Chapter Text
“Catch the bastard and kill him before he gets away!” A palace guard shouted at his goons, ordering the men to chase after the figure that danced along the edges of the shadows. The thief, who was so pompously self entitled as the King Of Thieves, outmaneuvered the men with ease, skirting off into the night with a hefty satchel filled with precious gems and jewel encrusted goldware. An arid desert breeze lifted the hood from the Bandit’s head momentarily, with a shock of hair colored stark white against the black of the ancient Egyptian night sky reflecting the moonlight. Tonight, the Thief King had no desire to toy around with the same old useless guards; There were things that needed to be set in place to prepare for the ritual. After thousands of years reliving the same horrors of his retched existence and being switched between countless unworthy hands throughout millennia, his host was finally ready; He was finally ready. After spending what felt like an endless span of time swimming about his own memories, The Thief King was but fragment of his former self; A former self that desperately wanted to be reawakened along with the evil and darkness he was born out of all those years ago.
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Crickets chirped loudly outside Ryou's window as he slept. The night was gorgeous, and it was a good evening to have the window open to let the gentle breeze roll in.
At least, that's what Ryou thought.
Bakura, on the other hand, lay next to his snoozing doppelganger wide awake and pissed off.
"Ryou, are you awake?" he whispered, peeking over the small rising and falling shoulder, just to see an angelic—and sleeping—face.
He rolled over with a grunt and threw his legs over the side of the huge king sized bed. He recoiled with a hiss when his warm, bare feet touched the freezing cold hardwood floor. Sluggishly, he dragged himself into the darkened hallway and felt around for the light switch.
"Now where the hell are you, you stupid thing…?" he muttered, feeling along the length of the wall. As he slid his hands around, he finally felt the small protrusion.
"Ah! There you... are…" He slurred, a wave of languor like he had never felt before hitting him like a sack of bricks.
"Ow..." he groaned, trying to stand. He couldn't. "The hell…?" He said, fluttering his eyelids in confusion. Each time he blinked, it felt like his eyelids were held down with lead weights, until finally he succumbed to the strange and overwhelming weariness.
After what felt like less than half a second of sleep, Bakura's eyes flew open and he jumped up quickly. He wasn't in the hallway of his and Ryou's apartment anymore. The only thing he saw was sand. Everything around him was set ablaze, and frantic people were fleeing everywhere, shrieking and flailing every which way. Blood stained small areas, and a powerful feeling of death was upon the small village he found himself in. A woman dashed straight towards him, screaming loudly as a man dressed in opulent and palace-worthy black robes tailed close behind her, sword poised for the kill. With an unfaltering aggression and heartless disregard, he ran the woman through like butter with his pointed blade, dragging the corpse to a flight of stairs and carelessly pulling it behind him like a dog.
Bakura stared wide eyed at the man, following him with his eyes. Did they not see him? No, he thought; They must have. It happened right in front of him.
"Whoa!" he exclaimed as he held up his hand. It was ghostly translucent, and to make things even more unbelievable, a man sprinted straight through him, like mist in the morning. He too was killed by a guard and hauled off to the stairwell that had caught Bakura's eyes moments ago.
"Where am I …?" He muttered, walking over to the stairwell and following a grim faced guard down the secret passageway.A Jarring chorus of shrieks and howls of pain made Bakura pale, and heat hit him like a freight train-- the smell of searing flesh made him gag. The blood soaked soldiers lobbed the crumpled bodies into a huge pot, laughing darkly. The slain villagers’ broken limbs hung over the edges of the massive cast iron cauldron, their skin blistering and bubbling against the hot metal.
"No! Help, mommy! Daddy!" A young girl of about seven screamed, tears rolling down her cheeks.
"You'll be reunited with those dogs in a moment, brat." A guard chuckled, twisting the girls head sharply in an unnatural manner, snapping her neck.
Bakura stifled a yell and felt sick to his stomach. If this was a nightmare, he was ready to wake up this instant. The little girl was tossed into the boiling cauldron too, just like the others.
"Hmph, well that's ninety nine!" A middle aged man snickered, marveling at his bloody masterpiece. "Now the sacrifice is complete…" he said triumphantly, laughing loudly. “Egypt will truly be saved from invaders and we shall harness the power of The Gods!”
Bakura sank down to his knees and clasped his hands over his ears. This place was horrible. The smell of dead bodies nearly smothered him, and he could see restless souls beginning to roam about, swarming around the death trap. He had never seen any of these people before, didn't know them, didn't even know they existed. But for some reason, he felt as if his entire world, and everyone in it, had just been abruptly ripped away from him. He didn’t have the right words-- or any words, for that matter-- to describe the strange hollow feeling he was experiencing. This was something not even the most wishful thinking could will away it seemed, and Bakura was trapped like a caged animal within his own subconscious’ prison. The agonized screaming had now diminished to moans and quiet wails as the last of the villagers met their demise. Bakura finally opened his eyes after what felt like an eternity of the gore carrying on.
He looked up briefly, and stumbled backwards when he noticed a small face peeking from behind a wall; It was a young boy with sun kissed skin and impossibly white hair, just like his own.