Game Master
When he felt the resonance of the Pharaoh's awakening, he couldn't have felt more relief.
The Millennium Ring had traversed continents since its creation, coming into possession of tens, maybe hundreds of different hosts. It had seen many things – the crumble of Pompeii, the invention of gunpowder, the Romantic Era; some of its hosts had even contributed to such events and movements.
Thousands of years had passed since then, and his eyes had seen many seasons pass by. The cold frigid air of the north was by far his favourite; it was a welcome change from Egypt's arid deserts. However, he stayed on the Silk Road as often as possible, for it was a well-travelled path and a treasure trove for information. Most of the ones who came in possession of the Ring were merchants as a result, ones who were unable to resist the Ring's allure. None of them were quite suited to the Ring, for the game pieces had not been gathered close enough to set the board. All he could do was insert himself into their minds and plant little, harmless ideas.
The everyday motivated him. Watching people go about their businesses through his hosts' eyes, seeing life after life at work, seeing death after death… it was one day, one week, one month, one year closer to his goal. He scoffed at the mortals as they slogged through their lives; their actions were largely insignificant in the grand scheme of the universe. They did not have grand agendas. They would amount to nothing, serving only as information providers to him.
He felt a sadistic pleasure when his victims lay in a pool of their own blood, once they had foolishly gave him information that may or may not have come in useful. He wondered when he started finding delight in such deeds; as the feared tomb-robber of Egypt, he never fancied bloodshed since it was too bothersome to clean up after. Many of his hosts ended up dying grisly deaths, thanks in part to the Thief King little escapades; sometimes he let them die at the hands of a better host he'd sniffed out – sow a little discord, and it was easy. A little bloodshed was nothing. The Pharaoh's hands will always be stained with more blood.
Eventually, his efforts led him to the land of the rising sun. Before that, he had been stuck back in Egypt for many years, and he had controlled his host – another merchant – to pass along the Ring to a man who had almost the right resonance, but not quite. The Ring hummed in anticipation within, for it sensed the time of judgement approaching. It was packed in a suitcase and traversed the many continents he had left his footprints on, before crossing the sea and arriving in Japan.
Into the possession of a young boy by the name of Ryou Bakura.
He was intrigued. The Millennium Ring had never landed in a child's hands. Ryou Bakura was too young and fragile, thus he decided to bide his time before he snaked into the boy's mind, see if he was suitable. A few years was nothing compared to the thousands of years he had waited.
He did not have to wait long. A little accident – for once not his doing – was enough to implant some darkness in the boy's soul. Ryou Bakura's mother and younger sister were lost in the mishap; just like how he himself had lost his entire family and village.
Empathy was a strange emotion to creep up on him then; he had long set aside such burdens, for it would cripple him in his mission. He couldn't help but at least pity the boy a little, finding the similarities between them striking. It almost made him feel… bad, that one day this kid would fall victim in the process of him carrying out his schemes. A voice constantly reminded him not to give in to foolish human sentiments, growing incessantly repetitive.
One day, the voice stopped altogether, with it all remaining emotion he had. All he remembered was revenge, destruction, the desire to cause chaos…
It had also been the boy's birthday – his twelfth, to be exact. Ryou Bakura had invited two friends to his house to play a tabletop roleplaying game his father had sent him as a gift. He smirked inwardly. The boy had still been grieving for his mother and younger sister, and had been writing letters to the latter. Futile efforts to alleviate the pain in his heart. It was time to test the boy.
Ryou Bakura offered no resistance as he took residence in the boy's soul. It seemed way too easy, but the vigorous humming of the Ring against his chest told him, yes, this was the reason why he was gravitated to the boy.
The perfect host.
He reveled in feeling himself within the boy's skin, taking in air into his lungs, the ba-dump of the boy's heart within his ribcage. It had been three thousand years since he had felt so… human. He laughed heartily in the boy's pubescent voice. This could only mean…
That the Pharaoh was near.
The board has been set.