Fate: And thus Kiokuryoku begins. It's just...vignettes, really. Fading in and out. If you want to see something or know more about someone, request it and I'll write it. Just no lemons, because I'd get them really, really wrong and would look stupid. I know my limits. So. Go forth and be happy! And just because someone appears once doesn't mean they're off-limits forever. This is where this chapter ended. Others could be longer or shorter, depending on where they go.

Disclaimer: Same rules as Yadonushi. Go away. Tired.

"Tell me a story."

Bakura Ryou blinked at this oddly childish demand. "What kind of story?"

"Any kind of story."

Ryou rolled over and poked his yami, who was sprawled on his back and staring blankly at the ceiling. "Why?"

"I don't want to sleep." Childish again, childish demands, childish reasons.

"Once, there was a girl named Amane," Ryou began hesitatingly. "She wasn't wealthy, or a princess, or anything really special. She was just a pretty little girl with long fluffy hair and big black eyes." He stared at his yami's frozen profile. "And then one day she wasn't even a pretty little girl anymore. She was just an empty body hooked up to a bunch of machines. Amane had gone away, gone to torment someone else by staying with them only a few years." Green eyes slid closed. "And then what was left of her died and burned."

"You tell the oddest stories, yadonushi." The barest, sleepy whisper.

"Huh?" Eyes flickering open again. "Yami..." Soft laughter and a flopping back onto the mattress. "So you're asleep against your better judgment."


come play with me

Eyes shut tight, clenched into a fetal position, fists pushed over eyelids.

new game fun game

"No..." Eyes open, fingers closing over the nightstand. "My knife...god where is it...where..."

come play with me magic prince

"No...please no..." Out of bed now, scrabbling through the drawers. "Where is it? Goddammit, where?!"

play with me wedded body and blood in soul and in mind forever

"N-no! Let me...let me go...where...where..." Eyes feverish and blind, frantically seeking liberation.

play with me...

"Wh...where..." Eyes drift closed.

A body falls to the rug, loose-limbed and unconscious, with welts around the ankles and wrists as though bound and chained. Another red mark starts fingering around the neck.


/He's asking you to say yes! To marry me!/ Giggle. /Come on, say it! Say it out loud!/

Tears of humiliation spill from my eyes as I slowly raise my head, fighting the heavy weight of the collar they slapped on me. Hands chained together, cuffs on my ankles for easy retrieval, and a chain from my collar to her gloved hand.

Body and soul subservient. Bonded together for all eternity.

I stare at her. Smile. "Fuck you." Spit. "There's your fucking answer, bitch. But you don't know a word I'm saying. You don't give a flying fuck!"

Already her father roughly snatches the leash from her hands, pushes her into the care of her mother, and drags me away, hissing in my ear. I snarl and try to pull away, but he grabs my hair and yanks my head back with enough force to nearly break my neck against the gold collar. It's just enough to keep me from breathing, enough to jolt the tears from my eyes again as I gasp for breath. Enough to start me flailing against him. He doesn't care, just manhandles me into a room with ease before he lets up.

He drops me to the floor and simply looks down at me, letting the leash trickle from his fingers and slap the ground next to my feet.

I bite down hard on my lower lip, getting the blood flowing enough to stain my teeth, then flick my hair back and scream, "What are you doing to me?!"

He folds his arms and smiles. It's a smile that says simply, 'I'm not doing anything.'

His eyes travel over to a point behind me, and I whirl, keeping hold of my leash. Having it won't free me, but it's an advantage I'm not willing to let go.

She's standing there, smiling down at me. Her eyes are filmy and distant, her hair curls over her shoulders and down to her waist, and she's only dressed in a white slip-thing. And she's smiling. A horrible, possessive, mocking smile on a child's face.

I start moving backwards and am kicked forward to sprawl at her feet, my eyes clenched with pain.

She kneels and gently pulls my face up with a finger. Then she brushes my forehead with her lips. My cheekbone where the scar once was. My lips. She licks the blood from my chin and pulls me to my feet, standing with me.

The doors close and I know we have to be alone.

I shove her away hard and fling myself at the door, forcing myself to insubstantiality. Everything has to go, the collars, the chains, everything, get me out of here, I won't be a whore again...

She has my leash.

I am forced to halt or suffocate, jerked painfully to a stop.

/Do you want to leave me so much, magic prince?/

I've been a whore once,I snarl, unwilling to face her. A painted, polished little spirit-whore, chained to the throne of a megalomaniac heir to a throne with insanity in its blood. Insanity that I witnessed myself in its beginnings. I murdered and fucked on command, anything to stop the emptiness. Anything to make the hell go by a little faster. Is that what you want from me? Your magic whore of a prince?

She giggles prettily. /Yes./

You're insane,I whisper. You're completely insane.

/Of course I am,/ she replies, drawing closer. /I'm in love with you and we're married and we'll have children and live forever. That doesn't happen to normal people. That doesn't happen to sane people. You pay a price, magic prince./

And she yanks the leash hard, dragging me to her relentlessly. Before I can act, she pushes me onto the bed, fastening my wrists to the shackles that kept me there while she slept. But she never locked me there herself.

Never looked at me like...

Hathor save me, but I would go back to being Darien's slave in a heartbeat to keep her off me.

Get off me! Don't touch me! Let me go! Fucking let me go, bitch! Goddamnit! Seshat, fuck you, help me! You horrible scroll-cruncher, you mocking fucking bitch! Oh please...let me go!Racking screams now, fighting the chains, fighting her hands, fighting wildly, maniacally.

Darien had been sane, had laid out the terms for me plainly, had told me evenly what he would do to me. Zane loved me. Aya...loved. She said. Micky didn't know. Didn't care.

None of them...none...

Help me! Goddess, please! I fucking repent! Please, I've paid for my sins! Paid thousands of times over! I fought for my life, damn you! Am'mit eat me now! Anything...anything...

/Sssh. Don't fight, magic one,/ she whispers, divesting me of clothing. /Don't worry./

I closed my eyes. Hathor save me,I whimper. Please...

/Don't worry./

Not like any of them. No understanding, no meaning. No submission to stave off the emptiness. No pretending to love what I was. No realization of reality.

I did not exist.



No!Body clenching in on itself protectively. Don't touch me! Don't hurt me! Don't...let me go! Oh goddess, let me go! Great Lady who owns me...

Bakura's eyes flew open and lit on the strange, haphazard altar in the corner. He reluctantly uncurled himself from the fetal position he'd been in and crawled to the foot of the statue. "Why did you do this to me?" he whispered. "Why did you do it to me again and again and again? Twice in a row?" He blinked back tears, then screamed, "Nine years of hell! Nine fucking years of hell! And that was just the two crazies! What about the rest, dammit? What about the others? What the hell was it all for? You didn't make me sorry! You just made me scream for mercy over and over and over. I wasn't sorry, I was dead!"


"Answer me!"



Ryou was leafing through the small, spiral-bound book he'd given to his yami after the whole thing with the knives and the judge and everyone talking in some weird language and stuff. Bakura wasn't terribly inclined to talk about it -- odd, since he was as talkative as they came -- but he would, after a fashion, write about it. Granted, he couldn't stay in one language for more than a page and a half, had the worst handwriting in the world, and the grammar was best left unmentioned, but he did well enough for an illiterate fugitive still suffering from culture shock, among other things. So he wrote, the writing sprawling backwards and forwards across the page, skipping from line to line, in a strange, crabbed mix of Japanese and Korean and English and what looked like an attempt at Russian and then some kind of sounded-out variant on what had to be Egyptian. He seemed to drop back into familiar territory when particularly angry, and Ryou could pick out most of the curses with ease.

It made for a fascinating, if sometimes heart-wrenching read, if Ryou could manage to decipher it. The book wasn't one's everyday read, but in light of Bakura's recent bout of worse than usual nightmares and tendency to rove about the house, muttering bitterly about vicious old petty gods and demented blonde tarts, he decided that maybe it was high time he got caught up on what was going on.

I hate this. Ryou blinked at the relatively straightforward comment. I hate it. I hate it all. I want it to fucking die. I want to die. But I'm dead so it doesn't matter. Are you reading this, yadonushi? Do you want to keep going? I told you about Micky. Did you remember? I barely said anything about him. But his family wanted me. His family liked me. Liked what I could do, actually. Fuckers. Here it lapsed into a string of incomprehensible Egyptian, none of which were easily identified curses.

Are you still reading, yadonushi mine? You should be. You really should. Are you going away yet? No? Whatever. I don't care. Micky. Little bastard. Always calling me his thief. His. Like a toy, like a plaything, like the little slave that played with him day and night. The slave hated me. Did you know that? I don't remember if I told you.

Micky had a slave his age, with little dark eyes and a shaved head, who danced attendance on him and all that shit. And he hated me so much he wanted to kill me. I saw it in him when Micky dragged me out and forced me to show off what I could do, tell stories. You think it's not so bad? I thought it was hell. No freedom, no life, just shadows and ownership. I'd take him again over all the others. Maybe not all. But I'd take him again in exchange for the psycho, for the king, for...hell. I hated him, and like an innocent I was happy when he died. Thought the others would be like him. Got lured in by Zane. Aya. Got hit with the others. Perdita did her best and so did you, but it's still there. That unwillingness to trust. That fear. Still there. Can't get it to go away. I'm confused.

Micky's little slave's name was Yioh. Hated me. Tried to kill me once. Stabbed me and stabbed me and stabbed me. I bled and bled all over the floor, and screamed a lot, and the family came in and took Yioh away. They asked him why he did it, and he was in love with Micky. I didn't get it. Didn't understand how anyone could love that brat. But everyone's weird, I learned later on. They took him out behind the house and killed him. He'd been precious to the family. They loved him, doted on him, but I could make them rich. When Micky took me out to play, they waited until he tired, then sent me out to steal things. Yioh couldn't do that. Couldn't.

They didn't know I'd be gone in a year, with Micky dead too. I wonder if they did the same thing to Micky that they did to Yioh. They seemed like heathens anyway. Just left his body to rot. His ba must be still hanging around there, wondering what the fuck just happened.

I wouldn't ever want to go there, if I knew where I'd been. Maybe I should find out so I don't ever go there. But Yioh hated and loved with a crazed burning passion I didn't understand. Not for a long, long time. And then I did understand, after...after a lot had happened to me. After everything. And maybe if I do find where Yioh's ba is, maybe I will go, just to let him take it out on me, now that I know I can't die. I've been to hell and back, and then somewhere worse. Yioh can have it out on me. I won't mind. He's probably really bored and pissed off.

Micky cried when they killed Yioh. Cried for ages and ages, and didn't let me go. Longest I was out of my soul room, then. For a whole moon-thing. He didn't know what to do without Yioh there. It was close to the end, though. Only a little later I killed him.

Yioh would have been really pissed if he knew that. Maybe he did anyway. I never went outside to where they left his body to find out.

It smelled sometimes. And then it didn't smell anymore one day, so maybe it just fell apart all of a sudden and didn't smell. I don't know. You're the one who knows that shit. I slept through those classes. Ha. Makes me sound normal, doesn't it? When you know, tell me. Or not. I don't know if I want to know.

I know that not everyone got a real burial because they didn't have the money for the whole routine, for the priests, but everyone who was anyone got some kind of attempt at preservation. The sand did it, I heard. The sand had magic powers like that. Kept people in shape even when they couldn't have the real deal. And cats.

I want a cat. Can we get a cat? Micky had a dog. I hated that too. It bit me a lot. It never bit Yioh or Micky or the family, only me. They thought cats were horrible bad luck, like witchcraft or something. But then I was witchcraft, so maybe they were just on crack. What's crack anyway? It means they were crazy, yeah?

But the dog didn't even bite Yioh when he stabbed me a million times. It bit me then too. But they didn't kill it. They just killed Yioh. And I killed Micky and then I died, but I was already dead. No one killed the dog. Stupid thing should've been hunting like a normal dog and not kept like a cat should've been. I tried explaining that once and they all looked at me like I was half-cracked, but then again, I was. I looked eight years old and had murdered and looted and witnessed a thousand deaths of people I loved, but I only looked eight, and that's all they thought I was. Like Micky. Like Yioh. But in the end, we all died. Me and Yioh and the brat.

Are you still reading, yadonushi? I'm tired. I hate nightmares. I had a nightmare about the girl. I don't know why I wrote about Micky. Oh fuck it all. I'm going away.

Ryou blinked, then cast the book aside. "Yami!"

"Go 'way."


"What now?"

"You're not okay."

"Never have been. What's your point?"

"Oh, hell," Ryou muttered, padding out next to the other and dropping to his knees at the other's side. "At it with Her again?"


"Who's winning?"


"Yeah, yeah, shut up." Ryou sighed and swayed slightly, almost leaning on Bakura but not quite. "I read the book."

"About Yioh?"

"Yeah." Sigh again. Stare at the ground. "I can try and find where it was. Do what you like from there."

"You would?" Bakura blinked at him. "Really?"

Ryou nodded, looking vaguely surprised. "And you want a cat?"

"You would?" Bakura repeated, eyes wide.

Ryou smiled. "Oh, gods," he murmured, reaching out and hugging the sulking Ring spirit. "Cut out the wide-eyed incredulity. Cute, but you know I would do anything always for you."

He could feel Bakura rolling his eyes. "Crazy man."

"Your fault, not mine."

Fluffy: And there you have it. Please, please, please make requests.

Duel: Yeah, the request thing. And review, too. All at once, even.