Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh. Obviously.

Firefly In Ice


Deep black shadows twined possessively around the huddled figure of an ancient soul, trapping him forever in their embrace. Flashes of red fire in the distance and close by gave no light, they seemed to be as blank as the darkness, and more like paint on a canvas then anything real. They floated at an impossibly slow rate; they seemed to aid the shadows in the destruction and of the light, sucking it away like tiny, self-contained black holes: they defied every law of physics like the swirling vortexes themselves.

The figures eyes were closed but it would make no difference if they were open, the male could not remember when he was last able to see, the shadows made sure no source of light entered the figure's private hell. From far away the sound of a steady drip, drip of stagnant water echoed off the rough stonewalls, otherwise it was silent. Complete dead silence. The shadows robbed him of the ability to breathe, stilling his lungs and heart and the little blood left in his veins, effectively leaving his muscles in a state of paralysis.

Drip, drip…

The water continued to fall as always onto weathered stone. The male wasn't even sure it was stone. Gravity did not exist here, he was held entirely by the shadow's tendrils, their grip so icy it burned on his skin. Occasionally a tendril would shift in it's unending black flow leaving another precious drop of what little blood he had left to fall from his body and join the water.

Drip, drip, drip…

The fires continued their perpetual dace, bobbing and swaying in what could only be described as air. Perfectly still air. Every now and then a flame would come close enough to the figure to brush against a shadow and then the tendril would recoil angrily as if something had suddenly gone very wrong. Both of the entities would seem to hiss at each other before shooting a bolt of sheer pain through the figures frozen nerves. But he never moved and he never screamed, there was no air within him with which he could utter a sound and the stimulation only helped to awaken his stilled mind further.

Drip, drip, drip, drip…

He did not know how long he had been here in this state, it felt like eternity but he knew that it had not been. He did not know why he was here but he knew there was a reason, whether that reason was legitimate or not did not seem to matter to the keepers of his hell. He did not even know what he was, he knew he had forgotten and he knew that once he had been considered a bad thing in the eyes of outsiders, but he did not understand that, it seemed wrong to him.

Drip, drip, drip…

A tendril shifted. The fires floated. A drop of blood fell from his skin. He continued to wait.

Drip, drip…

The still air remained as frozen as his body. His mind continued to pulse in it's agonisingly slow thought pattern despite the shadows efforts to kill it, readying it's self to awaken completely. To move his dying body. He knew…


He knew… they could not hold him forever.


It all happened at once. And with a sudden severity it almost finished him in his fragile state. The water stopped. The shadows' tendrils, every single one of them, shifted together to form one huge tight ring constricting his body. The bobbing flames grew larger, flew faster. The air was no longer still.

An inhuman screech ripped open the silent atmosphere, destroying an entire era of preservation in a single instant. The air became wind, became a hurricane. Whipping up the once stagnant water, filling the air with moisture and blowing every single one the flames into one place. Towards the huddled figure.

In unison the small fires slammed into the tendril of shadows, a clash that lasted a single moment and in a swirling vortex of black and red they consumed each other. In their destruction sending a tidal wave of raw agony through the body of the male: inside he screamed, it felt as if he was being consumed with the clashing pair, as if every single part of him were being ripped to shreds piece by tiny piece. His mind woke under the onslaught of pain, his heart began to beat, his blood began to pulse within his frozen limbs and the binding broke.

Air ripped through his lungs at a ferocious pace as another inhuman screech of rage and desperation flooded the great cavern, pounding at his delicate ears and installing within him a feeling of terror. Thick black tendrils shot out from seemingly nowhere, their colour so utterly dark they could be seen even in this blackness, there were hundreds of them, fighting the wind to get to him. To imprison him.

He would not let that happen.

Still totally blind and flexing muscles long forgotten the figure shot out into the darkness, away from the tendrils of darker shadows lashing out to grab him, and up until he found a rocky cave ceiling, slickened with moisture and slime. Following instinct and returning memory he darted to the right and found, embossed deep into the stone, a circle of smooth wet wood surrounded by particularly rough and dangerous spike-like protrusions.

The shadows were close. He could feel their icy touch coming towards him with all the speed they could muster in this wind. But the wind was dying down and a quick glance behind him proved what he already knew and dreaded: the flames were rekindling.

Whispering furiously in a cursed language the male clawed desperately at the trap door, throwing all of his slight weight against it and snarling as it began to open all too slowly for his needs. His power levels were too low! The utter lack of blood flowing through his parched veins made him sluggish and delirious. He was weakening terribly! In a moment he would be dead!

If the shadows didn't get to him first.

Yes! With an echoing bang the oval of thick dark wood hit the other side of the threshold, squealing awfully on a set of rusted hinges. The tendrils recoiled suddenly in shock. Light poured in. White gold, blinding light. The figure clenched his eyes shut, hissing in displeasure as it burned his overly sensitive eyes. Sound and smell blasted through the newly opened hole but the male ignored it, pushing the sensations to the back of his mind where they remained as a dull throb. Fighting down the sheer shock his body and mind were on the verge of succumbing to through the very sudden astronomical change in environment he was kick started into action as he felt a great surge of cold hit his back. The black tendrils had recovered sooner then he had.

Clawed hands grasped the edges of the threshold, pulling the small body up and out of the black cave with all the strength he had left. He tore lose of the lashing whips gripping onto him and scrabbled desperately towards the light that even now was burning through his closed eyelids. His skin scraped the sides of the door and for once the figure thanked his small stature, had he been any larger he would not have fit through.

A final scream savaged the air: one of anger and hate. It was a promise. An oath. The tendrils withdrew back into the deep almost liquid like darkness as the figure climbed fully out of the shallow tunnel and hastened to heave the rotten wooden door back into place now working on pure strength of will to keep himself conscious. With a grotesque screech of un-oiled hinges the door crashed down into place. A great echoing bang declared it was all over. He had won

In it's new world the figure fell, succumbing to shock from all the new sensations and exhausted from its eternity of torture. A different kind of darkness rushed to embrace him as he collapsed on the soft but freezing substance beneath him. He welcomed this darkness as he fell into unconsciousness.

Under the trap door in the cavern of living shadows. New sets of small ruby red fires began a different slow bobbing dance. Twisting demonically within the still air of the shadows hell. In the distance the endless dripping of water continued to fall from deadly pointed stalactites. The shadows whispered in the dark.




Admittedly the end part is corny and I really think I could have done better with it but for the moment it will be left as it is simply because my brain is one huge blank, lack of sleep does that to people.

I'm hoping to get the next chapter for both this and Phoenix's Ashes up sometime next week after I've gotten over the shock of being thrown headlong into my new job (blame my dad).

Anyway. I bet you can't guess who the figure is. I'll give you a clue: he isn't the usual one… did even that make sense?

Review please and it may just motivate me to work faster. :)