Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Sunrise ❯ Midnight ( Chapter 2 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

His wrists were tied again, and Bakura's face, surrounded by bleached white ragged-cut hair, leered down at him.

"Suck it," Bakura ordered, and even though Mahaad's mouth was free to utter the words of a spell, he couldn't. After all, didn't I practically ask for it the first time? he thought. I didn't resist enough, so I must have liked it. I could have done so much more...

He took it in his mouth, eyes burning with shame and humiliation, and when it was finally over and the awful taste was in his mouth, he looked up and Seto was staring down at him. "Oh look, the great and powerful magician who took it like a girl," he sneered, then gestured to the guards. "Get this trash out of here."

"No," Mahaad protested. "No. I didn't... I mean...."

But the guards were merciless and dragged him down to the dungeons. And there, when he turned the corner, Bakura was waiting for him again behind the bars, picking his teeth with a fragment of bone. "So nice of you to join me again, /priest/," he leered, and stood up, advancing like he had before...

* * *

Mahaad awoke with a start, uttering a strangled yell.

"Sssh," said a calm voice. "It's okay."

Isis sat on a chair next to the bed, looking down at him worriedly.

"Wh..." Mahaad began, fearful expression fading quickly. His arms rested outside the thin blanket draped over his body -- naked, he realized -- harsh red ligature marks from the ropes lined his wrists. He didn't want to look beneath, and the realization that someone already had in order to get him here made him want to curl up and die even more. Mahaad refused to look at Isis, and let the silence take over, tucking his hands under the blanket.

"I told the Pharaoh that you had fallen ill," Isis said gently after a few moments. "But the official ceremony is still in one day. You could have more time to recover but I didn't think you would want to.. I mean, the reason..."

"It's fine," Mahaad said curtly.

"If you drink this, it'll help," she added, setting a small vial on the floor beside the bed.

Silence reigned again for a couple minutes. Mahaad closed his eyes and turned his head to the side, pretending to go to sleep and hoping she'd take the hint.

She didn't. "Mahaad, are you--"

"I'm fine." he said, just as abruptly as before.

The silence continued for another few minutes before Mahaad finally got what he'd been waiting for. "I'll have your meals sent in," Isis said quietly. "Are you sure you don't want to ta--"

"No."

"...All right then. But if you ever need to..." Isis let the sentence trail off, still inviting conversation, but Mahaad lay silent. Then, just as she turned to get up and leave, a hand grabbed her sleeve.

"Isis..." Mahaad opened his eyes and looked up at her. "I'll do it. I'll take the Ring." He swallowed, throat still feeling dry and parched. The corners of his mouth still felt sore, but he pressed on. "Just let me be alone until then."

Yes, he would do it. He would tell the Pharaoh about the horrors of the Millennium Items, and seal the evil in the Ring. And whatever he would do after that, he had yet to decide.

She nodded, and left quietly. All he could hear now, in this outlying portion of the guest quarters where he assumed he was, was the calling of waterfowl from the royal gardens.

He spent a long time staring at the ceiling and listening to the birds, trying to think of nothing, before he finally fell asleep again.

* * *

He was back in the cave, with Bakura's heated, sweaty body pressed up against his own. Everything was the same, from the horrible pain to his own muffled gasps and whimpers. When Bakura finally came, and pulled away from him, Mahaad realized his hands had been left untied. While Bakura rearranged his own clothing behind Mahaad's bent back, he grabbed a heavy rock and whirled around, slamming it against Bakura's head.

The thief fell like a slaughtered steer, and Mahaad raised the stone and brought it down again and again, smashing it into Bakura's head until blood was spattered everywhere and Bakura's head was a smashed-in, bloody mess, chips of bone-white amidst the pink-red mass. Rivulets of vividly red blood ran down the cave floor and he...

* * *

After that dream, he made every effort to stay awake. It wasn't that he didn't want to kill Bakura, but the detail was disturbing, a perfect reenactment of his rape, and the color of the blood made him shudder, violently red and vicious.

Outside his room, he could tell by the light through the high windows that evening was falling. The stifling heat of late afternoon was beginning to fade into the chill of night.

He hauled himself out of the bed, trying not to look too hard at his body. Moving slowly, he washed repeatedly in the basin of water that had been left earlier that afternoon. The irony was, he thought to himself, that aside from the marks left by the rope, and some irregular bruising, Bakura really hadn't injured him much. He hurt, he was sore, but there was very little blood and it was not too difficult to keep from wincing when he moved in the wrong way.

He wasn't sure what had happened to his clothes, and worried about where exactly the dirtied robes had gone -- obviously sorcerer's robes. People would suspect. He tried not to think about it too much as he finished rinsing himself clean and, shivered as the cold drops of water pulled all the heat from his skin. He dressed slowly, putting on the priestly robes that Isis had left for him.

She came back a few hours later, bringing a tray of food, and lingered for a few minutes but he didn't want to talk and finally she left again. Mahaad left the food to sit where it was at first -- he was hungry, but the idea of eating was just too much to stomach. Eventually, however, in the need to do something, anything, to keep his mind away from remembering what had happened with Bakura, he picked at the meal, taking apart and eating apart a pomegranate methodically, seed by seed. He stretched out the process over the next couple hours, and when there was nothing left to eat, he lit a lamp and washed again.

Tired, but still unwilling to sleep, he passed the time mentally composing a message to his home temple in Heliopolis, trying to figure out how to phrase each line, working and reworking the message that he would be unable to return to the temple. With his new position, he'd be staying at the palace, certainly. In the middle of composition he found himself thinking again, weighing the benefits of either killing himself, or killing Bakura. Or, maybe, both. With the former, he wouldn't have to write the letter, that was one thing...

When morning finally came and the sun rose into the eastern skies, he was still awake, barely, when Isis brought him some breakfast. She tried to talk to him again, which he refused except to ask for papyrus and brush, turning away.

By the time evening arrived, he was feeling restless and lightheaded from the lack of sleep. He methodically added the ceremonial jewelry, heavy golden bracers covering over the marks on his wrists, and the white linen headdress covering the lump on his head. As the time for official ceremony neared, he paced back and forth again. For the first time since his "illness", he'd have to go out in public and face everyone, including each of the other chosen ones of the Millennium Items, smile and pretend nothing was wrong. Nothing happened. It's okay.

No, it's not okay, he corrected himself angrily as he walked through the palace's corridors towards the antechamber of the ceremonial room. If I hadn't even come here in the first place, none of this would have happened.

He'd told Isis he would accept the Millennium Ring, and he decided in the end that he would. And after he told the Pharaoh about the horrors of the Millennium Items, he would seal the evil in the Ring and that would be the end of it.

Or, he could use it to track the tomb robber down and get his own retribution. After all, that was the job of the bearer of the Millennium Ring, was it not? Track those who would defile the tombs of the kings and bring them to justice? He waited to be called in, briefly considering his violent, bloodied dream.

"Priest Mahaad! Come forward!" the pharaoh's voice rang out. Mahaad broke his reverie and passed through the open doorway, bowing deeply in the presence of the Pharaoh. All the other priests were present, including the usually sneering Seto and Isis, who was very carefully composed. In the middle of the priests sat Pharaoh Akunamukanon I. His son, still a mere boy, decked out in gold and faience beads, stood to one side of the throne, and his advisor, Shimon Muran, to the other.

Formalities passed in a blur, Mahaad feeling numb. Deep inside, there was this unshakable feeling... he kept finding people staring at him, and each time he had to restrain a cold shudder. Nobody knows, so just calm down, he told himself. But as time passed, he felt that even some of the other priests, like Seto, were looking at him like a piece of meat. The first nightmare had been so vivid that it unnerved him even further. He found himself nervously pulling at the edge of his cloak to cover the rope marks that weren't even visible under his golden jewellery.

When the time came for the Pharaoh to finally place the cord of the Ring over his head, he knelt on one knee and held himself still as the searing pain gripped his heart, feeling the Ring's effects even through his robes.

Each of the priests offered him congratulations in turn, and after they had begun to trickle from the throne room, Mahaad turned to Akunamukanon. "Pharaoh... may I speak with you?"

"Of course," the Pharaoh replied.

"Ah, in private," Mahaad was forced to add. The guards by the door and the king's young son were still present.

* * *

Mahaad left the throne room feeling far differently than when he had decided to tell the Pharaoh about the Millennium items. The older man's face clouded with anger, and as the story went on, Mahaad's own anger dissipated as he could see the sorrow creeping into Akunamukanon's face. What did I do? each asked themselves.

After Mahaad had finished, physically and mentally drained, Akunamukanon sent a servant to go fetch Priest Akunadin. Mahaad bowed and took his leave of the pharaoh, walking backwards until a respectful distance away and then heading out into the courtyard, planning to return to his quarters.

As he left the courtyard however, heading through the pillared hallways, he passed the white-robed form of Akunadin. The older priest gave him a look as the two passed each other, and Mahaad met his gaze briefly, restraining a shudder as Akunadin's golden eye shimmered in the thin light that passed into the hall through the high windows.

* * *

Fully intent on the idea of sealing the evil within the ring, considering how to go about doing such a thing, Mahaad didn't notice an unwanted presence when he arrived at his quarters.

"Priest Mahaad!" A voice called out. Mahaad looked up to see Seto leaning against the doorway, his arms were folded across his chest, the end of the golden Millennium Rod sticking out from one clenched fist. At least he wasn't wearing the horrible smirk still, Mahaad thought to himself.

"Yes?" he snapped. The last thing he wanted now was to talk to anyone.

"I saw Isis bring you in after you 'fell ill,'" Seto said, blue eyes narrowing and a hint of the smirk creeping up his face again.

"I'm sorry, I don't quite get your point." Mahaad stated, all the while trembling inside. Damn Bakura, damn Isis, damn the guard that brought him the message to ever even come to the palace in the first place, days ago. There's no way Seto could know, is there? he wondered.

"My point is that you're a pathetically weak spot in the chain of the Millennium Item holders." Seto stood up straight, moving towards Mahaad. Mahaad's stomach felt like it was churning inside him. The way Seto's eyes were narrowed, the way he advanced upon him... he froze stiff under the smirking gaze. The fear, the very idea that it was all going to happen again, under different pretenses, went on a rampage in his mind, shutting down all motor control.

"So this is how it goes: you'll listen to me and do whatever I say," Seto said. "Until I actually think you're worth anything."

"I... really don't think...."

"We can talk about this later," Seto gestured with the Millennium Rod, uttering the command in a low growl.

Mahaad froze, eyes widening. He knows, his mind screamed at him. He knows, and now he's going to do exactly the same thing to you because everyone knows that you're less than a man now. Useless.

Unfortunately, the short pause was enough to give Seto ammunition. He drew close and slammed Mahaad against the nearest pillar. "I knew it," he hissed. "You're just a male whore without a shred of dignity, weak enough to get fucked up the ass by some random criminal."

"No!" Mahaad gasped, trying to refute the other priest's words, even if he didn't believe it himself. "I..."

Seto pulled him forward an inch and slammed him back, harder, against the stone pillar. "Shut up. Maybe I can't do anything about the choosing of you by the Ring, though you don't deserve it, but I can make sure that you listen to /my/ orders and that it doesn't get stolen by some criminal. You can follow my orders and," the dreadful smirk again, "sleep in my bed, since you seem to like it so mu--"

"Seto!" Isis's voice rang out across the hallway.

The bearer of the Millennium rod drew back and released his hand from the front of Mahaad's robe. "What, Priest Isis?" he snapped.

"What are you telling Priest Mahaad?"

"Exactly what he needs to be told. Although you'd already know, wouldn't you? You can't honestly say you didn't see this happening."

Isis averted her gaze from Mahaad, never meeting his eyes. "There was a disturbance in the path of the future, but--"

"So." Seto seemed to think that satisfied everything.

"So, I also know of a large disturbance underneath the palace," Isis stated matter-of-factly, "A disturbance that the Pharaoh would not like to know about. Something about the underground dungeons being reopened behind the Pharaoh's back, if I do recall correctly."

Mahaad simply stood there, watching this exchange. She was.. saving him? Why? Seto was right... he was useless here.

"You wouldn't dare bring that up," Seto glared, his grip tightening on the Millennium rod.

"I'm sure you'll be /considerate/," Isis emphasized the word with a hint of sharpness in the pitch of her voice, "enough to allow Mahaad a chance."

"Hmph," was Seto's only reply. He turned his head to look over Mahaad again, snorted once more, and turned on his heel, his cloak flaring out behind him. "Then a good evening to you, Priest Isis. The less I see of this wretch the better."

Isis and Mahaad waited until the other priest had left, leaving the room in empty silence again.

Mahaad was the first to break the silence. "You... knew?" he said, disbelieving and horrified at once. "You knew that something was going to happen.. and you didn't do anything? Didn't even try to warn me? You.. you..." words failed as he tried to comprehend just how badly he'd been screwed over in the past few days alone.

"Please try to understand, the future is..."

"Shut up." Mahaad's harsh words rang out sharply. Isis's eyes widened at first, then she frowned sadly. The anger welled up inside him again, the sudden urge to hit her so surprisingly strong that his hand actually twitched before his brain intervened.

No more words were spoken between the two. Isis, strangely expressionless, dipped her head in an expression of parting before heading her own way down the corridors. Mahaad stared after her a long moment, wordless, before he even realized he was trembling. She did rescue you, a little voice inside tried to tell him, to which he could only reply with, "Then why didn't she do it earlier when it would have helped?"

Mahaad turned abruptly and entered his room, blankly scanning the ornate furnishings without looking at them. He felt dirty again, filthy and angry and frustrated and horrified, all at once. Trying to rationalize events with the knowledge that Isis was unlikely to get any specific details of the future didn't help much, but the very thought of 'specific details' brought him back to Bakura again. He could remember every detail of what happened, and clenched his hands into fists, trying to block it from memory. The thief had wanted the Ring, didn't he...

He looked down at the cursed golden item hanging by a thong around his neck, searing into his chest with each move he made. Mahaad clenched the smooth, burning metal tightly in his hands, eyes watering at the corners from the pain. There was one thing to do, then, before anything else.

It was time to track down the King of Thieves and give him a taste of what the Millennium Ring could do.