Angel's Grace

By ElveNDestiNy

Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! No copyright infringement intended.

Prologue

In the first few months after Dartz's betrayal, life turned upside down for Raphael, Varon, and me. Each of us tried to handle it in our own way, but for me it was like waking up from a nightmare only to realize that reality was even worse. Raphael probably took it the hardest since in some ways he had expected so much more. He had all these idealistic dreams of saving the world and permanently getting rid of all its ugliness and violence. Those dreams crumbled around him as surely as Atlantis had.

But even if Raphael had the biggest dreams, the truth was that all three of us had dreamed. Varon and I had believed, too, even without the grand vision that Raphael had.

Now the question was, what had we believed in? We had been misguided for months, even years of our lives. I don't think any of us really meant to hurt others. It wasn't as if we thought of ourselves as evil—probably not even our leader. You might wonder how I can think of Dartz without hate or bitterness. It's simple, actually: I don't. Every time I think of Miruko and everything I had lost, the anger nearly overrides the pain.

Given my anger, it's quite strange that I should also feel pity for him, too. In some sense, I even do forgive him. Not for what he did to Miruko, but for what he did to us, because I think that he did it to himself at the same time. We were all wrapped in so many layers of deceit. It was the glue that held us all together.

Even now, I'm fairly certain that if the thought of failure had ever crossed Raphael's mind, he would have been willing to become a martyr for the cause. That was the kind of power Dartz had over us: the power of vision, only the vision was of a distorted reality. He had picked us carefully and had taken everything else away from us, until all we had left to live for was that vision. Dartz had a way of collecting the most desperate people and then giving them a reason to live, a purpose toward which we could act. We channeled all of that raw anguish into serving the organization.

In the end, of course, we were only three disillusioned people. We were the elite of an organization that had specialized in collecting souls, a collapsing company whose leader had simply disappeared. An official probe in the aftermath of things turned up discrepancies on the business side of things, so that was the first to go. I'm sure making figures match while collecting souls and planning on the revival of his personal empire wasn't exactly a priority for Dartz.

What it meant for the three of us, though, was that we suddenly had almost nothing, in more ways than one. We were friendless and without family, but for each other. I suppose that was the only thing that bound us together, at first. None of us had quite dreamed of a life outside of Doom, just as none of us had ever thought that we would fail. I think we all expected to split up, eventually, when we got things a little more together. But somehow, we never did get around to it.

By some unspoken mutual consensus, we moved to Domino City. Raphael found a small apartment that we shared, although it was somewhat cramped. As time dragged on and we struggled to pick up the pieces of our lives, we grew closer to each other—almost, I would say, like a family. A dysfunctional one, of course, but we stuck it out together. After all, there was no one else around to be there for us.

I thought it was probably rather like what veterans experienced when they returned home after a war. Everything around me seemed to have changed; the world wasn't quite as I had known it. There were more questions than answers and the future which had seemed so certain before had completely dissolved. I guess even if Dartz's plans had succeeded and left us alive, we wouldn't have known what to do anyway.

Each of us had gone through an ordeal. Each of us had had our souls ripped away from us, just as we had ripped them away from others. It left us different, almost fragile. At least, some days I felt like I could disappear and no one would be the wiser. Life had happily gone on around us; we were the ones that had changed. We had been dropped back into the middle of life and were only now realizing that it was all over.

So the real challenge was, how do you go back to simply living? What were we supposed to do with the rest of our lives now? Everything we had lived for and expected had simply disappeared. The future was terrifyingly blank.

It wasn't easy, that was for sure. If we hadn't all been there for each other, I'm not sure any of us would have made it through the first few weeks. There were periods of rage. Sometimes it was still numb disbelief and other times it was a crippling anguish. It was hard not to fall into despondency or to want to give up entirely. Some days were simply spirals of despair. I struggled all the time just to find a reason to keep going, to figure out how to put together some kind of life.

Slowly, painfully, we took steps toward something normal, beginning with the most mundane thing of all: we each found jobs. Even then, they weren't your mainstream 9 to 5 office jobs. We did whatever we could find to suit our unusual talents.

Raphael became a high-priced security guard for some elite private company that had deals with businessmen, politicians, and basically, whoever was wealthy enough to afford their services. The role of bodyguard suited him well and he seemed fairly happy doing what he did best, which was protecting others. Meanwhile, Varon drifted from job to job but was currently a trick biker. The youngest of us, he sometimes seemed like the most troubled, and whenever we fought, I had to remind myself that he had more issues to deal with than your average teenager. I could tell he looked up to Raphael, so I hoped that there was some part of him that hadn't been corrupted by his past.

As for myself, I knew there wasn't. Even before Dartz, my life had been over. I worked steadily towards only one goal: revenge for my family, for Miruko. At night, I still dreamed of my brother, but no longer could I promise him in my dreams that I would find vengeance for what had happened to him. While Raphael and Varon moved on, I didn't know what to do. They had made their peace with the people they left behind. For whatever reason, I seemed unable to let go. The only solace I found was in music. Ironically, it was partly how I ended up as a dancer.

Yes, a dancer. No, not an exotic dancer, or whatever euphemism they liked to use for strippers. Just a dancer. It was actually Varon who suggested it first, as a snide joke. He'd said something about me having the right clothes and the right body type for stripping, and that I might as well help bring in some money. I doubt he expected me to take it to heart, but the truth was, I had some talent for it and the determination necessary to become more than just average at it. I still smile every time I remember the expression on his face after he found out.

The thing was, it actually made me feel alive. I found out that backup dancers could actually make decent money. There was no one in the crowds to recognize me—Domino was a city of strangers to us—but at the same time there was a kind of freedom to performing in front of an appreciative audience. It wasn't as if I sold my body for the spectacle, although if you judged by the amount of money I took in each night, the assumption might have been a little justified.

It was inexplicable, really. From there on, it was almost as if everything just came together. First it was backup dancing, then the occasional solos, and then sometimes backup vocals. Things happened at the right time, in the right ways. Maybe I was overdue for luck, but in any case, it finally seemed to be on my side.

To be specific, Devastation happened. It was a four-person band missing a lead singer, and while working with other bands, I'd discovered that I had musical talents I hadn't known I had. After the auditions, I even started writing some lyrics. The music that I'd surrounded myself with became music that I produced. It was an amazing feeling, knowing that I could create something. There had been enough destruction in my life. I practiced, I danced, I sang, and to my surprise, we were labeled an upcoming success on our debut night.

It was all so unexpected, and yet once I was in, I was in for the entire ride. It got to the point that we were offered a recording contract, something that surprised no one in the band except me. My bandmates had clearly always dreamed of it and they had been in the business longer, so they had probably been expecting it—after all, we could tell that we were good. For me, it was an unexpected surprise and something that quickly became the defining point of my life. Somehow, as suddenly as the doors of my old life had slammed shut behind me, I'd found new ones to open.

But I've left out one little detail in this whole story. One of the conditions I insisted on when I joined the band was that I would remain anonymous. After just saying that Domino was a city of strangers, why was I so cautious, to the point that even my bandmates thought I was paranoid? As ridiculous as it sometimes made me feel, I even wore black shades every night, without fail, just so that no one would ever know that the singer they were fast beginning to adore had grey eyes.

It wasn't the city I was hiding from, or the fans. There was just one specific person that I never wanted to meet—a certain young billionaire who, to me, represented my entire past, one that I was more than happy to leave behind.

But in the end, it turned out that it was harder to close that particular door than even I would have thought. It all started with Seto Kaiba and ended with a pair of wings.

o o o o o

One: Beginnings

And you and I,

We're a disaster waiting to happen

Do you realize I won't compromise?

Angel, dare to defy—

And pain's not weakness

And falling's not a fear

So let it come, just let it come…

Confrontation!

Devastation!

The lights blinked out and excited screams pierced the sudden silence as I finished, the abrupt cessation of music making it seemed as if the world had simply stopped for a moment. Then the audience roared with approval, the sound almost a solid presence. We left the stage stealthily and waited backstage, knowing that the room was being illuminated once more to show our disappearance. The crowd roared, riding the wave of excitement that we had left, and I smiled to feel the energy of so many fans even as I changed into my more customary shirt and trenchcoat.

"Great job today, Amelda," Chris, the bassist, said as he passed me. He shook his head in reconciled amazement. "Can't say what exactly it is, but you've a helluva lot of intensity in that skinny body of yours."

He reached out to put a friendly hand on my shoulder but stopped, remembering my aversion to being touched. "Listen, there's this guy that's been trailing a couple of us for the past month. He's getting really weird, so I just wanted to give you a head's up if he approaches you." He smiled easily, teeth flashing white.

"Trailing you guys?" This was the first time any of the band had spoken to me about something like this, so naturally I was curious.

"Yeah, just some obsessed fan. Fanatic, really. Tried to get me to give him your address—like I would do that—and when it didn't work, he started harassing Cobain. Whatever he did must've really pissed Emerson off because he asked me to tell you to watch out for this guy."

I frowned, interest definitely sparked now. Contrary to most logic, although the lead singer of the band, I wasn't the leader of Devastation. Emerson Cobain, one of our electric guitarists, was the one that had this band going long before I came along. I didn't have the foggiest idea of all the things he managed, so I didn't mind at all. The band was probably better off, anyway, since I didn't really take much interest in the band other than my part.

Emerson was great, a word that included everything from his ink-black spiked hair (reminiscent of a cute hedgehog, in my opinion, and completely contrary to approved rocker style) to his guitar skills. He was also one of the most easy-going guys I've ever known, so it surprised me that a fan would anger him, even a pushy one.

I suppose it even Cobain's patience had to have its limits. The relationship between a popular band and its fans was an odd one, probably best described as a kind of cross between love and hate. We were well aware that we were really nothing without the fans, but at the same time, sometimes they demanded a little too much.

"Anyway, Cobain told him pretty clearly to get lost, so he shouldn't be a bother. Just make sure he doesn't trap you in some dark corner or something. You're just too desirable, Amelda." Chris laughed as he left the room, despite my glare. The joke was really getting old, something that originally came from a fan's overenthusiastic greeting—the idiot had practically tried to rip off my clothes.

That particular memory still had the ability to make my cheeks burn, as I'm sure was Chris's intent. I was a little peeved by the teasing; I was the only one of the band not comfortably hooked up to anyone yet. I couldn't quite convince them that I wasn't secretly pining after someone, whom they had fondly termed Amelda's 'Mystery Lover.' Sickening, right? I guess it could have been worse. They had come up with creative nicknames for each member's significant other, and the more risqué, the better.

The night air was chill outside and there was a strong breeze. I sighed, the surreal exhilaration of the club fading away and leaving me with a rather colder reality. I didn't meet any shadowy fans as I slipped out of the building through one of the side entrances, a little tired now that I was away from the energy of the clubbers. But I almost wished I did, because I would have rather met anyone than the person I nearly ran into as I turned around the corner.

Arrogant blue eyes stared at me, examining me from head to toe in that infuriating, smug way of his. His gaze lingered on my bared stomach and for once I wished I'd been insulted by Varon's teasing and had chosen something more concealing. I clenched my hand reflexively, feeling a mixture of familiar anger and unfamiliar fear. Because he was the reason why I wanted to remain anonymous, or as much so as I could get and still headline a club's performance, anyway. I hadn't seen him for close to three months, and I was glad of it.

Seeing him brought back too many memories I'd rather just forget. It went beyond just Doom and my involvement in the apocalypse-focused organization, beyond the two intense duels we'd fought, one in midair, several thousand feet above the ground. What I couldn't explain, I sure could ignore.

"Hello, Kaiba," I said tonelessly, surprised when my voice was strong and steady, although a little edged.

"Amelda." He smirked, but the effect was probably not quite as great as he hoped because a gust of wind ruffled his hair and blew a few strands over his eyes. The golden-white streetlight illuminated his face beautifully, gentling his expression and leaving his skin a creamy color, but his eyes weren't as blue as I knew they were.

All I wanted was to get away, but it would seem cowardly to leave. "What are you doing here?"

"What's a club for?" he drawled, amused at my expense.

"I didn't know that clubs were your sort of thing. A dinner party with affluent guests would be more to your taste, wouldn't it?" Okay, I knew I'd get nowhere with the insult, but at least I tried. As I studied his veiled expression, I was struck with the discomforting thought that he'd been watching. As in, watching me. Had he been in the club while I was singing, eyes assessing my dance the same way he had just scrutinized my body a few moments ago? The thought nearly made me flinch away from him, and I was suddenly thankful I had gone to such lengths for anonymity.

"And how do you know what sorts of things I have a taste for?"

This was ridiculous. I stared at his exposed throat so that I wouldn't have to meet his eyes, and the KC insignia on the lapel of his usual expensive white trenchcoat reminded me that there was no reason for me to be standing here out in the street talking to my ex-rival. Or current rival, maybe.

I turned and began walking away, resisting the urge to glance back to see if he was still looking at me. I hated him so much suddenly that I wished I could do something, maybe punch him or worse. He'd held up a mirror to me, during that airborne duel, and forced me to look at things I didn't want to see. That I, not Gozaburo, as good as killed Miruko, through my own carelessness. I was the one who had handed my brother over to the people in the tank and walking away, only to stop in horror as I heard the explosions behind me, turning around to see flames, everywhere…

I stopped my train of thought. This was precisely why I wanted to avoid him. The truth was, I hated Kaiba, but most of all I hated myself. There was nowhere to run from the guilt of it, no more excuses. Kaiba and I are alike in a lot of ways, but the main difference was that he saved his brother, against all odds, whereas I had failed mine. I remembered with disgust my attempts to blame anyone, anything, rather than myself, as I continued walking down the narrow street. I was about to turn another corner when I heard him.

"Good performance tonight, Amelda," he called after me. That did make me stop, an angry retort on my lips, but he was already gone.

I didn't need his false compliments. What did I care if he'd seen me tonight, dancing with the intent to entice, singing all the things I wanted to say but kept locked up within me, perversely being free only through the guise of lyrics? I didn't care. I shouldn't care.

I told myself over and over that he hadn't recognized me. He'd just made the comment because he had assumed that I had been there clubbing. He'd meant that there had been a good performance tonight, not that I'd put on a good performance. There was absolutely no reason to believe he had made it some kind of personal statement.

Then again, how many people in the whole of Domino City had hair this exact blend of red and magenta? The thought just wouldn't go away.

I had just known that the hair thing would come back to haunt me. When I'd joined the band, I'd had my hair dyed black. Something about my hair made it extraordinarily resistant, however, and I found out that the dye fades pretty quickly—quickly in terms of days—and the parts that faded gave my hair a peculiar black and red streaked look. I didn't mind so much, and neither did the band, but when we'd started to regularly perform I was politely informed that it would be to our benefit if I changed it. It was almost a relief; the dye was always a mess and it had given me an excuse to stop worrying so much about being recognized. Besides, Emerson had come up with a radical new look onstage, something 'normal' Amelda would've never had.

I'd never be able to get Kaiba's comment out of my mind. Now I'd always wonder if he knew or if he didn't. Damn him.

The street that I had turned into was dark, but I liked it that way, because this was where I kept my motorcycle. Odd little noises, along with the old brick walls and sense of deterioration in the buildings around me created a haunting effect. I shivered, and then laughed out loud, remembering Chris's little joke about dark corners. It felt like something was at my back, and while the thought flashed in my mind that I was getting spooked out for no reason, I turned around just to check.

But I never made it around enough to see what was following me before a heavy blow fell on the back of my neck. My mouth opened in a cry as something grabbed my arms and pulled them roughly behind me, cool metal sliding around my wrists and entrapping me with a simple click. A kick to the back of my knee and I instinctively tried to catch my fall with my arms but fell hard on my knees, handcuffed.

I caught a glimpse of my attacker and the shock of it numbed me for a second before it spurred me. His face was hidden by shadow but he was wearing a dark suit complete with tie. My eyes were caught by the gleam of gold, the letters KC on the pin. Kaiba Corp—a dozen possibilities ran through my mind in that one moment, that Kaiba had hired someone to kill me, that he wanted something from me.

My cry must have alerted someone and he kicked me in the stomach for it. Despite the blinding pain, I opened my mouth again; someone had to be there to help. But he drew a gun just as I heard the sound of running footsteps and a woman's scream.

I heard it, the explosion so loud that it seemed to echo, saw the gun pointed straight at me, only a few feet away, before pain tore through me and I realized what had happened. It was so intense that oddly, it was almost having a numbing effect, as if my body had given up on feeling everything because there was too much to feel. Everything turned hazy and grey, a sweet sense of relief spreading through my curiously leaden arms and legs.

The streetlight shone oddly, or was it my vision that was blurring? I wanted to move my arm, to get up, but everything felt so heavy and as much as I tried, I couldn't move. For a moment, I felt imprisoned inside my own body, and then it was as if I floated free. Somehow, I was looking at myself, and my eyes were closed, my face almost peaceful. How was it possible that my eyes were closed while I was seeing?

Dimly I heard a voice curse and the sound of something hitting the pavement next to my hand. The gun, I thought.

Then there were more footsteps, screams, and that was all.

o o o

A/N: Please review! Silence is an author's worst nightmare.