dementedduelist:

There was a small wince, and the boy shut his eyes. He had been determined not to look at his wound. He’d always had a pension for the dramatic when it came to shit like this. Seeing the damage would only make it all the more present in his thoughts. And he certainly didn’t want to go through another night like he had. He inhaled slowly, if not with some pain.

He didn’t speak in response to the Don’s threat immediately. He knew he wasn’t being completely honest with his master, but he didn’t quite care to explain the situation with the two Millennium Rods. Truth be told, the thought of it terrified him. He had no desire to ever experience anything like the duel between their power over him again. He would gladly endure a thousand gunshot wounds in exchange. Unfortunately, he knew, that wasn’t a guarantee. Now that Zorc knew that Jou’s loyalty in Malik was faulty, completely dependent on the strength of will that the wielder of the Millennium Rod had. And the servant had certainly spotted the look in the god’s eye. He was marked for ownership. There was a damn good chance that he would return for him eventually. He suppressed a shiver at that thought.

Finally, knowing that suspicion would arise if he remained silent, he inclined his head in what was his best attempt at a nod, and rasped with effort, “I will always follow the Millennium Rod, Master.”

“You think I’m thick, Dog?” His smile was wry as the blonde spoke those words, and the Don’s eyes were like a hawk’s, burning down at the crippled body before him as he released the fabric and moved back from the wound and its owner. “I know exactly where your loyalties lie.” He hummed, getting to his feet. “But this is a threat from me. And the Rod. If you dare disobey me? That is to say I, the holder of the Rod, the Rod’s master…”

He held it out as if to emphasize his words, his eyes flicking to it momentarily. “It’ll be on your head.” He slowly and carefully got to his feet, feeling the intense pain in his left leg and wincing slightly, trying his best to mask the weakness by turning away from his puppet.

“I did not punish you nearly as much as I should. I could have killed you just as easily as I shot you. But I didn’t. Remember that. I spared your life. If you were to die, you would have no such Rod to follow.”

(Source: rare-hunter)

necrophadesoftheshadows:

 rare-hunter replied to your post: .

omg thank you SO MUCH

((I won’t be on it nearly as much as this one but I’ll definitely play around with it ~ this one really is my baby, after all. But you know, if you have any suggestions for names, let me know. 83))

OF COURSE, I wouldn’t expect you to just abandon Zorc. But it means a lot that you’re making him. c: ))

dementedduelist:

“Magic, my master. I was held under a different influence, one that overpowered the Millennium Rod.” He shivered a bit at the memory. It had not been an enjoyable one. “I was forced to serve under Zorc Necrophades, the Dark One, for twenty-four hours. His first order was for my honesty.” He wheezed a moment, having to struggle to speak clearly for his master. There was a light shift as he changed positions and sucked in his breath through his teeth.

“The second was for me to bring his servants to him to rescue him. I could not refuse, but I told them that the moment they came within the vicinity of the warehouse, I would leave them to return to you.”

He stopped, frowning up at his master, eyes cast downwards in respect. “I had no motive other than to serve you.”

Malik listened with a surprising patience for him. Perhaps it wasn’t patience; perhaps it was merely focus. He seemed to be listening and processing every single world his Dog said, his brows slowly knitting together. After the final words were spoken, he shifted somewhat on his seat and folded his arms over his chest, tilting his chin up just a fraction to look down at him with a familiar, begrudging stubbornness. 

“I see.”

After a few moments further, he took a breath and began to mutter, quietly. “You’re telling the truth. You certainly did… return to my side the moment I saw you.” More than anything, he seemed to be voicing his own thoughts; he was making a comment, not a question. He sighed. 

“And I daresay that wound’ll last long enough to serve as a reminder that if you dare betray me again, I will slaughter you like a pig. Am I understood, Dog?” He pulled his chair forward a fraction, before reaching his hands out to slip the boy’s t-shirt up a fraction to examine the wound and bandaging below it. Study it. See if it looked satisfactory. Having men out of action was inconvenient, he needed this one back on his feet as soon as possible.

He’d simply have to display more of that peculiar patience, for the time being.

(Source: rare-hunter)

dementedduelist:

Of course he had already heard this explanation, but he dared not interrupt his master as he spoke. In fact, he listened with rapt attention, keeping the hollow eyes on him the entire time. Once, he had to hiss and change positions, as the way he had lolled his head was causing a certain kink in his neck. But otherwise, he was as attentive as a soldier in attention.

When the last statement was fired in the air, lingering like sulfur, Jounouchi frowned. He had been waiting for this, of course. And although he was completely ready to accept death or any other type of pain, he wondered what else Malik could want to do after shooting him in the stomach.

“…Yes, Master. I did.” He did not explain himself. Not before his master asked for an explanation. Any time before, and it would be grovelling. Jou did not grovel.

“Why?”

His question was straight to the point, and to be expected. He focused a steady, purple gaze on his slave which was impenetrable and sour. He was not best pleased, to say the least. He began to calmly drum his fingertips on the knee of his good leg, frowning. 

“What reason did you have? What motive?” Translated: What did Mal have to compete with. 

He leaned back, resting on the spine of the chair and reclining a little to try and relax his body from the pain in his left thigh. It would go away, eventually. He was sure. He was merely impatient with it as of now.

(Source: rare-hunter)

dementedduelist:

Jounouchi was concentrating on one thing: not screaming. And at certain aspects of the seemingly endless night, he came very close to breaking that vow. But the worst of the pain eventually passed, and he was at least able to relax enough to do what he did best: go blank. He let his mind empty, his emotions drain, and soon he had convinced his will that his pain was secondhand. Pain was breathing. Pain was blinking. It was a natural part of life.

So when his master called for him, he was relatively calm. He had been laying on his back, staring at the ceiling, one arm across his bandaged abdomen. He turned his gaze to Marik when the Don entered the room, deadpanned with hollow eyes focusing on his tanned form. Jou looked perfectly well, and it was only up close that one would be able to note his shallow breathing, or the sweat that was glistening his skin, or the way his face twitched in pain every so often.

With a swallow, and a voice with a slight tremor, he answered the call. “Y…yes, Master?”

Moving inside and closing the door behind him, the teen focused quietly on the man on the bed, lips drawn into a thin line of displeasure, eyes moving in the same direction. To a certain extent, he was a good leader. He understood the basics that if one of his men was down, it was costly to his whole team. He had a certain duty, therefore, to ensure his ‘family’ was in good health. Even if he did it in a cold, selfish way.

“How are you feeling?” Was the first thing he said as he moved over, drawing up a chair to sit next to the bed and rest his injured leg with a hiss of satisfaction as the pressure was lifted off it. “I spoke to a medic. They say there’s not much more that can be done for your wound-” The wound he was so obviously dismissing as not his fault even though he was the one who fired the bullet, ”- other than not put it under stress. You are to remain here until you are ready to move, and even then, you must not over exert yourself. Am I clear?”

Without waiting for any sort of acknowledgement or go ahead, he leaned back and frowned at him.

“You betrayed me.”

(Source: rare-hunter)

Malik had never been very good at handling pain. He simply didn’t have a high pain threshold, and the bullet in his left thigh, though removed by now, had left a nasty wound that was causing him to limp, badly. He tried to ignore it and, of course, kept a brave face in front of his small mafia, but inside, he was hurting. But he knew it must’ve been nothing compared to what the Dog was going through. Quietly, he made his way towards the boy’s room. Where he had so kindly chosen to accomodate him.

He wasn’t going to comfort him. Far from it. He had a bone to pick, of course, and he hadn’t fully punished the boy as far as he’d like to. There were stern words to be had. 

The seventeen-year-old limped, stubbornly, down the corridor, and shouldered his way into the blonde’s room. “Dog. Are you here?”

Dog.

H E I S T (cagedingold, dementedduelist, albino-host, necrophadesoftheshadows)

cagedingold:

necrophadesoftheshadows:

dementedduelist:

The silence stretched out. Jounouchi could have been sitting there, on his knees, for hours. He had no idea. Then, suddenly, Pain raised its voice. It screamed into his ear viciously.

Failed.

He had failed.

His order had not been fulfilled—couldn’t be fulfilled, and his mind would shut down. Not only that, but the sound of blood falling from his hands and dripping onto the floor pounded into his eardrums just the same as Agony. Die, he begged silently to his wretched body. End this. He crumpled to the floor completely, curling into a fetal position as he choked, some of the blood rising in his throat and trickling down a corner of his mouth. 

Yet, through the voice of Torment, something broke through.

I forbid you to die here.

For the first time ever in his slavery, Jounouchi tugged on his chains of obedience. Forbidden to die? WHY?  Why couldn’t he die? Why couldn’t this end? Tears fell freely now, but these were tears of grief. He could taste death on his lips, and he craved it. Yet, the order overcame the lust he felt. This time, however, he knew the feeling of obligation was overtaking him against his will. He knew, yet he could not break free of it. So, with a particularly hard sob—one that sent even more Hurt up his body from the convulsion it caused, he forced himself away from the dream of death. He focused on life, blurred vision trying to reassess his situation. 

The shooting had stopped, and… his current master was looking at him. He blinked, trying to clear his sight. Words were being said, and he was gestured to, but Pain was ever the deafening sound. He couldn’t hear, and he found it pointless to listen, anyway. He focused on keeping the stars that were dimming his vision away from his mind. Lest the sweet, sweet darkness come, and take him far from here…

…. The human had guts.

He stared the boy - no, he had earned the right to be called a man now - down, eyes narrowed. … Freedom for the boy. The boy that he had just lent some of his power to - that had intrigued him. Freedom… for him.

He wanted the possessed human, though. He wanted that absolute obedience for his own. For that matter, he wanted the human that had ordered the capture in the first place - this brazen brat that was so filled with shadows that he could feel it even when he was at his weakest. He wanted all of them.

………….

And who said he couldn’t have them? Perhaps when he was at full power again…

But that was a thought for another time. The most important thing was to be released. Now.

“… We will go,” he agreed. His eyes shone in the darkness - he did not blink. “You will stay away from us. You will make sure we have safe passage - and you will not send anyone to tail us. If you do, we will know. I will know.” His lip curled slightly.

“Thief. Come to My side, at once.”

There was no time to dodge and no place to dodge to; if he did, the bullets would hit his god. Bakura could do nothing as the bullets jerked his body, one in his shoulder—one in his chest, in his heart—one in his gut. He would have fallen to his knees if he didn’t know the consequences from Zorc. He would have died, had he been alive, but his heart was nothing but a hunk of Shadowy muscle now; it didn’t even beat. So he simply stood there, shouting with each impact and wildly firing back at the men, determined not to move until all of them were dead.

But unexpectedly came Malik’s order. When the ceasefire was commanded, Bakura obeyed, out of curiosity rather than deference. The boy… saw logic? Was this a trick? His enemies rarely saw the error of their ways, at least as long as their soul was intact. It must be because the boy was injured, had seen how terrible his punishment was going to be if he persisted. Despite the mind-numbing pain wracking Bakura’s body, the King of Thieves grinned triumphantly, viciously. 

At Zorc’s words, Bakura backed up and stood at the god’s side, the very picture of a model guard if not for the streams and bursts of crimson that flowed from the holes puncturing his body. The pain had not yet hit him. But he’d managed to survive, standing, until the gunfight was over. He was triumphant. They’d won their way. His service to Zorc was acceptable and he had done his duty.

His grin softened into a smirk.

When the blonde’s shrieks began, Malik’s attention jerked towards him. His chest was still heaving with adrenaline and pain, but when he saw his puppet writhing,  crying, the Egyptian’s face contorted into a grimace. That noise hurt his ears. However, when the God began to speak, he looked back to him, his upper lip curling slightly, distastefully. The beast spoke his terms. Mal hissed.

“Fine. Fine. You two.” He looked up to two of his guards who had survived the onslaught. “Release him.” With his free hand, the one that wasn’t still grasping the Rod like it was a lifeline, he wrenched his key from his neck and tossed it to them. Immediately, they shuffled across the room, apprehension showing on their faces. Evidently unwilling to approach the demon more than was necessary. They released the bindings and backed off as quickly as they could.

With the help of his lackies, Mal limped away from the door, gesturing with a cock of his head for them to leave in due course. He pulled his arms away from his guards, turning his back to the intruders and hissing to a few of his men. “Line the walls. Escort them out. If they try anything, behead them.” His voice was raised barely above a whisper but his aim was not to hide it. It was a direct threat; but one that would only be upheld if both ends of the bargain weren’t. 

He stumbled over so that he was on the floor next to his Dog, pulling the blonde head into his lap and beginning to brush the hair out of Jou’s face with dainty, delicate fingers. As though touching a porcelain doll. There was no affection. No passion. Merely discontent. He cooed to him, though. “Puppet. Look at me.” It was still an order, even if his voice was a lower octave, gentle.

No more attention was given to Zorc and his subordinate. 

(Source: rare-hunter)

albino-host:

[offence taken.

hahaha…jk? maybe.]

This is pretty inconsiderate.

(Source: )

H E I S T (cagedingold, dementedduelist, albino-host, necrophadesoftheshadows)

cagedingold:

necrophadesoftheshadows:

dementedduelist:

Jounouchi had no chance to react. Not when his mind was being ripped apart slowly. When the first order was given, he had only to aim the gun and fire. But of course, Malik was faster. The second order stopped him in his tracks, even as pain wrenched through him. He screamed, his coarse, corrupted voice making it sound like nails crawling down a chalkboard. The gun fell from his shaking fingers and he clamped those same fingers over his head. He tore at his roots as he struggled to get a hold of himself.

He didn’t even notice the men enter the room, not until he heard the cock of the shotgun. He looked up, involuntary tears falling down his cheeks as he listened to the words of his master. Dimly, Jou heard the promise of execution. For him.

His only feeling as he heard the gunshot, in the split second before the slug lodged into his stomach, was relief. Surely… surely, this would end the pain. 

It didn’t.

He stared, dumbfounded, before falling to his knees. Numbly, he clutched his stomach wound, blood trickling quickly into his fingers. He didn’t die. Nothing had ended. He didn’t even lose consciousness. Not yet, anyway. That would probably come in a moment or two. After his shock wore off, and the terrible agony began. He thought about screaming, but he had no voice. In fact, he had nothing. 

So he sat there. On his knees. Staring. His mind was blank, even the Rod made no sounds in his thoughts.

…What now?

… The tides had turned rather quickly.

He watched everything that happened with a rather dull look on his face - even when his captor escaped from the Thief’s grip, even when a mass of humans tore into the room, even when he brought the weapon up again and raised it towards him for a moment.

And then there was that explosion again.

The human that had brought him here in the first place had been hit. He watched, fascinated. It was as if a crimson rose had bloomed from his gut - and petals were falling from it. Falling, falling. Plop plop.

…. There was blood in the air. He breathed in deeply - flexed his arms a bit, pulled against the chains around his wrists. Felt some strength returning to him. Not enough to let him break free from his bonds… but he had never been limited to physical strength, had he?

Zorc reached forward, with the little magic he had regained - reached out to the mind of the boy holding his stomach, fallen to the ground like a puppet who had had his strings cut.

It is not your time to die, boy. I am not the Millennium Rod, but I am the being from which it came. You are not allowed to die here. I forbid you to die here.

There was magic in the boy’s blood - though he did not know it, and could not access it himself. …. This sort of magic would not last very long. But as long as he lived long enough for him to be healed properly - to get them out of here, for Zorc to take him properly as his own servant - that would be enough.

… He could do a little more, but not much. The Thief would have to pull his weight now.

Bakura had dodged the second bullet too, though with difficulty, and he was more or less sure his robes had a new hole to add to their collection. 

Killing Malik was important; it was an order. But protecting his god’s body was of course higher on his priorities. Instead of tacking Malik or otherwise taken him by surprise as he shot the slave, Bakura took the opportunity to hurtle himself in front of Zorc. He’d be a human shield if that were what it took. He could not die, simply be hurt and run out of energy; pain was something he could stand. Hence, it barely mattered to him if he got shot. As long as Zorc was protected. 

Again he drew his own firearm and shot, first at Malik, then at every other guard who had entered the room, pow pow pow pow pow in as quick a succession as physically possible. At least he no longer had the slave to worry about.

Mal’s eyes focused on Jounouchi for a long time, barely giving any sort of acknowledgement to the damage he had caused, until he saw the boy fall. Then, he felt a twinge. The blonde had been his puppet for a long time; longer than most of his guards. It had been his manipulation with the Rod that had left Jou at its mercy in the first place; the first influence of the Rod’s power which had left him a slave to the item. 

And then, he reconsidered.

The boy had made flaws. Dangerous flaws. Flaws that had put all of the Rare Hunters in trouble and that was unforgivable, but… was a merciless action a cost-effective one?

Before he had a chance to think, he let out a shriek. The noise came before his realisation that he had been hit in the leg. Then, his thigh crippled and he stumbled, falling as he felt the power in his left leg give out. Luckily, two of his guards grabbed him, loyal as ever, stopping him from falling. “Stop-” He muttered, quietly, shock preventing him from raising his voice.

He saw two more of his guards go down (poor things, they were new and weren’t used to the gunfire), but the others had been in full blown dogfights before. They were used to it. Not only that, they vastly outnumbered the thief. And most of them were gunmen. They sought cover, in one another, in their bulletproof vests (which, in hindsight, Malik thought that might’ve been a good idea to invest in for himself before he charged down here), and behind shelves. Some opened fire on the man in return, a torrent of bullets flying his way.

Then Malik found his voice.

“STOP! Cease fire!” 

Silence.

Malik took a deep breath, glaring at his captive and at the man with a gun, keeping himself as shielded as he could as his chest heaved from the pain in his leg. Shit, that was one more bullet he had to get out. He should have started a record book or something. “Stop.” He repeated, as though for emphasis.

The diplomat in him kicked in, as weak as it was. He stopped speaking to the servant. And this time, spoke to the Master. To his Dragon-Man. To Zorc.

“Let’s… negotiate.” He let out a hoarse, slightly dry chuckle, as his two lackies kept him upright until he found his legs again. “I’ll let you go.” He was a greedy, spoiled child. He was determined. He was vicious. But he wasn’t… stupid. Not quite. He knew when he was beat. And he knew how to get out of it. 

“You go. You take your… thing…” He looked pointedly at Bakura, “…with you. And I get to keep my Dog.” He pointed at the bleeding blonde on the floor. 

(Source: rare-hunter)