Author's Notes: Here's my Bakura story! I know it took a long time to come, but I hope it's good! The first chapter is in ancient Egypt, then it moves to present-day Japan. I'll try to be accurate! I haven't decided yet if I want this to be based on the dub or the original version, but that'll depend on how soon I get the DVDs. But until then, I need help with a title! Something about weakness I think, because Bakura just keeps going back to that. But any suggestions would help! Thanks!
I know Yami and Seth(Seto) will seem really mean in this, but most people with a lot of power WERE very mean.
AND NOW! I shall attempt to explain the motivation of Yami Bakura to you all. I feel like Milton, who tried to justify the ways of God to man in "Paradise Lost." ^_^ But that's my basic purpose!
Ankh: Hello again! Indigo still hasn't managed to gain ownership of Yu-Gi-Oh yet. I'm sure Bakura's glad of that. Though she plans to buy the DVDs next month. But anyway, please don't sue her or anything, because she has little enough money as it is!
Untitled! Help!
"Let me go, you thugs!" the white-haired boy snarled. He struggled, but his thin, lightly-muscled body was no match for the two bulky guards dragging him into the throne room. The pharaoh sat before him on a pure gold throne. He was unusually short, even for his young age, but his tall spiked hair gave him some extra height and his whole demeanor was elevated and regal. The white-haired boy, however, was not impressed. As he was brought towards the throne, he spat angrily at the pharaoh.
"Where is the stolen item?" the pharaoh demanded. He ignored the spitting for the moment, but made a mental note to have the boy's tongue cut out.
"You think I'd give it to you!?" the thief asked indignantly.
"Silence, insolent cur!" one of the guards shouted, punching him in the stomach. The boy doubled over in much more pain than he should have been in. The guard frowned, grabbed the bottom of the boy's loose, rough shirt, and yanked it up. There was a long strip of cloth wrapped around the boy's bruised, scarred chest. The cloth held a gold ring with a pyramid in the middle and five spikes hanging from the sides. The punch had caught the bottom of the ring, and new cuts and bruises were rapidly forming. The guard ripped the ring away from the thief's body and held it up for the pharaoh to see.
Another young man stepped out from behind the golden throne. He was tall and wore the high blue and gold hat of a mage. He walked up to the guard, snatched the ring away from him, and aimed a small kick at the thief, who was just getting his breath back. The mage walked back to stand beside the pharaoh.
"I am feeling generous today. Since the item was recovered, I will spare the thief's soul," the pharaoh declared. "Have his hands chopped off so that he will not steal again, and his tongue cut out so that he may not insult his pharaoh again."
"No! No, please have mercy on me! Please, great one!" the thief cried out. He had never liked being weak enough to show fear like this, but the thought of his punishment made him panic. He would die without his hands and tongue.
"There is an alternative, of course. You are rather pretty for a flea-bitten rat. If you please me, I may decide to keep you," the pharaoh said, licking his lips.
"No! Please, no. Anything but that…" the young thief began to sob against his will. His father had taught him what things like "pretty," "please me," and "keep you" meant. He had run away to escape that long ago, and he would NOT go back to that life.
"Take him away," the pharaoh said in disgust. The guards turned, yanking the shaking boy with them.
"Wait!" the mage said. The guards stopped, and all eyes turned to the mage holding the ring. He turned to the pharaoh. "My pharaoh, please allow me to have him. I have not found anyone to test my plans on yet. Since he shows such interest in my Items and has a rather strong will to live, he would do well."
"Hmm…" the pharaoh considered. "Very well. Guards, bring the thief to the mages' testing arena." The guards bowed and took the very confused and nervous thief away.
"Show me the results when you are finished, Seth," the pharaoh said with mild interest.
"Yes, golden one," the high mage said quietly, bowing as he left.
Bakura, the thief, was left chained in the middle of a large windowless room deep underground. Not knowing how much time he had before something else happened, he shut his eyes to try to calm himself and rest.
Moments later, he heard footsteps approach him. His head snapped up and his eyes opened quickly. The mage stood in front of him, still holding the gold ring.
"You like this, don't you?" the mage asked, smirking slightly as he held out the ring. Bakura didn't answer, but watched him carefully. The taller man laughed softly. "Well, it's a good thing. Because you're going to be stuck with it for all of eternity."
The mage turned his back on the white-haired boy and began to chant. Strange lights and sounds seemed to come from the ring in front of him. Then he turned. The ring pulsed with an eerie light. The mage walked up to Bakura, using his foot to push the thief onto his back. Then he quickly slammed the ring onto the boy's chest, shouting some words Bakura didn't understand.
For a split second Bakura felt the ring pressing hard on his bruises. Then it began to burn into his chest until he couldn't stand it anymore and he screamed. Then he passed out.
Bakura woke up after a while… he wasn't sure how long. At least, he thought he was awake. Everything was pitch black. There was no noise at all. But he could see himself, at least. That was slightly comforting.
"Hello?" Bakura called tentatively. "Is anyone there?" No one answered. There was no echo. His voice was the only sound. There was nothing but blackness everywhere. He wasn't even sure he was standing on anything.
"The ring…" he said softly, running his hands over it. It was around his neck on a rope. And surprisingly, his bruises were gone, though the scars remained. "I must have been out for a long time…" He pulled the ring out so it rested on top of his shirt.
"So I've got the ring now. But where in Osiris's depths am I?" He walked a bit, but still saw nothing. He ran as fast and as far as he could, but still nothing. He stomped the 'ground' but it made no sound and he barely felt it. He jumped up and down, to no avail. Finally he sat down hard (though he hardly felt it) and tried to punch the ground, although it didn't do any good.
"Why did I have to steal THIS, of all things? Ra, I must be the stupidest person in the whole kingdom." He took the ring off and threw it as hard as he could. He wasn't entirely surprised when he could still see it glowing a good distance away. He looked away, frustrated. And felt the heavy ring back on his chest. After many more failed attempts to get rid of it, he gave up.
"I hate that mage. I hate the pharaoh! I hate the guards! I hate them ALL!" he screamed. "And I HATE THIS RA-DAMNED RING!" He picked up said ring and slammed in back against his chest, but one of the sharp points scraped his neck. Bakura sucked in his breath sharply at the pain. He touched the scrape. There was a tiny bit of blood seeping from it. But somehow it convinced him of how hopeless his situation really was. He wrapped his arms around his knees and began to cry quietly.
Over the decades, the loneliness and complete emptiness of his prison made Bakura more than a little neurotic. He still didn't know what was going on. He forgot quite a few things about his life after the first couple of millennia. But he retained his personality, though it grew rather warped and twisted. He thought a lot about how much he hated the world. But one thought was always at the front of his mind.
"This happened because I was weak. I will never allow myself to be weak again."
The Ring and six other golden Items were passed down through a long line of guardians. If anyone ever touched the Ring or tried to reach out into it, Bakura never felt it.
Then finally, the Ring was sold to an archeologist who gave it to his son. By this time, Bakura had learned to use the Ring's powers. He had made a whole labyrinth of rooms and passages for himself, modeled after some of the more interesting tombs he'd been in.
This boy who now held the Ring was kind, soft-spoken, and innocent. In other words, weak. He reminded Bakura of himself, before his life took a turn for the worst.
"At this rate he'll end up like me, pathetic and trapped. He saved me from the darkness. No matter what the cost, I must not allow him to be weak…"
Endnote: Okay, that was kind of a prologue to the rest of the story. Sorry if it was confusing, my muses weren't behaving when I wrote it. *glares at Ankh and Scale* But anyway, let me know what you think, and PLEASE suggest a title to me!
I know Yami and Seth(Seto) will seem really mean in this, but most people with a lot of power WERE very mean.
AND NOW! I shall attempt to explain the motivation of Yami Bakura to you all. I feel like Milton, who tried to justify the ways of God to man in "Paradise Lost." ^_^ But that's my basic purpose!
Ankh: Hello again! Indigo still hasn't managed to gain ownership of Yu-Gi-Oh yet. I'm sure Bakura's glad of that. Though she plans to buy the DVDs next month. But anyway, please don't sue her or anything, because she has little enough money as it is!
Untitled! Help!
"Let me go, you thugs!" the white-haired boy snarled. He struggled, but his thin, lightly-muscled body was no match for the two bulky guards dragging him into the throne room. The pharaoh sat before him on a pure gold throne. He was unusually short, even for his young age, but his tall spiked hair gave him some extra height and his whole demeanor was elevated and regal. The white-haired boy, however, was not impressed. As he was brought towards the throne, he spat angrily at the pharaoh.
"Where is the stolen item?" the pharaoh demanded. He ignored the spitting for the moment, but made a mental note to have the boy's tongue cut out.
"You think I'd give it to you!?" the thief asked indignantly.
"Silence, insolent cur!" one of the guards shouted, punching him in the stomach. The boy doubled over in much more pain than he should have been in. The guard frowned, grabbed the bottom of the boy's loose, rough shirt, and yanked it up. There was a long strip of cloth wrapped around the boy's bruised, scarred chest. The cloth held a gold ring with a pyramid in the middle and five spikes hanging from the sides. The punch had caught the bottom of the ring, and new cuts and bruises were rapidly forming. The guard ripped the ring away from the thief's body and held it up for the pharaoh to see.
Another young man stepped out from behind the golden throne. He was tall and wore the high blue and gold hat of a mage. He walked up to the guard, snatched the ring away from him, and aimed a small kick at the thief, who was just getting his breath back. The mage walked back to stand beside the pharaoh.
"I am feeling generous today. Since the item was recovered, I will spare the thief's soul," the pharaoh declared. "Have his hands chopped off so that he will not steal again, and his tongue cut out so that he may not insult his pharaoh again."
"No! No, please have mercy on me! Please, great one!" the thief cried out. He had never liked being weak enough to show fear like this, but the thought of his punishment made him panic. He would die without his hands and tongue.
"There is an alternative, of course. You are rather pretty for a flea-bitten rat. If you please me, I may decide to keep you," the pharaoh said, licking his lips.
"No! Please, no. Anything but that…" the young thief began to sob against his will. His father had taught him what things like "pretty," "please me," and "keep you" meant. He had run away to escape that long ago, and he would NOT go back to that life.
"Take him away," the pharaoh said in disgust. The guards turned, yanking the shaking boy with them.
"Wait!" the mage said. The guards stopped, and all eyes turned to the mage holding the ring. He turned to the pharaoh. "My pharaoh, please allow me to have him. I have not found anyone to test my plans on yet. Since he shows such interest in my Items and has a rather strong will to live, he would do well."
"Hmm…" the pharaoh considered. "Very well. Guards, bring the thief to the mages' testing arena." The guards bowed and took the very confused and nervous thief away.
"Show me the results when you are finished, Seth," the pharaoh said with mild interest.
"Yes, golden one," the high mage said quietly, bowing as he left.
Bakura, the thief, was left chained in the middle of a large windowless room deep underground. Not knowing how much time he had before something else happened, he shut his eyes to try to calm himself and rest.
Moments later, he heard footsteps approach him. His head snapped up and his eyes opened quickly. The mage stood in front of him, still holding the gold ring.
"You like this, don't you?" the mage asked, smirking slightly as he held out the ring. Bakura didn't answer, but watched him carefully. The taller man laughed softly. "Well, it's a good thing. Because you're going to be stuck with it for all of eternity."
The mage turned his back on the white-haired boy and began to chant. Strange lights and sounds seemed to come from the ring in front of him. Then he turned. The ring pulsed with an eerie light. The mage walked up to Bakura, using his foot to push the thief onto his back. Then he quickly slammed the ring onto the boy's chest, shouting some words Bakura didn't understand.
For a split second Bakura felt the ring pressing hard on his bruises. Then it began to burn into his chest until he couldn't stand it anymore and he screamed. Then he passed out.
Bakura woke up after a while… he wasn't sure how long. At least, he thought he was awake. Everything was pitch black. There was no noise at all. But he could see himself, at least. That was slightly comforting.
"Hello?" Bakura called tentatively. "Is anyone there?" No one answered. There was no echo. His voice was the only sound. There was nothing but blackness everywhere. He wasn't even sure he was standing on anything.
"The ring…" he said softly, running his hands over it. It was around his neck on a rope. And surprisingly, his bruises were gone, though the scars remained. "I must have been out for a long time…" He pulled the ring out so it rested on top of his shirt.
"So I've got the ring now. But where in Osiris's depths am I?" He walked a bit, but still saw nothing. He ran as fast and as far as he could, but still nothing. He stomped the 'ground' but it made no sound and he barely felt it. He jumped up and down, to no avail. Finally he sat down hard (though he hardly felt it) and tried to punch the ground, although it didn't do any good.
"Why did I have to steal THIS, of all things? Ra, I must be the stupidest person in the whole kingdom." He took the ring off and threw it as hard as he could. He wasn't entirely surprised when he could still see it glowing a good distance away. He looked away, frustrated. And felt the heavy ring back on his chest. After many more failed attempts to get rid of it, he gave up.
"I hate that mage. I hate the pharaoh! I hate the guards! I hate them ALL!" he screamed. "And I HATE THIS RA-DAMNED RING!" He picked up said ring and slammed in back against his chest, but one of the sharp points scraped his neck. Bakura sucked in his breath sharply at the pain. He touched the scrape. There was a tiny bit of blood seeping from it. But somehow it convinced him of how hopeless his situation really was. He wrapped his arms around his knees and began to cry quietly.
Over the decades, the loneliness and complete emptiness of his prison made Bakura more than a little neurotic. He still didn't know what was going on. He forgot quite a few things about his life after the first couple of millennia. But he retained his personality, though it grew rather warped and twisted. He thought a lot about how much he hated the world. But one thought was always at the front of his mind.
"This happened because I was weak. I will never allow myself to be weak again."
The Ring and six other golden Items were passed down through a long line of guardians. If anyone ever touched the Ring or tried to reach out into it, Bakura never felt it.
Then finally, the Ring was sold to an archeologist who gave it to his son. By this time, Bakura had learned to use the Ring's powers. He had made a whole labyrinth of rooms and passages for himself, modeled after some of the more interesting tombs he'd been in.
This boy who now held the Ring was kind, soft-spoken, and innocent. In other words, weak. He reminded Bakura of himself, before his life took a turn for the worst.
"At this rate he'll end up like me, pathetic and trapped. He saved me from the darkness. No matter what the cost, I must not allow him to be weak…"
Endnote: Okay, that was kind of a prologue to the rest of the story. Sorry if it was confusing, my muses weren't behaving when I wrote it. *glares at Ankh and Scale* But anyway, let me know what you think, and PLEASE suggest a title to me!