Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Rip My Heart Out ❯ Chapter 1

[ P - Pre-Teen ]

Akunadin is dead, brutally murdered by the King of Thieves Akefia (Bakura) for the death of his village. After witnessing this horror, High Priest Seth, the new Priest of the Eye, is slowly recovering from madness and swears he will never love, even towards a relative.
What happens when his heart refuses this swear, and he falls in love with the one who caused his vow in the first place?
Priest Seth/Thief King Bakura

Anime/Manga: Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 01.23.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 4.0K | Visits: 582 | Status: Completed

Spirits clambered happily towards the pale-haired man who walked into their midst, his steps not making a sound—and it would be easy to tell if they had, for the sound of a strand of hair falling upon the stone ground would have been magnified into a bang by the vast emptiness of the underground temples.

The temple of Kuru Eruna was not, by anyone's standards, a favorite dwelling among the people in Egypt—in fact, most people didn't even know it was a temple. All they saw was ruins.

But it wasn't as if they spoke of it. In fact, people had a tendency to avoid thinking of this place altogether—as if, by not mentioning it, they could make it go away.

But there was one man who couldn't make the tragedy and horror of this place go away—for he was a part of it, and quite a large part as well, whether he liked it or not.

Akefia Touzoku Ou Dorobou Akefia-sama (or just Akefia for those who have better things to remember than the full name of a hot and slightly insane bandit king) almost smiled as they curled around him happily.

He knew that their happiness at seeing him would not last long, and soon he would be plagued with the sound of more voices begging for revenge.

Akefia sighed at this thought. The spirits had been placated for months over the death of Akunadin, the one who had actually organized the slaughter, but it wouldn't last. They couldn't truly be at peace until he had destroyed every living relative of the one truly responsible for the death of his village.

And the only living relatives happened to be Pharaoh Atemu and, unbeknownst to him, High Priest Seth.

He had born in a town/temple known as Kuru Eruna. The people were thought to be thieves, but those thieves possessed great wisdom and powers. He and his best friend Namu, though children, had been revered in the village for their strange hair and eyes and their supernatural abilities.

Akefia never thought question to his powers or appearance: he had been far too young to realize that no one else was born with white hair, or that he was the only three-year-old boy who could not bring a dead puppy back to life.

And, unlike just about everybody else in Egypt, the village did not think of a child like him as a freak—they thought of him as blessed.

Blessed—ha! No blessed person could have suffered as he did.

On his sixth birthday, his village was destroyed: slaughtered to create the seven mystical Millennium Items, under the order of the previous Pharaoh Akunamukanon—father of the current Pharaoh. He alone survived, because his mother Taemestra hid him and ran at the soldiers.

She managed to kill three of them, but in the end they sliced her heart right out. And, as if that wasn't bad enough, they laughed as they did it.

They laughed.

He would never be able to forget that cruel, mocking laughter.

Never.

He fled after the creation of the Items, mad with grief and horror, his memories of that time in fragments—like shards of shell in grainy sand.

He remembered crying himself to sleep every night. He remembered his feelings of horror and revenge, and his desperate wish that he would wake up and find that this was all a dream.

One of his clearest memories were of the people of Egypt, so unlike his own family—they hated him, feared his strange looks and haunted air, deemed him a demon. He remembered being chased by people with flaming sticks, pelted with rocks, insults murmured just loud enough for him to hear.

And he killed them, killed all of them, destroying a village with a wave of his hand. He remembered bits and pieces of the death and destruction he left in his wake and felt no regret—only a bitter numbness that was a blessing for one such as him.

He remembered how his powers worked to his every whim, and in his youth as well as his madness it never occurred to him to be surprised that he could create mountains simply because he wanted to see the palace.

He remembered sitting at the edge of cliffs he had created himself, watching the beautiful scene of the palace and sobbing without knowing why he was sobbing.

He remembered singing songs that he had never learned, in languages he didn't know, and understanding every word of them.

He remembered hearing the voices of those he had known, those who had loved him. They were screaming for mercy, begging for revenge, always screaming and begging and sobbing until he would have been driven insane had he not already been.

He remembered screaming with them, sobbing with them, hating his life and the Pharaoh and the Millennium Items and his powers and everything in the world and wishing they were all gone and dead and that he was with his family and that it was over.

He remembered hearing the murmurs on his ninth birthday, three years after the disaster—“The Pharaoh is dead.”

The words had meant nothing to him then, and they meant little to him now.

At some point or another, it was as if he had decided he could solve his problems by murdering the Pharaoh and his family. Just as he solved the problem of the mobs by murdering them without even the slightest effort, just wishing they were dead and watching the villages burn before his eyes.

If the Pharaoh was dead, why did the nightmare that was his life continue? Why hadn't he been returned home, with his family? Why did their voices still scream in his ears? Why hadn't he been able to regain the precious years he had lost?

Why wasn't it over?

It was at least eight years before his mind repaired itself, before he remembered the village and began to think clearly and stopped living in a craze of grief and rage and desperation.

But the damage was done. He had lost his childhood, lost his heart, and until that point he had lost his mind. He remembered neither his father nor his siblings, though he remembered his mother and most of the villagers.

He had wisdom, skill, and power that no one of his age or any possessed—and he had no idea how he had gained them.

But he didn't let himself dwell on that. Instead, he returned to Kuru Eruna.

It was ruins by then, though the temple underneath remained untouched, and superstitious villagers had deemed it a haunted place—but this was one of the rare times in which they were right.

Almost a hundred of the villagers haunted this area, and they welcomed him—that had been one of the things which stunned him most. It had been a long time before he was the pride of the village, yet they loved him—and, as it was, they still loved him then.

But the screaming didn't stop, because the spirits which haunted Kuru Eruna were only the ones

That was what made him think of a notion he had had years before, when his life was still a blaze of madness and sorrow and screams and tears and blood and stones and fire: what if he killed the Pharaoh and gained the Items? The entire village would be at peace then, and so would he.

The spirits were very supportive, as he knew they would be. They offered to use their magic to help him in any way they could, and he was grateful for it, but he wanted to use his own magic—though he admitted he could use any training they could offer.

All of them gave him every shred of wisdom they had, and by the time they were finished he was the single most intelligent being in the kingdom. He trained, he learned more, he summoned up the greatest kaa creature in the world—Diabaundo, a legendary creature who would only serve one with a pure heart and a just cause.

And it seemed that he qualified.

And, at the age of twenty-three, he did what no one had ever even thought possible—he robbed the tomb of Akunamukanon himself and dragged the mummy, as well as a portion of the treasures, to the palace. Then and there, he challenged Atemu and his Priests to a duel.

He became one of the most famous men in the entire kingdom, second only to his worst enemy—the Pharaoh himself.

He sighed again, the thought of Atemu—and his latest duel against Atemu—putting a scowl onto his lovely face.

Then again, Atemu was always on his mind, and he didn't particularly like to think about him—especially since thinking about the Pharaoh put him on edge and usually led to pain. And the last thing he needed was more pain.

“Damn you, Pharaoh!” he hissed, leaning against the wall and sliding to a sit. “Damn you to hell!” Then he sighed, running his tanned fingers through unnaturally pale hair. “Oh for the love of…Why do I bother? He can't hear me. My voice is too imperfect for his…his divine ears!”

The spirits of Kuru Eruna swirled around him, as if they could comfort him. “Interesting, isn't it?” Akefia asked, more to himself than to them. He gazed up at the ceiling, lavender eyes dull and listless.

“Interesting that I can remember so clearly my admiration and respect for the Pharaoh back when I was a child, fifteen years ago. But then, what can you expect me to feel? We were taught he was a god, after all. Interesting how your perspective on things can change…”

Akefia shook his head helplessly. “I'm just talking to myself. And you,” he added, glancing up at the spirits. He sat up, clenching his fists. “Damn him and damn his little fan club! I suppose loyal minions are reserved for the higher class, too.”

He snorted in disgust, but there seemed to be a quiver of doubt in his voice. “Then again, I wouldn't know…” Akefia sighed bitterly. “I wouldn't know…”

The spirits still swirled around him, and he could feel their despair. At least they still cared about him. Same with Diabaundo. It wasn't much, but it was much better than nothing.

He had experience enough to know this for sure.

“And what would I know, anyway?” he continued, ranting on, unable to help himself. “I'm just a thief—a lowly piece of camel-shit, and he's the descendant of gods.” Akefia half-laughed, half-sobbed with despair. “Lovely business, this hierarchy stuff. Makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside knowing that your very existence depends on something you can't even control, doesn't it?”

He smiled weakly at the spirits, who were wrapping around him, wishing they could help. “I know…I wish you could help too.”

Akefia gazed at the ceiling, feeling weak beyond belief. “But you can't.” He sighed and pulled himself to his feet. “No one can.”

That was what he said, and that was what he truly thought.

He thought wrong.

High Priest Seth gazed at the wooden chest in his hands. The chest itself was almost worthless, made valuable only by the spells which made it impossible for anyone to open it but him.

It was the item within which was precious, the item within which terrified and repulsed him more than anything in the world, and yet which he could not seem to stop hiding under his bed and take out day after day to stare at it for hours.

Months ago, he did not know how long, he and his mentor—and, unbeknownst to him, his father—had gone on a journey to the haunted ruins of Kuru Eruna, on a mission to capture the King of Thieves Akefia Touzoku Ou Bakura or whatever his name was.

A suicide mission, as it turned out.

Never in his life had Seth seen such a horrible sight. A hundred, a thousand rotted corpses rising from the ground—ironically, they were underground already, in the labyrinth of stone and magic that was apparently Akefia's home, located right underneath the aforementioned ruins—and clawing at Akunadin, who screamed in terror and struggled to no avail.

Until then, Seth had viewed Akefia with annoyance and a sort of detached fascination. Perhaps even admiration, for despite being a thief and an annoyance he was powerful, dark, attractive, and mysterious—all qualities Seth found alluring in spite of himself.

But whoever it was who was standing in front of Akunadin as the corpses attacked him, whoever it was not even noticing Seth, screaming at the Priest in a language Seth had never even heard of—that was not him.

He had seemed possessed by blind rage and hatred, and sorrow as well—there had been tears streaming from his eyes as he shrieked in an ancient, terrifying language.

He was something dark and ancient, powerful and beautiful beyond belief—and he was the most terrifying thing Seth had ever seen, more terrifying than the rest of the gruesome scene.

The haunted, crazed look in Akefia's eyes had been so terrifying. The voice which screamed the ancient words had not been his. Those tears were not something Akefia would shed.

He didn't notice Seth, having already taken the Rod and apparently having no more use for him.

Seth had been petrified by terror and bewilderment, and so he remained pressed against the wall, staring as the being who was and was not the mighty King of Bandits suddenly reached out and ripped Akunadin's beating heart right out of his chest.

Apparently that was their cue. The corpses tore Akunadin's body to shreds right before Seth's eyes. Something hit his foot, but he didn't care. The corpses sank back into the ground, taking the mutilated remains of the Priest with them and leaving only a few scraps of cloth from his robe. Seth sank to his knees at this point, stunned and disbelieving, unable to think that this could be real.

Then the man who was but couldn't be Akefia glanced down at the heart still in his hand as if he had forgotten it was there. He dropped it as if it were poison, then stared down at it in disgust. He seemed as if he wanted to grind it under his foot but was afraid it would get contaminated. Finally he spat on it and turned to leave.

Then, the worst thing that could possibly happen did happen: he saw Seth.

To Seth's horror, he took a step forward and opened his mouth as if to speak.

Terrified that Akunadin's fate might be his own, Seth grabbed the thing at his feet and pointed the bloody orb of metal at Akefia, as if it might protect him.

The Millennium Eye shot a shower of golden sparks which did absolutely nothing, but Akefia stepped back nonetheless. He stared at the Eye, then his own eyes flashed onto Seth's. The Priest stopped breathing for a moment.

Finally, Akefia shook his head. “Keep it,” he said flatly, whirling around. Seth started breathing again—but at the doorway, Akefia's eyes flicked back towards him. “I better not find any trace of you two here when I get back, or that will be your heart lying on the ground.”

And then he was gone.

Seth had went to the heart and used the scraps of cloth to wrap it. He had taken both the heart and the Eye and ran, ran out of that accursed place and into the desert, ran blindly, faster and faster until he passes out.

They found him lying in the middle of the desert two days later. He had phased between nightmarish dreams and nightmarish waking for a week, and it was months before he could speak to anyone about the occurrence.

And even then all he told them was that Akunadin was dead and Akefia had the Rod.

He showed them the Eye and explained that he fought Akefia for it, but the heart he showed no one. He had had it embalmed in secret during that very first week, and kept it in the chest.

It was foolish to mummify a heart, he supposed, considering that without a full body Akunadin was doomed anyway. And it wasn't as if it represented a memory—he was the High Priest of the Eye now, after all, and that was more reminder than he needed.

He resumed his duties as Priest, and now had to take on Akunadin's duties as well. He flung himself into those duties with a vengeance, never speaking outside of work. He owned the Millennium Eye now, but he never used it—he refused to have his own eye removed to have the Item implanted.

When Atemu and Akefia fought, which they did often, Seth remained in his chambers staring at the chest which contained the heart. He was certain that Atemu and the few surviving Priests (besides him, there was the Scales' owner Karimu, the Ankh's owner Shaadi, and the Necklace's owner Aishisu) thought he had gone mad, but he didn't care.

He didn't care about anything anymore.

Except, it seemed, the heart. No, that was wrong, he didn't care about it—in fact, it disgusted him and scared the shit out of him and gave him nightmares and, more than anything, he hated it.

But, if he hated it so much, then why did he keep it under his bed and spend so long staring at the chest it was contained in?

Maybe he was crazy.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was because Akefia's threat still haunted him—“That will be your heart lying on the ground.”

He couldn't get attached to anything.

He couldn't care about anything.

For if he ever let anyone have his heart, it might end up ripped out as well.