In the ancient times under the rule of the Pharaohs, magical artifacts and weapons of gold and blood created by the highest priest were used by the Pharaoh and his court, seven of which became famous during their resurrection for once again connecting the mortal world with the Shadow Realm.
But these seven were not the only ones, there were more lesser known. A failed puzzle, for one. A dimension shifting cube. An unbreakable shield bearing the eye of Anubis, a mad savage carrying an axe, mace, and spear bearing the same, to name a few. And another, a shackle worn by the jailer chiefs of the dungeons. One that existed only for temporary, but fierce torture, punishment, and interrogation via dark magic. But such ruthless power was so easily abused, the just Pharaoh Atem had it sealed away in preparation for its destruction. For only he had the ultimate authority of punishment. But on its hour of death, it went missing. As did the chief jailer, vanishing like a shadow into the black of night.


Millennia later, it would come back to actively haunt the world once more, passed down through the generations in secret, heralded as a mere decoration until the ancient king had returned once more, and the shadow games were back. And now, the Shackle has a new master, a new conduit to its ingrained madness. It's ancient seal has now eroded, and thus, the games begin...


In the ancient context, it had the power to temporarily pull a victim's soul into a world of agony in tune with the jailer's needs. In the modern world, however, its power has been stunted greatly by its past seal. But after a few thousand years, that seal has waned much. Barely contained now, all that is needed is a game to crack it back open. A shadow game. Once the terms have been set, the game is on, and it tethers the two duelists together in a world of shadow. And the loser of the game, even if the wielder, pays a penalty in the difference in life points. Six seconds for every life point. A minute for every ten. Ten minutes for every 100. In a perfect victory, a difference of 4000 life points would see the loser tormented for the better part of an afternoon, 400 minutes. A little over six and a half hours. But this torture is not the same for every wielder. No longer at full power, it can only act in tune with the wielder's innermost quirks. To some, a world of bugs is a nightmare. To another, a realm populated by sentient blades. To another still, an electric hell of angry thunderstorms. And to today's wielder, a world of humiliation, of slowly shattering minds, a violation to all senses. A once nightmarish engine of pain and agony, now humbly subservient to one awkward shut-in's eccentric fetishes, mere child's play becoming a waking nightmare. Knives replaced with feathers, whips turned into tentacles. Fists into fingers, screams into laughter... Pain into tickling.