Blue Eyes
folder
Yu-Gi-Oh › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
1,658
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Yu-Gi-Oh › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
1,658
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own YuGiOh!, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
His Ototo
Blue Eyes Chapter Three
He was five, staring down into the face of his newborn ototo in a mixture of surprise, love, and awe. He somehow knew, instinctively, if not fully, that he would one day be the only one who would be able to care for that raven-haired child. He would be that child’s protector.
He was six, playing his first Duel Monsters game. It had taken him a month to collect his deck, and now he was ready. His opponent looked at him arrogantly, thinking she had this in the bag. His opponent had to be twice his age, and with nearly three times the experience, there was no point in even trying against him, some newbie brat. And then he launched his attack, and gave his opponent such a trouncing in one move he destroyed all 1500 of her life points. He bowed to his applauding family before smirking triumphantly at his defeated opponent, who looked to stunned to do anything but stare.
He was seven, sitting in the den at the piano, his fingers dancing along the keys as if he’d been playing for twenty years. Moki watched from the floor amid his pots and pans, beating along perfectly to the beat strummed out from his niisan’s magic fingers. Their mother listened from the kitchen, smiling knowingly to herself, not minding the sounds at all. Her boys were prodigies, both of them, and nothing was going to stop them from doing what they did best.
He was eight, coming home from school on a drizzly winter afternoon, chill and icy. He’d forgotten his umbrella, but he didn’t mind. He loved the feel of rain, no matter the time of year. It always made him smile. He caught sight of something in the gutter, and he went closer to find out what the something was. The something became three separate somethings, huddling together for warmth. Puppies? No, puppies had fur. These things had scales, shimmering white scales like medieval armor. Were they lizards then? He saw the wings. No, not lizards. Dragons. Three pairs of empty blue eyes stared into his own blue eyes, and he knew he had to save them. He felt the same protection for them as he did for Moki.
He was nine, out in the backyard with his dragons. His mother and father were out having their anniversary while Mokuba was over at a friend’s house. He had stayed home under the guise of studying for a big test tomorrow and was now playing with his friends. He ran towards the small house, only to trip over the small concrete step and scrape his knees. He sat up, flinching as he tried to inspect the damage. Suddenly his dragons, who hadn’t changed at all since he had found them a year ago, glided towards him, excitedly crooning as they landed at his feet. They began licking his knees ecstatically, and he felt the harmless scrapes heal, leaving the skin red and a little raw. The dragons looked up at him pathetically, and then it dawned on him. The dragons survived on human blood.
He was eleven; the past years a weary blur. He could hardly remember anything but the dragons anymore, and they filled his life with eager pain. His smiles were becoming much harder to muster anymore, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to keep them up. Moki had been asking for ages what was wrong with his niisan, and his parents had started to notice his strange habits as well. What was wrong with him? Even he wasn’t sure anymore. The scars were spreading along his small body now faster than ever. What was he going to do?
He was twelve, now an orphan staring at his parents’ graves. Moki was at his side, crying silently. His own face was dry, his eyes empty and cold. What was there to cry about? What had their parents ever done for them but let them get hurt? They had only punished and questioned, and then they died, leaving them unguarded, weak, defenseless. He would now have to take everything the world had to throw at them and then some, just to keep his ototo safe.
He was fourteen, no longer the smiling child. He was a void encrusted with bloody scars, and all that was inside him anymore were the dragons eating away at him, growing in size and malice with every passing session. He’d forgotten who he was as a child, and knew only that he must never get close to anyone, including his brother, his last living relative and friend. His stepfather’s training along with the near monthly session with his dragons was wearing him thin, but he had to keep going, to protect Mokuba. He couldn’t show him affection, but he could protect his ototo.
He was sixteen, staring into the determined violet eyes of Yuugi for the first time. He feared this tiny man with the tri-colored hair. He wasn’t normal. It was as if there were two parts to him, and together they could destroy everything he knew as normal. This was the one person who could destroy everything; the dragons whispered urgently, you mustn’t let him win! Nevertheless, he did, almost like he had wanted to lose against Yuugi from the beginning, and the dragons understood this too. A part of himself was trying to escape captivity, and of course, that never happened, and the sessions increased in intensity a hundred-fold.
He was twenty, losing his mind and starting not to care. Life was nothing but torture now, and the only reason he hadn’t killed himself was Mokuba. Mokuba still needed him, still needed his protection. His will to live remained solely within his ototo, and he would not forsake him as their parents had done. His dragons were now gargantuan, far larger than their digital counterparts, and endlessly starving for his blood. Every session brought him one more day closer to death, closer to finding the end of his path, and what would he leave behind for his ototo? A tarnished game corporation and a tarnished name. But that hardly mattered, if he could leave his ototo with a clear chance at life.
He was twenty-one, falling through life, the ground coming towards him rapidly. It was all going to end soon; he could feel it in his soul, and there wasn’t anything he could do. He didn’t mind any longer. The world would be a better place without someone like him, especially Mokuba. He didn’t blame the dragons anymore; he could see the pity and regret in their eyes. The eldest had once explained to him as he lay healing beneath its gently pulsing wings that they had no choice in the matter of taking him. A higher power controlled them, all three of them, and he had been chosen to become theirs. They only treated him so harshly to make up for their lost companion, the one he had destroyed after defeating Sugoroku Mouto, and that soon it would all be over. Yes, soon it would all end.
It was October 31, he was twenty-two, and he was dying.
He was five, staring down into the face of his newborn ototo in a mixture of surprise, love, and awe. He somehow knew, instinctively, if not fully, that he would one day be the only one who would be able to care for that raven-haired child. He would be that child’s protector.
He was six, playing his first Duel Monsters game. It had taken him a month to collect his deck, and now he was ready. His opponent looked at him arrogantly, thinking she had this in the bag. His opponent had to be twice his age, and with nearly three times the experience, there was no point in even trying against him, some newbie brat. And then he launched his attack, and gave his opponent such a trouncing in one move he destroyed all 1500 of her life points. He bowed to his applauding family before smirking triumphantly at his defeated opponent, who looked to stunned to do anything but stare.
He was seven, sitting in the den at the piano, his fingers dancing along the keys as if he’d been playing for twenty years. Moki watched from the floor amid his pots and pans, beating along perfectly to the beat strummed out from his niisan’s magic fingers. Their mother listened from the kitchen, smiling knowingly to herself, not minding the sounds at all. Her boys were prodigies, both of them, and nothing was going to stop them from doing what they did best.
He was eight, coming home from school on a drizzly winter afternoon, chill and icy. He’d forgotten his umbrella, but he didn’t mind. He loved the feel of rain, no matter the time of year. It always made him smile. He caught sight of something in the gutter, and he went closer to find out what the something was. The something became three separate somethings, huddling together for warmth. Puppies? No, puppies had fur. These things had scales, shimmering white scales like medieval armor. Were they lizards then? He saw the wings. No, not lizards. Dragons. Three pairs of empty blue eyes stared into his own blue eyes, and he knew he had to save them. He felt the same protection for them as he did for Moki.
He was nine, out in the backyard with his dragons. His mother and father were out having their anniversary while Mokuba was over at a friend’s house. He had stayed home under the guise of studying for a big test tomorrow and was now playing with his friends. He ran towards the small house, only to trip over the small concrete step and scrape his knees. He sat up, flinching as he tried to inspect the damage. Suddenly his dragons, who hadn’t changed at all since he had found them a year ago, glided towards him, excitedly crooning as they landed at his feet. They began licking his knees ecstatically, and he felt the harmless scrapes heal, leaving the skin red and a little raw. The dragons looked up at him pathetically, and then it dawned on him. The dragons survived on human blood.
He was eleven; the past years a weary blur. He could hardly remember anything but the dragons anymore, and they filled his life with eager pain. His smiles were becoming much harder to muster anymore, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to keep them up. Moki had been asking for ages what was wrong with his niisan, and his parents had started to notice his strange habits as well. What was wrong with him? Even he wasn’t sure anymore. The scars were spreading along his small body now faster than ever. What was he going to do?
He was twelve, now an orphan staring at his parents’ graves. Moki was at his side, crying silently. His own face was dry, his eyes empty and cold. What was there to cry about? What had their parents ever done for them but let them get hurt? They had only punished and questioned, and then they died, leaving them unguarded, weak, defenseless. He would now have to take everything the world had to throw at them and then some, just to keep his ototo safe.
He was fourteen, no longer the smiling child. He was a void encrusted with bloody scars, and all that was inside him anymore were the dragons eating away at him, growing in size and malice with every passing session. He’d forgotten who he was as a child, and knew only that he must never get close to anyone, including his brother, his last living relative and friend. His stepfather’s training along with the near monthly session with his dragons was wearing him thin, but he had to keep going, to protect Mokuba. He couldn’t show him affection, but he could protect his ototo.
He was sixteen, staring into the determined violet eyes of Yuugi for the first time. He feared this tiny man with the tri-colored hair. He wasn’t normal. It was as if there were two parts to him, and together they could destroy everything he knew as normal. This was the one person who could destroy everything; the dragons whispered urgently, you mustn’t let him win! Nevertheless, he did, almost like he had wanted to lose against Yuugi from the beginning, and the dragons understood this too. A part of himself was trying to escape captivity, and of course, that never happened, and the sessions increased in intensity a hundred-fold.
He was twenty, losing his mind and starting not to care. Life was nothing but torture now, and the only reason he hadn’t killed himself was Mokuba. Mokuba still needed him, still needed his protection. His will to live remained solely within his ototo, and he would not forsake him as their parents had done. His dragons were now gargantuan, far larger than their digital counterparts, and endlessly starving for his blood. Every session brought him one more day closer to death, closer to finding the end of his path, and what would he leave behind for his ototo? A tarnished game corporation and a tarnished name. But that hardly mattered, if he could leave his ototo with a clear chance at life.
He was twenty-one, falling through life, the ground coming towards him rapidly. It was all going to end soon; he could feel it in his soul, and there wasn’t anything he could do. He didn’t mind any longer. The world would be a better place without someone like him, especially Mokuba. He didn’t blame the dragons anymore; he could see the pity and regret in their eyes. The eldest had once explained to him as he lay healing beneath its gently pulsing wings that they had no choice in the matter of taking him. A higher power controlled them, all three of them, and he had been chosen to become theirs. They only treated him so harshly to make up for their lost companion, the one he had destroyed after defeating Sugoroku Mouto, and that soon it would all be over. Yes, soon it would all end.
It was October 31, he was twenty-two, and he was dying.