Rain crashed down everywhere. The streets were a blur of shimmery grey, with the faint swish of colour of the cars shooting past, there weren't that many this late at night. Bakura stood drenched on the pavement. Even this amount of rain could not wash away is boiling anger and hatred. The Pharaoh. The perfect, holier than thou Pharaoh.
He was supposed to die, Bakura thought, I was supposed to be king and he should have died. Bakura's heart pounded with rage. He didn't even have Ryou anymore to calm him down; the Pharaoh had ripped him from Ryou so he couldn't 'hurt him any more'. As if he would hurt Ryou, the idea made him sick. He knew the real reason the Pharaoh had separated them was so Bakura would suffer. Suffer the loneliness of missing his hikari. He couldn't even see Ryou because the friendship force had 'kidnapped' him so Bakura couldn't visit him. How he hated them. Bakura shivered, he hated this body, sharing with Ryou made all feelings sort of muffled; now the cold cut extra deep. He wasn't used to this. He was used to blistering hot sun and soft sand, not freezing rain and hard, soaking pavement.
He wanted to hurt the Pharaoh, make him bleed; make him feel the bitter loneliness he had cause him this life time and the last. He should take away someone precious away from the Pharaoh, to show him hate and pain. The hate he desperately tried to deny but Bakura knew the Pharaoh hated him, he knew that the mask of purity would crack if it was hit.
Take away someone precious, his mind regurgitated. A wicked grin sprung its self to Bakura's face. Take away the pharaoh most loyal servant. Bakura started to run down the street that lead out of the built up city, his wild, dripping hair swinging in his eyes, trainers splashing muddy water up his ruined jeans. Hatred turned into revenge, which set fire to his whole body, giving it a spark of life and reason. "Take away the high priest and the king will come tumbling down." Bakura cackled
