Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ A Story about the Past ❯ Kings and Thieves ( Chapter 1 )

Chapter 1

 

Bakura hated himself at the moment.

 

He was the greatest thief Egypt had ever known; he had stolen from the tombs of kings and the palaces of the most powerful. Yet here he was, being led to the capital in chains to face judgment.

 

All because he was caught drinking from a rich man's well.

 

Bakura doubted the fool guards even knew who they were escorting. It hardly mattered if they did; he'd probably die before thy got to Thebes. The guards had taken away most of his clothes, leaving only a blue wrap around his waist for privacy, and the sun beat down mercilessly on his brown skin, turning it dark red with burns. His captors hadn't bothered to feed him or give him water, and after two days of walking through the endless desert, he was nearly at the end of his rope.

 

“Hey!” one of the guards snapped as Bakura collapsed, unable to bear the strain any longer. “Get up! We're not resting until we get to Thebes!” He kicked the tomb robber hard in the ribs, but Bakura didn't even have the strength to moan.

 

“Looks like this one's done for,” the other guard commented lazily. “We oughta just bury him here and go back home.”

 

Inside, Bakura seethed at the man's words. Bury me, here? As if I were nothing? Fool! Restore my strength, and see how long you last against me! As it was, all he could do was lie there, feeling his skin crack and bleed into the burning hot sand, and rage against the injustices of cruel Fate. His throat and mouth were far too parched to allow words to pass through.

 

Through his fading perceptions, he was aware of the guards moving about, talking to each other. Preparing a shallow pit to dump his body in, not caring that he was still alive. Gods, this can't be happening, his mind screamed. This cannot be my fate! He still had so much to do…he still had to exact revenge for his home…

 

With that thought, the memory of the worst night of his life rose unbidden into his mind, and the natural rage that came with it, the fury that had pushed that sickening memory back so many times before, gave him the strength to open his eyes once more, to focus on the guards and find out if there was some way, any way, he could overpower them, kill them, escape them.

 

The first thing he became aware of was the sound of pounding hooves as three men, more guards by the look of them, rode up and hailed his captors. “If you've come to Thebes for the coronation, you're too late,” one of the newcomers said. “It was yesterday.”

 

“Coronation?” the first guard replied in confusion.

 

“What, you don't know?” another horseman snorted scornfully. “The Pharaoh died last week. His son Atemu ascended to the throne just yesterday.”

 

The two captors looked at each other in disbelief. “We live in an outlying village,” one explained. “News takes a long time to reach us…”

 

“Good thing we were told to bring that damn criminal to the palace court for judgment before the priests,” the other grumbled. “Otherwise it might have been another month before we knew of the passing of His Highness.”

 

Bakura didn't bother to listen to the rest of the conversation. The Pharaoh? Dead? This changed so many things. The Millennium Pendant would have passed to the new pharaoh now, a pharaoh that didn't know the full extent of the power he held.

 

The tomb robber's face twisted into a manic gleam. A weak ruler now held the most powerful Item of all. How easy it would be to wrest it from his hands! And after that, Bakura could take the others Items for himself and get his revenge.

 

Well, that settles that, he decided. I can't die here. There's still so much to do. The guards were still talking amongst themselves, paying him no mind at all, and Bakura used their distraction to gather his strength and push himself to his feet. He glanced at them again, making sure they hadn't noticed him, and then began to walk slowly to the hole that they had been digging, grinding his teeth at the irritating sound of his chains dragging through the sand.

 

“Hey, look!” one of the guards jeered as he noticed him. “The little thief's getting impatient! He wants to die in his own grave.”

 

Bakura suppressed the urge to growl. Guess again, mikta, he hissed in his mind as he fell to his knees beside the hole—and more importantly, beside the guards' tools and equipment. Reaching for the waterskin, he unsealed it and lifted it to pour over his face, washing away the dust and sweat and blood, letting just a little get into his mouth. He'd seen what happened to men who drank too much after being in the desert without water for days; he did not want to share the same fate.

 

The guards were shouting at him now, two of them rushing at him and waving their spears. Calmly, he set the waterskin back down and resealed it, not wanting it to be damaged. Just that little bit of water had revived a portion of strength to go with his rage, and though by no means was he in top form, he was well enough to fight the stupid guard.

 

The first guard reached him as he turned and stood, thrusting his spear low to impale Bakura through the chest. The tomb robber had been anticipating the move, however, and he flung his arms around as he turned. The chain manacled to his wrists flew out and caught the spear's head, pushing it to the side, and Bakura followed up that move by reaching over to grab one of the captor's picks and bury it in the man's throat. The guard fell over, dead before he hit the ground, but Bakura ignored him as the second guard reached him.

 

This guard led his charge in the same way as the first, with spear set and ready for the killing thrust, and Bakura grinned, more than happy that the guards never seemed to learn. A second time he used his wrist chain to deflect the weapon, and this time he grabbed the man's wrist, jerking him forward and off-balance. As the guard stumbled, Bakura twisted around behind him, taking hold of his head and twisting it violently to the side. His neck snapped audibly, and the tomb robber allowed his body to fall limply to the ground.

 

Picking up one of the spears, he turned to face the other guards, only to find that they had left, probably when his two captors had first noticed him walking to the hole. No matter; he didn't enough strength to fight them all in the first place.

 

He dropped the spear and walked back to the waterskin, kicking the first guard's body as he stepped over it. After taking another sip, he went to one of the horses and pulled an onion out of its saddlebag.

 

“Food at last,” he murmured, walking to the nearby cliff as he bit into the onion. The valley of Thebes was spread out before him, the city resting by the Nile River close by. “So, a new king sits on the throne today,” he mused with a manic grin. “One who knows nothing of the dark power he carries. It was a mistake to make the Millennium Items with no knowledge of their true purpose. But never fear, my dear Pharaoh. Soon I'll teach you that purpose, and you'll regret the day the Millennium Items were born!”

 

His insane laughter carried in the wind down the cliff, and the farmers who worked in the fields beside the river shuddered, muttering prayers to the gods for safety from demons.

 

* * *

 

Atemu didn't look very happy as the coronation party carried on. All Egypt was in celebration. A new Pharaoh had ascended the throne, one who had inherited the Millennium Pendant. Surely the country was safer and stronger than ever.

 

The new Pharaoh wasn't so sure. He had just lost his father; he didn't feel like celebrating. Neither did he believe that he was strong. He knew very little about his Millennium Pendant, so how was he supposed to defend the country with it?

 

“Father, I miss you,” he murmured to himself as the dancers continued to sway to the music. At any other time it would have been entertaining, but how could he be expected to enjoy anything today? His father had just died, and now he had to take the pressure of leadership upon his shoulders as if it were nothing. He was still a teenager; he couldn't handle this!

 

His priests stood watchfully around them, each with their respective Millennium Items. Each had its own powers and all were used in judging criminals. They were a great asset to Egypt, but Atemu was wary of them. Sure, their potential for good was great, but so was their potential for evil. Earlier that day an assassin had been caught within the throne room itself, and Atemu had witnessed his first Millennium trial.

 

The assassin's darkness, in the form of a great monster, had been pulled from his body and sealed in a stone tablet. Akunadin, the priest of the Millennium Eye, had ordered the man released afterward, but Seto, who held the Millennium Rod, had lobbied for the man to be thrown in the dungeon. He was cold, cruel, and unforgiving.

 

How easy it would be, Atemu mused as he watched Seto's face, for him to turn against anyone he believed to be evil. How easy it would be for that evil to fester in himself. In all of us. If that happened, what next? What would happen to my country?

 

“Your Highness,” whispered his personal advisor, Siamon. “Please, you must at least act cheerful. The people need to be assured that you can do your job.”

 

“But I'm not sure I can do it,” Atemu replied in a low voice. “I haven't completed my training; how am I supposed to know what to do if disaster comes?”

 

“You will know,” Siamon assured him with a gentle smile. “You are the descendant of the gods, my Pharaoh, and they will guide you in everything. And don't worry about your training; I will continue it in private. For now, at least put on the semblance of good cheer for your subjects, if not for yourself.”

 

“I'll…try,” Atemu said, turning back to the festival. Outside, the sun was setting, its golden light spilling across the river and flooding through the open, columned west side of the audience chamber. The light made all the shadows longer, darker, and the Pharaoh had to suppress a shudder at the sight. They reminded him too much of the shadowed monster that had dwelt within the assassin. Does everyone have such a monster? he had to wonder. Even as we all have shadows?

 

Again he looked at his priests. Old, wise Akunadin of the Eye. He was steady and fair in all his decisions, yet rumors spoke of him once knowing the contents of the Book of Dark Arts. Could he know them again? What would he do if he regained that knowledge?

 

Seto, the holder of the Millennium Rod. Cold, calculating, he would do anything to keep the country safe, Atemu knew that for sure. How far would he go? Would he kill innocents, simply out of suspicion or to use as an example?

 

Shaada and Kalim, holders of the Ankh and the Scales respectively. These two he did not know as well. How would he know what they were capable of?

 

Isis of the Millennium Tauk, the seer of the future. What could one do if one knew the future? How far did the possibilities stretch?

 

Last was Mahaado, the keeper of the Millennium Ring. This one Atemu trusted with all his heart. The two had grown up together, best friends since childhood. The powerful magician was now the head of palace security, and he had been the second of these priests to become a Millennium Keeper after Akunadin. Yet he had complained of his Ring acting strange lately, making criminals harder to sense. Because of it, the assassin from earlier had been able to slip into the palace, even into the throne room. Seto was suspicious as always, but Atemu had dismissed any fears of a conspiracy. After all, if he couldn't trust Mahaado, he couldn't trust anyone.

 

That, more than anything disturbed him deeply.

 

A faint glow from nearby echoed the light of the setting sun, and Atemu looked over to see Isis's Millennium Tauk shining brightly. The priestess herself stood absolutely still, eyes closed in concentration, and Atemu knew that her Item was giving her a vision. “Isis?” he said gently, not wanting to disturb her if the vision was important. “Is something wrong?”

 

His words alerted the other priests, and they all turned to watch her curiously. Isis stayed still a few seconds longer, and as the glow of her Item faded, she turned and bowed to Atemu. “Forgive me, Pharaoh,” she said. “I do not mean to interrupt the festivities.”

 

“Please, I do not mind,” Atemu replied, waving away the apology. “What has your Tauk revealed to you tonight?”

 

Isis bit her lip, a look of apprehension crossing across her face, and suddenly the Pharaoh understood her hesitation. “Bad news so soon?” he prompted, his stomach tightening in nervousness.

 

“I'm not sure,” she answered, shaking her head. “Something has happened today, but the Tauk did not reveal what. I cannot see what effect it has on the future either. Whatever has happened, it has plunged everything into darkness. I'm not sure I can trust my readings any more.”

 

Silence prevailed among the group as Isis finished, all of them exchanging concerned glances amongst themselves. Atemu knew what they were all thinking: Can our new pharaoh handle something drastic so soon?

 

To be honest, he shared those doubts, but he could also see the value of Siamon's earlier advice. He couldn't let them know that he doubted; he couldn't let their bad thoughts fester and grow. “Whatever happens, we can handle it,” he said, hoping he sounded confident. “We have the power of the Millennium Items on our side. We will prevail, come what may. Now let us carry on.”

 

The priests looked gratified at his words, and they returned to enjoying the celebration with the rest of the palace officials and subjects. Mahaado, however, continued giving Atemu a concerned look. He was not so fooled by the bold proclamation; he knew his Pharaoh too well to believe that he was so confident.

 

Atemu caught his look and nodded once in response. I will do the best I can, Mahaado, he thought, hoping the magician would understand without words. I have to.

 

Mahaado must have caught the message, for he nodded back, looking less concerned as he turned back to the festival. Atemu leaned back in his throne with a sigh, his thoughts whirling down new, darker paths in his mind.

 

He would have a tough reign ahead of him, he knew. Yet he had to prevail, no matter what. The welfare and safety of his country depended on it.

 

* * *

 

An afternoon's hard ride brought the tomb robber to the Valley of the Kings, the resting place of most of the pharaohs of Egypt, just as the sun was disappearing into the desert. Many of these tombs were devoid of their treasures, taken by himself over the past few years. Bakura knew the paths through the tombs and their traps like the back of his hand; it was what he lived for.

 

The newest tomb was close to the edge of the valley, hidden in a cleft of rock outcropping. Bakura could still see hoof and footprints in the sand of the cleft, and he grinned, thanking the gods that no wind had been able to reach in and wipe the telltale marks away.

 

“Someone up there likes me,” he crowed, dismounting and tying his stolen horse to a nearby knob of stone. “They must want vengeance for Kuru Eruna as well.”

 

A quick search revealed the entrance of the tomb, and Bakura stood to the side and used his pick, still stained with the first guard's blood, to press the door trigger. Immediately a burst of acid sprayed from the door's cracks, corroding the metal of the pick's head into nothing. Bakura cackled and used the handle to push the door open as the spray ended. “One trap down,” he said gleefully as he stepped in.

 

The inside of the tomb was dark, but that didn't bother the tomb robber. He lit a torch before he went any further, and as he walked, he watched the walls, floor, and ceiling carefully for any kind of strange cracks or indentions. He hadn't survived this long in his profession without careful attention to detail.

 

A dozen more traps presented themselves as he worked his way through the tomb, but he avoided all of them without even setting them off, and within half an hour he had reached the inner chamber.

 

“Hello, Akunumkanon,” he sneered at the sarcophagus. “Remember me? I guess not; you were too much of a coward to come to the making of your precious Millennium Items yourself.” He laughed as he paced about the chamber, picking up a handsome dark red coat and slinging it around his shoulders. “You're lucky, you know,” he said absently. “You, the great Pharaoh, have died of a common disease, and I'm not able to kill you with my own hands.”

 

He picked up random things, putting on jewelry and slinging precious gold statues and other items across his back into a sack on his back. “When you're going to court, you can't be too dressed up,” he said in a friendly tone as he sat on the sarcophagus. “And I'll be going to court very soon. I have seven Millennium Items to collect after all.”

He sneered at the golden replica of Akunumkanon's face. “And you have a son to say hello to,” he said, standing up and pulling out a rope. He quickly tied it to one end of the sarcophagus, and with another manic cackle, he began to drag the coffin out of the tomb.

 

Yet before he had even exited the inner chamber, one last treasure caught his eye. Standing on a pedestal by the door was a dia diank, a tool of the Keepers of the Millennium Items. Using the Items' power, with a dia diank to amplify it, they could harness the evil monsters they had pulled from criminals' hearts and fight with them in shadow duels. Bakura had seen it done before, a duel in the streets of Thebes when he had been there a long time ago.

 

“How fortunate I am today!” he laughed picking up the dia diank and putting it on. “Now I, too, can reach the monster that lives within! This assures my victory over the priests; I can even take all the Items at once!”

 

Cackling madly, he ran back through the tomb with his treasure, more than eager to test his new toy. The sun had finished setting, but the stars provided more than enough light to see by as he tied his newest acquisitions to his horse and climbed to the top of the cleft.

 

“Come to me,” he said, stretching his hand and dia diank to the stars. “Diabound!”

 

A whole new light erupted around him as his personal monster, the embodiment of the rage and hatred he carried within him, came forth, roaring its wrath to the heavens as it formed around its master.

 

“Excellent!” Bakura laughed as he surveyed his Diabound for the first time in years. Only once before had the monster come forth, when he had awakened the day after the massacre in Kuru Eruna and found himself surrounded by a ghost town. A few soldiers were still there, just waking up from the spell that had been cast on them, and Bakura, seeing them, had lost it.

 

The sheer power of his rage had brought Diabound forth, and together, both screaming in fury and hate, they had slaughtered the men that had slaughtered the village. Diabound had been much smaller at that time, weaker, but even back then, even as a child, Bakura had known the truth about his soul monster. It would grow as his hate grew, and it would gain power as he gained darkness.

 

He held a god within him, and with that god he would take his revenge.

 

The tomb robber dismissed his monster, more than satisfied with its new power, and pointed his finger in the direction of distant Thebes. “Just you wait, Pharaoh!” he cried with his insane laugh. “I'm coming for you, and your precious Millennium Items!”

 

He jumped back down into the cleft and climbed on his horse, grinning in anticipation as he kicked the animal around to face the path out of the valley and pushing it into a gallop.

 

He would reach the palace before daybreak.