I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! - it belongs to Kazuki Takahashi.
This is only the prologue; to see if people think the story will be worth reading. More notes at the end.
WARNING: This is, in no way, a happy, cheerful story. It's quite sad / angst-y. At the beginning there is a vague description of blood. This story is not for the faint of heart as it deals with various hardships. If you dislike the idea of this, please do not read.
"Mama? Mama!"
A little boy cried out, tears trailing down his cheeks at the sight of his wounded mother. Blood soaked her tan robes, her violet eyes wide and unmoving.
"Mama, mama! Wake up!" The boy cried again, shaking his mother desperately.
"She's dead, kid," a deep male voice announced uncaringly. "No use in shaking her rotting corpse."
The little boy blinked at the unfamiliar voice. Who was this man? What did he mean his mother was dead? She wasn't dead... her eyes were open. Dead people's eyes are closed, so she must be alive.
"Can you wake her up?" he asked innocently, turning to face the mysterious man.
He was dressed in clothes Akefia - for that was the poor boy's name - had never seen before. He had only dreamt of wearing clothes that beautiful. His mother often said the Pharaoh's court had the most beautiful clothes she had ever seen; but she said some rich people were extravagant and only cared about their money. Akefia didn't want to be so selfish.
"Kid, she's gone," the man spoke again, this time with an inkling of sympathy in his voice. The poor boy didn't know what had happened to his dear mother.
"She... she isn't!" Akefia protested, his small hands trailing through his mother's soft silver hair. "She's right here! She, she's just asleep, right?"
"You could say that," another man snorted as he stepped into the room. He grinned at the confusion and slight fear on the little boy's face. "Little rat, your mother's never going to wake up, so stop trying to deny it, and accept it instead. Be a man, would you?"
"She will wake up! She will! She will!" The tanned child rocked himself back and forth in a comforting manner, like his mother would as she held him in her arms and cooed sweet nothings into his ear. "Mommy's just asleep... right, mommy? Aren't you?"
He poked her with a child-like innocence, unaware of what had befallen the innocent woman. Suddenly, he screamed as he felt strong arms wrap around his waist. What were they doing?! He wanted to see his mommy! She... she was going to wake up soon! Wasn't she?
"You'd make a great slave, child," the man holding Akefia laughed at the look of horror painted on the child's face.
"NO!" he screamed, trying to pry the man's arms off of his small body. "NO! Mommy! Help me! Please don't let them take me Ummu! Ummu!"
"Shut up."
A loud slap suddenly ended the little boy's tirade, echoing through the room. His tanned flesh had visibly reddened from the harsh gesture, and tears floated in his soft violet eyes. He dared not say anymore, lest the man hit him or his mother.
He did not call for his father either, for the man was finding his family food and drink. He had no siblings to protect him.
He was alone.
"Ummu" - the Arabic word for "mother".
This story was written because I see so many fics written about Thief King Bakura's past, but none go into detail about what he had to go through growing up. It's sad, because there's obviously so much more to Bakura's past. Think of how lonely and broken he was. It's no wonder he went crazy and wanted nothing but revenge.
Please review and tell me if I should continue or not. Thank you!