Dark Light

Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-OH! Nope. I just have ry try twisted mind, and I'm borrowing a few characters to take part in one of my sick stories.

Warnings: Murder, gore, evil-ness, yaoi, violence, swearing, AU.

Author: Koneko Shido

A/N: I felt like writing something dark, and all the stuff I have in progress seems to be humour. I'm just not in the mood for making people laugh right now, I feel more like writing something with lots of blood in, and so I did. Enjoy. P.S., Not for the easily offended or particularly impressionable. Dammit, even when I'm trying to be serious and creepy, it still comes out funny, in a twisted sort of way. Yeah, read it and you'll understand.

Yami Bakura = Bakura,
Hikari Bakura = Ryou.

Dark-Light - Part 1

Heh. What an idiot. He steals some kid's wallet, and then runs into the nearest dark alleyway as though it's going to be a safe haven for him. Ooh, he's going to get a shock. Very bad things happen to people in dark alleys at night, doesn't he know that? Oh, don't get me wrong, I don't care that he's a thief. He could be the queen of England for all I care; I just want to kill him. It doesn't really matter who he is. He's just a random victim, and I'm not going to pretend I'm doing society a favour by getting rid of him, or that he nev never amount to anything anyway. No matter how true any of that might be, I'm doing this purely for the fun of it, and I take pride in that.
Now being a serial killer is a risky business, it's true. Some say that serial killers are on a self-destructive cycle, and that deep down they really *want* to be caught, so they gradually make more mistakes, let themselves get messy. Then the police catch them and they're grateful, in a way, that someone has stopped them. Hah. Just to clear that little rumour up right now, I *don't* want to get caught, and I won't get caught.? Be? Because I'm *very* good at what I do. And why am I doing it? Because it's fun. I don't believe in good and evil, heaven and hell, all that fairytale bullshit, so why shouldn't I just go out and kill people? Look at the world and open your eyes, there is no right and wrong, the so-called 'good guys' don't always win and crime does pay. There, I'm glad we have that all cleared up. Shall we get back down to the task at hand, here? Yes, let's.
So this fool has his back up against the wall, rifling through the wallet and swearing when he finds out that whomever he stole it from was apparently not as rich as they looked. Aww, poor baby, ain't life a bitch? Well don't be too upset, you won't have to worry about that much longer.
I'm hiding in the shadows, right next to the guy. I can practically feel his body heat, I'm that close. If I reach out a hand I could grab his shoulder no problem, but that would ruin all my fun. What I do instead is step forward. Just one, small step, and I'm out of the deepest of the shadows, so he can see the outline of my body, and he knows he has company.
"Hey, who's there!?" He demands, turning towards me.
"The big, bad wolf." I hiss, and I turn the nice, long, sharp knife in my hand just a little, so that it catches the light. His eyes widen, don't you just love it when they do that? When their eyes fill up with terror and fear and panic, and you can just imagine the adrenaline shooting through them, telling them that now would be a really good time to run like hell. Sorry, you don't get to escape, that's not part of the plan, and we must stick to the plan, mustn't we? Yes, we must. So I slash his throat.
Another thing I love: arterial spray. That, for those who don't take an interest in that sort of thing, is when you suddenly sever an artery and a whole shitload of blood sprays out, all over the place. Pretty simple, really.
You can't talk, or scream for that matter, when your throat has been cut. It also takes a surprisingly long time for you to die. This young man who has just helped entertain me for the night is now writhing on the wet ground, gurgling and choking wonderfully, his hands clamped over the spurting wound in his neck. Why do they always do that? Does he think he can keep the blood in or something? Well, he can't.
The flow is slowing now, dribbling through the gaps between his fingers as his grip starts to weaken. Yeah, he's dying, but it'll take a little longer yet. I can't help but wonder what he's thinking; his eyes are fixed, really wide and scared, on my leg. My leg is going to be the last thing he ever sees, that makes me laugh, somehow.
I'd stab him or something, but there isn't much point, now. He can barely move. He was writhing all over the fucking place a minute ago, now he's just lying there, gurgling pathetically. It reminds me of the time I went fishing and caught this little, silver fish. I took it off the line and put it down on a concrete path, but I didn't hit it, or kill it quickly or anything merciful like that. No, I watched it slowly suffocate, with those little gills struggling to breathe. It wrig abo about, trying to get back to the water, but after a while it just stopped and lay there, dying, like it gave up. It was probably just too weak to move, but I like to think its spirit was broken.
Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, this guy is lying there now, still alive because he's still bleeding, and he reminds me of the fish. Did you know that you don't bleed after you die? Even if your body is cut, it won't bleed because all your blood clots up. Fascinating, isn't it? So I know that the guy whose throat I just slashed with my favourite knife is still alive (barely), because he's still bleeding in little rivulets that are mixing with the rainwater on the ground and spreading out into a nice, big puddle of blood. I like blood. It's just right, the thickness, the colour... It's full of glucose, yet it tastes salty. Why is that? I have no idea. There are lots of things I want to know, little things like that which I could probably find out if I could be bothered to actually pick up a book and look. But I don't care enough, so they shall remain unanswered questions. Things like, why is blood red? I know, because it contains haemoglobin, but why is it RED? Does it really need a colour? And who decided it should be red, anyway? Why not green? Well, it isn't like I really need to know, so I suppose it doesn't matter.
Ah, about time. He's dead, at last. Took his fucking time, the bastard. I think he just drew it out to annoy me. Anyway, I know he's dead because he gave one, last gurgle, sort of like when the last bit of water goes down the plughole when you drain the bathtub, then he went totally still and the bleeding slowed right down, then stopped. See, I was right; you don't bleed after you die. Aren't I clever?
I clean off my knife in my own, special way and put it back in its little leather sheath, then stick it through my belt, looking down at the dead guy and licking the blood off my lips. Have you guessed how I cleaned the knife off yet? Well done. Are you sickened by the thought? I *do* hope so.
The guy's eyes are still open, so I crouch down and look right into them. People say that you can tell a dead person's eyes because there's no spark of life in them. That's bullshit, you know. They look exactly the same, only they don't move.
"Bye," I hiss at him, although I doubt he can hear me. Maybe he can, but who really gives a shit? Anyway, that's my fun for the night over, time to go home.
I just love vanishing into thin air like freaking Dracula or something. It's a shame no one is there to see me. Oh, well, if there had been someone there I'd have to kill them too, so either way nobody gets to see my vanishing trick. Too bad.
This is Bakura, signing out.

TBC

Well, everyone kept telling me how well I write psychos, so I thought I'd REALLY give it a try. Is it ok so far? Tell me, I need to know! It will get more interesting, and it does have a plot, other than Bakura popping up and killing random people, don't worry. That was just the beginning. *Evil chuckle*
So review, and you probably won't be Bakura's next victim. Probably.