Credits: Thanks to Fran and XxphenixX for beta reading, and to DINO5551 for looking at an early draft.

Notes: Mwa. I’ve returned to the fanfiction world with my submission for Chibizoo’s Unofficial YGO Fanfiction Contest. I know I haven’t updated my other fics in forever, but I’m kinda working around a block right now. I’ve discovered a passion for website design, and it’s eating up my time. All right, lame excuse. I’ll try my best to get it out to you as soon as 
possible. Anyway, drop a review, guys.

Disclaimer: I hold no claim to YGO or its characters.

* * *

I have forgotten what the sun looks like.

Ironic, after the days I laid prostrate, in search for futile redemption from that same sun. Back when I was the High Priest of Egypt, back when I was second to no mortal being but Pharaoh, yet nothing but lowly and worthless scum in the eyes of even the most minor gods. Yes, the gods, for whom I spent years of training, marked only by blood and pain and torture, only to have them scorn me and cast me from their sight. Leave me to the vampire who drank thirstily from me, those primal, bestial eyes glowing with its sickly yellow color.

Ma’at did not dip her scales for me; Anubis held no court in my name; Hathor never greeted me in the underworld; Ra shone his rays away from me; even Set, my patron god, was silent to my cries.

I became a pathetic corpse, dangling on the edge of life, the infinite, silent abyss of death yawning eternally beneath me. I screamed, sobbed, howled like I never before have in my years of stoic coldness, and pleaded for the forgiveness I knew would never come, never in an eternity.

Eventually I stopped begging. The gods were deaf to me. They had shut me out into the darkness, left me for my fate. I learned to survive, to live without my gods, to understand the beast within me.

But never will I learn to embrace it.

I will subsist forever, neither caring for nor cursing my existence.

* * *

I watch as he sleeps. Shadows creep across his angelic face, crisscrossing his lean form with spider webs. The moonlight pouring into the room illuminates my own frame, perched precariously on the windowsill. In this ethereal lighting, he seems as wraithlike and otherworldly as the dreams that have plagued him ever since the day his parents died.

England is a country of fools. The windows are thrown open, letting in both the blithe wind that fought the humid summer night and things more fatal than the heat, such as myself.

I unravel my legs from beneath me and fluidly descend from the windowsill. My feet soundlessly take me to his side.

I know not his given name, but when I whisper to his unknowing form at night, I call him Ryou, after the Pharaoh’s slave who cursed and blessed me with immortality, an eternity ago. That was a misstep on my part; infatuated with his exotic appearance, I had allowed myself to be tricked by him, revealing my traitorous plans and condemning myself to a painful death and 
rebirth.

Time has obscured the details in its heady fumes, but I remember the eyes like those of the tigers that trade had yielded, and, more so, I remember the silky hair with that particular shade only now known to me to be that of snow. His hair was the purest hue conceivable; I have now seen winters of snowfall, but his hair came first.

Ryou, this Ryou, has been raised from birth in this monastery. He is devoutly Christian, worshipper of a single god and his son.

No more reverence exists for Ra. No more will the stanch priests waste their time in bloodstained worship.

The world has forsaken the gods of Egypt as they have forsaken me.

They exist nowhere but in papyrus scrolls buried beneath the burning sand, written in a hand long forgotten to man.

What would my fellow pious priests, who pierced their skin with hideous symbols and poured burning embers upon their own bodies, think if they could see the world as I did now? What would they think of their precious gods now? What prophecy could they use to explain this? Where are the four creator gods: Amon-Ra, Atum, Khnum and Ptah? Where are the eight primal deities of the Ogdoad? Tell me, where do Heh and Hehet, the embodiment of infinity, where do they last infinite now? Tell me! Where are they now?!

Nowhere, I whisper to myself, answering the question lingering in the air. Nowhere…

Ryou stirs. The nightmare is reaching its climax. Groaning, his eyelashes flutter. His pale cheeks flush, the silent apparitions of the night torturing him, teasing him in their own, twisted fashion.

I am gone before he awakens. He sees only the dirty drapery billowing against the calm winds.

* * *

I have been toying with the idea for a while, contemplating the prudence in acquiring a companion, and a surely unwilling one at that. But when such a convenient opportunity chooses to reveal itself, I cannot help but be enticed.

Don’t you know, little one, not to walk around alone at night? Have the nightmares ravaged your soul enough to risk the true fiends darkness brings? Do you seek an escape, perhaps, in death, as your religion denies you the privilege of attaining such an escape by your own hand?

My hand is wrapped in the heavenly silk of your hair before you can hear the rush of wind accompanying my leap from above. I jerk you back, your sense of self-preservation responding too slowly.

I decide not to bother with a prelude. My teeth sink into the white satin of your neck; I usually take my time with other victims, but with you I cannot help but suck greedily, absorbing your life, taking it in its entirety, loving the feel of your pureness running inside me, and simultaneously hating the innocence and naïveté with which you cling to your religion so 
desperately.

The hand I have clamped tightly over your mouth keeps the screams inside, but does not stop your struggling. I drink on, uncharacteristically going past the limit, your tempting essence wiping away reason. I grip you tightly, consumed by the animalistic hunger; I had not expected such an extreme reaction to drinking from you. Groaning, I sink my teeth deeper into you. My left leg bends at the knee, pressing into your back, forcing you to arch into me. What is it? What is it about you that causes me to lose my focus, my wits? I am by no means a barbarian governed by salacious instinct and raw prurience, like most of my kind, but, somehow, I give in to the most primal of lusts when it is you I am dealing with.

The metallic clinking as a chain slips from your robe captures my attention for a moment. A small, simple cross hangs suspended in the air.

I tear myself reluctantly away from you, and bring my own wrist to my teeth, ripping the skin. The blood that flows does not have that novelty, that sweetness you excrete. My blood is tainted, spoiled from the years of leeching off the life force of others. It wasn’t always like this. I, too, was pure once – before the darkness, before I was wrenched from the light, 
before all the pain, both dealt and received, of this miserable life. For a moment, I pause, reflecting on this sudden aberrant wave of remorse and wistful reminiscence.

Then you moan, softly. I redirect my attention to you, and tip your head back and force you to drink.

* * *

A bitter melancholy and despair, suffocating in its sense of loss and defeat, settled on me. From whence it came, I do not know. Only that my new pet’s presence does not cure me of my internal turmoil. This overwhelmingly mournful feeling penetrated me, instilled in me a mood, both new and hauntingly familiar at the same time, that begged for the vivacity of life  that I had willingly given up long ago. Moody and distressed, I sulk in a corner of my underground home, occasionally offering animal blood to Ryou, who sits quietly on his cot, the initial storm of disconsolate tears over.

Now that I have him, I do not know what to do with him. I watch him from across the room; his eyes are lowered to the ground. He seems the perfect picture of tranquility.

I frown when I notice his lips moving faintly.

“What are you doing?”

His head remains lowered. He hesitates, his lips quivering for a moment. Then he continues, more audibly.

“…We call upon Thee, O Lord, to grant Thy healing, that the soul of Thy servant, at the hour of its departure from the body, may by the hands of Thy holy Angels be presented without spot unto Thee…”

I narrow my eyes at him, letting loose a warning growl. His voice quiets, yet he continues.

I recognize that he is praying, praying for salvation, for either me or himself. I smirk and interrupt him.

“It’s a little too late for your god to be saving you now, isn’t it?”

He glances at me, the look of one denying fear in his eyes. “It’s never too late.” His voice is soft, but I detect an edge.

I am amused. “I had a god, too, before. A long time ago.” I cock my head to the side. “I ‘prayed’ for salvation too. Hasn’t come yet.”

He looked away. “You didn’t pray hard enough.”

I glare at him. “And you think you are?”

“I’ll… find out, when the Lord answers me.”

Now his naïveté becomes more irritating than entertaining. I cross the room and jerk his chin up.

“My god never answered me, and your god never will. Gods are born of childish human hopes for light and happiness, conceived to save those who cannot save themselves. They are nothing but fragile designs, forgotten by man to be replaced by yet another.”

Ryou looks sad. He turns away, opening his mouth to continue his prayer.

I wrench his chin again. “Did you hear what I just said? There are no gods. You merely waste your time mumbling to a spirit of the mind.”

“Can’t you let those who hope continue hoping?” he asks, his voice stronger and clearer than I’ve ever heard him speak. “You envy those who still hold the capacity to dream.”

His words affect me with more force than they should have. I push my body into his, shoving him into the cot, and grasp the chain around his neck, pulling up the cross, letting it hang in front of his eyes.

“Hope burns,” I hiss, and lower the cross onto the exposed flesh of his forehead. He yelps with pain as the skin reddens, sizzling, denying the holy symbol. He thrashes, swiping an arm at my hand. I release the chain, the cross dropping to the front of his robe. I glare at him expectantly.

He gasps for a while, chest heaving, body pressed against mine. Finally he regains enough composure to snap, probably more harshly than he intended, “God will decide that.”

“You don’t understand,” I say. “God has forsaken you. Didn’t you just see his sacred cross reject you, sear your flesh?”

“Mere objects don’t matter,” he answers. “Only God has the right to reject his children.”

“Shut up! I am sick of hearing you defend your damned god. Speak of him again in my presence, and I will take crueler measures.”

“Who are you to speak so arrogantly?” he bit out angrily. “Our Father—”

“Shut up!” I yell. It is the last straw for me. I grip his robes, drag him to the floor. “Shut up! Let our Father burn in his own hell!”

He twists, trying to break free of my hold. I pull up his robes, hiking them up around his legs.

“No!” he whimpers.

With one hand, I hold him down, with the other, I grab for the cross, ignoring the fizzling as my hand made contact. Holding his legs open, I press it into his opening.

He shrieks, bucking, his tensed body coiling, desperately trying to free himself of the intense burning. “Stop! Aaa…aaah…”

“This is what your god thinks of you,” I hiss, both horrified and content with my perverseness. It is as if there was a sense of duty instilled within me to release him from the bonds of religion, at any cost. I learned the difficult way not to blindly trust the gods. It is his turn now.

“Stop…” his voice trails.

I continue thrusting the cross into him, my sizzling hand red from his blood. He jerks his body, and I plunge it in, harder, deeper, inciting more screams.

He writhes, and, tempted, I lower my head, capturing his mouth with an almost tender kiss. I relax my pumping, finally sliding the entire cross out, slick with blood. Ryou’s blood.

I gently glide my tongue over his lips, and pull away. I look into his horrified, stricken eyes.

“Ryou—”

“Get away!” he shrieks. He pushes my unresisting body away and stumbles up. His legs, weak from pain, collapse beneath him. I stand in an attempt to help him.

“No! Stay away!” He crawls backwards, reaching the wall. He staggers up again, a hand held in front of him, warning me away. He shoves himself out of the room.

* * *

I find him supporting himself against the door to my cave, eyes closed, lips moving, voice still hoarse from the screaming, blood pooling at the floor between his legs. His face is bruised; the smell of smoldering skin permeates the air; he clutches at his cross, still stained with his own blood.

“Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”

“Why do you insist on clinging to him?” I growl, approaching him.

“Give us this day our daily bread. Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass again us.”

I stop before him, grab his chin. His eyes open, and I am unsettled by the resigned look in them.

“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.”

I slam my hand against the door, above his head. He does not flinch. He only continues to stare at me with that unnerving expression.

“What will you do?” he whispers at last, his voice echoing desolately, resonating somewhere inside of me. “What will you do, when Judgment Day has come for you, when your soul is to be weighed… Seth?”

I glare at him and hiss. “Shut up.”

“Did you ever have a family?” he asks quietly. “Did you have people you loved, who loved you back? Wouldn’t they want you to redeem all the pain, all the deaths you’ve caused?”

I grit my teeth. The faded memory of my brother’s face flashes briefly across my mind. Angrily, I act on impulse. I slap the back of my hand against his face.

Ryou’s head snaps to the side. Slowly, he turns, looked at me with sad brown eyes.

Breathing deeply, I watch him as he opens his mouth again.

“What if you were to die now? What would God do with your soul?”

Suddenly he wraps a surprisingly firm hand around my wrist. His other hand finds the door knob. Then he twists it open.

We are both thrown into the sun. I roll when I hit the ground. Coming to a stop, I find Ryou top of me, his weight anchoring me to the earth. I am on my back, staring directly into the blinding light of the sun.

“May God judge you mercifully,” he whispers into my ear, holding me tightly.

I do not move as I feel the first rays sear my skin, painfully burning off the layers. I stare into the sun, up at Ra, up at the gods, up at the infinite skies that would never forgive me, finally sobbing, tears that have not fallen for millennia streaming down my face. I do not try to stop them; I almost welcome them. The sun… it’s so beautiful... Oh, Ra, why did you forsake me? The blinding light is so radiant, so effervescent... I am forsaken… please take me back. I want to go back… forsaken… The heat, it surrounds me, wraps me in its comfort, embraces me; I clutch desperately at the warmth. Why won’t the gods accept me anymore? Why?! A distant roaring, deep and rumbling, fills my ears; my vision is clouded by the purest white imaginable; I feel my skin begin to disintegrate, Ryou digs his fingernails into my arms; the desperate tears continue flowing, the sobs force themselves out of my throat unbidden; I hear and see, feel and experience, smell and sense, all over again, the torture, the Turning, the bloodlust, the agony; the drapery continues to billow; the priests continue to pray; the Cross burns flesh; my brother dies all over again; my personal apocalypse begins its raging; and high above it all, eternal Ra continues to shine...

* * *

By midday there was nothing left. No reminder, no evidence, no testament, but for the echoes carried by gentle winds whispering quietly of the pain, the desperation, the unfulfilled dreams, the ultimate appeal for redemption by someone long past redemption.

* * *

The Lord bless you and keep you,
May he shine his face upon you,
And be gracious unto you.
May the Lord lift up His countenance upon you
And give you peace and holiness
Now and forever
Amen.

-the Priestly Blessing