Blue Eyes

Anthrop: An attempt at interesting writing concerning Seto, Mokuba, and his four BEWDs. Originally posted last year on fanfiction.net, and I haven't looked at this in ages, so I've pretty much forgotten the details. Erm... it gets pretty, towards the end.

Enjoy the searing angst.

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The door creaked open, letting in a yellow light. A tall, dreadfully thin man entered, shutting the door after. Immediate darkness surrounded him, curling about like slimy things from deep beneath the earth, and he did not dare look up beyond the monstrous white claws before him.

“You stayed away again. Purposely.” A pair of empty bluish eyes narrowed angrily.

“I didn’t mean to . . . directly,” the man said, still refusing to look up.

“You attempted to break free.”

“No. I’ve been busy with my company.” The man’s voice had a small ring of fear in it. The creature chuckled darkly and shifted its weight, scales grinding against the floor.

“That’s no excuse.” It chuckled again. “When will you finally see? Your cards have no meaning. Your dragon cards are nothing compared to the real thing. You delude yourself with all your holograms and technology. We are real, nothing else is.”

“You . . . are all that is,” the man whispered, voice now accompanied by a slightly hypnotic tone. If it could, the creature would have smiled cruelly. Instead, it opened its mouth in a malignant grin, fangs gleaming.

“I’m afraid you will have to be shown your place again. You grow independent, and that is not good. You serve but one purpose, and that is to keep us alive.”

“And if I don’t?” the man said suddenly, angrily. He lifted his head in and defiance flared in his distant frozen eyes. The creature’s laughter was louder this time, and echoed throughout the enormous house. In the opposite wing, a small boy with long black hair turned restlessly in his bed, sleep interrupted by disturbing dreams.

“It’s amusing, these little bouts of self-awareness you have. But tell me- just how do you expect to destroy us if you cannot escape? Even you must understand that we have but one weakness. That weakness is your pitiful soul, and that, as you well know, as been taken care of.”

The man sighed heavily, and didn’t reply.

“Very good, slave. Now you know what to do.” The man flinched and clutched at his black turtleneck.

“Can’t it wait just a little bit longer?” he asked pleadingly, looking up into those cruel blue eyes. “I’m still healing from your last . . . feed.”

For the first time the creature looked away and off to the shadowed corner. Two low growls emitted from the impenetrable darkness, and the man knew the answer.

“No. Now come closer and let me feed.” The man sighed again, and the sound was enough to bring tears to the creature’s eyes- if it could cry. The small sound seeped across the mansion, and deep down into the black-haired boy’s dreams. The boy moaned sadly and rolled over.

The man slowly pulled off his turtleneck, tossing it aside. And in the pale light coming from the blue-white scales of the creature, one could see but one thing: scars. Countless claw marks ran all across the man’s body, going up to the bask of he jaw, down to his wrists, disappearing underneath his waistline and reappearing on his bare feet.

The creature tutted and waved a claw. “You’re getting a bit used, slave. It’s actually quite amazing, you having lived this long.” The man said nothing, not looking at the creature. The hate gleaming from his eyes was nearly tangible. The creature chuckled blackly.

“How things have changed, wouldn’t you agree? You remember the old times, don’t you? When you first found us? How happy you were, to have friends like no one else, yes?” It said mockingly.

The man’s blue eyes narrowed in contempt. He remembered all right. He could remember finding three tiny white dragons huddled in the gutter when he was eight years old. He could remember taking care of them, making sure no one knew about them. He could remember talking to them in his little room for hours, how his biological father and little brother would look at him when he came out, how worried they were about him. How once he fell and scrapped his knees, and how eagerly the little dragons lapped up the blood. How he found out that they thrived on the blood of certain humans.
Things had started out so pleasantly. He had needed a friend and three dragons had appeared just like that. How they grew every time he did. How the scars grew. How with every new claw mark he grew more cold, more distant, more angry. He could remember the expression in his father’s eyes shortly before he died. How his stepfather had looked at him. How his little brother continued to look at him, never saying a word, silently asking what was wrong.

How everyone looked at him, wondering how the Hell anyone could be so fucking bitter.

“Yes, we certainly have made your life a living nightmare, haven’t we?” the creature said, mouth open in that horrible grin.

“Whatever. Just do it. Just do what you’ve been doing for longer that I can remember,” the man snapped, eyes looking at the long since bloodstained floor again.

“Very well . . . friend.” The creature’s voice was soft and filled with regret.

The claws swung down.

Seto Kaiba screamed.

Mokuba Kaiba jolted awake, ears ringing with a blood-curdling sound.

Coppery blood splattered against the ground.

Off in the corner, two pairs of blue eyes waited patiently for their turn to feed.

And so, the cycle continued.