my scream seems to have scared it out of the kitchen altogether.

Limping into the living room, I decide to just follow the faint black mark running along the cream carpet rather than looking for it this time.  Seeing that it's hidden itself away under the sofa, I hobble over to it and pick up one of the *big* lamps on my way.  The cord pulls out of the wall with a 'snap' as I walk and drags behind me on the floor as I surge forward, Hell-bent on beating it to death.

Unfortunately the cord gets trapped on something and the lamp stops moving whilst I *don't*.  On my face again, I spy the furball staring at me unblinkingly from the inky depths that is the underside of the sofa. 

It's mocking me again.

It's immediate existence is saved by the doorbell, and quite fancying a game of 'clobber the visitor' I get up to answer it.  Huh.  Only my Hikari-twerp. 

Big doe eyes stare up at me and he walks around me with some measure of fear.  I guess my eyes are glowing again, or possibly the Ring.

Turning on the spot to keep my burning gaze on his cowering one, I see the furball make a run for it over his shoulder.  It's open and defenceless.  It isn't expecting an attack right now so I'd get it.

"Bakura?  What's the ma-hey!"

Ryou is quite light for his age but heavy enough to squash a furball I suppose…  I won!  I bloody *won*!  Oh.  I'm so happy I don't know what to do now.  The battle is over…  And I won!!

Doing my victory dance, I don't notice that Ryou has walked over to me holding the smushed remains of the furball until he whines.

"Aw Bakura!  I landed on-I'm so sorry!  I'll get a new one for you, I *promise*."

Hmm.  I wonder if he'll fit in the microwave.  Or the sink perhaps.  With the taps on.  With duct-tape holding his head down beneath the surface of the water.  At least now I don't feel so guilty for the last few days. 

Hang on… They were *working* together against me!  They *planned* this!  Ryou would *never* stand up against me so he *planted* the psycho-furball in the shop and somehow brainwashed me without me knowing it to steal that *exact* one.  A blood conspiracy!  I knew it.

No.  I'm just paranoid.  I think that microwave frazzled my brains.  Or the furball just fucked up my head with its scheming ways.  Still.  I *won*.

So *ha*.

End.

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