[Game for a Thief]: Prologue - Singularity
Title: Game for a Thief
Summary: In order to fulfill a debt to Bakura, Malik agrees to take part in his own ‘World of Memory’, armed with only vague information and a shaky alliance with Bakura’s ancient self.
Pairing(s): Citronshipping (Malik/Thief King Bakura)
This prologue to GfaT was posted a while ago as a drabble, Singularity. So to anyone who's read it before, apologies for the repost, and chapter one is coming right after. While the story starts out with Malik and Yami no Bakura, it quickly goes into the world of memory and focuses on Malik's relationship with Thief King Bakura.
I'd originally planned on completing GfaT and then posting it, but at this rate I'll take years to get it out there, so I'm trying the WiP route. Updates will be sporadic, but I'll try my best!
Game for a Thief
Prologue - Singularity
-o-
There was nothing here, yet still force pressed down on him. He had no body, yet still blood ran down his hands, dripping into endless mist the color of the night sky covered in clouds, his clenched hands turning into knives on themselves. He tried to breathe, but had no breath.
So this was nothingness. Unlike what modern men believed, it was not painless.
Malik waited, and his attempts at concealing his impatience failed. He knew that, but he failed to feel concern. He preferred to hide, yes, but the time for veiled words and bloody looks was passed. "You take too long, Bakura," he called out, and the nothingness ended, his voice ringing through the blackened expanses which hid the spirit's heart.
Laughter followed his voice, and then the spirit was there, surveying Malik with eyes narrowed in something resembling pleasure. "So you finally destroyed yourself, then? No one left to turn to but this Ore-sama…"
"My dark self must be destroyed, Bakura. The price matters not."
"Proud as you are, you still understand that, don't you?" Bakura cocked his head, and then smiled sharply. "And perhaps you could be useful in Ore-sama's upcoming games…"
"Games?"
"Memory. It only exists when you look at it a certain way, but it's important, isn't it? You shunted feelings that would destroy you off until they became a detachment bent on destroyingyou, the Pharaoh is nothing without his and will be nothing with his, and Ore-sama… Well. If you agree to Ore-sama's terms, then you'll see."
"I said that the price does not matter."
"Ah, good then. Now, Malik…what do you think would happen if the part you shunted was taken back?"
"What?"
"Come now, don't try to hide from it. You called it your dark self, after all, so you must understand. It isn't just that you created it; it is you, all the ugliest parts of yourself thrown aside… And taking yourself back is the easiest thing. You'll probably survive, and if you don't… Well, no matter. At least it won't survive, either. How does that sound?"
He could die, then, and in a far more permanent manner than leaving this life. A dead body signaled time for moving on into the next; a dead heart simply ceased to be.
"It sounds fine."
-o-
The winds tore at him, flesh and blood and bones following in a maelstrom of sand and exposed innards. A storm greater than could ravage the whole world was compressed within a miniscule space, agony intensified until it filled everything, poised to explode, and the existence before that was nothing.
He wanted to avenge his father's death. He wanted to protect Rishid, feared for Rishid's life. He hates his father, rejoices in the feel of blood under him, life giving out under his hands…
He wanted to free his clan from their imprisonment, enlighten them and bring an end to their repressive ways. As Pharaoh, he would do so. He wants them to bury themselves in darkness, lie in the graves they have dug themselves, cease to fetter him so that he can be free, for what else matters?
He wanted his sister to be free as well, to live in the light with himself and Rishid. She is useless, indecisive, always standing to the side, and she will survive longer than the rest only because she is entertaining to toy with, and that is a kind of revenge in itself.
He needed Rishid, depended on him to stand by his side, and wanted Rishid to be free as well. Rishid was his servant, his to use and he loved him for his obedience. He hates Rishid most of all, for Rishid still lives, that duplicitous brother who meant to kill him, who stood by during his torment and thought that making his own scars would mean something, who sealed him and will die for it.
The explosion occurred, and claws and teeth and flames reached out, seeking to claim any prey they could find.
Chapter One
Summary: In order to fulfill a debt to Bakura, Malik agrees to take part in his own ‘World of Memory’, armed with only vague information and a shaky alliance with Bakura’s ancient self.
Pairing(s): Citronshipping (Malik/Thief King Bakura)
This prologue to GfaT was posted a while ago as a drabble, Singularity. So to anyone who's read it before, apologies for the repost, and chapter one is coming right after. While the story starts out with Malik and Yami no Bakura, it quickly goes into the world of memory and focuses on Malik's relationship with Thief King Bakura.
I'd originally planned on completing GfaT and then posting it, but at this rate I'll take years to get it out there, so I'm trying the WiP route. Updates will be sporadic, but I'll try my best!
Game for a Thief
Prologue - Singularity
-o-
There was nothing here, yet still force pressed down on him. He had no body, yet still blood ran down his hands, dripping into endless mist the color of the night sky covered in clouds, his clenched hands turning into knives on themselves. He tried to breathe, but had no breath.
So this was nothingness. Unlike what modern men believed, it was not painless.
Malik waited, and his attempts at concealing his impatience failed. He knew that, but he failed to feel concern. He preferred to hide, yes, but the time for veiled words and bloody looks was passed. "You take too long, Bakura," he called out, and the nothingness ended, his voice ringing through the blackened expanses which hid the spirit's heart.
Laughter followed his voice, and then the spirit was there, surveying Malik with eyes narrowed in something resembling pleasure. "So you finally destroyed yourself, then? No one left to turn to but this Ore-sama…"
"My dark self must be destroyed, Bakura. The price matters not."
"Proud as you are, you still understand that, don't you?" Bakura cocked his head, and then smiled sharply. "And perhaps you could be useful in Ore-sama's upcoming games…"
"Games?"
"Memory. It only exists when you look at it a certain way, but it's important, isn't it? You shunted feelings that would destroy you off until they became a detachment bent on destroyingyou, the Pharaoh is nothing without his and will be nothing with his, and Ore-sama… Well. If you agree to Ore-sama's terms, then you'll see."
"I said that the price does not matter."
"Ah, good then. Now, Malik…what do you think would happen if the part you shunted was taken back?"
"What?"
"Come now, don't try to hide from it. You called it your dark self, after all, so you must understand. It isn't just that you created it; it is you, all the ugliest parts of yourself thrown aside… And taking yourself back is the easiest thing. You'll probably survive, and if you don't… Well, no matter. At least it won't survive, either. How does that sound?"
He could die, then, and in a far more permanent manner than leaving this life. A dead body signaled time for moving on into the next; a dead heart simply ceased to be.
"It sounds fine."
-o-
The winds tore at him, flesh and blood and bones following in a maelstrom of sand and exposed innards. A storm greater than could ravage the whole world was compressed within a miniscule space, agony intensified until it filled everything, poised to explode, and the existence before that was nothing.
He wanted to avenge his father's death. He wanted to protect Rishid, feared for Rishid's life. He hates his father, rejoices in the feel of blood under him, life giving out under his hands…
He wanted to free his clan from their imprisonment, enlighten them and bring an end to their repressive ways. As Pharaoh, he would do so. He wants them to bury themselves in darkness, lie in the graves they have dug themselves, cease to fetter him so that he can be free, for what else matters?
He wanted his sister to be free as well, to live in the light with himself and Rishid. She is useless, indecisive, always standing to the side, and she will survive longer than the rest only because she is entertaining to toy with, and that is a kind of revenge in itself.
He needed Rishid, depended on him to stand by his side, and wanted Rishid to be free as well. Rishid was his servant, his to use and he loved him for his obedience. He hates Rishid most of all, for Rishid still lives, that duplicitous brother who meant to kill him, who stood by during his torment and thought that making his own scars would mean something, who sealed him and will die for it.
The explosion occurred, and claws and teeth and flames reached out, seeking to claim any prey they could find.
Chapter One