A.N. Salutations! I am new to the circuit of fan fiction writing and I wish to educate you on an insy-weensy detail. This is a PROLOGUE, which means that I have included my own characters to 'explain' why things are as they are. Don't worry, SLASH scenes will appear in later chapters with Bakura and another YGO character, and not necessarily the other YGO character I mention in my prologue. (Since I really don't think that pairing is all too grand.) Yet if you are a lost little chicken who didn't understand one word I said, I want you to keep in mind that in the proper chapters, YGO characters will become the main protagonists, and not the ones I've created in my Prologue. You'll see why in the end. Anyway, why are you still reading the author's comment? Start reading the damn story! Thankyou!…nn…
BAKURA'S BANE

By shinujigoku

'In this mausoleum of hell I realise that someone, such as you, will soon come across my journal and an artefact of immense power. I pity you because you, such a weakling, will never comprehend on what is happening to you, and around you. I suppose it will feel like death in a way; I wouldn't know... I've never experienced it. Hmm...although this diary may be somewhat old and that I have deceased during the time I wrote it and the time you've discovered it...I still live. Through these pages, through that artefact, through everything you see hear and touch, I still live and will be living through all eternity. Well, enough of this mindless chit-chat, I better get started on my tale so you know the truth and how you, dear reader, will know your death and what brought me to this spiritual hell. I at least grant you that much, Hmm? Now then, my tale begins and ends as it always does with the beginning of all wars...the war against my only enemy...the war against the Pharaoh.'

The sun began to hide behind the hazy horizon in a brilliance of deep golds, reds and rich orange hues. Its fading rays graced the rooftops of the ancient city of Cairo, leaving long shadows and dark corners in its wake. The night God's breath gently floated through the town, whispering secrets from twisted alley to every corner. Fine granuals of sand travelled with the God, nipping at the cloaks of merchants as they close their stalls for the night. Sand floated, sand diminished; an ever going cycle of birth and rebirth, yet the God's breath lingered. It floated past houses where the smell of bread wafted through small windows, and it passed the slums where unwashed bodies and excrement polluted the air. It continued to float through street to street until it finally shuddered and rest its airborne grace at the edge of Cairo City where an inn was stationed. This inn, unlike other inns situated in the heart of Cairo, was known to have a very 'exquisite' reputation to please the weary foreigner. Buxom women in flimsy gowns offered great pints of ale and erect nipples to the intoxicated merchants. Men flocked to these gorgeous women in need of sexual attention, and they dubbed the inn as 'The Palace,' for there they were treated like Kings. However, to the locals, 'The Palace' was named after a different reason. 'The Palace' was known to be the hide-out of the most prestigious thieves around; even the teasing women were stealing from the fat merchants slobbering over their ales. So, the locals all knew, that the intoxicated men would wake up with a splitting headache, their purse evidently lighter, and no inclination of who they were in company with throughout the evening. The locals even bet that those merchants didn't even know about the loud commotion above them and that tonight was marked a 'special' event amongst the thieve circle and the general slum of Cairo. The locals stood waiting behind gaping smirks and shadows. Waiting..

One of the thieves stood up, and loomed over the council of rogues surrounding him. Most of his thieves would not meet his eyes, for fear of disapproving their King. However, those eyes he did meet gave him a congratulatory glance. He looked around the room and his fellow thieves, his people he called family. He saw the thieves were all sitting on the edge of their cushions, all tense and sweaty. For two hours they had been sitting there listening to speeches on who was to be King, who should be King that he was just another flagrant thieve, albeit well known. The restless thieves, he saw, all wanted to find a cosy bed for the night; perhaps even the company of the women downstairs proved to be a better treat than listening to him talk.

"I will not have this weed of a boy rule as King. All his fancy 'airs' and your boasting will not persuade us to vote for him as the new King. We want someone who knows their ways, someone who can lead us into triumph. This 'boy' you see before you is just a weakling, a nobody, living in a big man's world. He should not be King! Thor should be King!"

The crowd moved forward, listening intently. This might prove to be interesting thought the crowd. Hopefully he won't be like the others.

'What do we know of this boy? Nothing! I tell you men, would you want a mere stranger, let alone a boy, governing your every move, your every thought? No! I definitely wouldn't want a boy governing me, why would any one of you want to be governed by this boy either! So, you ask me, 'Who shall we choose?' And I say Thor. Thor will lead us into everlasting wealth and greatness!'

The small room exploded with noise as each man and woman rose stamping and shouting at the central figure with either distaste or approval, some men even chanting Thor's name in victory. Every man and woman surrounding the pock faced man petted him on the shoulder already saying that Thor would be an excellent choice as the new King. Thor was a well muscled, tanned, young man and he was sitting quietly on he cushions, smiling slightly over the rim of his ale. Next to him was a thin man, well toned, tanned, and gems and tattoos lacing his body. However, his demeanour did not resemble the young man sitting next to him. His face was of purest loathing and disgust all aimed towards the pock faced man. Slowly, he rose and the room went silent, smiles faded, and everybody stared at the leering man. Even Thor set his ale down watching curiously.

'Raoul!' the man barked. 'Come here!'

The pock face man, now known as Raoul, ambled forward, his chin raised. He stopped in front of the old man and did a flurry of bows and kisses upon the man's outstretched hand. The hand, however, struck Raoul hard leaving him flabbergasted on the floor clutching his face.

'How dare you,' the man yelled, 'assume that you are the leader of my thieves and make decisions for them! Ra gave them a brain, surely they can use it for themselves. Now get out of my way you wretched cretin!'

The man kicked Raoul out of the way before striding to the far edge of the room where firelight did not reach. The man grabbed a fistful of dirty tunic before yanking a boy around the age of fifteen to his feet. The boy was quite tall for his age, he was well toned, tanned and had unnaturally white hair that glimmered shades of violet in the firelight. His bright, brown eyes beamed intelligence but they burned with a feral hunger reminding the onlookers of a wild Lion, ready to kill. The boy, still in the grasp of the old man, strode alongside him, until they faced Raoul cringing in undisguised fear.

'Now Raoul.' The King said scathingly. 'Am I, or am I not, the King of thieves?'

'Yes you are the King your majesty.' Raoul answered sullenly.

'Then tell me Raoul. Under the rules of Palet, do I or do I not have the choice on who is to succeed me as King when I perish?'

'You are allowed to choose, your majesty'

'So, what is your fucking problem with Bakura? What reason do you have to go against my choice and stand amongst my fellow thieves, turning them against me? Your King!'

'Well you...you see your majesty.' Stuttered Raoul. 'Us thieves do not want to follow someone who is half our age. We...we want someone more experienced than some scrawny kid we've never heard of. We want Thor to be our leader when you're de...dead. Meaning no disrespect sir...I mean your majesty.'

By this time the King was pacing heavily in front of Raoul and the crowd, anger seeping in every step. The crowd, unnoticed by the King, were mouthing warnings to Raoul, or shaking their heads in dismay. No one wanted to tests the King's judgement in fear of the consequences, all they wanted was a new successor to be named, tonight, under the festival of Osiris, the ruler of the dead and the damned. However, the crowd did not expect there to be this newcomer, this boy, to have the King's favour. They expected Thor, and still expected him to be chosen as the new King.

'So,' announced the King stopping mid-stride, 'do all my fellow thieves, my brothers, agree with this betrayer that Thor should be a better choice than my own preference?'

The crowd slowly shifted from one foot to the other, each mumbling their approval of Thor to the King. The King just huffed and straightened, addressing his thieves in resignation.

'Very well then,' boomed the King. 'Everyone, be seated on the luxurious pillows donated by the innkeeper this evening and have a few ales while I'll prepare for the ceremony. Tigersnake!' A big, burly man stepped forward cautiously. 'Please repeat to the congregation on the ways a new King can be chosen or made.'

As the crowd began to recline on the pillows surrounding the room with great ales in their hands, Tigersnake stepped into the centre, took a deep breath and began mentioning the ways the King could be chosen. Many of the men were taking little notice as the serving women swooped past them with their delicious curves and musky scent. They all began smirking and cat-calling names to the women, some even daring to tweak a showing nipple of the serving maid as she poured ale for one of the thieves. Finally, after Tigersnake had finished his boring recital and joined his fellow drunken thieves, the music began and the crowd became louder than before dancing and singing in merriment. Thor too joined his fellow thieves, sloshing ale all over the place as he twirled a pretty girl with his other arm. By now most of the men were intoxicated and oblivious to the King as he returned from where he was lurking at the fireplace to the corner of the room where Bakura was scowling at the crowd.

'Do you mean to say that I have to govern these dimwits in the art of stealth and deception?' inquired Bakura as he jerked his head in the direction of Thor who was now pouring ale down the woman's chest, suckling her breast as the amber liquid touched his lips.

'I'm afraid you do Bakura,' sighed the King. 'These dimwits are known to be the best thieves in Egypt and you need them to carry out the plan. I trust you will continue to carry it out when I'm gone?'

'Yes your majesty'

'Good! Now let's enjoy tonight of the Dark Lord's Festival and watch as these dimwits get their money stolen.' And sure enough one of the women's hands unhooked a drunk thief's purse and placed it in her shoal for "safe-keeping."

'Oi, come here my young lady' barked the King to a girl the same age as Bakura. 'Come fill his mug and show the hospitality The Palace is well renowned for!'

Bakura grimaced behind the King's back as the girl walked over and sat on Bakura's lap, battering her eyelashes and giggling softly. The girl leaned closer and started kissing and licking his neck, her hand just massaging his upper thigh suggestively.

'See isn't that better,' boomed the King. 'You need to loosen up more Bakura, have a little fun. So I'll leave you now with friendly company as I just finish up a little before we decide the new King hmm?' The King began patting the box before winking and rising to leave.

'Wait!' exclaimed Bakura, 'What are you scheming? What's in the box and why are you smiling insanely?'

'I thought you of all people would know what I was up to. Oh well, I guess you'll find out soon enough.' And without further ado the King swept off with his mysterious box and the girl reasserted herself in Bakura's line of vision.

'What would you like me to do?' purred the girl in Bakura's ear.

'Firstly' whispered Bakura, 'I want you to remove your hand from my crotch, secondly, I want you to remove yourself altogether, and lastly, I want you to call the water boy over to serve me and my needs.'

The girl squeaked and jumped off Bakura's lap, yet not before his knife scraped a thin stripe across her wrist, drawing blood.

'Now who's being a bad girl?' snarled Bakura. 'I didn't tell you to take my money now did I? Hand it over, or else you can say goodbye to your hand as I add it to my collection.'

The girl just humphed before returning the purse and storming in the direction of the water boy at the far side of the room. Bakura watched as the boy glanced in his direction before forgetting his water and walked over to Bakura, sitting on his lap bashfully. Bakura looked at the boy who was a little younger than himself. He had deep brown hair that fell to his shoulders, chocolate brown "puppy" eyes, and a small tanned frame with few blemishes. Bakura smiled, raking one of his hands down the other boy's chest, pleased at how the boy shivered in his touch, licking his lips slightly. Maybe I will have some fun tonight, thought Bakura as he leaned into the other boy for a kiss.

'Ahem, could I please have everybody's attention' boomed the King.

Bakura pulled away from the kiss scowling as he patted the boy to get off his lap with the promise that he'll see him later tonight in his chambers. He then reclined further into the pillows, hoping that the shadows would conceal his growing erection, and that the crowd would not notice his existence. Yet those quiet musings were short lived as the King beckoned both Bakura and Thor to be beside him as he spoke.

'Now my fellow thieves, we are all here to decide on the successor of the Kingship if I die. Since my judgement was inadequate, you decided on a different man to take my role.' exclaimed the King wrapping one arm around the shoulder of Thor, and the other one around Bakura. 'So, I got Tigersnake to recite on how a King is chosen or made and I've come to the conclusion that there will be no successor tonight. Tonight we shall have a new King!'

The room was silent with only a few gasps coming from some of the thieves. One, who went by Rat Tooth, stepped forward gingerly, twitching spasmodically.

'Err...your majesty...umm how do you propose to make a King tonight when you're still alive?' mumbled Rat Tooth.

'Exactly! How do we make a King tonight when the old one is still alive? Well the answer is in the box which I'm holding. Thor, would you do the honour of opening it and showing its contents to your fellow thieves?'

Thor, breathing heavily, plucked the elaborate mahogany box from the King's fingers and opened it carefully, revealing a long silver dagger with the tip covered in old blood. Thor dropped the box immediately letting it crash heavily on the clay floor. Thor stepped back to the murmuring of the crowd, shaking his head slowly, his eyes wide in fear. Bakura glanced at Thor's face to the dagger, puzzlement crossing his fine facial features.

'Now, now Thor, it is only a dagger.' said the King retrieving the dagger from the ground and fondling it lovingly. 'It holds the key to creating a new King.' The King looked around excitedly, yet he was only met by the flickering flames over blank or puzzled faces. 'Hmm...this dagger belonged to my father long ago and it was passed down onto me when my father died by the knife's tip. Do you see the blood? That's his. You see, the tip holds a poison that travels straight to the heart and shrivels it. Yet that's not all. Even a little poison can sear all of your veins and arteries, leaving only a combusted body behind. This poison is called Seth's Envy and it's extremely rare and expensive. Of course, Seth's Envy was what killed my unworthy father when my mother betrayed him, nicking his skin as they made love. Anyway, enough of the past, as you all know I'm becoming too old to govern you all as King, yet I will never resign while I still breathe. So Bakura, Thor, to become the new King of Thieves you must kill me first, 'cause I am sure as hell not giving it to you on a silver platter. So my dear Thor, take the knife and wield it if you wish to reign over what I hold dear!'

Thor, in his drunken haze, looked down on the knife, firelight glimmering on its steel edge. He gulped and wiped his sweaty brow, glancing around the room to see his fellow thieves' faces. Many were shocked to think that the King wished to die then just name Thor as King. Some were melancholy, refusing to look at anyone or anything but their feet, and others, others looked at Thor sternly their eyes full of hunger and power, encouraging Thor to take the knife. Thor knew that the men who willed him to take the knife and murder the King wanted to rise in the thieves ranks and obtain more power, allowing them more lenience to create and destroy. Even Thor himself wanted to wreak havoc upon the city, milking the rich and the poor of their earnings. Yet now, now he was having doubts. It was better to kill the King elsewhere than now, and he believed even the desolate child next to him couldn't even wield a dagger and kill the most renowned King of Thieves the dregs have ever known. No, there are ways around this...There is a way around this...

'Well?' The King brandished the dagger in front of Thor.

'No!' whispered Thor, taking a step backwards and shaking his head. 'You know I cannot do this. You know I won't be able to kill a cherished and respected King. Not through the festival of our Dark Lord. You should of just chosen a successor tonight, yet what I don't understand is that why you didn't see me as your heir? After all, I am your son.'

Loud gasps and murmurings echoed around the cramped room, yet not as audible as Raoul as he slammed his tankard on the bench and swore loudly.

'What is this?' shouted Raoul, 'Tonight you bring some unknown street urchin into our circle and you think we'll follow him? Now we find out Thor is your son. Your own flesh and blood! It states in the Palet that any son born to he King of Thieves is by birthright the next King. Why do you choose to stand against tradition? Against us? You know what King, you're just a worthless piece of shit that's never-'

'That's enough Raoul!' thundered Thor.

'I'm not going to be silenced by you or your fucked up-'

A silver object twirled majestically through the air before lodging itself cleanly in Raoul's scarred neck. Raoul gagged instantaneously as he clawed at his bleeding neck, which was quickly turning brown and shrivelling to the bone. He convulsed madly, his limbs flying around everywhere, his eyes great bulbs of agony and fear. Raoul was ripping the skin in pain, yet as soon as the twitching began, Raoul took one last shuddering breath before he crumpled to the floor, his dead body shrivelling upon itself. Afterwards, only the mummified remains of Raoul remained; his scull contoted in a look of purest agony. The King chuckled and stepped on the remains that shattered instantly and became dust under his brown sandal. Only Raoul's clothes, jewels and the dagger remained. The King bent down and retrieved the knife , blowing it gently clean before smiling solemnly at his audience.

'I have kept some secrets from you all, and Thor was one of them. I chose to name Bakura as my heir over my own son because Thor is not as "Great" and "Righteous" you all have come to believe. You see, I have known my own son ever since he popped out of the wench who birthed him. Do not mistake me, I would of chosen Thor if I truly believed him worthy of the title. Yet I do not, so since Thor has failed the test, it now leaves Bakura to do the act. I'll trust you to make it quick Bakura.'

The King handed the hilt to Bakura, who in turn grasped it in his long fingers, testing the balance in his hand.

'NO!' shouted Thor. 'Enough is enough! Tonight no one dies. This is the Dark Lord's Festival. We should be celebrating, not arguing on who would be the next King, let alone Killing the old one. Let us all retire now with the pretty company the Palace offers us and forget tonight. Father, you are still King, we will discuss who would be the successor in the next meeting. Now, thieves, let us take our leave before the rooster crows at dawn.'

General grunts and yawns escaped the crowd; men and women supporting each other as they gathered their belongings. Yet amongst the din of shuffling footsteps, deep laughter arose, bellowing around the room and silencing the crowd once more for the night.

'Tell me Thor,' Bakura chuckled. 'Are you afraid of this little wee knife, afraid of killing your father, or afraid to lose the right as King to a mere desolate child since you couldn't pass the test?'

'What makes you think I'm afraid Bakura?' snarled Thor.

'Oh just for the mere fact that your running and using the excuse that the men are tired and that we should be celebrating the Dark Lord's Festival, to help hide your fear.'

'I'm not afraid of a mere boy who has nothing to do but play adult games, with little understanding on how the big men play. Don't you think it wise and honourable to settle the Kingship another day without the use of violence. And shouldn't you return to your mummy 'cause I think she'll be worried where her ickle boy has run off to this evening?'

General laughter escaped the crowd. Yet there laughter did not meet their eyes as they watched warily the fuming Bakura ball his fists and glare at Thor in hatred.

'I believe you are a coward Thor. Shall I teach you a lesson your mother seemingly never taught you?' Bakura snarled. The laughter abruptly stopped, everyone frowning at Bakura and his audacity to mention the queen in such an ungrateful tone. Bakura however, was oblivious to the crowd and he took a step closer to Thor, hatred etched in every line on his young face.

'You see, love is a fickle thing, something for the birds because, why should a person love when it's going to die anyway? We care too much and that is our downfall. That especially is your downfall Thor; you care to much and your a fool to not see the bigger picture. We need a strong leader that won't baulk at the sight of a challenge, to lead us into victory. If you are so dumbfounded by love to not be able to kill your own father, imagine if you had a lover with a knife at her bodice. Where would you be except dead on your love-making sheets. You will not be King this night, nor ever will be because your not strong enough to lead us. We de not need you Thor! You are the one who needs to go back to his mother so she can ween her child.'

Thor, fuming, rushed over to Bakura who stood placidly smirking, and yanked the dagger from Bakura's grasp.

'I'll show you I'm not weak or a coward!' snarled Thor as he hurtled to his father, the dagger poised to strike. Yet a flurry of robes and muscly sinew stopped the attack, the knife's tip barely an inch from the King's nose.

'No my son, you have failed the test and it is now Bakura's turn to relinquish me from my position.' The King patted Thor on the shoulder and unhooked the dagger from Thor's shaking hands, 'Bakura, no more talk, just do it!' He threw the knife to Bakura who smiled solemnly as he caught it. Bakura strode to the King, kissed his lips gently and lodged the knife cleanly into the King's stomach. Bakura gasped sharply and turned the knife, yanking the blade upwards to the King's heart so the poison would just finish the King as soon as possible, so didn't have to watch the bulging eyes, and the smell of burning flesh anymore. Bakura tried to keep a vindictive face for the audience, yet inside, inside he was breaking. I will not let you down master, my only friend. Rest in Peace your Majesty.

'Bakura! Bakura! So what do we call you now since you are our King?'

Bakura blinked and he stared down at the shriveled corpse of his King, wrapped around his legs. He dislodged the knife and the corpse turned to ash, crumbling over his already dirty feet.

'Just call me Bakura, there is no need for formalities.' Bakura sighed. 'It's high time that you all retire now and mourn for your dead King. I know you have many questions that need to be answered, yet you can ask them in the next meeting. For now, go, I need to think!'

'But,' snarled Tigersnake. 'How would we know of the next meeting?'

'When you see a boy with a piece of red cloth tied to his ear ring, he will tell you a riddle. You must figure it out to know where the next meeting will be held. The first ten men will become my advisers. Until then, mourn for your lost King. Thor, I want you to remain behind while the others leave.'

'No!' said Tigersnake. 'Whatever you say to Thor you say to the rest of us. We are thieves united! We stay!'

Bakura merely rolled his eyes and muttered. 'Very well then.' and he crossed to Thor who was rubbing his father's ashes over his face in grief. Thor glared at Bakura as he approached, but he was swiftly upturned and pinned to the ground by the small boy who was trying to yank Thor's mouth open. 'This is so you won't betray me Thor.' And with Thor's hidden knife Bakura sliced out Thor's tongue, throwing it into the nearest pitcher of ale. Next Bakura hacked off Thor's hands and threw them aside before wiping the blade on his tunic and giving a satisfied smile. The crowd was flabbergasted and they watched Thor twitch and whimper in his own blood. Bakura whistled to the serving girl and ordered her to clean him up. He slowly turned to the shocked thieves around him. 'What I have done to Thor is what I would do to you if I discover any of you betraying me. Do I make myself clear?' General nodding came from most of the thieves and Tigersnake kept apologising for being intimidating earlier. 'That's alright Tigersnake. But for now could all of you piss off! I need to-'

Bakura's annoyed voice was silenced by the thundering footsteps outside the room's door. Every thief procured a blade of some sort and stood ready to strike. Yet the footsteps stopped outside the threshold of the door and a man's voice thundered.

'The hunters are coming your majesty, I wish for you all to leave so I won't be found harbouring wanted thieves on my premises. I will require the board money next time, but for now, you know what to do.'

Then as suddenly as the footsteps arrived, they left back down the staircase.

'What did the innkeeper mean "You know what to do'?' Rat Tooth asked.

'He means "escape" Rat Tooth.' said Tigersnake.

'Oh I know that!' exclaimed Rat Tooth before biting his bottom lip confused. 'But how?'

'I think we'd all like to know that since the only way out is through the front door where the hunters are sure waiting.' Tigersnake growled.

'Through the trapdoor men' Bakura remarked evenly.

'But where?' whined Rat Tooth.

'Under the hearth rug you dimwit!'

Every thief scrambled to the rug, tossed it aside and opened the trapdoor. People were trying to squeeze in first, and over the din of quarrelling bodies Bakura yelled that the tunnels were the sewers of Egypt and they all led to the Nile banks. He told them that he'd meet them there. Huffed grunts were made in reply and slowly but surely all the thieves vanished into the trapdoor. The only people remained was Bakura and the boy who was entertaining him before.

'Please come with me.' whispered Bakura.

'I cannot. My mother and sister are still here and I need to be with them now. Go Now your majesty! I hear the horses! We will meet again! Good Luck! The boy kissed Bakura in farewell and practically pushed Bakura down the trapdoor. Bakura looked up to see the worried face of the boy as the trapdoor slid shut and the hiss of the rug being replaced over the door. Bakura looked around in the unfathomable darkness, willing his eyes to adjust. He heard the steady drip of water coming from above and he began to cling to the moss covered tunnel, feeling with his hands the way to the Nile. He couldn't hear the footsteps of his fellow thieves up ahead. Yet he knew he would catch up with them shortly. He doubted many of them hadn't even walked five hundred metres by how much clothing and jewels they wore. They were also a bit on the chubby side, looking like they've never eercised in their life. I need them to start exercising...I need fit thieves to do the job, not ones that gorge on my winnings. Yet I suppose I need their allegiance, sighed Bakura.

Bakura kept gripping the wall, stumbling over rocks, potholes, and the occasional waste puddle. The darkness was overwhelming, yet Bakura still endured. Occasionally Bakura drew his small sword when he heard scuttling feet, or an occasional splash. Yet they turned out to be only emancipated rats searching for food. Bakura kept walking in the darkness passing great channels of decomposing waste and sewage. For what seemed like hours, Bakura clinged to that wall waiting for the light at the end of the tunnel. And there it was, around just one more bend and he was there. Bakura slowly began to run to the light, not caring that he was splashing raw sewage over his already dirty tunic. He went around the bend and he walked gallantly past the water rushes to his fellow thieves. Yet what his eyes met both dismayed him and angered him.

All along the riverbank his rogues were sprawled on the ground, blood seeping out of open wounds. Hunters were scavenging from the bodies anything worth of value, and a tall man on a black stallion was supervising them from behind. The man had a lean, powerful figure and he wore rich clothing. His face was stern and his hair struck out at odd angles. Yet the darkness was hard to distinguish any specific features, yet he saw the man's head turn and bright purple eyes met his and a twisted smile played on his perfect face.

Bakura panicked and tried to draw his sword, but the Hunters that sneaked up behind him, tackled him to the mud and pinned him down. He could see the horse's hooves prance toward him and come to a stop barely a metre in front of him. A second later, black sandals came to Bakura's eyelevel and his face was upturned so he could face the elegant man.

'What do we have here?' The man smirked as he knelt down to survey Bakura. Bakura watched as the man's eyes widen in shock and then undisguised lust over Bakura. Bakura then felt the man's hands cup his cheek, his thumb tracing the outline of his lips. Bakura tried to bite down on the invading thumb, yet the man just laughed and whisked an elegant knife from his belt.

'We have a ruffian on our hands boys!' jeered the man. 'He needs to be taught manners boys!' and the man cut a jagged line on Bakura's right cheek and whispered only for Bakura's ears. 'I will save your life for now young boy because I already have the ninety-nine men required dead. Yet if I ever see your pretty face with my marking on it again, you will be captured and be made into my personal slave. I look forward to the day we meet again, and we will, 'cause I can see revenge plainly written in your lovely eyes.' The man laughed and knelt further down and licked some of Bakura's blood from his cheek. 'Until we meet again, have fun with my men.' The man swiftly rose, jumped back onto his horse and barked orders to the men holding down Bakura to teach him a "lesson."

'Now be good boys!' yelled the man as he galloped away.

'We will Pharaoh!' yelled the men back.

Bakura's head shot up. Pharaoh? Bakura thought. Yet he was suddenly slammed back down into the mud by the strong men, his clothes ripped from his body, and a hard member penetrating his tight hole, slamming in furiously. Bakura yelped but the man kept riding him furiously, dealing a painful lash from his whip on Bakura's pale buttocks silencing him. I will get my revenge fumed Bakura silently as he felt the man riding him orgasm, and the other man climbing on. You will see my sword pierce your heart the day you die Pharaoh. I will defeat you as I have promised my King. No one takes my virginity, my reputation, and my life away from me. This means war Pharaoh!

A.N. Greetings again all who have stumbled upon my horrific fic and read this monstrosity that I call my own. As you have gathered I have hijacked you for a brief moment to inform you that there's this little toolbar on the left that states 'Submit Review.' I wish for you to click it and enter it, therefore adding your personal thoughts on Bakura's Bane, and me as a writer. You can criticise and flame me all you like, but it has to be constructive and stuff that I might not already know…nn. So now…points in the direction of the toolbar Submit a Review! Oh and another thing…if you want me to update quickly, there has to be over ten reviews and not made by the same person again and again. Ok? Good…now SUBMIT! ..nn..