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Darkness permeated the Spirit of the Ring’s soul room, a wet, cloying blackness that oozed from the walls, dripping from the ceiling. A flood of tar reached Ryou’s knees, forcing him to wade through the sticky substance. He didn’t know what he’d expected when he plunged into the deepest chasms of the Millennium Ring, forgoing caution for curiosity tinged with a hint of concern, but it wasn’t—
So the host has come to visit his parasite. How thoughtful.
A creeping voice slid into his mind, curling in among his thoughts. Ryou swallowed, hesitating on his next step, his eyes darting around the passageway.
Keep moving forward. You are nearly there.
And then it was gone, a spectre fading into thick mist, leaving behind that same intolerable silence that had plagued Ryou since the conclusion of the Battle City tournament. An event he remembered almost none of, sandwiched between mind control and possession, a backdrop of near-constant bickering pervading his limited recollection.
Ryou continued his journey down the mysterious corridor, not entirely certain if it was relief or dread that wriggled like a colony of worms in his gut.
The tar had just about reached the level of his waist, movements forced to a sluggish crawl, when a void opened up before him. A throne carved from ebony, pointed and ostentatious, rested on the surface of a tar lake. An unfamiliar figure swathed in red lay across it, one dark-skinned arm hanging down, a finger hovering above the black fluid. White curls covered half his face, one visible violet-grey eye dull and listless.
When he noticed Ryou, he groaned, muttering a curse under his breath. His hand twitched at the same moment the tar beneath it spasmed, dark tendrils shooting up, twisting around the appendage, covering it like a film as the man’s image flickered. It shifted to a far more familiar form: Ryou’s ghostly white hair and blood-tinted eyes, his thin frame, his face if it were built from angles instead of curves.
“Yadonushi,” his mirror twin greeted as the last of the black ooze seeped into pale skin. Bakura pushed himself to his feet, tar solid as glass supporting his weight. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“I, um…” Ryou blinked, the wheels of his brain spinning in place as it struggled to process what had just occurred, too many questions sounding at once. “Who…?”
Bakura approached, offering Ryou a hand out of the muck. “A stray memory, nothing more.”
Ryou grabbed on and allowed himself to be pulled onto firmer ground. Slime slid off of him, coagulating back into the lake, leaving him virtually untouched if it weren’t for the chill already settled in his bones.
“I’m here to see you,” Ryou said, regaining his words. “I got the Ring back from Yugi’s room, but since then…” He twisted a lock of white hair around his finger, glancing away. “You’ve been quiet. I thought something might have happened, that maybe you didn’t come back this time.” He lowered his head as heat crept into his cheeks. “I wasn’t trying to trespass or anything. I knocked, and the door opened, so…”
An icy caress slid along the side of his face, and Ryou flinched back. A smile tugged at Bakura’s lips, light glinting in red eyes, the self-satisfied expression of a feline toying with its prey.
“My dearest landlord is always welcome to visit his tenant.” Bakura offered Ryou his hand. “Come, join me. You might as well, as long as you’re here.”
Ryou allowed himself to be led, black glass smooth beneath his feet. “You’re acting nicer.” Comparatively, at least, but he would take what he could get. “Does that mean you’re back to pretending to be friends?”
Tar liquified, and Ryou fell, a startled yelp pulled from his throat. Bakura’s constricted grip stopped his descent, jarring his shoulder as fluid closed around his neck.
“Does that answer your question, Yadonushi?” Bakura asked, his tone mild. Ryou nodded, even though it did not. Bakura pulled him back up onto the solid surface, steadying him when his balance faltered.
Bakura returned to his place stretched across the throne, directing Ryou to sit on the front edge. “So, what’s the actual reason you’re here?”
Ryou flushed, fingers bunching in the material of his jeans. “You saved me. I want to know why.”
Bakura braced a hand under his chin and hummed, considering. “Your death would be inconvenient. The Ring is quite particular with its chosen hosts. It might be many years before it accepts another one.” Bakura patted Ryou’s head like he was a small dog needing approval. “Better to stick with the one fate so graciously provided.”
“Yugi wouldn’t have risked hurting me,” Ryou said, pushing away Bakura’s hand. “You could have won, but you took the hit instead.”
“Need I remind you of another game where Kaiba’s life was the one at stake? No, I would not trust the Pharaoh with level-headedness, much less restraint.” A snarl slipped into Bakura’s voice as red eyes darkened. “Much less you .”
That, at least, was a much more reasonable response, if not the one Ryou would have preferred. A part of him had thought that maybe… but that wasn’t very rational. They weren’t like Yugi and his other self.
With the purpose of his expedition completed, Ryou moved to stand. His foot met no resistance as it slid into black fluid, and he scrambled back, barely maintaining his balance.
“Leaving so soon?” asked the voice too close to his ear, and Ryou realised that he’d nearly ended up in Bakura’s lap. “You’ve only just arrived.” There was a hand on his arm, cool fingers brushing over red-tainted bandages. “It’s been so long since I had any company.” Bakura chuckled, and it sent shivers trickling down Ryou’s spine. “Well, besides my own, of course.”
“Let me g—” Ryou’s voice cut off as a hand curled around his throat, applying just enough pressure to make a point. Bakura’s tongue clicked in melodramatic disapproval.
“Ordering me around in my own soul room. You disappoint me, Yadonushi. I thought you were supposed to be the polite one.”
“Don’t call me that,” Ryou said, the tremor in his frame replaced by tension as he braced himself. Whatever the spirit’s game was, he wasn’t going to play it.
Bakura’s grip loosened, fingers stroking along the skin of his neck. Ryou’s pulse increased its pace, a misguided effort, like a victim’s adrenaline rushing the spread of venom through their bloodstream. Bakura shifted at his back, and Ryou felt arms like the coils of the snake wrapping around his torso. One hand drifted, sliding beneath his striped shirt. Fingers pressed to five small scars, remnants of when golden tines had pierced tender flesh. A claim and a promise. Ryou would never be alone.
“But that’s what you are,” Bakura purred, and a tongue flicked out to tease his ear. “A yadonushi, a landlord, a host. My host.” Fingers dug into his stomach, and Ryou winced. “And I am your parasite. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Lips pressed to his neck, and Ryou froze, a prey’s instinct to avoid detection. It was a useless gesture; he was already caught. He’d walked into the beast’s den of his own free will, his hubris a guiding lure. Curiosity had killed the cat, and here in the dark, there was no satisfaction to bring it back.
Bakura chuckled, and the sound reverberated through Ryou’s body. “Such dire thoughts. What great harm has befallen you since your arrival? Is Yadonushi afraid of a simple embrace?”
Ryou squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to slow his heart rate with a few measured breaths. Keeping his voice firm, he spoke again. “Let—”
Teeth sank into his earlobe, and he yelped, a combination of surprise and pain. Bakura’s arms constricted around him, holding him in place as he kicked out, squirming in futile resistance.
“There’s nowhere for you to go, Ryou,” Bakura said, sounding almost bored.
“You bit me!”
“You deserved it.”
Ryou blinked, determined to keep the tears from his eyes. “I don’t want to be here anymore. I came because I was worried about you, but clearly everything’s all hunky-dory. So just let me go already!”
A beat of silence as Ryou’s words echoed in the empty air.
Bakura pushed him off the throne.
Greetings, host.
Thick, black fluid filled Ryou’s lungs, strangling him from the inside out. Piercing laughter resounded in his head as his body spasmed, feet kicking uselessly. Ice burrowed beneath his skin, needle worms of cold finding shelter in muscle and bone. Darkness refined to its purest concentration pervaded him. His struggling soul began to weaken…
A fist thumped his back, and Ryou coughed, a flash of light blinding his eyes as oozing filth stained his shaking hands. Brightness faded, his bedroom replacing blurry shapes. A steady touch rubbed soothing circles into his back while he gasped in breaths, shuddering sobs wetting his cheeks.
“There, there, Yadonushi.” Bakura wrapped an arm around his shoulders, guiding him to lean back against his bed’s headboard. “You’re okay. The worst is over now.”
Ryou shivered, huddling into Bakura’s side. He was far past questioning how the ghost felt solid, warmth radiating from his spectral form. Bakura adjusted the Ring so it lay flat against Ryou’s chest. His fingers wandered, and he tucked a few strands of white hair behind Ryou’s ear, tracing the curve of his face.
“So pretty,” he murmured to himself, something soft flickering in red eyes.
Bakura leaned over and placed a lingering kiss on Ryou’s forehead, one pale finger circling the Millennium Ring.
“My beautiful host.”