A/N: Okay, this is the Thief King BakuraxKisara fic for whoever voted for it. I didn't quite expect it to be so long. And, trust me, Bakura has a lot more character than you would normally expect. I'm sorry if this doesn't really fit into your expectations because, note the genre, it isn't romance. Maybe I'll add more chapters but for now, it's a one shot. A very long one-shot.
Disclaimer: Not mine Yugioh is.
Warnings: No romance, and slight vulgarity.
These hands have killed. These hands have been stained with the very blood of his victims. These hands have been calloused by the brutal landscapes of Egypt. These hands, equally as brutal and forsaken, could not possibly know anything of softness or of gentleness.
Akefia stared at these tanned hands of his. Not a single feeling of remorse or guilt penetrated his souls. All of his actions were made because he decided to do them. Why should he doubt those decisions now? You couldn't change events of the past, so why regret them?
Akefia didn't. And he wasn't going to question the morality of his plans for that matter either. He was already on a set and decided course. A course of revenge. A course that ensured more bloodshed- hopefully the blood of his enemies- and, ultimately, a course that ended in sating the never-quenching thirst for Kul Elna's revenge.
Akefia stood up and brushed a hand against his leg as he strained his eyes against the night sky, watching the city that was the dwelling place of the current pharaoh. Yes, Akefia would get his revenge and that very same city would be bathed in a torrent of fire that he would spur. But until that time, he had nothing to do but wait for the opportune moment.
And then there was an angry shout of rumbling voices coming from behind. Akefia grit his teeth in annoyance. There was no need to turn around to discover the source of the noise; he already knew from countless times before that it was the noise of the impudent fools he kept for his own troupe of thieves. He had persistently argued with himself that he was better off without the moronic dogs.
But then he had to remind himself that they had come in handy in a few situations in the past. No matter however rare those situations occurred…
Akefia tried tuning out the sounds of the rowdy group of men, to concentrate his thoughts on revenge and onto the hands that would wring the pharaoh's neck in due time. He tried concentrating but to no avail. The noise from the band of thieves only increased in volume. With a sigh of resignation, Akefia turned around, deciding that he may wring a neck tonight, even though it was not that of the pharaoh's.
They must have found some source of amusement if they're this loud, Akefia contemplated as he strode with the air of authority to the bonfire that marked the thieves' encampment.
After he had passed the first ring of men, the whole camp became deadly quiet at his entrance. They watched him with wary eyes that held a light of some admiration, apprehension, and, more importantly, fear.
Akefia had long since learned that when it came to the race of men, you could only gain their respect and their loyalty if you managed to invoke fear in them. He knew that and he had long since mastered the technique. So much, that even with the simple mention of his name that wasn't even his true name, he forced the men into submission to where they were only able to whisper "Akefia." Whispers that were a light breath and swept away with the smallest of breezes, lost to all ears around.
That was how much they feared him. And that was how he was going to keep it.
In a few short strides, Akefia was standing amidst the horde of mongrels. And he surveyed them all with the narrow slits of his violet eyes. Eyes that portrayed violence even at the slightest of provocation. Few of them dared to even meet his gaze, the cowards. To him, they were nothing better than the sands that they all lived on. He swept his gaze over them all once more before deciding to speak, seeing as none had the courage to even address him. As it should be; they knew he wasn't in the best of moods at the moment.
"I would like an explanation for the loud commotion everyone of you have been causing," he said in full clarity, voice ringing over the crowd with obvious leadership.
One of them took a few steps forward, standing away from the crowd to answer. Akefia remembered this one, he liked to consider himself as the Thief King's second-in-command. Akefia had many times before scoffed at that thought. In all of hell's sake, the man wasn't even important enough for Akefia to remember his name! In fact, he never bothered to fill his mind with words that identified themselves as the names of dogs.
"Master," he said in a subdued tone, just loud enough for Akefia to hear. "We captured a new prisoner. That was why we were celebrating with such a raucous." Akefia frowned; they captured new prisoners everyday, toyed with them to their own content. Why should another one of those worthless humans make any difference?"
"Show me this new prisoner of yours," he demanded. The man, he saw, was sweating but Akefia could tell it was not from heat. It was night and nights at Egypt were protected by a shroud of darkness that stifled the sun's heat. Was it from fear, then, that this man was sweating?
Nervously, the man made a signal to the rest of the men and two of them stepped forward, a captive held between them.
At the sight of this new captive, Akefia was taken aback at the sight of her beauty, at first. But then he quickly recovered; he shouldn't trifle with the petty emotions of being human.
The first thing one noticed about the girl was her long, white hair, silvery in the moonlight. It shimmered with the twinkle of stars with a glow that his own white hair did not possess. It was surreal, unnatural. Just like her extremely pale skin. That was unnatural in the heart of Egypt. This strange, bright coloring of hers was probably the reason she had gotten captured in the first place; it stood out like a beacon of light in the depths of darkness.
And then there was her expression, her sad, almost grieving expression. Even though her eyes were closed, the set of her mouth gave away her sheer innocence and revealed a hard past. More than likely, she had been captured many times before. Her downcast face suggested that she had come to terms with her tragic fate of being enslaved and never being allowed the freedom she once knew in a distant past.
Akefia stepped toward her, to get a closer inspection. At the sound of his footsteps, she turned her face up to him, opening her eyes, and unleashing their full power onto him.
Like blue sapphires. That was what they were like. Two blue gems that held a captivating power of charm, helplessness, pleading, beauty, and a terrible power that was locked away within her. Those eyes held a sense of naivety that screamed to be protected and also a feeling of ancient wisdom that condescended above everyone else's intellect.
So her hair told of her whereabouts, her face told of her past, and her eyes told an entirely different story of their own, open for the taking for whoever was cunning enough to snatch it away for their own use.
How pathetic.
In an ensemble, her face was nothing more than a plead for acceptance, freedom, and protection. She was nothing but a silly girl who had gotten lost in the desert after being taken away from her home and then recaptured again, back into the mercy of ruthless and malicious men.
She was pathetic, so visibly pathetic that it was indeed pitiful, and yet an intriguing and possibly interesting character. What secret could her eyes be hiding?
She contemplated him with those damned, wide eyes but, unlike the rest of her, they did not convey what she was thinking. Was she afraid of him? Was she taunting him with the secret she knew? Was she just simply gazing at him blankly, wanting to escape from the grasp of these men? He could sense nothing of her thoughts.
They were just… empty, devoid of all thought and emotion.
It was quite strange and unnerving to be staring at those sapphire eyes that were so full of knowing and still so empty of personal thought.
It was as if she was just a simple vessel in this world, containing in that strong power within her. Her core existence as a human meant nothing, it was just insignificant. What was she, in the natural order of things? Nothing but a mere mortal that would eventually end up dying, the only thing mortals were good for. The power she held was meant to be wielded by someone, not to be used by her.
She was just a shell.
Akefia felt a smirk lift the corners of his mouth. What a tragic fate she had awaiting for her, indeed.
"What is your name?" he asked her finally.
"She won't speak-" the man who had stood out began to protest. But with a simple wave of his hand, Akefia silenced him into the submission he deserved. Akefia knew she could speak. It was all a matter of whether she was willing to do so.
The girl continued staring at Akefia, a resolution squaring her jaw. Her eyes were still empty but he could tell that she was going to speak.
"Ki… Kisara." Her voice was a high and breathy soprano. It as well seemed to plead with those who listened. And it was just as pathetic as the rest of her. He leaned closer to her, his face inches away and allowing himself to hear the small and airy gasps that made up her breathing.
When he became in such close proximity with her, he saw the slightest change in her eyes. They transformed from the wide and dull irises and into two orbs that brightened with a speck of light. Emotion in her eyes seemed alien, almost unrecognizable. But Akefia was able to tell that she allowed a sliver of curiosity to slip through the crackers of her tightly-woven emotional barrier.
"Are you afraid?" he whispered to her, his voice smooth as the stones that lined the riverbeds of the Nile. Deceptively smooth, to allow room for a grain of trust and confidence between them. He was inviting her in.
She paused, thinking, before answering. His question could have many implements of what she afraid of.
"There are many things to be afraid of," she answered. "But of them all, I am not afraid." The glint of curiosity was gone, replaced by the barrier she carefully constructed.
He could easily tell that even with his feign, she did not trust him. And with her curiosity gone, it meant that she placed him, Akefia, with all the rest of the thieving low-lives around them.
And that mysteriously infuriated him.
He wanted to grab her, to shake, to show the little witch that he wasn't like the others, to demand the respect he deserved from her and everyone else. But he didn't. He remained as he was, knowing that if he acted upon any such thought, it wouldn't convince her that he was different from the rest.
He realized that he was frowning again. A frown that threatened to turn into a scowl. But he resisted that urge and continued to speak to her, going against his better instincts.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked. That question as well could have many implied answers. She looked away from him and turned her gaze to the ground. This also angered him. Who was she to look away from greatness, from power?
"You are…" she began slowly. "A thief in the night. Stealing and murdering and yet your heart remains empty. So you continue to steal and kill hoping it would fill that empty void within you. But it doesn't, does it? You continue to be bitter and lonely."
He was suddenly shaking with anger. How dare she! The impudent girl assume such dangerous things about him? Who was she to think that she could freely give away her own opinion? Because that was all it was, her own opinion. She had no proof of such things.
He felt all the eyes of the encampment on him, wondering when he would act on impulse. That impulse, that they all waited for anxiously, wanted to slap her until her white face became bright red with the pain.
But against all expectations, he kept his temper in check.
"And what makes you think that?" he asked quietly. A deadly quiet that signaled warning to all those who were around. She lifted her face again to look back at him, eyes still empty but face set into a determined expression.
"Because you're no different than the rest." Just as he had expected. And this time, he actually did slap her for her words. Once with the back of his hand, a hand that had killed so many before her time, and a second time with his palm. A palm that was trained to grasp the knifes he used to kill. The very same palm that was often stained with red for all the blood he had ran his hands through, out of sadistic enjoyment.
Kisara made no noise of her suffering but kept quiet even still. This annoyed him as well. What was the point of punishment when its receiver did not suffer or even acknowledge suffering?
"I am different from the others," he hissed at her.
"I see no difference," she retorted, her face turned away from his hand.
"Then you are blind to the true nature of things for I am Akefia!" She looked up at him, purplish coloring starting to form a bruise on her cheek. Her eyes were angled so that she was glaring but yet still empty.
"You may bear that name but it only symbolizes that you are the king of all your rats here, making you the most pathetic of them all." His face was hard. She was comparing him to rodents? And calling him pathetic, no less, when she was the one pathetic?
He had to control himself. He was losing his temper all too easily which wasn't a thing to be proud of in the face of the ones she called rats. He took a deep breath, calming himself.
"You have a lot of cheek, little girl, for one so insignificant," he noted bitterly. She smiled wryly, an expression of sarcasm changing her face.
"Enough cheek, I think, for you to slap to your content." Unable to help himself, Akefia barked a small, humorless laugh.
"You're a sly little witch aren't you?" he asked rhetorically. He roughly grabbed one of her wrists from the men holding onto her and yanked her away from their grasp. Then he turned to the encampment as a whole and said, "She's coming with me. Continue with your…" he paused casting a disdainful look at the crackling bonfire. "…festivities."
Kisara in hand, he marched out of the encampment, hearing a few disappointed groans as he left. He paid them no attention to them or to the clumsy girl he was dragging along. His mind was focused on the careless insults she had thrown at him.
He was different from the others, and he would prove it.
Once he had made it to the cliff that he was previously stationed at when he was watching the pharaoh's city, he threw Kisara down on the ground before him, none too softly. But then again, what else could you expect from the roughened hands of a murderer? He pointed toward the city when she looked up at him expectantly, pointed with a long finger that had caressed only the blades of the weapons that had filled their purpose. That was the only type of affection his hands had ever shown.
"That is the city of the Pharaoh. If you go there, there will be people there to keep you safe and offer you protection." She looked away at the gestured city and looked up at him, her face filled with surprise.
"What?" she gasped incredulously. He lowered his hand, crossing his arms over his chest.
"What do you mean 'what?' Isn't it obvious? I'm setting you free. But you'd better hurry before any of the others catch you." She stared at him for a full minute, never blinking. Her empty, penetrating gaze disturbing him to the point where he was the one to speak next.
"I'm setting you free," he repeated, more slowly this time to allow for full comprehension. "It's what you want, isn't it?" To his annoyance, she didn't shy away from her gaze.
"Why would you do that?" she asked. He smirked malevolently.
"Because I told you, I'm not like the rest of them."
Whew! I really liked writing this and diving into Bakura's character. He possesses so much depth and he's so flat that it's quite an experience to write. So, I hoped you enjoy this. Please review!
-Nuit Songeur