Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Sunrise ❯ Nightfall ( Chapter 1 )
Anime/Manga: Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Hentai / Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 09.03.2003 | Updated On: 01.31.2004 | Pages: 2 | Words: 4.4K | Visits: 569 | Status: Work In Progress
by Sukaigetsu
Rating: NC-17 for male/male rape.
Notes: I've used the legend of Horus and Set (the one involving the semen and the lettuce...) as a basis for ancient Egyptian attitudes towards male/male sex (sorry, no link).
Spoilers: Reference to events up to chapter 315 of the manga (AE Arc).
"Pharaoh Akunamukanon," Mahaad bowed deeply before the throne, making ritual obeisance before stepping back into the line of high-ranking officials before the Pharaoh. Priests of various gods, sorcerers and alchemists had come here from all along the Nile, each one called here for one special purpose.
In front of him, the Pharaoh and five of the chosen priests of the Millennium items stood solemnly... except, perhaps, for the youthful priest Seto, bearing the Millennium Rod and a casual smirk as he surveyed the applicants.
The oldest, Akunadin, was far more serious. Bearing the Millennium Ring in one hand, he approached the Pharaoh.
"Now that all have gathered, with your blessing, we will choose the new recipient of the Millennium Ring," he said, bowing briefly. "The official ceremony will take place two days hence, a public celebration of the peace and just rule under Pharaoh Akunamukanon through the power of the Millennium Items."
Mahaad was sure it wouldn't be him. The rumors said that one would only be chosen if they desired it -- and he had no such desire. If he was chosen, he would lose his position at the temple and forego his magical studies in favor of becoming one of the Six Chosen Priests. He'd been told that he had a talent for the art of spirit-sorcery, and in only another year or two, had the potential to become a true master at such a youthful age -- what was the point of losing all of that now? There was no major threat to the kingdom, only the petty crimes of the people... and the occasional tomb-robbing. If he was chosen, all he'd do is sit around all day waiting for calamity!
Akunamukanon nodded. "Let the choosing begin," he commanded.
"Now that the soul of Nebseni has passed into the Western Lands, may his journey be a safe one, we have gathered you all here today in order that the new bearer of the Millennium Ring may be chosen!" Akunadin announced, beginning to pace along the line of priests and sorcerers, the trailing edge of his white robe sweeping across the tiled floor. "With great power comes great responsibility, and so we have asked you all, the wisest and the strongest, to this place." Reaching the center of the line, he stepped back and turned abruptly, holding the ring at the end of his outstretched arm. "Millennium Ring! Reveal to us the one who is destined to hold you!"
Unearthly light made the pointers gleam, jangling discordantly against each other as they rose violently, a mass confusion of direction. Then, as suddenly as they had all risen, the sharp points all angled straight towards Mahaad.
His eyes widened. "But... it can't..."
"Priest Mahaad! Come forth to receive your destiny!" Akunadin proclaimed. Mahaad blinked, stunned, but stepped forward after a brief moment past envious stares to where the high priest stood.
He held his hands out to accept the ring, but as the pointers crossed his palm, a growing itch crossed his palms and an instant later, when they physically touched his hands, he involuntarily pulled them back abruptly with a shudder. The ring /burned/, and a feeling of dread welled up from within. There was something not right about the golden ring, something... evil.
Everyone was staring at him. He knelt, bringing himself down to one knee before Akunadin and the Pharaoh and bowed his head. "I am sorry, your majesty, but I cannot accept... I am not worthy of this honor..."
In the silence, he could hear Seto snort derisively. Akunadin began to speak, but the pharaoh cut him off, voice quiet but full of imperial grace. "Nonsense, Priest Mahaad. I have heard great things of your abilities... otherwise you would not be here. Rise.. rise and accept your destiny, Priest Mahaad, as one of the seven bearers of the Millennium Items."
There was no refuting that voice. He was forced to rise, while the other applicants filed out of the throne room. Akunadin added, "Pharaoh, I ask that I be allowed keep the Millennium Ring until the official ceremony -- perhaps in that time Priest Mahaad will come to realize that he is, in fact, worthy of such an honor." The expression on the eldest priest's face was unreadable, and his intonation mild enough, but Mahaad found himself averting his gaze from the golden eye staring him down.
"Certainly. I'm sure that he just needs to get over the shock of it all." Akunamukanon gave Mahaad a fatherly smile, but somewhere in the priest's chest, his heart sank even deeper.
* * *
In guest quarters, Mahaad paced back and forth. Evening was falling, and he still hadn't reconciled himself to his situation yet. How could this happen? How?
Bad enough that his future had taken a dramatically different course than what he had planned, but that Ring.... He looked down at his palms, still tingling even hours after he had touched the cursed thing. It's not my imagination, he frowned. There is something /wrong/ with that thing, and I want nothing to do with it. But how to convince the Pharaoh of that...?
He turned again, and found Isis standing in his doorway. She bowed her head slightly. "I'm sorry, Priest Mahaad, but..."
"No. I'm not taking it. It just can't be me."
"Priest Nebseni always said that the Ring was a fickle item, Priest Mahaad," Isis said.
"Fickle enough to destroy what I've worked to accomplish?" Mahaad said bitterly.
Isis sighed. "Try to understand, Priest Mahaad. This is not about y--"
"I've /tried/ to be understanding and I still cannot see why--"
Isis interrupted him in turn, raising her voice further, "If you were trying to understand, you would let me finish what I am trying to tell you!" Chagrined, Mahaad shut his mouth and waited. "Earlier this evening, I regathered the applicants and asked the Ring to choose again, without you." Mahaad waited, and Isis sighed. "Even though you were not there, it pointed towards you here, in the guest quarters, Mahaad. Do you understand now? This is not a choice that you have, this is what your future is destined to hold. You may not like it, but you have to accept it."
"You can say that all you like, Priest Isis," Mahaad stated with forced respectfulness, "But you didn't feel the..." Evil? Could he even come out and say that? The sentence died on his lips, and he ended up simply shaking his head. "You don't understand what I felt."
She looked at him, a little more kindly this time. "I know it's been a long day, Priest Mahaad. Please... get some rest. Perhaps you will feel differently in the morning."
"Perhaps." It still didn't make him feel any better getting the last word in as Isis turned and left his room. Mahaad sighed and rubbed his head. It had been a long day, but he was far too irritated to sleep. Maybe some fresh air would help, he considered. Get out of the palace and get away from the mess and then maybe I can rest and think it over.
* * *
He awoke with a splitting headache and groaned at the thought of getting up. Moving to get up he found his wrists somehow tangled in... no, tied together behind him. Mahaaad's fogged mind cleared in an instant as the realization struck, but it took a moment to focus on the scene before him. What had happened?
He'd taken his horse and rode out into the desert, towards the cliffs, to try and clear his head. There had been a strange flicker of light from the corner of his eye, he'd turned to look, and... and that was all he remembered. He groaned.
The sun's harsh light glared from the entrance of the cave. And the light glimmered from the golden jewellery all over the man who was, at that very moment, staring at him with blood-red eyes. Actually, not even that old a man -- his skin was darkened and weathered from the sun, hair bleached as white as goose down, but definitely not as old as Mahaad had first thought. Not much more than a teenager at the very most, lean and muscled. A red and white robe lay in a crumpled heap beside a pile of sacks at the side of the cave, leaving his captor wearing only a short white kilt.
Mahaad's wrists and ankles were tied, but while he knew he should be cautious, he also felt that a small amount of magic, properly applied, would have him out of here quickly enough.
The dark-skinned youth stood, ambling over towards where Mahaad sat. He narrowed his eyes. "Hoh..." he suddenly smiled and leaned closer, breath fetid with the smell of stale beer. "Yes, definitely." He reached down to grasp Mahaad's chin in one hand and turn the sorcerer's face in the dim light. "You're that priest, Mahaad, aren't you."
Mahaad shook his head free of the youth's grasp. "And what of it?" Close up, he could see the jewellery, close enough to know that it was treasure of the kings, adorned with symbols of protection, glittering gold and glass beads. He'd been captured by a grave robber.
The thief prodded his chest with a calloused finger. "Where's your Ring, /priest/," he sneered, with the sort of venom that made Mahaad's hackles rise.
"I don't have it," he snapped back.
"I see that, moron." The tomb robber stepped back and folded his arms across his chest. Mahaad noticed, too, that his saddlebags had been ripped apart, the few items scattered across the cave in the thief's search. "But where /is/ it?"
He saw no reason not to tell. "At the palace, where it belongs."
The grave robber spat at his feet and kicked the remains of Mahaad's bags across the floor of the cave viciously. "Idiot! You don't even have any food. Worthless! What were you planning on eating, sand?"
Mahaad realized that he hadn't even thought that far ahead. He'd only planned on being gone a couple hours at most. "How did you know I had one of the Millennium Items?" he asked, trying to get what information he could out of the man. Then he could break free and bring the thief to justice. Just the sort of thing he was supposed to be doing in his new position, he thought. The irony was amusing in a twisted sort of way.
"There were a few disappointed priests down at the tavern. Very loud, talkative priests, disappointed that they weren't chosen to hold one of the oh so holy Millennium items," the youth sneered. "Such a fine group the Pharaoh had put together if they'd be so willing to see you dead, na?"
Mahaad's eyes widened.
"I'm no hired killer, but I can't refuse a bit of gold when the opportunity arises, na, Priest?" the youth said. "Of course, I would much rather keep the Millennium Ring for myself and left the priestly swine to wallow in their own misfortune -- fools they are, to trust Bakura, the King of Thieves."
"What would you of all people do with the Millennium Ring?"
"Oh, what would /I/ do with it?" Bakura crouched down next to Mahaad, to stare him in the eye. "Or every all of them? I plan to make a collection, you see, to avenge the destruction of Kuru Eruna... the murder of every single living soul that lived there. Or at least, almost every one." He chuckled wryly. "Didn't Akunadin tell you the story when you got the Ring? Or has he kept it to himself all this time?"
Mahaad's startled look was enough to tell the thief that he hadn't known about it, and Bakura was only too happy to share. He described, in gruesomely careful detail each death he had seen, blood spattering on the hands and swords of the king's soldiers, each body hauled away and down into the underground temple. He told Mahaad of the way he snuck down there when the sun had risen and long after everyone was gone, and of the new statue with the imprints of each of the items embedded in it that was there. And throughout it all, Mahaad sat in rapt and horrified shock as the tale wound on.
"Beneath the gold veneer of that statue, priest, lay the skulls of everyone I had known in my short life. Some of them were still alive when they were dropped into the cauldron of boiling metal, and even the ones that weren't twitched and clawed. I know this, priest, because I have spoken to their spirits." The youth was particularly wild-eyed now, maniac smile plastered across his face. "Even in the netherworld, their spirits are fused together. They are crying out for vengeance, for the door of darkness to be opened on this world, a world that would produce such monsters as Akunadin.
"And I will not disappoint them.
"Since you don't have the Ring though, it seems a shame to kill /you/." He grasped Mahaad's chin again, twisting the priest's head this way and that. "So, priest, you'll give me something," he smiled viciously. "It won't be the Ring and it won't make up for what happened at Kuru Eruna but... it'll be a start. "
Mahaad's eyes widened. Whatever that was, it couldn't be good. It was time to escape. He began the words to the spell to dissolve the bonds around his wrists.
As Mahaad began to utter the incantation, Bakura's eyes narrowed and he leapt forward, cupping his hand around Mahaad's mouth. The priest thrashed, trying to bite the restrictive hand, but Bakura pulled a spare piece of cloth and crammed the wad into Mahaad's mouth, quickly tying it in place with one of the ornate thread-of-gold trimmings from his belt.
"It's all because of you high-and-mighty types that it happened. You can blame others for their misery and poverty, and of course it's never your own fault. Nothing but all this talk of destiny, doing what must be done, and all that crap. 'Just kill 'em all. They're all thieves, so it doesn't matter.' Well, priest, I'm not the kind of person that lets fate control me. I take back for what is owed me, priest. "
He stalked to the one wall, and searched among his belongings a moment, rattling and throwing a set of lockpicks across the room before settling on his goal with a smile. "Ah," he smirked, popping the cork from a small glass vial.
Bakura unwrapped his kilt and loincloth and poured some oil from the vial into his palm. Rubbing it into hardening flesh, he grinned down at Mahaad, who could only stare, squirming back against the cool cave wall. Reveling in the magician's fear, Bakura advanced slowly before making a sudden attack, grabbing his shoulders with sticky hands and rolling him over.
It became something of a wrestling match, but the tomb robber was stronger, more fit, and easily pulled off Mahaad's loincloth in a quick motion. Forcing Mahaad's chest to the ground and pressing in close, he licked the priest's ear. "I always wanted to screw one of the Millennium item holders over," he said before Mahaad felt the oiled hardness push between his buttocks, prodding forcefully for the hidden entrance there. He bucked, but Bakura only continued to hold him down, and with one hand, Bakura finally guided himself to Mahaad's hole and thrust his hips forward, hard.
Mahaad bit his lip to keep from crying out. It hurt, unlike any kind of hurt he'd known before, an immediate sharp, stabbing burn. As soon as the thief grabbed his hips and pulled part way out, he tried to twist away again. He wasn't going to give in to this desecrator.
Bakura let go of his hips and tried shoving the priest's shoulders down with brute force, crouched over the other man and thrusting back inside the soft, warm heat. "Stop that," he hissed. Mahaad refused and tried to pull away and buck Bakura off at the same time. Bakura made few more thrusts into his frantically resisting body, but Mahaad finally felt Bakura's penis slip out when he tried to pull away again, and the slick hardness slapped up against his rear with an unpleasant wet sound. Dribbles of warm liquid spurted irregularly against his skin, beginning to run down his thigh -- but Bakura had tensed for that instant of pleasure, pressed up tightly against the magician. In adrenaline-fueled panic, he tried to scramble away.
Hissing unpleasantly, Bakura grabbed a handful of Mahaad's hair before he'd even gotten halfway up and pulled back hard enough to make the magician cry out against the gag. In a quick movement, the thief grabbed a nearby rock and slammed it against the base of Mahaad's skull. Mahaad slumped to the ground, dazed and stunned, and Bakura took the opportunity to roll the mildly concussed man onto his back.
"Don't think you get off that easy," he smirked at the prone form and fondling his own cock, still half-hard and slick with white from his earlier release. With the other hand, he pulled one of Mahaad's legs up onto his shoulder, and rammed two of his fingers into the man's bruised asshole.
The sharp stab of pain ran through the priest again, but struggle seemed almost impossible this time, between the position he was in and the sharp pain in his head. When Bakura finally lifted his rear up and began thrusting into him again, the pain had begun to dull to a low throbbing when an unexpected jolt of sensation burned through his body. Bakura laughed, long and low, and roughly fondled the dazed priest's sudden, treacherous, erection. "That's right, don't try to tell me you don't like it," he said with half-lidded eyes.
Panting in the desert heat, their sticky sweat-covered bodies jerked back and forth, the tomb robber trying to find his rhythm with the unwilling body beneath. He grabbed Mahaad's legs behind the knee and forced them up to Mahaad's shoulders, bending over further as he did so to press the magician into the ground. Eye-to-eye, red to green, Bakura leered and sped his pace, pounding in with faster and deeper strokes.
Mahaad turned his head to the side and closed his eyes, teeth clenched tightly around the wad of cloth stuffed into his mouth. Nevertheless, the occasional whimper escaped the bounds of his gag and that seemed to give Bakura some kind of sadistic thrill, pushing him over the edge into ecstasy. Mahaad felt that final forceful thrust, and the tomb robber stilled for too-long seconds and let out a shaky breath before pulling out. Half-limp cock covered in a sticky mixture of semen, oil, and small flecks of shit, Bakura knelt over him, still panting lightly.
Eyes tightly shut, Mahaad could only hear the tomb robber's voice hiss in his ear, "You're worthless now. Once they find out I fucked you like a woman, you won't be good for anything."
It was true. Mahaad nearly wept. Even if he wasn't stripped of his position at the temple... the very thought that anyone would know that he'd allowed this to happen was debiliating. I could have gotten away sooner, he told himself though the haze of fear and lingering pain. I was such an idiot, I could have stopped this from happening. But no, I just lay here and took it and now.... Silent tears slid down his face, dripping onto the stone beneath him.
* * *
The thief left the cave late in afternoon, not long after assaulting Mahaad the first time. Mahaad lay as still as he could until Bakura's footsteps had faded off into the distance. Then, slowly and painfully, he began to try to saw through the ropes with a rough rock on the cave floor. It scraped his wrists raw in the process, but it was, as far as he could tell, the only possible hope of escaping, short of a search party coming finding him -- and that was unlikely, given that he'd left no notice of where he was going.
Unfortunately, Bakura returned on horseback only a few hours later to the cave. The thief jumped off his horse and tied it to a rocky outcropping, leaving the animal well in the shade. Still sweaty and dusty, Bakura didn't even take the time to sneer at Mahaad, just grabbed him with harsh fingers and rolled him over with a heave. Mahaad whimpered as the pain throbbing through his insides returned, but Bakura paid it no attention, cutting the binding around Mahaad's ankles, and pounding out his satisfaction inside priest's helpless body. Still sensitive from the first attack, Mahaad couldn't help crying out each time Bakura thrust inside him, a sound that seemed like a cat-like mewling to his own ears. He was almost grateful for that fact that at least in this position Bakura couldn't see the tears welling up at the corner of his eyes.
It seemed to take even longer this time before Bakura tensed and released inside him again, and Mahaad made no attempt to struggle this time. Why bother, he told himself. It didn't work before.
When Bakura finally came and pulled himself from Mahaad, he wiped himself off on the priest's robe then re-tied the ropes that Mahaad had worked so hard to fray against the sharp rocks, replacing the old rope with new. Mahaad lay still, slumped in despair, as Bakura spit on him then tossed the dirtied robe on top of him. The thief then wandered back to his corner of the cave, beginning to sort through the sacks of valuables and ignoring Mahaad entirely. Was the Bakura ever going to let him go? Mahaad wondered, closing his eyes again. His hope was dwindling quickly.
Bakura didn't even try to speak to the priest the rest of the night, leaving the sorcerer gagged and sitting in silence while he ate again. Mahaad's stomach rumbled, but Bakura ignored it and proceeded directly gorging himself on what smelled like dried fish to what turned out to be a small keg of beer stowed away in the corner. The robber built a tiny fire away from the cave's entrance, and continued sorting his loot, muttering drunkenly to himself through half the night. Eventually, he fell asleep by the embers of the dying fire, and Mahaad did so as well.
Then, once again in the middle of the night, Mahaad awoke to find Bakura groping at him, pawing at his hips and buttocks drunkenly. Fortunately, this time Bakura seemed to have difficulty concentrating in the darkness, and ended up passing out across Mahaad's legs before he could get further than a few rough gropes.
* * *
When Mahaad regained consciousness again, he was surprised. The cave had been cleared out -- only the empty barrel, a few scattered glass and gold beads, and a small pile of ashes remained to show that anyone had been here. But he was still tied and gagged, and it seemed like every part of his body hurt. His stomach rumbled with hunger, his jaw ached horribly from the gag, and every muscle was stiff from the way he'd been forced to sleep while still tied, wrists wrenched well behind his back. And the rest... everything felt dirty, sticky, and thoroughly defiled.
And despite all of this, there was a spreading numbness. Bakura was right, he thought as he lay there, staring at the rocky floor. What was the point in leaving now, when he'd already been defiled not once, but three times, by the thief. What would he do? Go back to the palace like this? He tried to laugh, bitterly, but ended up choking on the soggy linen still wedged firmly between his jaws. Dazedly, he stretched his legs out a little from the curled-up position he'd been in before, the ropes around his ankles that had been half-untied the previous night falling away from the one foot. A sharp pain stabbed up inside him, and he noticed the thin, smeared trail of dark blood along the stone.
He wanted to clean himself off. He wanted to kill Bakura. And then, he wanted to die.
But it looked like he'd have to settle for the latter.
Groggy, concussed, and insensible, Mahaad stared into the blinding light of day outside the cave. It wouldn't take long to die out there, the logical part of his brain said. And it would be better than dying in here, laying in your own filth.
Slowly, painfully, Mahaad managed to get to his knees and crawl towards the light, scraping his knees raw on the stone, a barely noticeable pain compared to the others. Once into the light, he heaved himself to his feet and hobbled, the pain stabbing through him with each step, out into the vast expanse of sand before him.
The sunlight burned at the edges of his eyes, already turning the sand into a scorching hell, searing Mahaad's bared feet. Only a few cubits outside, he simply couldn't walk any more and collapsed into a heap on the ground. Ra, Mahaad prayed, shakily hauling himself to his hands and knees, make it a swift death. He half crawled, half hobbled, further into the bright rays of death.
A flicker of something higher up on the cliffs caught his eye, and began soaring towards him as he turned his head to look. A spirit of the afterlife, he thought groggily, as the indistinct shape of feathered wings triggered a thought. It's come to take me away. Good.
As Isis' ka circled above, Mahaad could no longer hold out, and collpased again, falling from the brightness of day into the dark depths of unconciousness.