Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Back To Ancient Egypt ❯ The Flashback And The New Problems ( Chapter 8 )

Priestess: I got two reviews, but I know for a fact that at least nineteen people read this, meaning that at least seventeen readers are imbeciles who are too lazy to write just a couple sentences and click a button, thus they don't deserve any romance or answers or anything! Definitely not a lemon. You have no idea how hard it is to write, you unappreciative assholes!
Sorry to those who did review, but I am fed up! I will have a flashback or so for your sake, and the whole Kuru Eruna thing.

***

Touzoku Ou-though at that time it had not been his name-ran through the shifting sands of the desert, trying desperately to get away from the smell of burning flesh. Tears mixed with blood and dirt stung at the slashes across his face, searing with sharp pain, blood leaking down his cheek and toward his neck. His eyes burned, images of murder scorched into his mind.

How long had he been running? He couldn't tell anymore. Time and space were of no importance anymore. Where could he go? He had no home, no family…Without them, he didn't exist. He was just a nameless orphan, running from a past he had no control over.

Sobbing, he flung himself to the ground, clawing at his eyes and nose. Why wouldn't the smell go away?! Why wouldn't the visions of death leave his mind?! Why could he still hear the anguished screams of his mother?! What would become of him?

"Weakling…" he moaned, hardly recognizing his own tear-choked voice. "You're so weak…Stop being such a wimp!" he cried, smacking himself in the face, hitting his still-bleeding scar. A whimper of pain escaped his lips. Angered by his own fragility, he struck himself again and again.

The child began to scream obscenities he had heard from the village. He began to tear at the scar, beating himself until finally, after all of the torture he put himself through, he became numb to the pain.

His thoughts boiled down to merely feelings, lasting sensations. The tastes and sights and sounds. The gold, the items, the blood.

His feelings boiled down to hatred.

Hatred of the soldiers. Hatred of the High Priest. Hatred of the Gods who had betrayed him and his village.

And most of all, hatred of the Pharaoh, whose twisted sense of justice did not seem to include the opinions of the people he claimed to protect.

His hatred brought him back to life, filled the hollows of his fragmented body with a passion to define justice on his own.

He gazed up, watching the night begin to fade into dawn, the horizon aflame with color. Tears and blood still dripping down his face, he stood up. He was still much too young to die, but he felt as if he were already nothing more than a corpse.

A corpse animated by a shadow. A shadow of that child, a sweet innocent child who had at the age of five used his powers (powers already famous among the people of Kuru Eruna) to bring a dead puppy to life, had died with his village.

***

Touzoku Ou moaned in pain and frustration, trying to banish the images from his mind. He was over a year into his twenties and he still couldn't forget any of those horrible things that had happened.

But then, those images would be infinitely scarred onto anyone's minds, and he had been very young. His sixth birthday had been-through a cruel trick of fate-on the very day of the massacre. He still remembered the entire day, every damned detail.

He and his best friend Namu had ditched their chores (not that five-year-olds had many chores) and were talking about what they wanted their futures to be like-they were very mature for their age, but their fantasies were still laughably naïve compared to the harsh realities of Touzoku Ou's existence.

Touzoku Ou-though of course he had not been called that then-and Namu had been the first to see the armies coming. Namu had remained rooted to the spot, but he had run to warn the villagers. Though known by everyone in the village for his astounding powers, he was barely six and few believed him. Either way, it was too late.

Even now, he felt guilty for only trying to snap Namu out of it for a minute or two before fleeing. Even now, he knew his mother had sacrificed her life for him. Even now, he remembered every scream.

It was sudden. The flash, the fire, the rain that soaked the walls, heavy of blood. A mist of flesh and bone, an unclean swipe of a blade. The national army. The royal insignia.

They laughed and taunted as they came through. No warning, no hesitation, no logic could make sense of it. Their eyes were murderous. Their threats were searing and painful. It became a mesh of blood and gore, swords and corpses, screams and laughter.

He still remembered his mother telling him to hide before running at the soldiers and being slaughtered.

He remembered as he watched, wide eyed, as they slaughtered without even a trace of guilt or compassion. He had never realized human life was so frail, skin so thin and worthless. He couldn't even look down to hide his terror. His eyes were glued wide open, so full of fright that he could not even think of moving.

Needing an outlet for his pain, he grabbed a knife one soldier had dropped and slit his own cheek, once in a vertical line, twice in two horizontal lines.

He remembered as they burned the bodies, and remembered every word of the ancient spells uttered by the High Priest.

He remembered every body cast into the mass of crimson, remembered as it was stirred until it blazed gold. He remembered the smells of smoke and sweat and death and gold and magic-he remembered how sickening the mixture was.

He remembered the cheers, remembered the mold being closed. It was a strange sculpture from which evil would be born, a sarcophagus with no body, the hollow crypt of a nameless and sinister king.

He remembered the greedy, hungry mist which enveloped the men. He remembered the dark vapor vanishing, and the gold taking the shape of seven items that were now familiar to him but then that seemed to be small evil suns-evil, evil suns.

He remembered darkness rise from it. The darkness expanded and dissipated, but did not disappear for good. In fact, it multiplied. It was seeded in the very walls of the city, the empty heart of the chamber, but it could no longer be seen.

That was when he ran, the images burned forever into his mind.

That had been the beginning, he knew. From then on, he could hear the darkness calling out to him-calling out to its child, born at its core. Born of blood, born of hate, born of sorrow, born of pain. He heard the call, and he willingly answered.

***

Atemu let out a groan of frustration and opened his eyes.

As Pharaoh, he had to meditate four hours daily-but he had never been that great at it. Meditation required clearing the mind, and his mind was often-if not always-filled with troubling thoughts that made mental peace impossible.

Since he met Touzoku Ou, there had not been one day-not one-that he was able to attain something even akin to it. Even when it was believed that the Thief had died-indeed, he had `died' so many times he seemed immortal-Atemu was unable to get any sleep.

And when it finally-finally-was made inevitable that they had won, a hundred new troubles arose. He was beginning to wonder if he would ever get even the slightest modicum of peace.

Somehow, he doubted it.

***

Bakura's white hair, robe, and cloak billowed out behind him as he walked across the desert. His eyes gazed at everything at once, focusing on nothing.

"Slow down, bloody Thief!" cried Yami, panting for air as he tried to catch up-and Bakura wasn't even walking that fast. "We've been walking for eight days! Can't we use our powers at all?"

"No, we cannot," Bakura replied firmly, though his usually harsh eyes were soft as he turned to gaze at his wild-haired lover. "They would sense us. And we have enough troubles as it is."

"Ba-ku-ra-ah," Yami whined. "My legs are aching, I have blisters, and this outfit is too warm! How can you stand it?"

"Well, for one thing, I don't waste energy whining," he retorted. "And I also didn't waste my life being pampered and treated like some kind of god. I had to fend for myself, offered help only by some spirits."

"Well, it's not my fault your family was murdered, oh Chosen One," Yami replied, bristling at these insults enough to refer to one of the many titles of Bakura's position as the ultimate embodiment of light and darkness (you're not supposed to understand, it's one of the new questions which arise.)

"No, it's your father's." Bakura snapped, angered-He didn't like being reminded of his powers and importance (another question!) even though he was reminded of it every moment, in some way or another-such as how he could see, hear, feel, etc. for over a thousand miles away.

"Bakura…"hissed Yami, a warning tone in his voice.

His white-haired lover glared at him. It was always unnerving to look at Bakura-Even though Yami had gotten used to strange-looking people, he was one of the few who could see that Bakura seemed to be two people at the same time: technically because he was.

Since those people looked similar, it was difficult to see which was which. The same features, though Touzoku Ou had a scar and Bakura didn't. Same eyes, though Bakura's was a different color. Same hair, different hairstyles, blending so effortlessly it was almost impossible to tell where Touzoku Ou's ended (Bakura's was quite a bit longer.) Same height, similar figures, different clothing…you get the picture.

As I was saying, it was a strange sight.

Bakura shook his head suddenly, causing a slight wind to pick up. This much they had gotten used to-whenever Bakura moved, whenever he did anything, it had some affect on the rest of the world. "Forget it," he sighed. "I don't have time to argue-we don't have time," he corrected himself.

"You're right," Yami conceded. "We have to figure out what their plan is-and then-" a familiar look of determination replaced his previous expression. "And then we have to make sure it fails."

***

Touzoku Ou moaned softly, hearing noises outside his cell. Idiot, he berated himself, trying to open his eyes. Lying asleep like this-somebody could attack you, and you would be completely defenseless!

"Wake up."

His eyes snapped open immediately, mind yanked out of subconsciousness by the power of the bracelet. Lovely…he mused bitterly, rising only to a sit (he hadn't even been fully lying down anyway) as he stared at the familiar figure standing before him, separated only by a barred door and about five feet of space.

"What do you know about Kuru Eruna?" Atemu demanded.

Touzoku Ou's eyes widened in disbelief, but his throat was parched and burning from lack of water-he couldn't have spoken had he wanted to.

"Answer me!" Atemu barked, eyes crimson flashing dangerously. Well, now he had no choice but to reply-but the fact remained that he hadn't had water in days. It was a miracle he wasn't dead.

Almost without realizing it, he lifted his fingers to touch the amulet Taemestra had given him. The moment his fingers tightened around it, he was able to get up. It was almost as if he had summoned up the memory of water, and he could feel it cooling and soothing his throat.

"Everything," he spat, refusing to give Atemu all the details he obviously wanted. "And what do you know about it?"

Atemu's eyes narrowed-he obviously knew Touzoku Ou was refusing to surrender the information he needed. "I know that it's the village or temples or ruins or whatever-it-is that you came from, and I know it's haunted by about a hundred spirits which seem to have gone crazy and are currently going on a rampage throughout Egypt!"

Touzoku Ou shrugged nonchalantly, as if he didn't care. "I was wondering what was taking them so long," he remarked.

Atemu's eyes blazed now, his fists clenching. "So you knew this would happen," he accused, and Touzoku Ou nodded calmly.

"Those spirits are my family and friends-what's left of them, that is. I haven't spent this long away from Kuru Eruna since I was six, it's only natural they would come looking for me."

Atemu's teeth clenched as well now. "What will make them stop?" he hissed, squashing the thousands of questions racing through his mind.

"They won't stop unless they know I'm all right," replied Touzoku Ou, his serene indifference making it difficult for Atemu to resist the urge to strangle him.

"Then tell them you're all right!" he cried, and Touzoku Ou looked at him with a mixture of amusement, frustration, and a little sadness.

"Lie, you mean?" he asked. "Lie to the only beings in the world that actually care about me. Is that what you want me to do?"

Atemu clenched his fists so hard his nails dug into his palms until they bled, and his teeth ground against each other. "Any damage they cause, I'll hold you responsible for," he warned, and Touzoku Ou shrugged again.

"So? It isn't as if my case can get any worse." Atemu was about to yell at him, but he realized it would be useless. He glared instead.

Touzoku Ou stared at nothing, seeming to be deep in thought. At last, he looked at Atemu again, and the Pharaoh was startled by the depth of emotion in his haunted eyes.

"I want to see them again," he said determinedly. "I"-he faltered only for a moment-"I don't care what you do to me, I need to speak to my family…one last time…" he trailed off, but his stance and expression remained stubborn and unafraid.

Atemu didn't even need a moment to make his decision before nodding brusquely and unlocking the gate separating him from his surly captive. "Come on."