Chapter Text
Ryou sat shirtless, legs crossed in the middle of a chalked circle. The line around him was shaky but strong; the physical manifestation of both his hesitance and determination clashing. White and black candles of varying sizes had been placed all about the room, their flames dancing seemingly in tandem with his erratic heartbeat. The combination of the warm glow of candlelight and Ryou’s soft features gave the illusion he was ethereal, floating on the edge of an abyss. He opened darkened eyes, sharp with the intensity of the task at hand, and the illusion shattered. White hair began to shift gently, picked up by a breeze that wasn't there.
An athame gleamed as the silver caught the light. Raising it to his chest, Ryou traced the spot where the Millennium Ring used to hang, the blade only hovering over the delicate skin beneath. Closing his eyes, Ryou imagined it were actually there, heavy against his heart. Cold metal pulsing with an unseen force, thrumming with an ancient power that tickled his fingertips. He envisioned the spikes tinkling like wind chimes as they bumped together with any sharp movement. Fiery warmth sparked to life in his chest.
A sharp exhale left dry lips as Ryou’s hand holding the athame now placed significant pressure on his sternum. Repeating the former movements, he traced the same shape, this time allowing the dull blade to scrape at flesh.
The burn was tolerable in comparison to the physical wounds the Ring had given him in the past, but still undeniably unpleasant. A sharper blade would have been cleaner, lest his masochistic tendencies allowed it. Red dots began to form on milky skin around the same time black spots began blurring Ryou’s vision. He didn’t know why he needed his eyes open, but he had to see what was happening — if anything.
He had to admit his luck with rituals seldom proved successful. At best he’d conjured up a handful of low level entities, only capable of contact through an Ouija board and mischievous pranks. His intentions were much larger, on a scale that Ryou really didn't have a basis to register it on.
His heart beat like a hammer, threatening to shatter his fragile ribs with one final blow. Hands trembling, the athame clattered to the ground, his left hand groping the ground for the doll. Slender fingers curled around cloth, the poppet now dragged into his small line of vision.
Though featureless, the face of the Spirit of the Millennium Ring stared up at him mockingly. He made sure to put as much detail into it as possible, but he could never get the face right. It bared resemblance to his own body. It shared the same snow white hair, only slightly more disheveled. He had cut into his old striped shirt, the blue fabric tattered and faded from daily use and Bakura’s hellish crusade. It peaked from beneath a black jacket, light jeans, and white socks. A miniature of the ring made of clay finished off the look.
Ryou snorted at his own slip up. Bakura was his name, but somehow the spirit had stolen that too.
He can have it.
Picking the athame up again, Ryou steeled his resolve and gave one final slash to his chest. The soft trickle of blood streamed off of his outstretched arm as he clenched a fist over the doll. It was warm like water — if water were viscous and unsavory.
Blood begets blood.
In one fell swoop Ryou brought the blade into the doll. The handle stuck into the twigs and yew beneath. It smelled like cypress oil and rust.
Death precedes rebirth.
Bzzz. Bzzz.
The vibration of Ryou’s phone on a hard surface shocked him awake. Blearily looking around, he realized he had dozed off eating breakfast. He could only manage a small groan as his body struggled to pick a heavy head off the table. A napkin came up with him. Brushing it off, Ryou reached for the still buzzing phone.
“Hey Ryou let’s get coffee and catch up soon!”
“My treat!”
Yugi. Ryou let a puff of air escape his lips, white bangs parting at the action. It’s not like he hated spending time with Yugi, but it’s that he hated spending time with Yugi. It wasn’t Yugi as a person he disliked, much to the contrary, but what he embodied — everything Ryou had wished to be and failed to become. He was successful, having gotten a high paying job working side by side with Kaiba, pursuing his dreams of making Duel Monsters bigger than it ever had been in the past. Interspersed of course, with trips to Egypt alongside a loving partner. He still had his tight knit group of friends too, people who would take a bullet for him as he would for them.
God, was he a jealous prick . Ryou’s fingers quickly typed out a response before he put more thought into the matter. He did wish for some company. It’s lonely living with ghosts. Or in his case, without one.
“Pick a time and I'll be there.”
It didn’t take Yugi five seconds to reply, just as excitable as he was friendly.
“I’m free at 10 am Saturday. I’ll pick you up too! See you then!!”
Closing the flip phone with a loud clap, Ryou lightly tossed it on the table top. A date with Yugi...Huh. Pushing himself back, the wooden chair beneath him protested with a grating squeak before he brought his exhausted body to its feet.
His chest ached. No . Wincing, a hand came up to test the soreness from the previous night. His chest burned, a hot heat like that of an open oven seeping through where the palm of his hand skimmed fabric.
This last ritual had been particularly brutal. It was Ryou’s choice to initiate these practices of course, but all the same, what was to become of his body as a consequence was always an afterthought.
Frowning he found himself in the bathroom, lifting his shirt to look at the damage. The shape of the Millennium Ring was carved out in his own blood, staring back through its all seeing eye. The once smooth skin was marred with jagged lines, scarlet and pulsing. Old scars met new damage, rough and oddly transfixing. Ryou traced his fingers delicately along the familiar shape. The Spirit’s laugh echoed in his mind.
Pathetic.
Ryou’s shirt dropped with a crinkling of fabric. He stood there for an unclear amount of time, eyes fixed to his mirrored self as he contemplated the situation he put himself in. Tears began to well up in the corners of his vision. A hand came up to quickly brush them away. He couldn’t bear to look at his own reflection anymore. He had failed once again.
Flicking the light off as he exited, Ryou missed the sparkle of sharp teeth as they flashed across the bathroom mirror in a brilliant smile.