Documentation of my Headcanons

Yugi's POV

Yugi tasted rust–he had bitten his own lip. His blood tracked down his throat before spattering on the Heaven Palace tiles. The Palace devoured everything offered to it–flesh, secrets, even remorse. 

If he had held back one more turn during Atem’s duel with Marik, the Winged Dragon of Ra’s wrath wouldn’t have landed. A god’s strike brands the soul–and Atem now lay in forced sleep, mending what Yugi failed to shield.

Fury flared, seeking a target, any target. His fists trembled, knuckles whitening, yet anger only stoked the deeper ache inside him. There was nothing better than combining violence and sex to purge his frustration. Though the Vienna pit-rings stayed dark on Mondays, and his hookup list pinged nothing but polite refusals. 

“Fortune favors the fool. Let’s see if the Moira prefers the idiots.” Yugi told himself–then remembered misfortune rarely traveled alone. Heat rasped at the back of his throat. The air tasted like metal. Even breathing felt like punishment now. Pearls of sweat blurred the lanterns, but they could not erase the beauty boiling up ahead: a maelstrom taking shape–shards of cerulean, like shattered sapphire, churning at the core. Lapis waves collided around it; lightning bolts crackled above. A filament of gold razored through the blue–falcon-bright, sun-true–and his breath snagged. He told himself Atem had taken Ra, bore it… but the body did not lie, neither the Palace.

He wanted to step closer–to touch the picture his mana paints–but

Mail chimed.

Igris voice cut through, edged for once. The words came seconds later, like they were under water: my lord… mana. 

“Why would Igris call for me?” Yugi wondered and turned–and the corridor tilted; lanterns smeared into gold. Before he could catch himself, his knees gave.

A gauntleted hand arrested the fall. Not only that, but the dark silhouette also brought salvation with him: cool slipped under his skin where armor met flesh, and the ache loosened. Like a cloud crossing noon. Feathery lips brushed his forehead, and he chased the chill, greedy. “Mmm… feels so good.” Air returned in ragged shreds. For the first time in minutes, he could breathe. 

Igris POV

Master Yugi took a god’s strike and stayed upright. Igris had watched young lords play Hercules—ride out without a guard, vanish into the trees, come home on doors. Courage is not recklessness; it is knowing one’s limits and choosing whose pain one will carry. My Lord chose to stand in Ra’s path so his summons would not burn. That, a knight understands. When the heat comes, the body triages itself—blood to the core, hands numb, vision tunneling; endurance that feels like drowning on dry land. He held on, and he kept Pharaoh Atem and the rest alive long enough to win.

“A true knight keeps his promise,” Master Yugi had told Igris once. He had promised to survive and return to the Heaven Palace at the full moon. The moon was full tonight.

Respect and unease pulled Igris down the corridor. If My Lord were whole, he would need water, salt, and shade. If he were not, the Palace would drag whatever he had buried to the surface and call it mercy. Igris quickened his pace; chain links clicked. Better he reach him first.

When Igris arrived, the corridor was torn by storm-signs. Prussian blue maelstroms hung in the air, a hairline of gold at each eye. The Palace paints what men conceal; even so, this gallery was extraordinary. Even without deep Perception, it was clear My Lord had lost command of his flow.

He caught the already-liquefied mana on his gauntlet and drew it down, taking it off his Master. Six ice lances snapped into a hexagon; each eye set at sixty degrees. Igris cut the northeast vertex and kicked through the next; the ring buckled. As a warrior, he almost praised the placement; as a knight, he chose not to curse them. Mail chimed; recoil carried him two paces toward Master Yugi. Condensation silvered the plate; he flexed once and pressed on.

Night held a cerulean sky where the moon reddened, and the sunlight bled through. The Heaven Palace labeled Master Yugi’s state for all to see–fighting for recovery. The glare pointed to him—My Lord stood directly beneath that hard light—and ice prisms began to close around him.