Title: "Sacrifice"

Summary: BakuraxRyou, (tendershipping, not an abuse fic, ancient Egypt) In Bakura's relentless fight against the pharaoh, the Thief King makes a miscalculation, causing his capture and imprisonment in the pharaoh's deepest dungeons, left for torture and subsequent death. But a certain slave has picked up his scent…what love blooms in the darkest pits of desperation? And what could possibly come from this illicit romance?

Rating: M for Mature

Category: Romance/Angst

Dedication: This fanfic goes out to my good friend fallen-angel-of-repression. Happy birthday to you! I really hope you like this, (just for you, I've done a lemon with this one)…it took a while to come up with a topic for it; I wasn't sure where to go with the pairing once you gave it to me. But it came out fine once I got into the plot. With any luck, you'll find the same path as I did when reading it. Enjoy it, if you find it within yourself! 02/18/06

Authoress Notes: I'm actually not a professional when it comes to this pairing…I'm so fixated on Seto…(sweat drop)…but I tried my best. Hopefully this isn't a total train wreck, it all depends on what you guys think, though doesn't it? I don't know if there is any OOC-ness in regards to Bakura…I tried so hard with his character but I've literally never written it before, so it was very difficult! And, uh, yeah…Ryou is not really supposed to be in Ancient Egypt. I know that. But for poetic purposes I've changed the story around a little bit. I hope you guys don't mind, (as well as I hope you do not decide to throw rocks at me, because this is not the only change I've written).

Let me state here that I have taken MANY liberties with this story. Many. As in, not a few. I know that nothing in this fic actually occurred in the anime or the manga, but I have taken it upon myself to add these changes. If you don't like this in any way, I offer apologies and a free ride out.

That's about it…Feel free to leave a review if you are so inclined! (just to keep things bright)

Warning: This story contains yaoi, of course, but it's mostly rated for blood. Very bloody. (Did I mention blood?) Important character death. Oh, and, AU, as mentioned above. Beware!

Disclaimer: I really don't own Yu-Gi-Oh…really, I don't! (innocent look)

Sacrifice

Chapter 1

"Why give yourself up like this, Tomb Robber?"

The Pharaoh's eyes gleamed like priceless rubies nestling smugly just out of reach. His harsh cape whipped around him in the wind, strands of his multicolored hair twisting and blending colors in the turmoil. An entire city lay in shambles around the pharaoh's golden pleated sandals, the smell of burning flesh wafting impatiently through the charred night air. "I have known you to be crazy, but not like this."

Bakura stood facing the pharaoh, arms bloodied up to the elbow with the blood of soldiers that had gotten in the way, or people that had been unfortunately involved. In his left hand he held a small dagger, so drenched in human fluid that it was indistinguishable from the rest of the tomb robber.

This stained man raised his arms in the air like trophies of success. He bellowed his laughter to the winds, competing with distant sounds of moaning from those unlucky enough to have survived the onslaught of the gods.

"Do you think me a fool, pharaoh?" His scarred face twitched at the very idea. "Or a man of weakness? How dare you! Sacrifice means nothing to me!" The man turned his incensed visage towards the sky to proclaim more hilarity in the matter.

The Pharaoh remained completely sincere, unmoved by his adversary's amusement. "For your own sake, Thief…do not continue to stand there."

It was a matter that weighed heavily on Yami's mind. He harbored a type of respect for the man standing in front of him. A confused type of respect: One that gave Bakura no compassion on the battlefield, but at the same time one that could never quite allow the thief to be caught. How many times had he "accidentally" let him get away, just at the last second? Honest accidents, he had assured his soldiers and friends. But this time there were to be no "accidents". There was no possible way to cover it up. If Bakura did not leave now, Yami would be forced to defeat him. For good.

"For my sake, Pharaoh? For my sake? Why lie? Just do what you've come here to do! Finish it, once and for all!" As he talked, he gestured with his dirtied hands, stressing the point in mortality itself. "Let us see who deserves infinite power!"

The Pharaoh's head drooped with the weight of responsibility. He could not let Bakura win. They would have to end it. A twinge of sadness rang through him…but he shook it off. This was his enemy, as he had reminded himself dozens of times.

He sighed. "As you wish, dear king." His voice was a fragile whisper, barely audible over the desperate pleas spread out over the field, (cries that were gradually lessening).

Like a switch, the pharaoh was ready. His entire body shifted into position, sword drawn and at the ready. The rubies that so tempted the master thief were alive with a lust for killing so fierce it sent shocks to the nerves throughout his blood-spattered figure.

Relishing in the sensation, the thief king shuddered with anticipation, not even bothering to conceal his excitement from his enemy. This is what he needed, what he craved, from his rival. Then he prepared for what was to come, relenting into a stance similar to Yami's.

Palpable hatred volleyed back and forth between the two for a matter of moments.

The two lashed forward, equally as deadly as their blades, and resounded against each other with a thick clang of metal on metal. They flew apart, circling each other, trying to find the right way to strike. Another hit, lashing forward, clang, and back.

With an aggravated scream, Bakura rushed forward, aiming directly for the throat, already picturing a shower of the pharaoh's deliciously warm blood showering him with the strike.

Indeed the blood did come, but it spilled forth from the left of Bakura, falling across the left side of his figure. This was not where his brain had told him to expect blood…He turned his head in confusion. Before he had the chance, the pharaoh was at him again, this time at his right side.

When the pharaoh pulled away again, Bakura's mind officially registered the attack made on him. Two large, gaping gashes on both arms explained it all. Pain ravaged him swiftly.

But pain he could deal with. He barely noticed. It was the pharaoh that made him scream. The bastard was winning…but how?

Bakura tried another slaughtering blow to the pharaoh's jugular, but as soon as he made the slightest juxtaposition of a move, the pharaoh was on him again, tearing his abdomen to ribbons.

Vulgarities erupted from Bakura's mouth. He tried again. Now his right thigh harbored a wound longer than his arm. Enlivened by hatred and the panic that accompanies failure, Bakura charged again blindly at his opponent. His left leg now.

So forth the one-sided battle continued until Bakura lay on the blackened sands once beneath him, gasping for breath, fighting for consciousness. He tried to stand but barely managed to wave his dagger around feebly from a kneeling position.

Hazily he heard the honorably smug words leave Yami's mouth, "Had enough, Bakura?" Through clouded vision he saw him standing, knife poised at a casual but fierce resting position.

Every muscle felt like a bag of gravel in Bakura's body. He slowly fell to the ground, unsure of what his next move would be, but consumed by a hatred that burned his soul. One word he managed to spit out indignantly, "…How…"

Even in his weakened state, Bakura saw it: The dimming golden glow on Yami's forehead. It flashed at him, laughing at his defeat.

"Shadow magic." A smirk flickered on the pharaoh's lips.

Bakura's hatred doubled and exceeded all possible boundaries, setting aflame every piece of his being. "You…fuck!"

And then unconsciousness came. An unconsciousness that reeked of cold, painful failure.

-------------------------------

"Why give yourself up like this, Pharaoh?"

Seto's cerulean eyes danced in the candle light, instruments of malice. The priest had his arms planted firmly on the table before the Pharaoh, concrete rods of tanned flesh that trumpeted defiance and anger as the held up the rest of his slim body. "You are leaving yourself—and what remains of this kingdom—wide open to an attack."

Yami sat behind opposite end of the long golden table. This was his bedroom Seto had intruded upon. Formerly a place of solitude where he gathered the strength to become the pharaoh, now it was the battlefield for another type of battle: Justifying his actions.

"Seto…" he sighed, eyes presently a calm lilac as opposed to the crimson they were during the battle. "It is a complicated matter. Believe me."

The priest's face twitched slightly at that comment. Yami could already tell his advisor disagreed in the strongest sense. "You make it complicated." Furiously, Seto ripped himself from his offensive position on the table, arms falling with potential malevolence back to his side. However, the cynical priest's angular face remained in its deadly vice in front of Yami, keeping the pharaoh's countenance locked helplessly to his.

"I just do not understand…" Seto continued. "Why do you let your enemies control you? By the gods' divine right, you are the pharaoh. You should be the one with the upper hand."

Yami's weary form sat slumped in his small chair, so much more comfortable than his overpowering throne, the very weight of which defined its responsibility. But this chair gave him less command over Seto. That was why he wished Seto had waited until sunrise to confront him—but silence was never one of the priest's attributes.

With a breath that the pharaoh wished had gathered more strength, he said, "I have not let anyone control me, Seto. All I have done is placed Bakura in the dungeons instead of the traditional death sentence. I have not given anyone the 'upper hand', as you put it."

The pair of sapphires Seto sported flashed dangerously. "Bakura is your enemy. He defiled your father's tomb. He destroyed the city. He killed Mahado and injured Akhenaden. I will not speak of the robbing of Pharaoh Akhenamkhanen—your own father's sacred tomb. In the process he stole several of the Sen-Nin items. And now that he is finally at your mercy, you let him live?"

Yami turned his heavy gaze away from Seto's for a moment. "You need not remind me of his insurrections, High Priest. I know full well." At this next comment his eyes returned to his current adversary's in a brief spark of dominance. "More than you do, as a matter of fact." He watched victoriously as Seto withdrew slightly from the sharpness of this statement.

There was a pause as Seto decided his next attack. Yami waited, putting up a false façade of calmness while internally he tried to suppress his growing unease. Seto would let himself be fooled once, beaten once. But he always learned from his defeats and returned with renewed vigor and spite.

It began. "Bakura will recover from his wounds. And—.."

"It is likely that he will die in prison. I have removed all of the Sen-Nin items that were once in his possession. Also, you yourself know how cruel it is in those dungeons, do you not, Priest?" Yami thought it best to attack Seto in the middle of his tirade before his plan could be completed.

Unfortunately, that rarely worked. Ignoring the last comment, Seto pushed forward with a dark glare of resolution. "You know that he will live, Pharaoh. I know that. Stop trying to delude me; I am not one of your foolish servants."

Yami could do nothing but nod at that. Seto was his servant, but he was not one of the foolish ones. He spoke the truth.

"When Bakura recovers, and he will," (Seto put unnecessary emphasis on the last word) "It is obvious that he will come back to kill you. His quest for revenge on this kingdom will never end and you are the very object of his retribution. It is foolishness—madness—to leave him alive when you know the course of events that will take place because of this."

Yami did not know how to answer his priest. His emotions were crying out to him to catch Seto in some verbal inadequacy, some mistake in his thinking. Yet, there was none. Nothing was incorrect in the way Seto thought. In fact, his were to be the first of many arguments about the senselessness of Yami's actions. However, Yami knew he was correct in doing what he had done. Seto and the others had no knowledge of the…respect that Yami held for the Tomb Robber. It was the same respect he had had to overcome when he fought Bakura. It had prohibited the pharaoh from killing him when he fell into unconsciousness and now it stopped him from sentencing the thief to death.

Yami knew he was a fool for letting him live. Though there did not seem to be another course of action that his pride would allow. And, Ra damn it, he was The Pharaoh. His decisions reigned over all. Seto would have to learn that.

In the space that followed the last move, the priest had thought up more words with which to stab at his ruler. "You put not only yourself but your entire kingdom in danger with this move, Yami. If you are so in love with Egypt as you once proclaimed to be, then show that you do not want it to die at the hands of a mad man. Sentence Bakura to death."

Although Seto had not entirely finished, Yami had heard enough. With anger that had been lurking within him ever since Seto first arrived, Yami slammed his palm flat on the table.

The lithe body of the pharaoh leapt out of his inferior chair and turned on his visitor.

"Do not presume to tell me whether or not I love my kingdom, Seto! I am the Pharaoh of Egypt! And I have command over you, Priest! Learn your place!"

Seto showed no surprise or fear. He had seen the pharaoh do this numerous times, that was Yami's constant disadvantage with him. At the same time, Seto was not stupid. Enough had been said for this night. There were plenty to come in the time to follow. This issue could be brought up when Bakura finally did heal, whenever that was.

So, stepping back, Seto lowered his head in a diminished version of a bow, his high priest's headdress moving solidly with him.

Yami thrust his head angrily towards the doorway. "Leave."

Seto whipped his back on the pharaoh and moved towards the silk curtain that guarded the doorway. With one sun-darkened arm, he pushed the curtain aside. Just when Yami thought the agile form was going leave his bedchambers, Seto turned his head back to face him.

Seeing only the prominent profile of the priest's face, a sight that still defied him, he heard Seto say, "You have made a sacrifice today, Pharaoh. And it will be paid in blood."

Not to be defeated, he replied quickly with, "What I have done, I have done."

"Hmph." Traditional Seto. With the teasing jingle of numerous gold bangles and a thrash of his cape, Seto was gone. Finally.

The room looked the same as it had before the priest's arrival. Only the silk curtain swayed slightly to show that anyone had entered the pharaoh's company that night at all. It was finally time to forget this day's travesties. For a while, anyway. Until tomorrow.

Tomorrow…Yami's eyes reverted from their Seto-induced crimson back to their normal violet. The pharaoh did not want to think about tomorrow. That was already looking like a hellish day to go down in the history of hellish days.

That was tomorrow, though…Briefly, Yami contemplated the idea of moving to lay down on his bed for sleep. But his bed seemed so far…the pharaoh dropped back into his comfortable chair and laid his head onto his folded arms.

Bakura…you should have listened to me…then the both of us could have been free men.

Purple eyes closed shakily. Sleep came surprisingly quickly, calmly embracing his figure with unconscious warmth. An unconsciousness that reverberated with the promise of stress.

-----------------------------------

Pain.

That was the first thing Bakura recognized as he began to leave his long-term sleep.

Pain.

Where is…my body through all this pain?

Slowly, agonizingly, Bakura began to separate the definitions of his limbs through the pain. He felt…arms…legs…torso…face…all swimming in a pool of pain.

Eyelids. Open. Why did they refuse to open? Bakura could feel his face, why did his eyelids remain so adamantly closed?

With each second, the thief king's mind gained more clarity. He now knew that he was in a sitting position, on a floor that felt hard and cold. And wet? Was the floor wet? He could not tell. Maybe it was just cold.

Through the unbearable, throbbing pain in his body, Bakura could feel the position of his arms and hands, bound and tied behind his back in such a way that he was almost sitting on them. Maybe that was where the wet came from. Because he knew for certain that his arms, though bloody, were burning up from the pain of infection.

Finally, the insubordinate eyelids relented into opening. Blackness met his vision. Bakura found that news unsatisfactory. Unacceptable. He needed to know where he was. Now, damn it. So he tried again. Blackness…with a small glow of light directly in front of him. Not good enough. Again. Once more, for a third subsequent time, there was blackness, but the blackness had gotten to the point where it merely rimmed his vision. In front of him there was light. Dim light, from what looked like two torches.

Bakura smirked. If there were torches, people had to be attached. People he could handle. People were stupid and easily manipulated. Bakura both liked and hated people.

On the fourth try, the thief opened his eyes and they remained open. In between the fogginess of his vision, he took in the entirety of his surroundings. He sat against a wall, one particularly long wall, in the middle of two other walls, neither of which were as long as the one he rested against. The walls were cold and damp looking—had he been correct about the wetness? (Who cared, anyway?)

In his direct line of vision, there was not a wall but an open space blocked off by thick but cheap metal bars. Between the bars there stood two torches, held in the grip off two human hands, humans that looked stupid enough to be prison guards.

A cell, then.

Bakura smirked. Cells were a thing of his past. Robbers were caught every now and then, even the most careful of professionals. Cells were places that housed him like a caged animal. Cells confined his breathing space and mocked his self-respect. But cells could be broken. Cells could be great places to think about your next course of action. Cells were better than being dead with no one to exact your revenge for you. Bakura both liked and hated cells.

Questions about this cage began to form in his mind. Why was he here? What had happened to him to imprison him within this terrible/wonderful cell?

The pharaoh. That had to be it. His mind, renewed with thoughts of his most hated enemy, began to call up memories of his last fight with the pharaoh. Damn. The pharaoh had cheated. The pharaoh had used shadow magic…that was not really cheating. Yes it was, damn it. Using something that Bakura had not known how to channel was goddamn cheating. Death to anyone that said otherwise.

Either way, Bakura realized he had been the loser of their battle, however brief it was. And just when he was about to finish the final stages of his plan…his plan had worked so well until that point…so much had been accomplished…he was so close, so agonizingly, temptingly, unfairly close…barely out of reach…Daggers of disappoint ran through his insides.

Everything had been lost…

No. Bakura cast the daggers aside with impatience. This was not the end. He was still alive, bless the gods and their twisted fate, he could make a new plan. Yes, yes he could make a new plan. A better one. This one surely would not fail.

Eyes open, almost looking alive with hope of a new plan. Bakura's lips began to twist into a demented smile.

Pharaoh. You have left me alive. I know not why. But you will pay dearly for your foolish decision. I cannot be suppressed.

"Well, well, well, well, well."

Bakura jerked his head up to meet this new voice. The smug-looking face of one of the guards stood before him, contorted by the dirty orange light of the torch. "So, you have finally decided to join the world of the waking, Thief King." The word "king" was accentuated to stretch the irony of it.

"Fancy that," said the other guard. "A king in the darkest part of the dungeons?"

"Something so unusual…" Bakura was sure the guards continued to talk. But he tuned them out. Inconsequential little worms. Guards were always like that, though. They said things that got them into trouble. So when you did finally decide to ram a knife through their throats you did not feel any guilt. It was a favor for the world if you killed off the possibility of stupidity breeding and multiplying. Bakura loved and at the same time loathed guards.

Laughter resonated from above Bakura. Ra be damned, they were still talking. How could they be made to shut up? Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. He willed them with the power of his mind.

Wait…he had something more than his mind to use against them. Bakura's eyes gleamed at the thought. The Sen-Nin items he had stolen from those idiots that served his enemy. Surely they would be advantageous in this situation…His mind felt towards the pockets where he always kept them.

With horror he realized they were not there. Of course. The pharaoh was not an imbecile; he would never have let Bakura keep the items. Damn. So much hard work, lives not his own lost…damn, damn, damn. The sour taste of disappoint filled his mouth, then the fiery feeling of anger rose within him. He would get those Sen-Nin items back. No one could keep them from him. Not even the pharaoh, curse him to the deepest pits of the Underworld.

"And not even as though he has a way out of this situation, the crafty bastard…" Oh, hell, they were still hurling bad insults at him! Bakura could hardly stand it anymore.

He opened his mouth to fling a decade worth of ancient curses at them—but no. His jaw tightened again. This was just what they wanted. They wanted to wear him down so they had the grounds to work against him. Like the right to beat, smack, kick, and damage. The wounds on his body were already enough of a burden.

The wounds…The gray-blue eyes of the thief king wandered down his deformed figure and inspected them. Ugly and infected, the lesions remained open, bleeding freely. The pharaoh had not harbored the decency to bandage them or apply any kind of salve on them. With each passing second Bakura could feel the agony of his injuries, like slices out of his pride, lacerating every nerve in his skin. Forget about scarring, these wounds were likely to kill him.

"Why does he not speak?" One of the two above him asked.

"Does he think himself still a king?"

"Surely it is fatigue at this point that keeps him silent."

"Those injuries are quite bad…" So they did notice the wounds. Interesting. The infection was probably a means of torture, then. Torture for what gain? The pharaoh already knew everything Bakura knew. It was not as though either of them harbored any secrets. Yet another puzzling question.

"Perhaps with a little force we can pry his mouth open, then?" Bakura's weary gaze flicked up at this proposition. Unfortunately, the two guards noticed this and began to laugh. "Do not worry, prisoner. You are too weak for us to hit with force. We shall be light, this time. Unless you would prefer to speak now…" Bronze-skinned knuckles cracked in a mockery of menace.

How sad. They needed to harm one so helpless to feel strong. Bakura smirked at their stupidity. Even if he did get a beating, it made no difference. Guards like these tired themselves out eventually. He could take them despite his weakened and bound position.

"No? May your wish be granted, then." More chuckling. The sound of rusty clicks entered the thief's ears as they unlocked the small door between the bars. With loud protest the cell opened, revealing the unbarred, smug-looking figures of the guards. They swarmed around him on either side, preparing for the best means of attack. Bakura was already bracing himself for the attack when—

"Stop."

The single word, uttered from someone outside the cell. All three men in the cell turned to look at the holy form of the High Priest as he stood behind the bars, glaring at every one of them with threatening eyes, eyes of a rare aqua color that few in the harsh Egyptian desert could match.

Immediately, the guards were on their knees in praise. "Priest Seto…my lord, why grace these unworthy—.."

Seto cut them off by slicing his hand through the air. "Enough. Get out of there." They obeyed on quick feet.

Bakura, no longer seeing a need to keep silent as there was finally someone in his presence somewhat worthy of being spoken to, challenged the priest with "Has the pharaoh lost the will to carry out his own business? He needs to send his servants to do his bidding?" Seto hated being associated with servants; Bakura was well aware of that. He was, however, surprised to find that his voice sounded weak. Disgusted, Bakura reasoned that it was because of the infections ravaging his body.

Snarling slightly, the high priest replied, "Do not put my presence under the pretext of your pathetic captor's will. I am here of my own volition."

"Oh? Do I tempt you, Seto?" He smirked and flipped his blood-encrusted hair seductively. A long pink tongue slid out of its cavern to lick cracked lips.

Seto paused then smirked. "Not I. Although…" On royal blue silk slippers the slender man moved to the doorway of the cell saying, "You may have obtained the pharaoh's interest."

This thought surprised and amused Bakura. He laughed a mere shadow of his usual bellow. "Do you not know that was my plan all along?"

Catching the sarcasm, but not fully comprehending its reasoning, Seto moved into the cell and stood before the tomb robber in all his holy, arrogant glory. "It has finally become useful. The pharaoh has decided to keep your sinful, decadent self alive."

Bakura had figured this much though the logic still eluded him. "Why?"

Seto raised a thin but muscular arm as if in question and said, "I thought we agreed that it was a matter of…flesh pursuit?" At the last inference, Seto raised an eyebrow to emphasis the unlikelihood of this.

The degraded thief king knew that Seto was trying to confuse him. He disregarded the last statement—probably; the high priest did not understand the pharaoh's motives himself. Then…what could it be?

Dissatisfied with Bakura's silence and wishing to make the point he came into this godforsaken dungeon for, Seto moved toward Bakura and kneeled down on his haunches. He had given Bakura no room to move with his back against the wall and his front completely blocked. The tomb robber, as Seto well knew, hated to be crowded. The wild man demanded space, as any insane person would. So the priest made sure that their noses were almost touching before he spoke again.

Flustered at the sudden closeness Bakura tried to rear back but met only the damned slippery stonewall of the cell. Trapped by the hell-ridden priest. How sickening, (and he was already feeling sick, damn it all).

In a harsh whisper, the priest promised, "You may have been spared by the pharaoh, Tomb Robber. But that does not mean you will survive these dungeons. In fact I will make it my personal affectation to guarantee that you will not."

Bakura really felt ill now. Having Seto's loathsome, sweet-smelling breath on his face, his delicate, bishou features so close to his own…the priest had an amazing ability to piss him off. How he longed to strike out and mar that egotistical face with a swipe of his bare fingernails…but he could not do that. So instead he gathered what saliva he found in his mouth and spit it at the priest.

Right on target. A perfect blue eye struck with bloody spit.

Seto scrunched the left struck side of his face and moved slowly back into a standing position. Finally Bakura could breathe. With one graceful yet enraged hand movement, the priest wiped his eye and flung the liquid away. When the eyes opened again, it appeared red and slightly lazy with agitation. Wonderful. That would last for some time.

Truly angered now, Seto pulled back his right hand in a gesture screaming that Bakura was going to be backhanded by the priest. Although, this was deemed a worthy price for what was accomplished. Bakura readily braced himself again. His eyes closed in complacent acceptance.

And again the blow did not come.

"Tch. Pharaoh…" When his eyes opened again, the priest's arm was down by his side in a neutral stance. The fancy headdress atop chestnut locks moved with the priest as he shook his head from side to side. Bakura was not entirely certain of what Seto was thinking. Had there been something he missed?

Regardless of this, Seto continued, "Remember what I said. You will pay for the lives you took." Then he turned and walked out, leaving Bakura alone in the cell. The door closed and locked. Seto turned the key as if to add finality in the act. "And you will never leave this place."

Now Bakura was upset again. Why was Seto so unable to keep his mouth closed? He retorted quickly, while his enemy was still standing before the bars. "And of the lives you took, Seto? The lives of innocents that you and your despicable friends stole from the village of Kul Elna? Are they less important than the ones I ended? Do you think yourself immune to the fate of the gods? To my fiery retribution? Yes, it will rain down upon you all! Tell that to them, Seto! Tell them all! You may think that by keeping me locked up that I am no longer a threat, but do not fool yourself! I will get out of here! No one can stop me! No one! Do you hear me, you foolish priest? NO ONE!"

When Bakura's monologue finally ended, he found only his shouts bouncing off the damp walls accompanied him. Seto had left long ago and so had the guards. He was just barking in the dark.

An empty kind of solitude entered the cell. The guards had left and taken their torches with them. Complete blackness. His "life long" sentence had begun it seemed. Silence rang in his ears. The pain from his wounds rose up anew with nothing to keep his nerves occupied.

Fine. Now there was time to think about escaping…how was he going to do that, again? Vengeance could not truly be had without that first…

Damn. There were so many thoughts circulating his brain he could not think. Bakura shook his head violently, trying to rid himself of the plaguing things. They were still there when he finished and now he felt dizzy and sick.

Sick…damn Seto leaning close to him like that…he hated when people stood or sat close to him. It always made him feel sick…and now with these damn infections…

Everything burned. His rotten stomach churned. Something vile bubbling up in the back of his throat…Damn—

He leaned forward and vomited on the floor, making him feel worse. The vile substance now dribbling down his chin…mixed with bloody saliva…where did the blood come from? Too many wounds. The red substance oozed up from his throat every so often. He had the metallic taste of that combined with the sour, acidic taste of his vomit slathered all over his tongue…Ra, he could use a drink of water…

Damn this all. Now was the time for a plan…but a fog had descended on the thief's mind. He could not think straight.

Later, then, for the plan. Now was the time for healing. And how was he going to do that, again? He did not know.

Curses tumbled out of a stained mouth. They met with the silence and formed a type of prayer in the solitude. It seemed there were no other prisoners around. Perfect. Less people to get—

He leaned forward and projected more vomit in the same spot. He still felt sick. And it took so much strength to throw up…

He was so tired, suddenly. Was it sudden? Hadn't he felt tired the whole time? Did he? He left it undecided.

Sleep tugged at him again. But he did not want sleep. He wanted to stay awake and deal with this problem. Though its call was strong…the cold, wet wall served as a bed for him to slip into unconsciousness. An unconsciousness so unwanted.

---------------------------

Awareness faded in and out. Waking hours were pain, sleeping hours were uncomfortable, never did eh truly sleep. Pain kept him awake. The time he spent awake was not really "awake". He was constantly drowning in a sense of confusion. Haziness had made a permanent home of his consciousness. The pain was the only thing clear to him. All hope of figuring out a plan was lost.

Bakura had lost track of time in the dungeon. The darkness that constantly enveloped him offered no help in differentiating between day and night, hour and minute. Unless he suddenly began counting, (which he did not even know how to do), all sense of time was gone.

Somehow, he had managed to disconnect himself from the wall. There was no way to see in this dungeon, (he had been robbed of sight for however long he had been in here), so he did not even know if he was near it or far from it. He never heard anything except for the occasional drip of water; he wished he knew where that water had come from. He was so thirsty…The only sense he had was touch, and that was constantly occupied by the incessant pain shooting all over his body.

Bakura lay in the middle, (he guessed?), of his cell, squirming with his hands tied behind his back. He twisted in his sleep-like state, vagueness making him fight for consciousness. Constantly, the thief king felt like he was wandering on a solid plain, drenched in fire, searching for something he had lost long ago. He hated feeling this way. It made the uncertainty of everything more prominent.

Visions plagued him as well. Sometimes, on the edge of sleep, Bakura would suddenly see flashes of his past life. His old home, Kul Elna. His family. His village, and his people. He also saw the pharaoh, sometimes in visions of their many past battles, sometimes in situations that had never happened. Civilized conversations with the pharaoh. Bakura never remembered what he said. It was always something angry, though.

Suddenly he screamed. He had not uttered any sounds other than muddled cries and curses for…well, he hadn't since he arrived. Now he screamed at the top of his lungs.

In this scream, he put all his hate. For the pharaoh, all his hate for the people that advised him and worked with him, his priests, Seto, the guards, his hate for the way his plans had been consistently ruined by the strangling grip of the kingdom. All the hate that had suffused through Bakura throughout his entire life was thrust into that one powerful scream.

And then he let out another cry. This one was not as loud as the last, but it still took all his vocal power to utter. In this one, he put all his anger. For everything he hated, for his new fate, for everything that he wanted to happen that did not. For the people that worked against him on a daily basis, for the Sen-Nin items that had been lost.

Now another yell. This one was even less than its predecessor, though its creator felt every bit as enflamed. This yell harbored all his confusion, the vagueness, the haziness, the plain that he wandered, the visions that haunted him, his mind's constant uncertainty.

Then he let out a shriek, (it was less than a yell, however, more than mere speech). He put all the pain he felt into this one, physically. The wounds that refused to heal, the infections, his sickness, the vomit that he was probably lying on right now, the burning throughout his body, every nerve set on fire by the viciousness the pharaoh dealt.

The last one. The fifth and final howl of agony, though it was more like a whimper than anything else. This one was for despair.

Why had the gods forsaken him? Was his cause not a righteous one? Had his tomb robber's blessing finally…ended?

No. No, he must not give in to the despair. He must not doubt himself now. There was hope still. He could find a way out of here. He had been in more demanding situations before; there was no reason why he should not survive this one.

Yet…it all seemed so useless. Pain was absolute, endless. His torment, it seemed, would never come to an end.

On the brink of another yelling-spree, Bakura drifted into an uneasy sleep plagued with visions of a smirking pharaoh. Yami had won again.

A/N: That ends the first chapter. This is a long story. We haven't even met Ryou yet.

Tell me, please, what did you think of it? At first I wondered about taking out the scene where Yami talks to Seto…but then I thought how else are we going to get to know the pharaoh, (not to mention Seto)? He's a very important character to the plot of this story so I really wanted to stress his role. Was it clear? Or did it look like I was just adding random fill-in notes?

Yes…poor Seto had one of his perfect blue eyes spit on. It is very sad, (cries). But I don't know, does anyone else think he's way too arrogant in the manga? Apparently Bakura did. Heh. That part made me a little sad, but I got over it because that scene set up some of Bakura's character as well. Plus, it was a little fun. Lol.

I'll update this story soon. Most of my other chapters are already finished. For now, everyone wish fallen-angel-of-repression a Happy Birthday. (claps)